elrhiarhodan

Title: Torch Song – Part Five of Seven
Author:

kaylashay
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, June Ellington, Clinton Jones, Diana Berrigan, Elizabeth Mitchell, Mozzie, Julian Larsen, Garrett Fowler, Reese Hughes, Kyle Bancroft, Evan Leary, Chloe Woods, Amanda Callaway, Phillip Kramer; Peter/Neal, Elizabeth/Mozzie
Word Count: ~56,000
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Expressions of homophobia, transphobia, past reference to a physically and emotionally abusive relationship. Please see more extensive notes in the Master Post on my Journal.
Summary: An alternate universe partially based on the characters and location in "Upper West Side Story", but with a twist - of the "Victor/Victoria" kind. Neal Caffrey teaches European History, but has an interesting and potentially career-damaging gig at his godmother's nightclub. Enter Peter Burke, talent agent and an old friend of June's, who plays the fairy godmother role to the hilt.

__________________

Sunday morning, Peter watched from behind the cameras as Neal fielded pre-interview questions from Helen Anderson, a hard-hitting journalist who'd recently made the move from print to media.

Peter counted the station's owner, Leland Shelton, as a friend. And in this particular case, an asset, too – as Leland was also a Manhattan Prep alumnus. When Peter told him what was happening, what had happened, Leland was just as appalled and arranged for his star reporter to handle the interview.

Helen was pressing Neal about his desire to remain behind a screen.

"It's not a good idea, Mr. Caffrey."

"Call me Neal, please."

"Neal. Your face is all over the Internet, as I'm sure you know." Helen pressed a button on her mike. "Geoff – pull up those YouTube vids."

Simultaneously, six different versions of Callaway shouting at Chloe and of Neal going to her defense appeared on the big video monitors behind them. Neal's face was clear in all of them, and in one, whoever was recording had gone in for a tight shot, capturing Neal's anger and his anguish, following him as he took Callaway down and then as he went to make sure that Chloe was okay. Peter had seen this vid a dozen times, but it still moved him to tears.

"Your face is out there – and so is your name." Helen pointed to one video with subtitles, identifying Neal as "Mr. Caffrey". "There's no reason to hide behind a screen – it's pointless and will come across badly, as if you have something to hide."

Neal grimaced. "I have a past, Ms. Anderson."

"Is it bad?"

Neal asked, "Are the cameras rolling?"

"No. But I need to know, if this is going to be an effective piece."

Neal nodded. "Okay. Some stuff happened, I was a kid, barely out of college. Some things with my family and I went off the rails as a result."

"Were you arrested?"

"No – I was in Europe and got caught up in a bad scene. I did nothing illegal. Immoral, maybe, but not illegal."

Peter knew that there was a lot that Neal wasn't saying – like why he had burn scars on his buttocks.

Helen stayed focused, like a bloodhound on the scent.

"What things happened with your family?"

Neal looked over at Peter, and he smiled – hoping he looked calm and reassuring.

"I found out that my father wasn't the man I thought he was. It's old news and public record, and if you're really interested, you can look up Detective James Bennett of the NYPD if you want the scoop. But it's not relevant. I sowed my wild oats, got my life back together, came home to New York, finished my master's degree in history and got a teaching certificate. Then I was hired by Manhattan Prep."

"So there's nothing in your life you need to hide?"

Neal didn't answer right away and Peter wondered what he wanted to hide. Then Neal smiled and shrugged. "Other than what I've told you – my life's an open book."

"Okay – we'll do a short background piece about you, focusing on your time as a student at Manhattan Prep; we'll emphasize your academic career, your time at Harvard. And to dismember any skeletons, we'll talk briefly about your time in Europe and how you got out of a bad situation, emphasizing your goal to become a teacher and to help kids through their own rough times."

Peter watched as Neal visibly relaxed, but he still worried that he was hiding something.

"It's going to be fine, Peter." Leland was standing next to him, watching as Helen prepped Neal.

"I'm having second thoughts about this. Neal didn't want to be the focus of the story and it seems like I've pushed him into doing something he doesn't want."

"Neal won't be," Leland assured him. "There's much more to this story than a single teacher standing up for what's right. It's about acceptance and the dignity that every human being deserves. And it's about saving the legacy of Manhattan Prep. We wouldn't be where we are today without that school."

"No, we wouldn't. But still… "

"Relax, Peter. Trust me. Trust us." Leland pulled him out of the studio. "They're going to start filming, we'll watch from the control booth." To Peter's surprise, Kyle Bancroft was there. Leland explained, "After you called last night, I did my due diligence."

"I wasn't aware that you were active with the school and knew each other."

"Leland contributes to the Alumni fund, and like you, he's been just as cagey about taking a more active role." There was a definite note of censure in Bancroft's voice. "When he told me that Caffrey was going to do an interview, I thought it would be a good idea to come down and watch."

Peter understood. "So you're going to give this the school's blessing?"

"Depends on the content and the outcome."

Leland added, "I think it would be a good idea if Kyle sits for a brief interview, if he talks about the Dignity for All policy and how vital it is to the school. It will go a long way to deflect the damage that Kramer and Callaway have done." Leland's own tone had a fair bit of censure in it, too. "Pity that Reese Hughes is away – he was the policy's champion as I understand it and would look good on camera."

Peter felt like he was caught between two lions battling for the choicest part of the kill and turned everyone's focus back to the interview that was just starting.

Helen handled Neal perfectly. There was a touch of aggression, of professional skepticism. This wasn't a cakewalk for Neal – no softball questions – but Neal answered them with grace and an aura of confidence that didn't surprise Peter in the least.

Peter knew that the interview would be ruthlessly cut to meet the time the network had allotted to the story – and there would be other parts of the story – but Helen was digging deep, asking intensely personal questions but framing them back to the events at the school.

"Were you a victim of bullying, Neal? You said before that you came out when you were in seventh grade."

"I did, and I was lucky. I had good friends and they stood by me when I came out, and Reese Hughes – he'd been a teacher at Manhattan Prep before he became headmaster – was a very strong voice for acceptance, even back then. He led by example and what could have been a very traumatic five years was a time that helped shaped the person I am now. That certain new members of the school administration are trying to undo Hughes' legacy angers me deeply. And to abuse a student the way that Principal Callaway did is unspeakable."

Neal covered his eyes with a shaking hand. "I'm sorry – I still find it hard to believe."

"What was going through your mind when it did?"

Neal sighed. "I don't know if I can put it into words. Rage, but concern, too. I was worried about the student's well-being, the well-being of the other students who were witnessing Principal Callaway's actions. School is supposed to be a safe place and very often it isn't – but when that safety is compromised by the very people who we entrust to ensure it – " Neal shook his head. "I knew I had to do something."

Peter thought it was interesting that Neal was careful not to mention Chloe Woods' name, even though most of the YouTube vids had identified her. Watching Neal answer the reporter's questions, he felt so proud of Neal, but it was more than pride. This was a man he could respect, a man who was – despite his past – his equal. He could trust Neal.

He could love Neal.

And then it hit him. He already loved Neal. Although they'd only known each other for a little more than a week, Peter could see a lifetime spent with this man. And for some reason, that terrified him.

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

After nearly twenty minutes into the interview, Helen paused the questioning and touched the small earpiece she wore. "Shall we take a break?"

Without waiting for Neal to say anything, Helen got up and left the studio. Not sure what was happening, Neal headed towards the door that Peter had gone through when the cameras started rolling.

He found Peter, Leland Shelton, the man who owned this television station, and someone he thought he recognized, but wasn't quite sure.

Peter smiled at him and all Neal wanted to do was leave the studio and go back to Peter's apartment and crawl into bed. And crawl all over Peter.

Unfortunately, Peter interrupted that fantasy. "Neal – this is Kyle Bancroft, president of the Manhattan Prep Board of Governors. We spoke last night."

Neal held out his hand and was rewarded with a firm handshake. "Are you still going to need a formal statement from me tomorrow?"

Bancroft sighed. "I probably should. I've already spoken with Andy Woods and Chloe, and they've made a formal complaint against Callaway. Despite this – " Bancroft gestured around the studio control room. "- dog and pony show, we still need to follow protocol."

Neal offered, "I can be at the school early."

"Actually, we'll send in a substitute for your classes tomorrow. This will take a while. And we should probably do this away from the school facilities." Bancroft scribbled something down on a piece of paper. "This is the school's law firm, we'll do it there."

Neal looked at it – the address was on Park Avenue South, in one of the buildings that bordered Grand Central Terminal. "I'd rather not lose a day, sir. We're about six weeks from the AP exams and every day counts."

Bancroft smiled at him. "I appreciate your dedication, Caffrey. When are your AP classes?"

"After lunch."

"Okay, how about we send in a sub for your morning classes and if you're done in time, you can finish the day. Although it might be best to keep a low profile for the next few days."

Neal shook his head. "No, sir – I have to disagree. I did nothing wrong and I'm not going to hide. Those kids are my first responsibility."

"He has you there, Kyle," Leland Shelton noted. "And just so you know, Chloe Woods and her father are coming to the studio this afternoon. Helen's going to interview Chloe. Brave … girl."

Neal wasn't surprised that the man stumbled a little on the gender, but overall, he seemed like an okay kind of guy. Probably more interested in ratings than anything. Before Neal could say anything about this latest development, Helen Anderson came into the control room and joined them. She was carrying a folder.

"Neal – Mr. Caffrey, can I talk to you?"

"Sure – do you want to restart the interview?"

"Not quite yet. I have to ask you something." She pulled him away from the three men he'd been talking with.

Neal looked at the folder in her hand and got a sick feeling he knew what was in there. He looked over at Peter and wondered how he was going to get out of this without destroying something he'd begun to value more than almost anything. Peter was talking with Shelton and Bancroft, but must have sensed Neal's gaze. He looked at him with a bit of concern. Neal managed to smile and Peter smiled back.

"My research assistant is very thorough. She also has access to some pretty sophisticated facial recognition software. I need to know, is this you?" Helen held out the folder to Neal.

Neal opened the file and there was a photo of him, as Nicole. It had been pulled off of someone's Instagram feed, with the comment, "Would you believe, this is a #trannie?" There was a second picture, of him as "Nick", in a tuxedo. The long curls were gone, but he was still wearing all of Nicole's makeup and he was clearly singing.

He snapped the folder closed, praying that Peter wouldn't come over, he wouldn't want to see. "Yes."

"You understand why this matters, don't you?"

Neal agreed, but he didn't say anything.

Helen continued, "It affects the integrity of the interview, it casts a completely different light on your motives."

But of course, Peter joined them. Of course, Peter asked, "Neal, what's the matter?"

Neal shook his head minutely. "Nothing's wrong. Helen and I were just discussing something that her research assistant found."

"Can I see?"

He looked at Helen, pleading with her not to pursue this. But she wasn't budging. "Mr. Caffrey – you have to tell me what this means."

Neal handed the folder to Peter, but he didn't watch his reaction as he looked inside. Instead, he focused on Helen. "I'm not at all ashamed of this. It's a costume – a piece of performance art. It's no different than a bunch of middle-aged men putting on greasepaint and stacked leather boots and performing in a KISS tribute band."

Neal felt like he was dancing on a tightrope and the fall was inevitable. He knew, without looking, that Peter was furious. He could feel the icy waves of anger rolling off of him.

Helen asked, "So, you're telling me you're not a transvestite?"

"No, I'm not."

Helen kept peppering him with questions. "And you don't wear women's clothing except when you're on stage?"

"I own one dress – the one in the picture. Like I said, it's a costume. Nothing more. I'm a teacher at a private school – that's all I want out of life. My godmother owns the club where I perform. This is nothing more than a hobby." Neal ached for Peter to understand everything he couldn't say right now.

Helen was either oblivious to the undercurrents between him and Peter or was choosing to ignore them. "Okay – I'm going to need to ask you about your act. We'll set the questions as if they were at the start of the interview, so when you answer, you can't phrase things as if you've already talked about them."

Neal let out the breath he'd been holding. The unexpected disclosure of his performance as Nicole and Nick didn't only create problems for him and Peter, it could taint the whole interview and he had worried that Helen was going to cancel it.

"All right – let's get back into the studio." Once again, she didn't wait for Neal to agree, she just marched out of the control room.

Neal finally turned to Peter, who was still holding the folder. He started to apologize but Peter just shoved the file at him and walked away, turning his back at him.

"Neal, we're waiting for you." Helen's voice came over the speaker.

"Peter, please – "

Peter didn't turn around and Neal had no choice but to go back into the studio.

Helen barely waited for him to get settled before digging her teeth in. "Mr. Caffrey, I understand you have an interesting extracurricular activity. It makes for an interesting counterpoint to the video we've just seen."

Neal understood what Helen was doing – she was going to lead with a clip from one of the YouTube vids. "Yes, it does. For about a year, every couple of months – when classes aren't in session – I perform at Ellington's, a jazz club in the East Village. I'm what you call a vocal counterfeiter – I can copy a lot of different singers, their styles, their intonation. I really don't have a style of my own. My godmother, who owns the club, suggested a riff on the old movie, 'Victor/Victoria', where I dress as a woman for the first half of the show - the torch singer called Nicole - and then as a man for the second set. He's Nick, a suave cabaret act."

"You're not a transvestite, though."

"No, I'm not. I guess the closest way to describe it is, for part of my performance, I'm in drag."

"But you haven't told anyone about your act, have you?"

"A few of my colleagues know, but I thought it best not to advertise, given the current level of animosity towards … " Neal thought for the least inflammatory way of putting it. "Non-standard behavior at Manhattan Prep. Given what I witnessed on Friday, it still seems like the best decision." Except that he'd hurt Peter and likely killed any chances of a real relationship between them.

"Can you tell us how what you do in your performance is different from what your transgender student does by wearing a skirt and makeup?"

Neal hoped he was able to keep the grimace off his face. Helen was doing her best to smooth over the effects of his own activities, and while the question was clumsy, it was something he did need to address. "At the simplest level, transgender people feel that they are a different gender from what their physical bodies display. Transgender people can be gay or straight or asexual. Gender is at issue, not sexuality. Transvestites prefer to wear clothing of the opposite gender, and can take sexual pleasure in that activity. Transvestites may be gay or straight, too – but a lot of people will call straight transvestites 'cross-dressers'. Drag is all about costume – a public performance of some sort - nothing more, nothing less."

Helen nodded and moved off of the topic. She asked him some pointed questions about the school and the Dignity for All policy before bringing the interview to a close. Neal waited for the light over the camera to go green before bolting out of the studio and back into the control room.

Chloe and her father were there, so was Bancroft and Leland Shelton, but there was no sign of Peter. It was too much to hope that he was in the men's room.

Shelton, however, killed that hope. "Peter had to leave – said he got an urgent text from his staff."

Instead of leaving, Neal went to talk to Chloe. He wasn't going to chase after Peter when it was pretty clear that Peter didn't want to listen.

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

Walking from the television station's studio near Columbus Circle back to his apartment, Peter didn't feel the sunshine on his face, the warmth that held the promise of spring and longer, greener days. Anger propelled him – one foot in front of the other for twenty-odd blocks.

He felt … used, played. That Neal had gotten close not because of his interest in Peter Burke, the man, but in Peter Burke, the talent agent.

He felt like a fool. He'd raved and raved about 'Nicole' – calling her the greatest thing since sliced bread – and all that time, Neal knew that Nicole was nothing more than a construct, a figment. That he was Nicole.

As he let himself into his apartment, Peter tried to calm down, to get some perspective. But it was difficult when all he could see was Neal in various shades. Hell, their breakfast dishes were still in the sink and there was a second coffee mug on the counter, so close that their handles were kissing. Peter wanted to smash them against the wall.

This was so fucking stupid to react like this. He barely knew Neal. Yes, the sex was good, yes, Neal was smart and beautiful and he punched all his buttons. Yes, he had – for a very brief moment – thought that he'd met someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

But Neal Caffrey was a liar. A user. A cheat.

He used him. Or was going to use him.

And no one used Peter Burke, ever.

Peter sank into one of the easy chairs next to the windows overlooking the park, but he didn't see the swath of green or the gardens that bordered the park, or the marble façade of the Public Library. All he saw was Neal's pale face when that reporter confronted him with the truth.

He scrubbed at his own face, trying to erase the image, the look of pleading desperation in the other man's eyes. He didn't want to see the pain, the acknowledgement that all his lies had just come home to roost.

And yet, his heart said, Neal never lied to you.

But his brain replied, A deliberate omission of a critical fact is a lie.

His phone buzzed and Peter had a good idea who was calling him. He checked – it was Neal. He considered ignoring the call, but it was best to end this now. Cleanly.

He answered, but didn't say anything.

"Peter?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are."

"I never meant for you to find out like this."

"No, I'm pretty certain you didn't. Messed up all you big plans."

"I have no big plans, Peter."

"Yeah, Neal. You played me. You gave me a taste of something and you thought you'd wrap me around your little finger."

"No – not at all. It was nothing like that."

Peter didn't want to listen to Neal's denials, his excuses. "I don't know how you got June to do this, I wouldn't have thought she could be conned so easily."

"I didn't. June – "

Peter cut him off. "We're done, Neal. It's over, it's finished." Before it's even really begun.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end and Peter wondered if Neal had hung up, but before he could check, Neal asked, "What about your promise to Bancroft? To the school?"

Part of him wanted to tell Neal that he could forget about that. But the commitment he'd made wasn't really about Neal. "I am a man of my word, and I keep my promises."

"Okay. Thank you. I never meant to hurt you."

Peter ignored the catch in Neal's voice. He ignored the pain in his heart, and said, "Goodbye, Neal." He ended the call and stared out the window. It might have been a glorious spring afternoon on the other side of the glass, but inside, it seemed as cold and barren as midnight in January.

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

Evan was a little afraid when he walked through the front doors of Manhattan Prep on Monday morning. It had turned out that a bunch of other kids had made a vid of Callaway, Chloe and Mr. Caffrey, and posted it to YouTube, but his was the one that went viral. His was the one that Channel 1's Sunday night news magazine program, Circumspect, used to bookend the feature piece they did about the school, what had happened on Friday, and the greater plight of trans kids and adults.

Chloe and her dad had been interviewed, as had Mr. Caffrey and even some of the school's administrators, at least the ones that still supported Dignity for All. Principal Callaway apparently declined to be interviewed, at least according to the report that aired.

Since he had posted it on Friday night, his vid had gotten over a hundred thousand hits and a few thousand comments. There were a lot of crap comments; a lot of trolls who agreed with Callaway, even some that urged Chloe and other trans kids to just kill themselves, but the majority of the comments were really supportive.

Of course, he hadn't used his real name when he posted the vid, but in her interview at Channel 1, Chloe had mentioned that the vid was made by her best friend, which meant that anyone who knew Chloe would know that he was the one who had posted it.

He didn't care who knew. Well, not really. He didn't want to be famous, but it would be kind of cool to be admired. And he was – a whole bunch of kids were calling his name, telling him "good job" and stuff like that.

"Hey there!" Chloe ran up to him. "You see the program?"

"Of course I did. You were great." He hugged his friend.

Chloe smiled. "I just wanted to do the right thing."

"You definitely did, and you'll really make a difference for other kids who aren't so lucky."

"I hope so."

As they headed towards their lockers, one of the school secretaries approached. "Mr. Leary?"

"Hey, Ms. Moss." Evan had known the woman for years – she's been the old Headmaster's secretary and everyone was grateful that she'd stayed on after Principal Hughes left.

"You'll need to come with me."

Butterflies erupted in his stomach. "What's the matter?"

Ms. Moss frowned. "I can't say."

That wasn't good. She knew something was going to happen, something bad.

"I'm supposed to ask if you've left your cell phone in your locker. You have, right?" She nodded at him.

Evan slowly nodded back, understanding what she was saying. He stopped when they were near the boys' room. "Can I go to the bathroom, first?"

Ms. Moss gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Okay – but don't take long."

"Right." It didn't take long to set the record mode on his phone – just a few seconds. Evan double-checked the recording volume, washed his hands, and feeling a little less shaky, followed Ms. Moss through the school, past the headmaster's office and into an office that he had no clue existed.

"Wait here."

As Evan waited, his heart pounding, he looked around. This seemed to be the office for the school's Board of Governors or whatever they were called. There were a bunch of portraits of old white guys, and a few women, too.

A few moments later, Ms. Moss returned. "You can go in, now." She squeezed his shoulder, as if to give him courage.

The room he entered was a boardroom, with a long table, lots of wood paneling and more portraits on the walls. There were only two people in the room. He wasn't surprised that one was the headmaster, Principal Callaway. The other person, an old guy with receding hair and piggy eyes, was someone Evan recognized – from posters and book covers and appearances on television.

Phillip Kramer, rightwing douche bag.

"Take a seat, Mr. Leary." Calloway gestured to one of the chairs near the head of the table, where Kramer was seated, like a frog on a throne.

Evan couldn't stop himself from asking, "Why is Mr. Kramer here?"

"Phillip Kramer is a member of the Board of Governors, and he will be President of the Board after the next meeting. He is very concerned about the school and what's been happening here, and the damage that's been caused to the school's reputation."

Evan nodded, but he thought how ironic that was, considering how Callaway herself damaged the school's reputation.

"Why am I here?"

Callaway smiled, and the expression was terrifying. "Don't pretend you don't know you've done something wrong."

"I haven't and I don't know."

"You don't? Then why are you so nervous?"

"Because I've been pulled out of class, told I need to leave my cell phone in my locker, and then I'm taken to a room where students aren't generally supposed to go to. And there's a member of the Board of Governors here, too. Why shouldn't I be nervous?" Evan kept his eyes on Kramer. The man nodded, but said nothing.

Callaway drew his attention back to her. "You're a scholarship student, Mr. Leary. You have been for five years."

"Yes, I am."

"Some might say you've been given a free ride. That you've taken a place from someone who would be better equipped to enjoy the benefits of an education at Manhattan Prep."

Evan wasn't sure what Callaway meant by that, but it sounded like a classist insult to him. He said nothing.

She continued, "But that's not why we're here. As a scholarship student, you have certain obligations to the school."

Evan couldn't hide his confusion. "What do you mean?"

Callaway opened a folder – it looked like his academic record. She flipped through it and eventually pulled out a bunch of pages. "This is your scholarship agreement. Please read paragraph nineteen."

Evan did. "The student shall not, during his or her time at Manhattan Preparatory Academy as a recipient of a scholarship, make any statements that will cast Manhattan Preparatory Academy, its policies or its administration, in a negative light, nor shall the student do anything to defame or otherwise damage the reputation of Manhattan Preparatory Academy, its policies or its administration. In the event that the Board of Governors determines that the student has violated this clause, the student shall be expelled from Manhattan Preparatory Academy and be required to refund all scholarship funds, plus damages in an amount deemed appropriate by the Board of Governors." Evan dropped the pages, his hands shaking.

"You're in big trouble, Mr. Leary."

Evan's mind was racing. He picked the pages back up and read them again, this time to himself. He checked to make sure that this wasn't a page added in to suit the convenience of Callaway and Kramer, but at the bottom, he recognized his father's initials.

For the first time, Kramer spoke, "Your little video has badly damaged the reputation of this school, son."

"No – it was Principal Callaway who did. She was the one who lied, who tried to hurt a student, who tried to make it seem like Chloe Woods was mentally ill. I just recorded what happened. So did others."

Kramer waved that off. "The others weren't as creative as you were. And the others didn't have that poor, sick boy defending his disgusting lifestyle and urging others to be like him at the end of their video."

Evan wanted to punch that wheezing bastard in the face. Instead, he shouted, "Chloe isn't sick and she isn't disgusting. You are."

"Mr. Leary, I suggest you control yourself." Callaway stood up and leaned over him.

"Relax, Amanda." Kramer gestured, and the woman sat down. "There's no need to get huffy, son. We want to do the right thing and it would certainly be a shame for you to end your academic career here at Manhattan Prep on such a … disgraceful … note. It would also be a shame to bankrupt your family with cost of repaying the scholarship and the legal fees from the school's suit against you."

Evan was nauseous. His folks got by, but they weren't rich. He knew that there were expenses that the scholarship didn't cover that strained his parents' finances. This would kill them.

"What are you saying?"

"We're going to offer you a chance to fix your mistake. You do this one thing for the school and all your problems will go away."

"I'm not taking the video down."

"No, of course you're not." Kramer leaned over and whispered something into Principal Callaway's ear. She got up and went to the door, and it seemed as if she was checking to make certain no one was listening.

When she came back, she was all smiles. "Mr. Leary, we're not trying to frighten you, or force you to leave the school. We want you to do the right thing."

"Which is?" Evan couldn't imagine what these two thought was "the right thing."

"Mr. Caffrey is one of your teachers, right?"

Evan nodded. "Yeah – he was my tenth grade social studies teacher and now he's my AP European History teacher."

Callaway continued, "You like him?"

"Yeah. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Callaway was blunt in her opinion. "Mr. Caffrey is a disgusting pervert."

"What?"

"He's a dirty faggot who goes around dressing in women's clothes."

"You're crazy!"

Kramer stepped in. "The way I see it, Mr. Leary, Mr. Caffrey's expressed far too much interest in you. He's written letters of recommendation for you."

Evan could barely control his outrage, "For an internship and he's not 'interested' in me, not like that. You're disgusting to even say so!"

"Son, calling me names won't save your scholarship and won't help your parents from financial disaster. So I suggest you sit down and listen to what we have to say."

Callaway laid out their plan. "You are going to go to the police and you're going to tell them that Neal Caffrey touched you inappropriately."

Evan tried to calm himself down. Getting angrier wouldn't save anyone. So he parroted, "Inappropriately?"

"Yes – you know what I mean. He touched your body. Your ass. Your penis. Maybe he told you your grades would be better if you gave him a blow job."

Kramer interrupted, "No need to be crude, Amanda. I think the boy gets the picture."

Evan licked his lips. "Why? Why do you want me to lie?"

"Who's to say it's a lie? If he didn't touch you, he probably touched some other poor boy. He's a fag and that's what fags do."

Evan shook his head. These people were evil. "You want me to go to the police so Mr. Caffrey would be arrested, right? So he'd have to resign?"

Kramer leaned back in his chair and complimented him. "You are a smart kid, Mr. Leary – and it's clear that it's more than just book-learning smart. I like that."

"And what happens when Mr. Caffrey goes to jail because of my lies?"

"Well, it doesn't have to come to that. You can refuse to testify and the charges would be dropped."

"And I'd have ruined someone's life."

"He'll survive – those kind always do. Like cockroaches." Before Evan could say anything, Kramer continued. "Think about it and make the right choice, son. But if you don't take action before this Friday, we'll have no choice but to take action against you."

Callaway added, "Do the right thing, Evan. The school needs you."

Evan stood up and tried not to shove his shaking hands in his pockets, where his cell phone had hopefully recorded every word that came out of these bastards' mouths. "I'll think about it."

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

Neal didn't remember much after leaving the television studio. Someone had arranged for a car to take him home. The club was closed on Sundays and Mondays and June had gone up to Boston to visit her daughter. Marthé and the rest of the staff were off, too. So, Neal was alone in the big house and that suited him perfectly.

He wanted to rage, he wanted to cry, he wanted to crawl all the way to Peter's apartment and beg him for understanding.

But he didn't beg, he didn't crawl. Not anymore and never again.

Out of curiosity, but more numb than interested, he watched the piece on Circumspect. Helen and the news team did a fantastic job of seamlessly piecing his interview together. The bit about Nicole was dispensed within the first two minutes, but his little speech on the differences between transgender and transvestites came almost at the end. Chloe's part was brief, and Bancroft's statement even briefer. Helen wrapped the segment up with a statement that Amanda Callaway was not available for comment. All in all, a half-hour of excellent investigative journalism that likely saved Manhattan Prep but demolished his dreams.

Despite the televised interview, he still needed to give his official statement. Bancroft had asked him to be at the offices of the law firm that represented the school by seven AM. He arrived a half-hour early because sleep was impossible. The questions were a lot more pointed than the ones he'd fielded from the reporter, but at least there weren't any that touched on his past or his personal life. As he answered, Neal felt detached from the whole process, as if someone else was sitting in this glossy, high tech conference room.

Eventually, the questions stopped and Bancroft told him to go home.

"You look like shit, Caffrey. And while I appreciate your commitment to your students, take the rest of the damn day off. You've earned it."

Neal didn't argue. He was numb and exhausted, and for the first time in his life, he didn't feel he could face a classroom full of students.

He didn't feel like he had anything meaningful to say.

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

Evan did something he'd never done before. He cut class. The "interview" with Callaway and Kramer had taken less than a half-hour and while he was certainly excused from the rest of his first period English class, he'd probably get in trouble for cutting out of Trig.

He didn't care.

There was a small, rundown coffee shop a few blocks from the school. He'd passed it almost every day on his way to and from the subway for the last five years, but he'd never gone in. It seemed like a place for adults, not kids, not students – it was the anti-Starbucks. Probably didn't even have WiFi. Today, though, he needed a refuge and that seemed like the perfect place. He ignored the sign, "Please wait for a hostess to seat you" and took a booth in the back. There were a few people at the counter, reading the newspaper, old-school style, with actual newsprint.

A waitress with hot pink hair that might have been cute if she wasn't in her mid-sixties, asked, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Evan shrugged. "Probably, but I'm not. Can I have a cup of tea, please?"

The waitress stared at him and finally cracked a smile. "Yeah, sure."

He pulled out his phone and a set of earbuds, and he was trembling so hard that he couldn't get the plug into the phone's jack or one of the buds into his ear. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was no point in getting hysterical, yet. He finally managed to get everything set up and hit the play button on the recording. There was a lot of dead air, but he could hear his footsteps, and then Ms. Moss' instructions, more dead air and then Callaway talking. In perfect clarity.

The waitress came back with his tea and he let the cup sit and grow cold as he listened to Kramer and Callaway talking, his own voice sounding weird. But it was all there. The threats, the ugliness, the demand that he lie to the police so they could get rid of Mr. Caffrey.

The recording was briefly interrupted by the sound of an incoming text. It was Chloe. Where r u?

He replied, Coffeeshop on 129th n Riverside. Old place near the subway. Can u meet me here?

Give me 10

Chloe arrived exactly ten minutes later. Unlike him, she had no problems cutting class.

"What happened? Why did Moss drag you away?"

Evan just handed Chloe one of the earbuds and let her listen. Her pale skin grew even paler as she listened. In disgust, she yanked out the earbud. "Those fucking bastards."

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I can't go to my parents – they'd freak out. I never even told them about what happened on Friday or the vid or the interview for the news." His folks weren't the newsmagazine watching type, especially when there was baseball on.

"What about the police? Isn't it a crime to tell someone to make a false accusation?"

"I don't know. But if I go to the police, they might use it as ammunition against me. Kramer said that he's going to be president of the Board of Governors next year. I can't afford to pay back my scholarship."

"But if it's Kramer who's making you do something illegal…"

Evan nodded. "I know, but it could still backfire against me."

"You're not going to tell the police that Mr. Caffrey tried to molest you?"

"NO! Absolutely not."

"You could tell Mr. Caffrey what Callaway and Kramer want you to do."

He'd thought about that, but he was afraid what his teacher might do. "Could your dad help?" Chloe's father terrified him sometimes, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from asking for help.

Chloe shrugged. "Probably, but he is really after me to home school next year – this might give him more ammunition." She frowned, but then brightened. "When I was at the television studio, Peter Burke was there. You know – the guy from the talent agency where you've got your internship next summer."

"Huh? Why was he there?"

"I heard my dad talking to him – he also went to Manhattan Prep, and he's making a big donation to the school. He knew the guy who owns the TV station and I think he knows Mr. Caffrey, too. Maybe you can ask him what to do. I think he's the one who set up the interview with the television station."

Evan had liked Peter Burke and was really looking forward to the internship this summer, even if he would just spend eight hours a day making photocopies and fetching coffee. It was really kind of funny that he knew Mr. Caffrey, though. "You think he'd help?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Wanna come with me to his office?"

Chloe shrugged and smiled. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

END PART FIVE
GO TO PART SIX