Max Dates Julie Teeger

Max Dates Julie Teeger

Monk's Star Makes Love to an Admirer

by

Donald Mallord

Copyright, June 2024 — Approximately 9,550 Words

Author's Notes

Sometimes, you write a story that touches someone in a way that prompts them to leave you a message out of the blue, a request that leaves you feeling flattered and stirred to respond to the requestor's special topic. This Fanfic story was created for an Emmy Clarke fan. Emmy was a teen star on the television series 'Monk.' A germaphobe with three hundred and twelve phobias, Adrian Monk was also a detective with an uncanny ability to solve crimes. That show ran for eight seasons. Among the Monk stars, Emmy reprised the role of 'Julie Teeger,' an infectious young lady who turned eighteen during the eighth season of Monk. This encounter with Max, an admirer, is based on Emmy Clarke and her fictional character Julie Teeger's coming of age after their shared birthdate: September 25th.

Kenjisato, a volunteer editor, continues to review my works. I appreciate his keen eye corrections in this one as well.

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Introduction

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Bound for LA, Again

"Hey Emmy, wait up!" Max called out, spotting Emmy Clark, backpack in hand, heading out the front door of Fairfax High School. Emmy was enrolled in the Fairfax Academy for the Communications and the Arts—a school within the school. She leveraged her time there and had tutorials on set in LA to meet the educational demands for child actors in the filming industry.

"Max, I gotta go! The plane takes off at one this afternoon. It takes a while to get through all the Fairfield traffic, and I've told you about that long line at Sikorsky Memorial Airport."

"I know. It's crazy that you live in Connecticut and fly back and forth to film in LA."

Emmy waved her hand, pointing to her watch and tapping it. "The Uber is waiting."

"Okay," Max replied, "I got it. "This'll only take a minute."

She smiled, knowing Max's minutes were made of rubber bands; they could stretch forever. An aspiring writer, he could take

'forever'

to get his point across. Still, he was friendly, maybe a little nicer than others.

"Here's the deal. You're not to know this, Em, but the guys are planning a surprise for your birthday. I'm supposed to find out if you'll be here this Friday..."

"Max!" she giggled. "You squeal, and I'm supposed to act like I don't already know?"

"You

are

an actress!" he answered, with a grin.

"I'm a minor character in a television show," she replied. She wasn't, in her mind, an important role player. Emmy was fortunate to land the role and would use the money to pay Berkley's tuition in the fall and the next four years.

"Not in the minds of your fans, you're not," he shot back, smiling at the self-deprecating star. Unspoken was,

'Especially not in my mine.'

"Okay, Max. Yes. But unfortunately, I won't be back until late Friday night, my eighteenth birthday. We're still filming that day—of all special days! Can you work it out for Saturday instead of Friday? And... yeah, I can act surprised."

"Great! I'll arrange it for Saturday after sundown at Southport Beach. And... can I...we, I mean, like, make it a... date?" Max asked, a bit nervous and having trouble getting the words out.

Emmy pursed her lips as if in thought. Max saw that register as her brow wrinkled in thought.

'No!'

His mind went into panic mode.

'Did I mess this up?'

So he jumped back in, to patch things up.

"It's just that I told the guys I'd get you there on a ruse, like a picnic for two on the beach? So, you would be surprised when they showed up. Besides, it's not every year you turn eighteen."

"So, you're asking me out—on a date?"

She smiled, forcing him to admit what she suspected for a long time.

It was the first time he'd ever come close to asking. All their activities together after school were with the usual gang of six. They were joined at the hip. Where you found one, you found everyone. Today, of all days, he chose to be less shy.

"Of course," she answered, seeing his hesitation. "It's a date." She was inwardly glad he asked her to be his date, well, sort of asked.

Max's face lit up like a Roman candle. Em noted that and said, "Gotta go, Max. But I'll have a picnic basket ready for Saturday evening. Bye! See ya!"

Emmy Clarke, still a star in the eye of one admirer, sprinted to the awaiting Uber. It would whisk her to the airport, and then she'd jet off to the Monk set in Los Angeles. There would be scant time to reflect on the upcoming eighteenth birthday as she watched out the window, as the jet lifted off, leaving Fairfield, Connecticut, like a faint dream. Finally, somewhere in her hometown, Em mused, was a guy smitten with her.

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On the Set in LA

"Cut!" came the now-familiar director's cry as the final scene for this week's Monk episode seemed to wind down.

"What the hell was that, Em?" he barked.

Emmy, as Julie Teeger jumped, her head snapped up in response. No one on set before had chastised her like that. She looked around, finding everyone looking at her and shaking their heads.

"You screwed up your lines, Em. Damn it, we'll have to shoot that all over!"

Emmy, rather Julie Teeger, was mortified. She thought it went perfectly. What had she flubbed up? She stood center stage red-faced as everyone on set muttered about having to redo the scene. Their eyes bored into her. Head down, she avoided their gaze.

"Places, everybody!" the director shouted.

Her place was hiding under a desk, pretending to take cover from a criminal on the loose and looking for her at school, as she desperately tried to get away from pending harm.

Meekly, she crept back beneath a teacher's desk. Going over her lines in her head, determined to get it right. People wanted to go home... she messed that up! She waited for her cue. It seemed an eternity passed to reset the scene. But then...

The lighting dimmed, and the rumbling of a cart moved somewhere. People were resetting the staging again for the chase. 'Of all days to screw up, it would be on my birthday,' she thought pensively.

"Quiet on the set! And... action!"

With the off-stage banging noise, the criminal approached and opened the classroom door, calling out, "You can't hide, kid!"

At that point, he would turn on the lights. The sudden lighting change was her cue to jump out, crying and delivering her lines as she raced for an open window to escape.

Fully into her role now, as Julie Teeger, Em tensed in anticipation. She was ready. The criminal flipped on the lights—her cue; she burst out, delivering half of her lines, then faltered, stopping dead in her tracks like a deer blinded in a car's headlights.

"Surprise!" The crew yelled out, laughing. Emmy was dumbfounded.

Center stage was a cart with a large frosted cake, eighteen candles, and sparklers around the perimeter. "Happy birthday, Emmy!" was scripted down the middle. Overcome with joy, she cried real tears as the cast and crew gathered around to sing Happy Birthday.

"You guys!" she sniffed, wiping tears away, and blew out the candles.

The last scene was a ploy to get the cake in place and spring their surprise. Merged as one, Julie Teeger and Emmy Clarke had fallen for it. Both were coming of age that afternoon, simultaneously filled with tears and laughter at turning eighteen together--one in real life and the other on screen.

Hugs, well wishes, and some ribbing about not taking it like an 'adult' now that she was eighteen were shared. It was all good in the end--all light banter.

A bridge had been crossed that day. At eighteen, the restrictions on child-actor status would be lifted. New and different contractual relations would be adult conditions going forward. Her agent spoke of that as she drove Emmy Clarke to the LA airport for the first time as an adult. Adult was a word she would have to get used to in the coming days, and with it, would come some mindset changes.

Emotional mindset changes were also among them. Emmy's Monk family was almost like the one at home, except at home, where she was free to be herself more like Julie Teeger in real life—not in a fantasy setting. She felt peer pressures growing as well as a whirl of pending changes. It would be high school graduation soon, separation of friends and family at the end, as she prepared to enter Berkley in the fall. Not to mention, it was that emotional time of the month with those hormonal changes kicking in.

Emmy Clarke felt physically and emotionally drained after a long day of filming and an unexpected birthday celebration. The emotional exhaustion was due to the affection shown and the fact that she had magically changed from a minor, aged seventeen to eighteen, and became a new woman on that emotional September twenty-fifth day. For Emmy, it felt a little like Liesl von Trapp in "The Sound of Music" during the singing of

'Sixteen Going on Seventeen.'

Em's long eastward flight home drained her, especially with the time change from the West Coast. She boarded her flight for the first time as an adult at eight in the evening. The overhead announcement said it would be five and a half hours, give or take.

"The weather will be unusually warm for Connecticut," a cheery attendant added.

Emmy Clarke caught some of that while quickly calculating her arrival by LA time, which, as a reference, would be after one-thirty Saturday morning, but just ten-thirty Friday night in Connecticut. It was a very long day!

Gathering her luggage, she caught the waiting Uber. It was nice to be back in Connecticut with Mom and Dad, even if it was late. The Uber whisked her from the airport to home. It was good to open the front door and find another surprise. A second birthday cake with eighteen candles was on the dining room table.

She cried a second time that night or that day, depending on which time zone you believed was real at the moment. It was a good cry with tears of joy again, and she shared hugs.

"You look exhausted," Mrs. Clarke remarked. "Get some sleep, honey, and we'll see you in the morning."

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Julie Teeger Awakens and Speaks with Natalie

"Hey, sleepy head," Natalie, Julie's mom, greeted her as she approached the table. "You missed breakfast, so how about brunch? I can do an omelet with ham, peppers, onion—"

"Thanks, Mom, but hold the onions... I have a date tonight. If that's okay, I can, right?" she asked, as it just occurred to her that she had agreed to one with Max without asking permission.

Julie's mom smiled, the kind that says, 'Girl, you haven't realized yet, but you are a woman and don't need to ask any longer.'

Instead of answering, she queried, "Remind me. How old are you now?"

Julie hugged Natalie and replied, "Old enough, Mom, like you said long ago. 'One day you will be old enough to know when you don't have to ask.'" The hug was extra-long, with a rocking side to side for emphasis.

"Mom, do we have stuff for a picnic? Max is taking me to the beach this evening."

"Max? Not the 'gang of six' going together?"

"Well, kinda. The gang is supposed to throw a surprise birthday party, and Max says I'm to act surprised when they suddenly show up at the beach. Max is the decoy. Not sure what's planned, he didn't tell me that."

"Sounds like fun, Julie. The picnic basket is in the garage over Dad's toolbox. There is enough in the fridge. Honey, you can make focaccia sandwiches for you and Max. Take some cheddar cheese, crackers, and that new jar of extra virgin olive oil to drizzle over the focaccia. It might come in handy; it doesn't need refrigeration.

But, of course, you know that.

Those will help tide you over until the gang arrives."

"Of course, Mom, but shouldn't I take more sandwiches for the gang?" Julie asked.

"Honey, if you fix extra, the gang will know you weren't fooled!"

"Right, I didn't think of that!" Julie laughed.

Her mom chuckled, adding, "Hope they'll think about that and bring their own!" She watched as her young woman-child headed to the garage for the basket.

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Introspection — Max and Julie Drive to the Beach

Julie sat at the kitchen table expectantly, her toes tapping the tile floor. Nervousness had crept upon her bare shoulders. The expectation of an actual first date added to her heightened sensations; of all things, she was ovulating now, which added to the excitations. Max should be here, she thought. Looking at the clock, she smiled. It was just six-thirty, barely dusk. The good-looking 'chauffeur' would be on time, she knew. It was part of his nature—dependable, kind, not to mention handsome in that boyish way with the well-groomed, wavy dark hair. She liked that about him; he maintained that athletic look. And those deep brown eyes, she could get lost in those limpid pools for hours.

"Wow! Julie... you look... perfect!" Max struggled to find the right words of praise, as Julie opened the front door.

She smiled in response to his energetic greeting. Julie was out of her usual costumes, jeans, loose-fitting blouses, or occasional bulky knit tops. Tonight, nearly eye to eye, Max, being just two inches taller than Julie's five-foot-seven, stood quietly, spellbound momentarily, gazing into her eyes. Then, like any high school senior, his gaze wandered over her lithe frame, taking in the spaghetti-string straps supporting a chiffon azure mid-thigh dress. Tapered at her waist, it set off an hourglass figure—one Max had forgotten existed, as his eyes came to rest on the dip in the fabric, exposing some cleavage and a hint of her ample breasts. Her long, curly, honey-blonde hair swirled around them like it was there for extra support. It was a moment of suspended animation, broken by Natalie's voice.

"Take a light wrap or maybe a jacket, Jules." It was her mom's pet name for Julie.

"It could get chilly," Natalie called out, as Max lifted the basket from the table, and the two prepared to walk out.

Natalie Teeger watched out the window as her baby offered Max her hand, and Max took it. The smiles on their faces looked like perfect bookends—a matched set. That's how she thought of the moment—a mother's intuition. Watching Jules grow up and listening to her conversations about the antics of the gang of six, it seemed that her baby always ended her descriptions with something about Max.

Like Natalie, Max's mom had coached him about tonight. As he walked out the door, her last words were, "Be nice and open the door for her like a true gentleman. Don't let her get treated like she's just one of the gang tonight. An eighteenth birthday only comes once in a lifetime, Max."

He remembered. He held the door for her as she slid into the front seat, the light scent of perfume wafting between them. Putting the basket into the backseat, he eased into the driver's side and buckled up. Looking over at Julie, he could see her light smile as she crossed the seatbelt and clicked it. The belt snugged tight, accentuating the dip between those high-riding curved orbs slightly visible above the sewn-in bodice of her dress. 'Hot' was the word his mind looked for as he started the minivan.

'Definitely, this is going to be different tonight,' he thought, as he carefully pulled out onto the street headed to Southport Beach. Max had scouted it for a location away from the crowds. He had picked a spot with a grove of trees and a picnic table, an area off the beaten path. The gang wanted a location that wouldn't attract attention for their surprise for Julie Teegar.

"I like your dress," he began, feeling slightly intimidated. It was different with Julie riding in front. It would be harder to keep his eyes on the road with that much-exposed top and a thigh-length dress that rode up as she sat in the front seat.

Usually, the whole gang would have been squeezed into his mom's van--the girls in the back and the guys up front. Max was always the designated driver, the best and most conscientious of the lot when it came to driving. It fell to him to be the gang's chauffeur. As a result, he wasn't in on most of the conversations; keeping an eye on driving occupied his time.

"This dress was a gift from Tony," Julie replied to his dress comment. "Tony picked it out for me. Said it would do wonders for my..."

"Tony?" Max interjected, thinking about who that was.

"Yeah, Tony Shalhoub. You know—Adrian Monk?" Julie responded to his quizzical look, realizing Max was outside her filming realm. She knew he watched the show and, of course, would recognize the stage name Adrian Monk.

"Monk, right," Max nodded, glad it was some old guy and not that guy 'Tim' from the series, her stage boyfriend's role.

"Anyway, what's this surprise I'm not supposed to know about?" she continued.

Max grinned. "I can't tell you, or it wouldn't be a surprise."

"Okay, wise guy." Julie let it go for the moment, as they changed highways at the intersection and proceeded to the park entrance, where the last few minutes of the sun hung on the edge of the sky. It danced there on the precipice, turning golden, waiting until they made their way through the park entrance, and then darkness enveloped them.

"It's spooky out here, Max."

"Not scared, are you?"

"No. Not with you here, hero. You'd save me, right?" she chuckled.

"Of course, no one is going to harm my... date tonight." Max almost uttered the word 'girlfriend,' catching himself just in time.

"It will be okay. I brought a flashlight, and a full moon will light the table area. My only worry will be the werewolves, and I brought some garlic for that."

"You did?"

"No, Julie," he chuckled, "it was a joke."

She laughed, taking his hand, and replying, "And to think I told my mom not to put onions in my omelet. You 'crack me up,' Max." She giggled at her word play.

Julie busied herself with spreading a tablecloth from the basket as Max watched.

"You really brought food?"

"Max, this is a play. You wrote the script. You're an aspiring writer. Don't you recognize this stage? It's a scene from a werewolf story: a handsome man takes his first date to a park for a picnic, and out of nowhere, a gang of those creatures appears. Besides, you told the gang you'd get me here using a picnic as a decoy, right?"

"Yeah, I did. Julie, your imagination is on steroids tonight," Max answered, as he helped finish setting the scene by placing the basket's contents on the table and placing his combination flashlight and lantern in the middle.

'More like on estrogen and progesterone hormone overload, Max,'

Julie thought, feeling the heightened sensitivity women experience each month.

"Olive oil?" Max asked, holding the jar up to the light.

"What?" she almost yelled the word.

"Olive oil. You brought olive..." he repeated.

Julie sighed, somewhat relieved. She thought, for a second, she'd said hormone overload aloud, and maybe he had said 'ovaries' in response, like a script mistake, in place of olives.

"Mom suggested using olive oil as dressing for the sandwiches," she quickly answered, a blush rising on her cheeks. It was a good thing it was dark.

"Moms are always right," Max smirked.

Max was about to examine the foil-wrapped goods when he heard approaching voices.