elrhiarhodan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elrhiarhodan) wrote2015-07-02 01:06 pm
elrhiarhodan) wrote2015-07-02 01:06 pm
Entry tags:
- character: bancroft,
- character: clinton jones,
- character: daniel picah,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: garrett fowler,
- character: june ellington,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: philip kramer,
- genre: abuse,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: badassery,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: romance,
- genre: ust,
- kink: oral sex,
- pairing: elizabeth/mozzie,
- pairing: neal/adler,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- wc verse: torch song,
- written for: wcrbb,
- year: 2015
White Collar Fic - Torch Song - Part Six of Seven (Reverse Big Bang R2)
Title: Torch Song – Part Six of Seven
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Artist: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.
__________________
Monday morning brought too many regrets.
Regret for consuming the better part of a bottle of scotch. Regret for the bright spring sunlight burning past his eyelids. Regret for a busy schedule filled with meetings that couldn't be cancelled, short of death.
And most of all, regret for his own stupidity, his pride, for hearing but not listening. Regrets for tossing away the best thing that ever happened to him because it was easier to assume than to understand.
Peter had watched Circumspect last night. He hadn't wanted to, but he did – thinking that it would vindicate him. That he'd see the cunning and the triumph on Neal's face when he talked about his act, but it wasn't there. Peter replayed the question and answer over and over again, trying to find that one spark of emotion that would vindicate his anger. All he saw was worry that this "hobby" could somehow taint what he'd done to support a transgender child in the face of cruelty, ignorance and bigotry.
Peter took a car to his offices on Sixth and Fifty-Third, normally an easy ten-minute walk. He just didn't own a pair of sunglasses dark enough to block the sun's stabbing rays.
Diana was an unfortunate ray of sunshine, clearly ready to comment on Neal. Peter pulled off his sunglasses and glared at her. "Don't say a single word."
She backed off, and whispered something to Peter's admin, Blake. A few minutes after he sat down at his desk, Blake came in with a perfectly pulled cup of espresso. He grunted his thanks and started going through his calendar. Like most Mondays, the day was front loaded, back-to-back conference calls with music executives in Europe. It was eight AM now and he wouldn't get a break until well after two.
Peter went into the conference room and Clinton looked like he was going say something – probably about how weird it was that his boyfriend was actually the female singer he was so interested in. But Clinton backed down and they focused on the contracts that were under negotiation. One call rolled into another. Blake came in with more coffee and some freshly squeezed juice, which seemed to help. Clinton left, and Diana came in to handle the next round of meetings.
A little past noon, before the next call started, Peter excused himself. His head was pounding and his bladder was screaming for mercy. From his days at William Morris, he'd developed an appreciation for executive privilege and an understanding of when best to use it. Having a private washroom might have seemed over the top these days, in a city whose billionaire mayor had a cubicle in the center of a busy bullpen, but it was one of the very few perks that Peter had insisted on for himself.
Before he left, he instructed Diana to get on the next call without him – he'd join in as soon as he was finished.
Peter took care of business, downed a couple of Advil and contemplated skipping the video conference with the BMI reps. This was Diana's sweet spot; she'd begun to make a name for herself as a hardnosed negotiator for streaming rights and royalty payments, and he felt comfortable leaving the discussions in her hands. At least for the moment.
Instead of heading back to the conference room, he went towards his office, stopping at Blake's desk for any updates and messages. To his surprise, Blake told him there were two people waiting for him – Evan Leary, his soon-to-be intern, and Chloe Woods.
"I've put them in the small conference room. The kids were adamant that they would wait until you were free."
"Did they say what they wanted?" Peter had no clue why these two would need to see him.
"No, but they said it was very important." Blake grimaced. "I would have told them to make an appointment, but I saw Circumspect last night and I recognized the girl. I figured that the boy was the one who'd made the YouTube vid that went viral. Thought you might want to see them sooner, rather than later. Did I do the right thing?"
Peter nodded. "Yeah – it's okay." He dropped the stack of messages he'd picked up from Blake's desk and headed into the small conference room off of his office. The two kids in their school uniforms – red jackets with gold Manhattan Prep patches and red and gold striped ties – looked like refugees from Hogwarts.
They both looked up when he entered; Chloe was smiling but Evan seemed anxious and upset. "I'm told you needed to talk to me – that it was 'very important'. What's the matter?"
Chloe opened her mouth, but Evan shushed her. "I think I'm in trouble and I need your help."
"Okay." Unsure how he could help, Peter sat down and listened to the boy telling his story. The remnants of his hangover were burned away by his growing anger. The story was so outrageous, and yet, given what he'd learned about Callaway, and Phillip Kramer's well publicized crusade against "deviant" behavior, it wasn't surprising.
"Phillip Kramer and the headmaster, Amanda Callaway, asked you to lie to the police, to make a false accusation that your history teacher tried to molest you?"
Evan nodded. "I recorded everything."
"You did?"
"Yeah – the school secretary, when she came to take me into the meeting, said she was told to tell me to leave my phone in my locker. So I had to think, why would they want me to leave my phone behind? What where they hiding? So I went into the boys' room, set it to record and I taped the whole thing." Evan backed up his words when he pulled out an iPhone. A few swipes and Callaway's voice filled the small room.
"You are going to go to the police and you're going to tell them that Neal Caffrey touched you inappropriately."
The conversation took on a surreal tone as Callaway gave Evan ideas about what he should say, and then Kramer telling her "not to be crude."
The recording ended a few minutes later, with Kramer urging Evan to do the right thing.
"I don't know what to do, Mr. Burke. I can't lie to the police and get Mr. Caffrey in trouble, but if the school demands my scholarship money back, and fees and damages, my folks will be ruined."
The poor kid was almost on the verge of hysteria, and Peter needed to calm him down. "First of all, neither the headmaster nor Mr. Kramer can officially speak for the Board of Governors." Peter carefully backed the recording up to where Evan had read the infamous Paragraph 19. " 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."
He paused the recording and pointed out, "This is a decision of the Board of Governors and there are five members on that board. Mr. Kramer is one person."
"But he said he'd be president of the Board by next year."
Peter had caught that. "That is a complete and total fabrication, Evan. The current president still has three years left in his term and will likely be reelected. You should also know that Mr. Bancroft – "
Chloe interrupted and smacked Evan's shoulder. "He gave an interview for Circumspect yesterday!"
"Yes, he did. Mr. Bancroft has come firmly down in support of Dignity for All and he knows all about your video. He's very angry at Mr. Kramer." Peter didn't need to tell Evan and Chloe just how angry. Sunday night, Kyle had sent him an email detailing Phillip Kramer's financial chicanery. The huge endowment he'd promised, the one that got him a seat on the Board, had never been funded. More than half-drunk, Peter had read the email and shrugged. Last night, his feelings were too tied up with his stupid pride to realize just what this meant, but now he did. "I don't think you need to worry about being expelled or being forced to return your scholarship money."
Evan took a deep breath and nodded, but the worry didn't disappear from his face. "What about Mr. Caffrey, though? They're out to get him and that's not right. Just because he stood up for Chloe."
Peter asked, "Can I have a copy of the recording?"
"Sure." Evan asked him for his email address. "I'll send you a Dropbox link, okay?"
"That's fine."
Evan asked, "Are you going to go to the police? Can you have Mr. Kramer and Principal Callaway arrested?"
Peter didn't know what he was going to do. "That's one option, but I think I'll take this to Mr. Bancroft, first."
Chloe was fierce. "They should go to jail – and not for what they tried to do to me, but for trying to hurt Evan and Mr. Caffrey. Why shouldn't they suffer?"
"I agree, they should – but that's probably not your decision or mine. Evan, do you want me to take this to the police?"
The kid shook his head. "I don't know. I don't want it swept under the rug, but I don't want the school to be hurt, either. And that could happen, right?"
"Yes – there's been some bad publicity and there will be more. You did nothing wrong, but there might be people who don't see things like that. And Mr. Caffrey – " Peter swallowed, trying not to feel sick at the thought of Neal, as well as Neal's reaction to this. "- might not want to be in the spotlight again, either."
"Okay. But can I be here when you talk with Mr. Bancroft?"
Chloe added, "Can we both?"
Peter smiled and promised them that they could, if at all possible. "Let me go back to my office and tell Mr. Bancroft about the recording. I'll see if he wants to come here and talk with you, okay?"
The kids nodded in unison and hugged each other. Under different circumstances, Peter might have thought them too adorable for words.
♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫
Neal had taken Bancroft's advice and didn't go to work.
June was due back from Boston tonight, but she knew what was going on. Neal had called her before going with Peter to the television station, to warn her that there might be some unpleasant publicity. His godmother had laughed and told him not to worry. She'd send Tiny Carl and Esteban, the bouncers she used on busy Saturday nights, to keep watch on the house.
Pity that neither of them had thought about "Nicole".
When Neal got home, he found Tiny and Esteban relaxing in a pair of beach chairs in front of the house, enjoying a paid day of April sunshine. They waved and Neal waved back, because as tired as he was, he couldn't be rude.
Marthé greeted him with concern and too much French; it was the middle of a school day and this was the last place he was supposed to be. Neal just said he was really feeling unwell and he just needed to rest. He had no clue whether Marthé had seen the interview last night, but since she didn't comment, he figured she hadn't. That wouldn't last – the incident made the front page of the New York Times Metro section and eventually everyone would see it.
As he let himself into his apartment, his phone buzzed with an incoming text and he checked the screen. It was from Elizabeth. He hadn't talked to her since Saturday morning, when he gave her the rundown on his confrontation with Callaway. He hadn't alerted her to the Circumspect interview and she was dying for information.
Neal sent a reply, "Kind of exhausted, just got put through the mill by the school's attorneys. Everything's ok. Just need some sleep. Talk later."
He put the phone into vibrate mode and stripped to his skin before crawling into his unmade bed. Like last night, sleep was elusive. He kept hearing Peter's voice, accusing him, treating him like some sort of criminal. That had been Vincent's mode, too. Vincent would find something that he'd done wrong and spend hours tearing him apart, destroying him from the inside out. Humiliating him, belittling him, and when he was done with the words, he'd start with the belts and the fists and …
No. Neal ruthlessly shut his mind against those memories. As bad as Peter was, he wasn't in Vincent's league. Not even close. Peter wasn't a sadist.
Which wasn't saying that he wasn't a judgmental bastard.
And beautiful. And smart. And other than being a judgmental bastard, Peter Burke was everything he'd ever wanted in a man. Someone who could be strong without needing to control his every thought. Someone who'd challenge him to be better, to be smarter, to do the right thing because it was the right thing, not because he might get ahead of the game.
But Peter was still a judgmental bastard who knew how to flay him with a few carefully chosen words, and Neal wasn't going to go through that again.
Although he was alone, there was a pleasant background hum. The fridge in his small kitchen area vibrated when the compressor was going, and it sent the old windows vibrating in a C-major chord. In the distance, he could hear a vacuum cleaner and the sounds of a salsa playing, which meant that Carmen was on the third floor. A sharp bark, and then a few more in quick succession told Neal that June was home and Bugsy was reasserting his place in the house.
All of these noises were familiar, beloved, restful. They lulled him, they comforted him, and just before Neal fell asleep, he promised himself that after today, there would be no more wallowing. Whatever he could have had with Peter just wasn't meant to be, and there was no point in dwelling on it.
A sharp clatter, followed by insistent buzzing, woke Neal from a sound sleep. He opened his eyes and tracked the source of the unpleasant noise – it was his cell phone, which had vibrated itself off the nightstand and onto the floor. It took some effort, but he managed to retrieve it. The call was from a 212 number, which meant someone's landline. The phone stopped ringing and the telephone number was replaced with the call log. Neal flicked through the list; the 212 number appeared about a half-dozen times over the last half-hour. At the bottom on the list was a call from someone in his contact list.
Peter.
Before Neal could listen to the voice messages, his phone rang again. It was the same 212 number.
"Hello?"
"Caffrey – thank god you've finally answered."
"Mr. Bancroft? What's the matter?"
The man was abrupt. "There's been some developments. You'll need to come back to the office where you gave your statement this morning."
"Developments? What kind of developments?"
"Look, when can you get here?"
Neal wiped his eyes. If there was something going on, he probably shouldn't show up half asleep. "An hour?"
"Okay, that'll have to do."
Neal could hear someone in the background. It sounded like Peter. "Do I need a lawyer?"
"No – not at all. You have nothing to worry about. Just get here as soon as you can."
Bancroft ended the call and Neal stared at his phone for a few seconds. Despite the other man's words, Neal still worried. But sitting here wasn't going to resolve anything.
He took a quick shower and shaved again, but his eyes felt gritty and dry – a signal that he'd been wearing his contacts too long. He popped out his contacts and put on his glasses, then headed to his closet. For some reason, he didn't think chinos, a button down, and a sport coat were appropriate. He pulled out one of Byron's suits – not the black one he'd worn the night he met Peter, but a Baltic blue St. Laurent that was probably far too expensive for a mere teacher, but wearing it had always made Neal feel strong. June had once told him that Byron had worn it the last time he'd taken her dancing, and Neal liked to believe that it was the love imbued in the fabric that gave him strength.
It was a little before two when Neal headed downstairs, where he found June flipping through the mail that had accumulated over the weekend. She looked up when he entered. "Neal, Marthé told me you were home in the middle of the day. Is everything all right?"
"I had to give a statement this morning at the school's lawyers' office and I was too fried to go teach for the rest of the day. And don't worry – the president of the Board of Governors was the one to insist I take the rest of the day off."
June walked over to him. "I'm not worried that you've missed a day of teaching, I'm worried about you. I saw the interview last night, and now I hear you needed to make an official statement. And it looks like you've got another important appointment." She patted the collar of his jacket, smoothing the fine wool. "And you're wearing this suit. Of course I'm concerned. What's going on?"
"I don't know. I just got a call that I have to go back to the lawyers' office."
"Do you need me to go with you? Should I call Hale?"
Neal kissed June's cheek. "No need to send for the lawyers, yet. And I think I can handle this, but would it be possible to get Frederick to drive me to Midtown?"
"Of course, my dear." June picked up the house phone and called the chauffeur, asking him to bring the car around immediately. "Just let me know if you need me, for anything."
"I will, and thank you."
June walked with him to the front door and Neal could feel the weight of her love and worry. It was a welcome burden.
The trip back down to the lawyers' offices took a lot longer than expected, which meant that Neal arrived thirty minutes later than the promised hour. Despite his own words to June, and Bancroft's comments to him, he couldn't help but worry. And then there was the niggling suspicion that Peter was involved. He might have resolved not to beg Peter to forgive him, but that would be a lot easier if he didn't see Peter.
The car pulled up to the building and Neal let Frederick do the whole chauffeur thing, if just to buy him a little time.
To his surprise, when he went to sign in, there was someone from the law firm waiting for him. "Mr. Caffrey, please come with me." The woman took him to a different floor and led him through a small warren of cubicles, into a room that looked a lot like the television studio control room where his life had fallen apart. "Please take a seat. I'd offer you coffee, but beverages are strictly prohibited in this room."
Neal nodded. "Okay, but will someone tell me what's going on?"
The woman smiled, and oddly, he wasn't comforted. "Someone will be here in a few minutes." With that, she left.
Neal suppressed the urge to fiddle with the control panels; instead, he took out his phone and sent Elizabeth a quick text. Back at the lawyers U free for dinner 2nite? As he pressed send, someone came into the room, but it was no one he recognized.
The woman asked, "Would you mind scooting over a little, I've got to get this up and running."
Neal complied and watched in fascination as she worked the switches and touch panels like she was at the helm of the Enterprise. The screens above the console came to life, displaying an empty conference room – the same one that Neal had spent a few hours in earlier in the day. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why he was here and what was going on.
The door behind him opened and, to his relief, it was Bancroft. "Thank you for coming back, Neal. And I'm sorry for the earlier melodrama."
"What's going on?"
"Amanda Callaway is coming in to give her statement."
"That's why you called me back? So I could hear her give her side of what happened on Friday?" Then Neal remembered. "You said that there were developments."
"There are – and ordinarily, we wouldn't have you listen to another statement, but there are things you need to hear."
"Like what?"
In the dimly lit room, it was hard to make out the expression on Bancroft's face, but Neal thought he saw disgust there. "I'm just going to let you listen."
"Okay."
Someone else came into the room and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He knew, without turning around, that Peter had just joined them. But the sound of two excited – and familiar – voices shocked him.
"Hey, Mr. Caffrey!" Chloe was there, grinning from ear to ear. Of course, Evan was right behind her, but he was a little more subdued.
"What are you doing here? Why aren't you in class?"
Chloe rolled her eyes, and as Evan started to answer, there was movement on the screen. It looked like Callaway had arrived, accompanied by someone. That pair was followed by the two attorneys who'd grilled Neal this morning.
Neal wanted to ask some more questions, but Bancroft gave him a brief and reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. "I need to go. If you still have any questions after this, I'll be happy to answer them."
Neal sucked in a deep breath. Whatever was going on involved his students and somehow involved Peter. The kids flanked him, but Peter – thankfully – kept his distance.
The tech turned up the audio feed, just in time to hear the school's attorneys giving Callaway the same introduction he got this morning.
"This interview is being recorded using the four cameras in this room." One of the attorneys pointed to four wall-mounted cameras. "There is room audio." She pointed to the ceiling, to something that Neal couldn't see. "But for accuracy's sake, please be sure to speak into the microphones they're bringing in."
Callaway's attorney, Terrance Pratt, grumbled, but Callaway herself actually twittered like an airhead. "So much technology, just for a routine statement?"
The older attorney, who'd been introduced to Neal as Garrett Fowler, gave her a thin smile and commented, "This is for your benefit as well as for the school's. It's become standard practice, and a lot more accurate than a stenographer."
A tech entered the room, followed by Bancroft, and set up a microphone at each position on the table. They completed the standard audio checks, the tech left, and Bancroft gestured for everyone to take a seat.
Neal was dying to know what was going on. He could ask Evan and Chloe, he could ask Peter, but there was a reason why Bancroft wanted him to watch and listen.
Introductions were made for the record and Fowler started by asking Callaway the same questions that he'd asked Neal, to describe the events on Friday.
To Neal's surprise, Callaway kept to the facts. He realized that she'd probably been very well coached by her attorney. After she'd finished, Fowler's line of questioning took a different tack. "What made you decide to confront Chloe Woods on Friday?"
"I'd just learned that Charles Woods had been dressing up as a girl for many years and I found that situation both disturbing and dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"He was using the girls' toilet and gym facilities, he had access to our female students at their most vulnerable moments. I acted out of deep concern that Mr. Woods would use his illness as a cover to attack the very femininity that he is trying to mimic."
Neal felt Chloe stiffen in outrage, but then Evan reached over and wrapped an arm around her, whispering, "She's a stupid bitch, you're ten times the woman she is."
Callaway added self-righteously, "My only thought was to protect those girls, and the other children who would be hurt by Charles' deviant behavior, his sickness."
Bancroft leaned over and whispered something to Fowler, both men's hands carefully placed over their mics. Fowler nodded. "Why do you say that Ms. Woods is ill?"
"He's crazy – to think that he's really a girl. God gave him a penis; that means that God intended for him to be a boy. He's going against the will of God and nature."
"And anyone who acts contrary to what you term as "God's will" is crazy?"
Calloway puffed herself up. "Yes."
Bancroft and Fowler did the whole whispering thing again, but before Fowler could continue his questioning, Callaway started talking. "Look, I realize that I probably shouldn't have used a bullhorn when I was trying to educate Mr. Woods as to proper behavior, but I was moved to act with great urgency and the hallways were busy, and well, I'm just naturally such a soft-spoken person. I just wanted to make sure I was able to get my message across." Callaway turned to her attorney, and the tech at the console zoomed in on their faces. She seemed smug and a little triumphant, but the attorney was frowning.
Fowler followed up on Callaway's statement. "So, you didn't believe it would be more appropriate to, say, have Ms. Woods escorted to your office to have your discussion? You thought it was appropriate to address your issues in public?"
This time, Callaway and her attorney conferred, taking pains to cover their mouths, hiding from the camera. They finished and Callaway leaned forward. "As I said, I was concerned about the danger Mr. Woods represented to the female students, so I wanted to ensure as many people as possible knew just what this boy was doing and the danger he represented."
Fowler started to ask, "Why do you feel that – ", but Bancroft cut him off. The two men regrouped and Fowler refocused his questioning. "When you were a candidate for the position you currently hold, did you do any research on the school? Its history, its policies?"
"Of course I did."
"So, you were aware of the Dignity for All policy."
Callaway paused and glanced at her attorney, who nodded. "Yes."
"So you were aware that there was a policy in place that provided accommodations for transgender students."
"Yes, I was."
"Would it be fair to say that you personally believe that transgender students, such as Ms. Woods, represent a danger and should not be granted the accommodations in the Dignity for All policy? That you, personally, find transgender students disturbing and mentally ill?"
Callaway again eye-checked with her attorney. The man frowned but gestured for her to answer. "Yes. That is a fair statement."
"Then why, given your own personal bias and beliefs, would you take a job at an institution which has an established policy guaranteeing accommodations to transgender students?"
This time, Callaway didn't hesitate in her answer. "I was assured that this so-called Dignity policy would be revoked and those poor, twisted children would be removed from the school."
"And who gave you these assurances?"
Neal thought it interesting that Callaway's lawyer all but slapped a hand over his client's mouth. After a few moments of furious whispering, Callaway answered, "I elect not to answer that question."
For the first time, Bancroft spoke. "Ms. Callaway, let me remind you that the terms of your contract with Manhattan Preparatory Academy require you to cooperate fully with this investigation."
Callaway and her attorney consulted again, and still she refused to answer the question.
Fowler took back the reins of the interview. "Would it be correct to say that Phillip Kramer suggested that you apply for the position you currently hold?"
"Yes."
"How long have you known Phillip Kramer?"
"I was his student at the university I attended. Mr. Kramer taught a seminar there."
"Which university would that be, Ms. Callaway?"
"Liberty University."
Fowler paused to check a folder, then asked, "When did you attend this school?"
"From 1991 to 1995."
"You received a degree from Liberty University?"
"Yes."
"Your bachelor's degree?"
"Yes, in Communications and Social Influence."
"Hmmm, but your employment application states that from 1991 to 1995, you attended the Mercer University, in Georgia, and received a degree in Education. How is it that you managed to attend two different schools in two different states at the same time and get two completely different degrees?"
Callaway didn't answer.
"And according to your employment file, requests to verify your educational history were waived. By Phillip Kramer." Fowler commented, more to himself, "The problem with lying is that you need to remember who you lied to and when you lied."
Again, Callaway didn't respond.
Fowler asked, "Liberty University is a Christian-centric school with a curriculum focused on fundamentalist beliefs, correct?"
"Yes."
"And you share those beliefs?"
"Yes."
"Why, then, did you apply for and accept a position at Manhattan Prep, which is an institution founded by secular humanists and is still committed to providing an education based on those principles? Was it because you were assured that there would be a change in policy?"
Callaway spat out, "Yes."
"By who, Ms. Callaway? Who assured you that the school would be reversing a century-old tradition of tolerance, inclusion and acceptance?"
Pratt, Callaway's attorney, finally stepped in. "These questions are outside of the scope of your investigation into the so-called incident on Friday. My client's education was deemed sufficient and acceptable by the Board of Governors. She was interviewed several times and the Board – of which Mr. Bancroft here is the head of – approved her hiring."
Bancroft replied, "Ms. Callaway was asked about her education, and at the time, she stated she was a graduate of Mercer University. She was asked about her positions on gender diversity and representation, and she did not indicate any of the beliefs or attitudes evidenced in her statements on Friday and what she's just said on record." Bancroft snagged the folder that Fowler had referred to several times and pulled out a piece of paper. "Like all employees, Ms. Callaway was required to read and confirm her acceptance of the Dignity for All policy. I was there when she signed it." Bancroft pushed the paper to Pratt. "If Ms. Callaway never intended to comply with this policy, she signed it in bad faith."
Neal watched the monitors with fascination. But he was still waiting for the "developments" that Bancroft had hinted at, the reason why his students were here. Why Peter was here.
He didn't have much longer to wait.
Pratt asked, "What are you getting at?"
"I think that Ms. Callaway's time at Manhattan Prep has to end."
"You can't fire me!"
Bancroft's lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile. "I don't have to fire you."
"Only the Board can terminate my contract."
"And you don't think they won't? By your own words, you accepted employment under false pretenses. That puts your contract on very shaky grounds."
Callaway sat there, her chin jutting out. "I think I have all the support I need on the Board."
"Phillip Kramer is one man, he has one vote."
"He's not the only one who believes that the school needs to rethink its godless, liberal ways."
This time Bancroft did smile. "Warren Haskley retired this morning. As president of the Board of Governors, I can appoint an interim member to fill that vacancy until elections are held."
Callaway maintained her defiance. "You can't fire me. And I won't resign."
Fowler casually commented, "Even if the alternative is jail?"
That got Neal's attention. Jail? As much as he liked the idea of putting Amanda Callaway in a place where she couldn't harm another child, her brand of bigotry was still protected by the First Amendment.
"What are you talking about?"
Fowler reached over to a console on the table and pressed a few buttons. His murmur, "I hope this fucking thing works" was clearly audible.
It did work. Callaway's voice filled the room.
"But that's not why we're here. As a scholarship student, you have certain obligations to the school.".
"What do you mean?" To Neal's surprise, Evan's voice came through the audio system and Neal looked at his student, who was grinning, a sharp contrast to the confused tenor in the recording.
Neal listened as Callaway pointed out a paragraph in Evan's scholarship agreement, which Evan read out loud.
"You're in big trouble, Mr. Leary."
Fowler paused the playback. "Do you have anything to say, Ms. Callaway?"
The woman looked like she'd just swallowed a glass of vinegar.
Fowler pressed a button and playback resumed. There was a new voice, wheezing and unpleasant, a voice that Neal recognized from the few occasions that he'd listened to talk radio the past few years. It was Phillip Kramer.
"Your little video has badly damaged the reputation of this school, son."
Neal heard Evan defending himself, then Kramer again. The man could have been reading Keats' "She Walks in Beauty" but that voice was enough to make Neal want to puncture his own eardrums.
Callaway's lawyer interrupted the playback. "What is the point of this?"
Bancroft bluntly stated, "Your client is a liar and a bully."
"What you call bullying I'd say is protecting the interests of her employer. And so she lied on her employment application, that's not a criminal offense. And this – " The man gestured to the audio control console. "This is meaningless. My client's rights were violated by whoever recorded this conversation."
Fowler replied, "You should brush up on your New York wiretap law, Pratt. In this state, only one party present has to give consent to the recording."
Callaway lost it, "Which means that little fag-loving twerp recorded this! He was told to leave his phone in his locker!"
Fowler let out a gusty sigh. "Control your client. And you're also wrong about lying on a job application not being a criminal offense. It's fraud. She lied about her educational qualifications to secure a position that she wouldn't otherwise have been considered for. She lied about her intentions to uphold established school policies. Your client received compensation for services she had no intention of performing. But I'll be honest, fraud charges are the least of Ms. Callaway's problems." Fowler restarted the playback.
"Mr. Leary, we're not trying to frighten you, or force you to leave the school. We want you to do the right thing."
Neal almost fell out of his chair when Callaway said his name. "Mr. Caffrey is one of your teachers, right?" Over the rapid beating of his heart, Neal could barely hear Evan's reply.
But then he almost laughed; Callaway called him a "disgusting pervert, a dirty faggot who goes around dressing in women's clothes." The woman was practically a cartoon parody of a homophobe. What he heard next, however, killed all humor.
Kramer more than implied that he had some sort of sexual interest in Evan. Evan, thank god, vehemently denied it.
Callaway's next words chilled him to the bone. "You are going to go to the police and you're going to tell them that Neal Caffrey touched you inappropriately."
Neal looked at Evan, who was biting his lip. "I'm sorry about this, Mr. Caffrey. I had no idea that this would happen."
Chloe was the voice of reason. "It's okay, Evan. You didn't do anything wrong. You did everything right."
Neal nodded. Whatever brought them to this room was the right thing. The recording continued to play, and Kramer and Callaway laid out what they wanted Evan to do and why. It finally came to an end and Neal felt like throwing up – those bastards wanted to destroy him and they had the nerve to tell Evan to "do the right thing." But he took a few deep breaths and tried to concentrate on the drama playing out in a conference room several floors away.
"Now, I'm not a criminal attorney, but I have friends in the U.S. Attorney's office and with the Manhattan D.A., and I think they'd tell me that what I just heard was a criminal conspiracy – conspiracy to file a false police report, blackmail, intent to commit theft. And since I believe Mr. Leary's scholarship for a single year is more than ten thousand dollars, that's within Federal jurisdiction and a felony." Fowler was leaning back in his chair, as if he didn't care what Callaway's answer would be.
Callaway opened her mouth, but her lawyer was quick to step in with his own terms. "My client will admit to nothing, but she will resign at the end of the school year. You will pay her the balance of her contract and she will agree not to speak to the media about the events of last Friday or her decision to resign her position as Headmaster of Manhattan Prep. If anyone – whether it's the news media or a future employer - enquires, the official response will be that the decision was amicable and jointly made, and the school regrets the departure of such a talented administrator."
Bancroft took over. "Actually, your client will resign effective immediately. She will not be permitted back on school premises. She will receive her salary earned through today as well as any accrued vacation pay. Her benefits will terminate immediately. She will keep her mouth shut about everything she's done. The school will confirm her dates of employment and salary for any future employers, and will be free to comment on the terms of separation if it so chooses. If she does not agree to these terms, I will be more than happy to turn this recording over to the F.B.I. My own friends in the Justice Department tell me that something like this could even bring a RICO charge. And you know how much the U.S. Attorney loves to make a splash those racketeering and corruption cases." Bancroft picked up another file and handed it to Pratt. "Ms. Callaway's letter of resignation. She signs it here, she signs it now. Or I give the recording to the Feds and this all goes public."
Neal watched as Callaway and her attorney reviewed the document. He held his breath as Callaway scrawled her name across the bottom of the page. She pushed the folder back across the conference table and knocked over the microphone, sending a piercing feedback whine through the control room, and then stood up so abruptly, her chair crashed to the floor. "Let's get out of here."
Pratt shook his head at his client's less than lady-like behavior, and said, "Messenger over a copy."
Fowler nodded and as soon as the door shut behind the pair, he spoke into his own mic. "Bobbi, tell me you got everything, no glitches."
Bobbi – who was the tech in the control room – replied, "Got it all, no glitches."
"Excellent – can you bring everyone up to the conference room?"
"Sure thing, Mr. F."
Bobbi powered down the equipment and asked everyone to come with her; they needed to go up to the twenty-first floor. Neal, his head still spinning from everything he had seen and heard, followed. Or he would have, except Peter stopped him.
"Neal, can we talk?"
♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫
The last hour had been an exquisite torture. Being in the same room with Neal, he was so close to him, and yet it felt like there was an ocean's worth of distance between them. That was his fault, all his fault.
Peter didn't give the drama on the monitors his full attention. Callaway's interview was a mere formality, conducted mostly to satisfy Bancroft's desire to show Evan and Chloe that their school believed that justice wasn't just for the rich and the powerful. And that it would be better than revenge. Chloe Woods had a spine of steel and, to everyone's surprise, insisted that they take the recording Evan had made to the reporter, Helen Anderson, and let her air it as a follow up. She wanted to humiliate Callaway as much as possible – as she'd put it, shine a light so bright on her ignorance and bigotry that not even a cockroach could hide.
Bancroft, though, urged moderation, but left the decision up to Evan. He was – in this instance – the victim of a crime and he should have the right to choose how to go forward. The kid asked a whole bunch of questions, about what would happen if he went to the police, or if he did as Chloe urged, and went to the media. Would his scholarship be at risk? How would that affect his future, his parents, and what about Mr. Caffrey? Shouldn't he have a say in the matter, too?
Bancroft patiently answered the boy's questions as thoroughly as he could, assuring him that his scholarship was never, ever at risk. He then suggested some alternatives, ones that would get Callaway out with the maximum amount of efficiency and the highest yield of humiliation. Which was why they'd spent the last hour in a dark room.
He had to admit, it was satisfying to watch Bancroft and Fowler take that woman apart. She must have been a better actor back when she had been interviewed for the Headmaster position, because Peter couldn't understand how anyone would think she was compatible with Manhattan Prep's educational mission. Or perhaps the Board had been too blinded by the promise of Phillip Kramer's money to see the truth.
The kids were ebullient as they followed the tech, Bobbi, out of the control room, and Peter seized the opportunity and grabbed Neal's arm as he passed.
"Neal, can we talk?"
To his relief, Neal didn't shake him off and leave. But his voice was cold when he said, "What more do we have to talk about? You made yourself very clear last night."
Peter pulled him back into the control room and closed the door. "I'm sorry. I was a jackass yesterday, last night, and I'm sorry."
His apology caught Neal by surprise, but Neal wasn't giving him any quarter. "Yes, you were."
"You caught me by surprise and I overreacted."
Neal sighed. "I have the feeling that that happens quite often with you."
"What does?"
"You overreact and lash out."
Peter's first instinct was to deny that, but as he thought about it, Neal was right. He rarely got angry, but when he did, he wasn't the slow-burn type. It happened in a flash and was over. "Maybe I do." It was a galling thing to admit.
Neal didn't say anything, he just looked at him.
"You're not going to forgive me, are you?"
"I – I want to."
"But?"
Neal was staring at some point over his shoulder and Peter just wanted to shake him. Or kiss him.
Then, Neal spoke. The quiet intensity made the hair on the back of Peter's neck stand up.
"For five years, I was in a relationship with someone who had an unpredictable temper. Or at least, he had a temper and liked to pretend it was uncontrollable. I suspect he was in complete control and just enjoyed the power his rages brought." Neal shook himself. "You don't have to tell me that you're not like that. I know, and I know I fucked things up when I didn't tell you that I was the singer you were so enamored of."
"Neal – "
"Peter, let me finish. Like I said, I want to forgive you, but if I did, I think I'd be right back to where I was when I was with Vincent. Weak, needy, helpless, wanting to please because I didn't want to be afraid, because I didn't want to get hurt anymore."
"I'd never hurt you, I'd never, ever lift a hand to you. Or to anyone."
"I know that, too. But in my head, I think I'll always be afraid. I can't trust myself not to fall back into that pit, desperately needing to please you, afraid of what would happen if I didn't."
Peter didn't know what to say.
"Remember what I told you, that first night, when we went up to my apartment at June's? That I was pretty fucked up? I wasn't lying."
Peter swallowed and found his voice. "You don't want to try and make something work?"
"If I said I didn't, I'd be lying. But you have to understand, it's too much of a risk."
"And promising that it would never happen again would be pointless. Because that's what abusers do, don't they?"
Neal gave him a puzzled look. "I never said I was abused, Peter."
"But you were. From everything you've told me, it's pretty clear that this Vincent – he abused you."
Neal shrugged, but Peter could see how this idea affected him.
"I'm sorry, Neal. Sorrier than I can say – I let my pride ruin something wonderful." He was heartsick.
"You're not the only one at fault. I lied to you."
"Lied? No, I don't think so. Maybe you omitted some critical facts, but you didn't lie."
"I should have told you about Nicole when you first mentioned her. It might have saved us a lot of grief."
Peter had to ask, "Why didn't you?"
"I don't know. She's not 'me', but your praise was … flattering."
"I wasn't flattering. Everything I said was true. She could be a superstar. You could be a superstar. That's what I thought, from the first minute I heard you."
"No, Peter. That's not what I want. Maybe I was tempted for a few seconds – and like I said, I was flattered by your enthusiasm. But I love being a teacher, I love it a universe more than I love getting on stage and pretending to be someone else."
"I understand." He did. "I should have understood that yesterday, when you looked at that picture, the one the reporter found. I know just how dedicated you are, but I let my pride get in the way of my heart." Peter shook his head. "Want to hear something funny?"
"What?"
"When I saw you, when I heard you sing, I got aroused. You turned me on and I had a quiet freak out, because here was this gorgeous woman giving me a hard-on. How funny is that?"
Neal ducked his head. "Sorry."
"No, you're not. You find it funny, too. Admit it."
Neal looked up, and he was smiling. "Okay, yeah – it's kind of funny."
"Pity I couldn't stay for the second act. As much as I was entranced by Nicole, I might have jumped the stage for Nick."
Neal just shook his head.
"But none of this makes a difference, does it?"
"No, it can't."
Peter scrubbed his face, suddenly weary. "I understand. But if you ever change your mind – about anything – call me. If you need anything, ever, just call me. Please?"
"I will, I promise."
Peter wasn't sure he believed him, but at least he could hope. Neal turned to leave, but Peter had one more thing to say. "Don't ever believe you're worth anything less than the best, because that is what you are. You're strong and you're smart and there is no one who deserves happiness more than you do."
Before Neal could leave, Peter leaned over and kissed him softly, on the cheek. "Take care of yourself."
END PART SIX
GO TO PART SEVEN
Author:
elrhiarhodanArtist:
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.
Monday morning brought too many regrets.
Regret for consuming the better part of a bottle of scotch. Regret for the bright spring sunlight burning past his eyelids. Regret for a busy schedule filled with meetings that couldn't be cancelled, short of death.
And most of all, regret for his own stupidity, his pride, for hearing but not listening. Regrets for tossing away the best thing that ever happened to him because it was easier to assume than to understand.
Peter had watched Circumspect last night. He hadn't wanted to, but he did – thinking that it would vindicate him. That he'd see the cunning and the triumph on Neal's face when he talked about his act, but it wasn't there. Peter replayed the question and answer over and over again, trying to find that one spark of emotion that would vindicate his anger. All he saw was worry that this "hobby" could somehow taint what he'd done to support a transgender child in the face of cruelty, ignorance and bigotry.
Peter took a car to his offices on Sixth and Fifty-Third, normally an easy ten-minute walk. He just didn't own a pair of sunglasses dark enough to block the sun's stabbing rays.
Diana was an unfortunate ray of sunshine, clearly ready to comment on Neal. Peter pulled off his sunglasses and glared at her. "Don't say a single word."
She backed off, and whispered something to Peter's admin, Blake. A few minutes after he sat down at his desk, Blake came in with a perfectly pulled cup of espresso. He grunted his thanks and started going through his calendar. Like most Mondays, the day was front loaded, back-to-back conference calls with music executives in Europe. It was eight AM now and he wouldn't get a break until well after two.
Peter went into the conference room and Clinton looked like he was going say something – probably about how weird it was that his boyfriend was actually the female singer he was so interested in. But Clinton backed down and they focused on the contracts that were under negotiation. One call rolled into another. Blake came in with more coffee and some freshly squeezed juice, which seemed to help. Clinton left, and Diana came in to handle the next round of meetings.
A little past noon, before the next call started, Peter excused himself. His head was pounding and his bladder was screaming for mercy. From his days at William Morris, he'd developed an appreciation for executive privilege and an understanding of when best to use it. Having a private washroom might have seemed over the top these days, in a city whose billionaire mayor had a cubicle in the center of a busy bullpen, but it was one of the very few perks that Peter had insisted on for himself.
Before he left, he instructed Diana to get on the next call without him – he'd join in as soon as he was finished.
Peter took care of business, downed a couple of Advil and contemplated skipping the video conference with the BMI reps. This was Diana's sweet spot; she'd begun to make a name for herself as a hardnosed negotiator for streaming rights and royalty payments, and he felt comfortable leaving the discussions in her hands. At least for the moment.
Instead of heading back to the conference room, he went towards his office, stopping at Blake's desk for any updates and messages. To his surprise, Blake told him there were two people waiting for him – Evan Leary, his soon-to-be intern, and Chloe Woods.
"I've put them in the small conference room. The kids were adamant that they would wait until you were free."
"Did they say what they wanted?" Peter had no clue why these two would need to see him.
"No, but they said it was very important." Blake grimaced. "I would have told them to make an appointment, but I saw Circumspect last night and I recognized the girl. I figured that the boy was the one who'd made the YouTube vid that went viral. Thought you might want to see them sooner, rather than later. Did I do the right thing?"
Peter nodded. "Yeah – it's okay." He dropped the stack of messages he'd picked up from Blake's desk and headed into the small conference room off of his office. The two kids in their school uniforms – red jackets with gold Manhattan Prep patches and red and gold striped ties – looked like refugees from Hogwarts.
They both looked up when he entered; Chloe was smiling but Evan seemed anxious and upset. "I'm told you needed to talk to me – that it was 'very important'. What's the matter?"
Chloe opened her mouth, but Evan shushed her. "I think I'm in trouble and I need your help."
"Okay." Unsure how he could help, Peter sat down and listened to the boy telling his story. The remnants of his hangover were burned away by his growing anger. The story was so outrageous, and yet, given what he'd learned about Callaway, and Phillip Kramer's well publicized crusade against "deviant" behavior, it wasn't surprising.
"Phillip Kramer and the headmaster, Amanda Callaway, asked you to lie to the police, to make a false accusation that your history teacher tried to molest you?"
Evan nodded. "I recorded everything."
"You did?"
"Yeah – the school secretary, when she came to take me into the meeting, said she was told to tell me to leave my phone in my locker. So I had to think, why would they want me to leave my phone behind? What where they hiding? So I went into the boys' room, set it to record and I taped the whole thing." Evan backed up his words when he pulled out an iPhone. A few swipes and Callaway's voice filled the small room.
"You are going to go to the police and you're going to tell them that Neal Caffrey touched you inappropriately."
The conversation took on a surreal tone as Callaway gave Evan ideas about what he should say, and then Kramer telling her "not to be crude."
The recording ended a few minutes later, with Kramer urging Evan to do the right thing.
"I don't know what to do, Mr. Burke. I can't lie to the police and get Mr. Caffrey in trouble, but if the school demands my scholarship money back, and fees and damages, my folks will be ruined."
The poor kid was almost on the verge of hysteria, and Peter needed to calm him down. "First of all, neither the headmaster nor Mr. Kramer can officially speak for the Board of Governors." Peter carefully backed the recording up to where Evan had read the infamous Paragraph 19. " 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."
He paused the recording and pointed out, "This is a decision of the Board of Governors and there are five members on that board. Mr. Kramer is one person."
"But he said he'd be president of the Board by next year."
Peter had caught that. "That is a complete and total fabrication, Evan. The current president still has three years left in his term and will likely be reelected. You should also know that Mr. Bancroft – "
Chloe interrupted and smacked Evan's shoulder. "He gave an interview for Circumspect yesterday!"
"Yes, he did. Mr. Bancroft has come firmly down in support of Dignity for All and he knows all about your video. He's very angry at Mr. Kramer." Peter didn't need to tell Evan and Chloe just how angry. Sunday night, Kyle had sent him an email detailing Phillip Kramer's financial chicanery. The huge endowment he'd promised, the one that got him a seat on the Board, had never been funded. More than half-drunk, Peter had read the email and shrugged. Last night, his feelings were too tied up with his stupid pride to realize just what this meant, but now he did. "I don't think you need to worry about being expelled or being forced to return your scholarship money."
Evan took a deep breath and nodded, but the worry didn't disappear from his face. "What about Mr. Caffrey, though? They're out to get him and that's not right. Just because he stood up for Chloe."
Peter asked, "Can I have a copy of the recording?"
"Sure." Evan asked him for his email address. "I'll send you a Dropbox link, okay?"
"That's fine."
Evan asked, "Are you going to go to the police? Can you have Mr. Kramer and Principal Callaway arrested?"
Peter didn't know what he was going to do. "That's one option, but I think I'll take this to Mr. Bancroft, first."
Chloe was fierce. "They should go to jail – and not for what they tried to do to me, but for trying to hurt Evan and Mr. Caffrey. Why shouldn't they suffer?"
"I agree, they should – but that's probably not your decision or mine. Evan, do you want me to take this to the police?"
The kid shook his head. "I don't know. I don't want it swept under the rug, but I don't want the school to be hurt, either. And that could happen, right?"
"Yes – there's been some bad publicity and there will be more. You did nothing wrong, but there might be people who don't see things like that. And Mr. Caffrey – " Peter swallowed, trying not to feel sick at the thought of Neal, as well as Neal's reaction to this. "- might not want to be in the spotlight again, either."
"Okay. But can I be here when you talk with Mr. Bancroft?"
Chloe added, "Can we both?"
Peter smiled and promised them that they could, if at all possible. "Let me go back to my office and tell Mr. Bancroft about the recording. I'll see if he wants to come here and talk with you, okay?"
The kids nodded in unison and hugged each other. Under different circumstances, Peter might have thought them too adorable for words.
Neal had taken Bancroft's advice and didn't go to work.
June was due back from Boston tonight, but she knew what was going on. Neal had called her before going with Peter to the television station, to warn her that there might be some unpleasant publicity. His godmother had laughed and told him not to worry. She'd send Tiny Carl and Esteban, the bouncers she used on busy Saturday nights, to keep watch on the house.
Pity that neither of them had thought about "Nicole".
When Neal got home, he found Tiny and Esteban relaxing in a pair of beach chairs in front of the house, enjoying a paid day of April sunshine. They waved and Neal waved back, because as tired as he was, he couldn't be rude.
Marthé greeted him with concern and too much French; it was the middle of a school day and this was the last place he was supposed to be. Neal just said he was really feeling unwell and he just needed to rest. He had no clue whether Marthé had seen the interview last night, but since she didn't comment, he figured she hadn't. That wouldn't last – the incident made the front page of the New York Times Metro section and eventually everyone would see it.
As he let himself into his apartment, his phone buzzed with an incoming text and he checked the screen. It was from Elizabeth. He hadn't talked to her since Saturday morning, when he gave her the rundown on his confrontation with Callaway. He hadn't alerted her to the Circumspect interview and she was dying for information.
Neal sent a reply, "Kind of exhausted, just got put through the mill by the school's attorneys. Everything's ok. Just need some sleep. Talk later."
He put the phone into vibrate mode and stripped to his skin before crawling into his unmade bed. Like last night, sleep was elusive. He kept hearing Peter's voice, accusing him, treating him like some sort of criminal. That had been Vincent's mode, too. Vincent would find something that he'd done wrong and spend hours tearing him apart, destroying him from the inside out. Humiliating him, belittling him, and when he was done with the words, he'd start with the belts and the fists and …
No. Neal ruthlessly shut his mind against those memories. As bad as Peter was, he wasn't in Vincent's league. Not even close. Peter wasn't a sadist.
Which wasn't saying that he wasn't a judgmental bastard.
And beautiful. And smart. And other than being a judgmental bastard, Peter Burke was everything he'd ever wanted in a man. Someone who could be strong without needing to control his every thought. Someone who'd challenge him to be better, to be smarter, to do the right thing because it was the right thing, not because he might get ahead of the game.
But Peter was still a judgmental bastard who knew how to flay him with a few carefully chosen words, and Neal wasn't going to go through that again.
Although he was alone, there was a pleasant background hum. The fridge in his small kitchen area vibrated when the compressor was going, and it sent the old windows vibrating in a C-major chord. In the distance, he could hear a vacuum cleaner and the sounds of a salsa playing, which meant that Carmen was on the third floor. A sharp bark, and then a few more in quick succession told Neal that June was home and Bugsy was reasserting his place in the house.
All of these noises were familiar, beloved, restful. They lulled him, they comforted him, and just before Neal fell asleep, he promised himself that after today, there would be no more wallowing. Whatever he could have had with Peter just wasn't meant to be, and there was no point in dwelling on it.
A sharp clatter, followed by insistent buzzing, woke Neal from a sound sleep. He opened his eyes and tracked the source of the unpleasant noise – it was his cell phone, which had vibrated itself off the nightstand and onto the floor. It took some effort, but he managed to retrieve it. The call was from a 212 number, which meant someone's landline. The phone stopped ringing and the telephone number was replaced with the call log. Neal flicked through the list; the 212 number appeared about a half-dozen times over the last half-hour. At the bottom on the list was a call from someone in his contact list.
Peter.
Before Neal could listen to the voice messages, his phone rang again. It was the same 212 number.
"Hello?"
"Caffrey – thank god you've finally answered."
"Mr. Bancroft? What's the matter?"
The man was abrupt. "There's been some developments. You'll need to come back to the office where you gave your statement this morning."
"Developments? What kind of developments?"
"Look, when can you get here?"
Neal wiped his eyes. If there was something going on, he probably shouldn't show up half asleep. "An hour?"
"Okay, that'll have to do."
Neal could hear someone in the background. It sounded like Peter. "Do I need a lawyer?"
"No – not at all. You have nothing to worry about. Just get here as soon as you can."
Bancroft ended the call and Neal stared at his phone for a few seconds. Despite the other man's words, Neal still worried. But sitting here wasn't going to resolve anything.
He took a quick shower and shaved again, but his eyes felt gritty and dry – a signal that he'd been wearing his contacts too long. He popped out his contacts and put on his glasses, then headed to his closet. For some reason, he didn't think chinos, a button down, and a sport coat were appropriate. He pulled out one of Byron's suits – not the black one he'd worn the night he met Peter, but a Baltic blue St. Laurent that was probably far too expensive for a mere teacher, but wearing it had always made Neal feel strong. June had once told him that Byron had worn it the last time he'd taken her dancing, and Neal liked to believe that it was the love imbued in the fabric that gave him strength.
It was a little before two when Neal headed downstairs, where he found June flipping through the mail that had accumulated over the weekend. She looked up when he entered. "Neal, Marthé told me you were home in the middle of the day. Is everything all right?"
"I had to give a statement this morning at the school's lawyers' office and I was too fried to go teach for the rest of the day. And don't worry – the president of the Board of Governors was the one to insist I take the rest of the day off."
June walked over to him. "I'm not worried that you've missed a day of teaching, I'm worried about you. I saw the interview last night, and now I hear you needed to make an official statement. And it looks like you've got another important appointment." She patted the collar of his jacket, smoothing the fine wool. "And you're wearing this suit. Of course I'm concerned. What's going on?"
"I don't know. I just got a call that I have to go back to the lawyers' office."
"Do you need me to go with you? Should I call Hale?"
Neal kissed June's cheek. "No need to send for the lawyers, yet. And I think I can handle this, but would it be possible to get Frederick to drive me to Midtown?"
"Of course, my dear." June picked up the house phone and called the chauffeur, asking him to bring the car around immediately. "Just let me know if you need me, for anything."
"I will, and thank you."
June walked with him to the front door and Neal could feel the weight of her love and worry. It was a welcome burden.
The trip back down to the lawyers' offices took a lot longer than expected, which meant that Neal arrived thirty minutes later than the promised hour. Despite his own words to June, and Bancroft's comments to him, he couldn't help but worry. And then there was the niggling suspicion that Peter was involved. He might have resolved not to beg Peter to forgive him, but that would be a lot easier if he didn't see Peter.
The car pulled up to the building and Neal let Frederick do the whole chauffeur thing, if just to buy him a little time.
To his surprise, when he went to sign in, there was someone from the law firm waiting for him. "Mr. Caffrey, please come with me." The woman took him to a different floor and led him through a small warren of cubicles, into a room that looked a lot like the television studio control room where his life had fallen apart. "Please take a seat. I'd offer you coffee, but beverages are strictly prohibited in this room."
Neal nodded. "Okay, but will someone tell me what's going on?"
The woman smiled, and oddly, he wasn't comforted. "Someone will be here in a few minutes." With that, she left.
Neal suppressed the urge to fiddle with the control panels; instead, he took out his phone and sent Elizabeth a quick text. Back at the lawyers U free for dinner 2nite? As he pressed send, someone came into the room, but it was no one he recognized.
The woman asked, "Would you mind scooting over a little, I've got to get this up and running."
Neal complied and watched in fascination as she worked the switches and touch panels like she was at the helm of the Enterprise. The screens above the console came to life, displaying an empty conference room – the same one that Neal had spent a few hours in earlier in the day. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why he was here and what was going on.
The door behind him opened and, to his relief, it was Bancroft. "Thank you for coming back, Neal. And I'm sorry for the earlier melodrama."
"What's going on?"
"Amanda Callaway is coming in to give her statement."
"That's why you called me back? So I could hear her give her side of what happened on Friday?" Then Neal remembered. "You said that there were developments."
"There are – and ordinarily, we wouldn't have you listen to another statement, but there are things you need to hear."
"Like what?"
In the dimly lit room, it was hard to make out the expression on Bancroft's face, but Neal thought he saw disgust there. "I'm just going to let you listen."
"Okay."
Someone else came into the room and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He knew, without turning around, that Peter had just joined them. But the sound of two excited – and familiar – voices shocked him.
"Hey, Mr. Caffrey!" Chloe was there, grinning from ear to ear. Of course, Evan was right behind her, but he was a little more subdued.
"What are you doing here? Why aren't you in class?"
Chloe rolled her eyes, and as Evan started to answer, there was movement on the screen. It looked like Callaway had arrived, accompanied by someone. That pair was followed by the two attorneys who'd grilled Neal this morning.
Neal wanted to ask some more questions, but Bancroft gave him a brief and reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. "I need to go. If you still have any questions after this, I'll be happy to answer them."
Neal sucked in a deep breath. Whatever was going on involved his students and somehow involved Peter. The kids flanked him, but Peter – thankfully – kept his distance.
The tech turned up the audio feed, just in time to hear the school's attorneys giving Callaway the same introduction he got this morning.
"This interview is being recorded using the four cameras in this room." One of the attorneys pointed to four wall-mounted cameras. "There is room audio." She pointed to the ceiling, to something that Neal couldn't see. "But for accuracy's sake, please be sure to speak into the microphones they're bringing in."
Callaway's attorney, Terrance Pratt, grumbled, but Callaway herself actually twittered like an airhead. "So much technology, just for a routine statement?"
The older attorney, who'd been introduced to Neal as Garrett Fowler, gave her a thin smile and commented, "This is for your benefit as well as for the school's. It's become standard practice, and a lot more accurate than a stenographer."
A tech entered the room, followed by Bancroft, and set up a microphone at each position on the table. They completed the standard audio checks, the tech left, and Bancroft gestured for everyone to take a seat.
Neal was dying to know what was going on. He could ask Evan and Chloe, he could ask Peter, but there was a reason why Bancroft wanted him to watch and listen.
Introductions were made for the record and Fowler started by asking Callaway the same questions that he'd asked Neal, to describe the events on Friday.
To Neal's surprise, Callaway kept to the facts. He realized that she'd probably been very well coached by her attorney. After she'd finished, Fowler's line of questioning took a different tack. "What made you decide to confront Chloe Woods on Friday?"
"I'd just learned that Charles Woods had been dressing up as a girl for many years and I found that situation both disturbing and dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"He was using the girls' toilet and gym facilities, he had access to our female students at their most vulnerable moments. I acted out of deep concern that Mr. Woods would use his illness as a cover to attack the very femininity that he is trying to mimic."
Neal felt Chloe stiffen in outrage, but then Evan reached over and wrapped an arm around her, whispering, "She's a stupid bitch, you're ten times the woman she is."
Callaway added self-righteously, "My only thought was to protect those girls, and the other children who would be hurt by Charles' deviant behavior, his sickness."
Bancroft leaned over and whispered something to Fowler, both men's hands carefully placed over their mics. Fowler nodded. "Why do you say that Ms. Woods is ill?"
"He's crazy – to think that he's really a girl. God gave him a penis; that means that God intended for him to be a boy. He's going against the will of God and nature."
"And anyone who acts contrary to what you term as "God's will" is crazy?"
Calloway puffed herself up. "Yes."
Bancroft and Fowler did the whole whispering thing again, but before Fowler could continue his questioning, Callaway started talking. "Look, I realize that I probably shouldn't have used a bullhorn when I was trying to educate Mr. Woods as to proper behavior, but I was moved to act with great urgency and the hallways were busy, and well, I'm just naturally such a soft-spoken person. I just wanted to make sure I was able to get my message across." Callaway turned to her attorney, and the tech at the console zoomed in on their faces. She seemed smug and a little triumphant, but the attorney was frowning.
Fowler followed up on Callaway's statement. "So, you didn't believe it would be more appropriate to, say, have Ms. Woods escorted to your office to have your discussion? You thought it was appropriate to address your issues in public?"
This time, Callaway and her attorney conferred, taking pains to cover their mouths, hiding from the camera. They finished and Callaway leaned forward. "As I said, I was concerned about the danger Mr. Woods represented to the female students, so I wanted to ensure as many people as possible knew just what this boy was doing and the danger he represented."
Fowler started to ask, "Why do you feel that – ", but Bancroft cut him off. The two men regrouped and Fowler refocused his questioning. "When you were a candidate for the position you currently hold, did you do any research on the school? Its history, its policies?"
"Of course I did."
"So, you were aware of the Dignity for All policy."
Callaway paused and glanced at her attorney, who nodded. "Yes."
"So you were aware that there was a policy in place that provided accommodations for transgender students."
"Yes, I was."
"Would it be fair to say that you personally believe that transgender students, such as Ms. Woods, represent a danger and should not be granted the accommodations in the Dignity for All policy? That you, personally, find transgender students disturbing and mentally ill?"
Callaway again eye-checked with her attorney. The man frowned but gestured for her to answer. "Yes. That is a fair statement."
"Then why, given your own personal bias and beliefs, would you take a job at an institution which has an established policy guaranteeing accommodations to transgender students?"
This time, Callaway didn't hesitate in her answer. "I was assured that this so-called Dignity policy would be revoked and those poor, twisted children would be removed from the school."
"And who gave you these assurances?"
Neal thought it interesting that Callaway's lawyer all but slapped a hand over his client's mouth. After a few moments of furious whispering, Callaway answered, "I elect not to answer that question."
For the first time, Bancroft spoke. "Ms. Callaway, let me remind you that the terms of your contract with Manhattan Preparatory Academy require you to cooperate fully with this investigation."
Callaway and her attorney consulted again, and still she refused to answer the question.
Fowler took back the reins of the interview. "Would it be correct to say that Phillip Kramer suggested that you apply for the position you currently hold?"
"Yes."
"How long have you known Phillip Kramer?"
"I was his student at the university I attended. Mr. Kramer taught a seminar there."
"Which university would that be, Ms. Callaway?"
"Liberty University."
Fowler paused to check a folder, then asked, "When did you attend this school?"
"From 1991 to 1995."
"You received a degree from Liberty University?"
"Yes."
"Your bachelor's degree?"
"Yes, in Communications and Social Influence."
"Hmmm, but your employment application states that from 1991 to 1995, you attended the Mercer University, in Georgia, and received a degree in Education. How is it that you managed to attend two different schools in two different states at the same time and get two completely different degrees?"
Callaway didn't answer.
"And according to your employment file, requests to verify your educational history were waived. By Phillip Kramer." Fowler commented, more to himself, "The problem with lying is that you need to remember who you lied to and when you lied."
Again, Callaway didn't respond.
Fowler asked, "Liberty University is a Christian-centric school with a curriculum focused on fundamentalist beliefs, correct?"
"Yes."
"And you share those beliefs?"
"Yes."
"Why, then, did you apply for and accept a position at Manhattan Prep, which is an institution founded by secular humanists and is still committed to providing an education based on those principles? Was it because you were assured that there would be a change in policy?"
Callaway spat out, "Yes."
"By who, Ms. Callaway? Who assured you that the school would be reversing a century-old tradition of tolerance, inclusion and acceptance?"
Pratt, Callaway's attorney, finally stepped in. "These questions are outside of the scope of your investigation into the so-called incident on Friday. My client's education was deemed sufficient and acceptable by the Board of Governors. She was interviewed several times and the Board – of which Mr. Bancroft here is the head of – approved her hiring."
Bancroft replied, "Ms. Callaway was asked about her education, and at the time, she stated she was a graduate of Mercer University. She was asked about her positions on gender diversity and representation, and she did not indicate any of the beliefs or attitudes evidenced in her statements on Friday and what she's just said on record." Bancroft snagged the folder that Fowler had referred to several times and pulled out a piece of paper. "Like all employees, Ms. Callaway was required to read and confirm her acceptance of the Dignity for All policy. I was there when she signed it." Bancroft pushed the paper to Pratt. "If Ms. Callaway never intended to comply with this policy, she signed it in bad faith."
Neal watched the monitors with fascination. But he was still waiting for the "developments" that Bancroft had hinted at, the reason why his students were here. Why Peter was here.
He didn't have much longer to wait.
Pratt asked, "What are you getting at?"
"I think that Ms. Callaway's time at Manhattan Prep has to end."
"You can't fire me!"
Bancroft's lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile. "I don't have to fire you."
"Only the Board can terminate my contract."
"And you don't think they won't? By your own words, you accepted employment under false pretenses. That puts your contract on very shaky grounds."
Callaway sat there, her chin jutting out. "I think I have all the support I need on the Board."
"Phillip Kramer is one man, he has one vote."
"He's not the only one who believes that the school needs to rethink its godless, liberal ways."
This time Bancroft did smile. "Warren Haskley retired this morning. As president of the Board of Governors, I can appoint an interim member to fill that vacancy until elections are held."
Callaway maintained her defiance. "You can't fire me. And I won't resign."
Fowler casually commented, "Even if the alternative is jail?"
That got Neal's attention. Jail? As much as he liked the idea of putting Amanda Callaway in a place where she couldn't harm another child, her brand of bigotry was still protected by the First Amendment.
"What are you talking about?"
Fowler reached over to a console on the table and pressed a few buttons. His murmur, "I hope this fucking thing works" was clearly audible.
It did work. Callaway's voice filled the room.
"But that's not why we're here. As a scholarship student, you have certain obligations to the school.".
"What do you mean?" To Neal's surprise, Evan's voice came through the audio system and Neal looked at his student, who was grinning, a sharp contrast to the confused tenor in the recording.
Neal listened as Callaway pointed out a paragraph in Evan's scholarship agreement, which Evan read out loud.
"You're in big trouble, Mr. Leary."
Fowler paused the playback. "Do you have anything to say, Ms. Callaway?"
The woman looked like she'd just swallowed a glass of vinegar.
Fowler pressed a button and playback resumed. There was a new voice, wheezing and unpleasant, a voice that Neal recognized from the few occasions that he'd listened to talk radio the past few years. It was Phillip Kramer.
"Your little video has badly damaged the reputation of this school, son."
Neal heard Evan defending himself, then Kramer again. The man could have been reading Keats' "She Walks in Beauty" but that voice was enough to make Neal want to puncture his own eardrums.
Callaway's lawyer interrupted the playback. "What is the point of this?"
Bancroft bluntly stated, "Your client is a liar and a bully."
"What you call bullying I'd say is protecting the interests of her employer. And so she lied on her employment application, that's not a criminal offense. And this – " The man gestured to the audio control console. "This is meaningless. My client's rights were violated by whoever recorded this conversation."
Fowler replied, "You should brush up on your New York wiretap law, Pratt. In this state, only one party present has to give consent to the recording."
Callaway lost it, "Which means that little fag-loving twerp recorded this! He was told to leave his phone in his locker!"
Fowler let out a gusty sigh. "Control your client. And you're also wrong about lying on a job application not being a criminal offense. It's fraud. She lied about her educational qualifications to secure a position that she wouldn't otherwise have been considered for. She lied about her intentions to uphold established school policies. Your client received compensation for services she had no intention of performing. But I'll be honest, fraud charges are the least of Ms. Callaway's problems." Fowler restarted the playback.
"Mr. Leary, we're not trying to frighten you, or force you to leave the school. We want you to do the right thing."
Neal almost fell out of his chair when Callaway said his name. "Mr. Caffrey is one of your teachers, right?" Over the rapid beating of his heart, Neal could barely hear Evan's reply.
But then he almost laughed; Callaway called him a "disgusting pervert, a dirty faggot who goes around dressing in women's clothes." The woman was practically a cartoon parody of a homophobe. What he heard next, however, killed all humor.
Kramer more than implied that he had some sort of sexual interest in Evan. Evan, thank god, vehemently denied it.
Callaway's next words chilled him to the bone. "You are going to go to the police and you're going to tell them that Neal Caffrey touched you inappropriately."
Neal looked at Evan, who was biting his lip. "I'm sorry about this, Mr. Caffrey. I had no idea that this would happen."
Chloe was the voice of reason. "It's okay, Evan. You didn't do anything wrong. You did everything right."
Neal nodded. Whatever brought them to this room was the right thing. The recording continued to play, and Kramer and Callaway laid out what they wanted Evan to do and why. It finally came to an end and Neal felt like throwing up – those bastards wanted to destroy him and they had the nerve to tell Evan to "do the right thing." But he took a few deep breaths and tried to concentrate on the drama playing out in a conference room several floors away.
"Now, I'm not a criminal attorney, but I have friends in the U.S. Attorney's office and with the Manhattan D.A., and I think they'd tell me that what I just heard was a criminal conspiracy – conspiracy to file a false police report, blackmail, intent to commit theft. And since I believe Mr. Leary's scholarship for a single year is more than ten thousand dollars, that's within Federal jurisdiction and a felony." Fowler was leaning back in his chair, as if he didn't care what Callaway's answer would be.
Callaway opened her mouth, but her lawyer was quick to step in with his own terms. "My client will admit to nothing, but she will resign at the end of the school year. You will pay her the balance of her contract and she will agree not to speak to the media about the events of last Friday or her decision to resign her position as Headmaster of Manhattan Prep. If anyone – whether it's the news media or a future employer - enquires, the official response will be that the decision was amicable and jointly made, and the school regrets the departure of such a talented administrator."
Bancroft took over. "Actually, your client will resign effective immediately. She will not be permitted back on school premises. She will receive her salary earned through today as well as any accrued vacation pay. Her benefits will terminate immediately. She will keep her mouth shut about everything she's done. The school will confirm her dates of employment and salary for any future employers, and will be free to comment on the terms of separation if it so chooses. If she does not agree to these terms, I will be more than happy to turn this recording over to the F.B.I. My own friends in the Justice Department tell me that something like this could even bring a RICO charge. And you know how much the U.S. Attorney loves to make a splash those racketeering and corruption cases." Bancroft picked up another file and handed it to Pratt. "Ms. Callaway's letter of resignation. She signs it here, she signs it now. Or I give the recording to the Feds and this all goes public."
Neal watched as Callaway and her attorney reviewed the document. He held his breath as Callaway scrawled her name across the bottom of the page. She pushed the folder back across the conference table and knocked over the microphone, sending a piercing feedback whine through the control room, and then stood up so abruptly, her chair crashed to the floor. "Let's get out of here."
Pratt shook his head at his client's less than lady-like behavior, and said, "Messenger over a copy."
Fowler nodded and as soon as the door shut behind the pair, he spoke into his own mic. "Bobbi, tell me you got everything, no glitches."
Bobbi – who was the tech in the control room – replied, "Got it all, no glitches."
"Excellent – can you bring everyone up to the conference room?"
"Sure thing, Mr. F."
Bobbi powered down the equipment and asked everyone to come with her; they needed to go up to the twenty-first floor. Neal, his head still spinning from everything he had seen and heard, followed. Or he would have, except Peter stopped him.
"Neal, can we talk?"
The last hour had been an exquisite torture. Being in the same room with Neal, he was so close to him, and yet it felt like there was an ocean's worth of distance between them. That was his fault, all his fault.
Peter didn't give the drama on the monitors his full attention. Callaway's interview was a mere formality, conducted mostly to satisfy Bancroft's desire to show Evan and Chloe that their school believed that justice wasn't just for the rich and the powerful. And that it would be better than revenge. Chloe Woods had a spine of steel and, to everyone's surprise, insisted that they take the recording Evan had made to the reporter, Helen Anderson, and let her air it as a follow up. She wanted to humiliate Callaway as much as possible – as she'd put it, shine a light so bright on her ignorance and bigotry that not even a cockroach could hide.
Bancroft, though, urged moderation, but left the decision up to Evan. He was – in this instance – the victim of a crime and he should have the right to choose how to go forward. The kid asked a whole bunch of questions, about what would happen if he went to the police, or if he did as Chloe urged, and went to the media. Would his scholarship be at risk? How would that affect his future, his parents, and what about Mr. Caffrey? Shouldn't he have a say in the matter, too?
Bancroft patiently answered the boy's questions as thoroughly as he could, assuring him that his scholarship was never, ever at risk. He then suggested some alternatives, ones that would get Callaway out with the maximum amount of efficiency and the highest yield of humiliation. Which was why they'd spent the last hour in a dark room.
He had to admit, it was satisfying to watch Bancroft and Fowler take that woman apart. She must have been a better actor back when she had been interviewed for the Headmaster position, because Peter couldn't understand how anyone would think she was compatible with Manhattan Prep's educational mission. Or perhaps the Board had been too blinded by the promise of Phillip Kramer's money to see the truth.
The kids were ebullient as they followed the tech, Bobbi, out of the control room, and Peter seized the opportunity and grabbed Neal's arm as he passed.
"Neal, can we talk?"
To his relief, Neal didn't shake him off and leave. But his voice was cold when he said, "What more do we have to talk about? You made yourself very clear last night."
Peter pulled him back into the control room and closed the door. "I'm sorry. I was a jackass yesterday, last night, and I'm sorry."
His apology caught Neal by surprise, but Neal wasn't giving him any quarter. "Yes, you were."
"You caught me by surprise and I overreacted."
Neal sighed. "I have the feeling that that happens quite often with you."
"What does?"
"You overreact and lash out."
Peter's first instinct was to deny that, but as he thought about it, Neal was right. He rarely got angry, but when he did, he wasn't the slow-burn type. It happened in a flash and was over. "Maybe I do." It was a galling thing to admit.
Neal didn't say anything, he just looked at him.
"You're not going to forgive me, are you?"
"I – I want to."
"But?"
Neal was staring at some point over his shoulder and Peter just wanted to shake him. Or kiss him.
Then, Neal spoke. The quiet intensity made the hair on the back of Peter's neck stand up.
"For five years, I was in a relationship with someone who had an unpredictable temper. Or at least, he had a temper and liked to pretend it was uncontrollable. I suspect he was in complete control and just enjoyed the power his rages brought." Neal shook himself. "You don't have to tell me that you're not like that. I know, and I know I fucked things up when I didn't tell you that I was the singer you were so enamored of."
"Neal – "
"Peter, let me finish. Like I said, I want to forgive you, but if I did, I think I'd be right back to where I was when I was with Vincent. Weak, needy, helpless, wanting to please because I didn't want to be afraid, because I didn't want to get hurt anymore."
"I'd never hurt you, I'd never, ever lift a hand to you. Or to anyone."
"I know that, too. But in my head, I think I'll always be afraid. I can't trust myself not to fall back into that pit, desperately needing to please you, afraid of what would happen if I didn't."
Peter didn't know what to say.
"Remember what I told you, that first night, when we went up to my apartment at June's? That I was pretty fucked up? I wasn't lying."
Peter swallowed and found his voice. "You don't want to try and make something work?"
"If I said I didn't, I'd be lying. But you have to understand, it's too much of a risk."
"And promising that it would never happen again would be pointless. Because that's what abusers do, don't they?"
Neal gave him a puzzled look. "I never said I was abused, Peter."
"But you were. From everything you've told me, it's pretty clear that this Vincent – he abused you."
Neal shrugged, but Peter could see how this idea affected him.
"I'm sorry, Neal. Sorrier than I can say – I let my pride ruin something wonderful." He was heartsick.
"You're not the only one at fault. I lied to you."
"Lied? No, I don't think so. Maybe you omitted some critical facts, but you didn't lie."
"I should have told you about Nicole when you first mentioned her. It might have saved us a lot of grief."
Peter had to ask, "Why didn't you?"
"I don't know. She's not 'me', but your praise was … flattering."
"I wasn't flattering. Everything I said was true. She could be a superstar. You could be a superstar. That's what I thought, from the first minute I heard you."
"No, Peter. That's not what I want. Maybe I was tempted for a few seconds – and like I said, I was flattered by your enthusiasm. But I love being a teacher, I love it a universe more than I love getting on stage and pretending to be someone else."
"I understand." He did. "I should have understood that yesterday, when you looked at that picture, the one the reporter found. I know just how dedicated you are, but I let my pride get in the way of my heart." Peter shook his head. "Want to hear something funny?"
"What?"
"When I saw you, when I heard you sing, I got aroused. You turned me on and I had a quiet freak out, because here was this gorgeous woman giving me a hard-on. How funny is that?"
Neal ducked his head. "Sorry."
"No, you're not. You find it funny, too. Admit it."
Neal looked up, and he was smiling. "Okay, yeah – it's kind of funny."
"Pity I couldn't stay for the second act. As much as I was entranced by Nicole, I might have jumped the stage for Nick."
Neal just shook his head.
"But none of this makes a difference, does it?"
"No, it can't."
Peter scrubbed his face, suddenly weary. "I understand. But if you ever change your mind – about anything – call me. If you need anything, ever, just call me. Please?"
"I will, I promise."
Peter wasn't sure he believed him, but at least he could hope. Neal turned to leave, but Peter had one more thing to say. "Don't ever believe you're worth anything less than the best, because that is what you are. You're strong and you're smart and there is no one who deserves happiness more than you do."
Before Neal could leave, Peter leaned over and kissed him softly, on the cheek. "Take care of yourself."
GO TO PART SEVEN