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elrhiarhodanTitle: Torch Song – Part Seven 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.
__________________
"Neal?" Elizabeth nudged him. "Earth to Neal. Come in, Neal."
"What?"
"You were spacing out."
"Sorry, just lost in thought."
"Obviously." They were walking down Riverside Drive. It was Sunday, sunny, and a perfectly nice day for a post-graduation stroll. Elizabeth asked him, "So, how does it feel to be 'Teacher of the Year'?"
Neal looked down at the small plaque he was holding. It had been given to him at the graduation ceremony they'd just escaped from, and he shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Wasn't expecting it."
"I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."
"I'm really not into popularity contests."
"Teacher of the Year isn't like being voted as Prom King. It's not just the students who vote, it's the teachers and the administrators, too."
"Huh, I didn't know that."
El was merciless. "And I've heard, through the grapevine, that the vote was just about unanimous. Like it or not, you're a hero."
Neal protested that title, like he had a hundred times before. "I'm not a hero. I just did - "
"What you thought was right, what anyone else would do. I've heard that from you before, and as I've said before, no one else had the balls to stand up to that bitch but you. If they had, they'd have gotten the award. So sit back and enjoy the laurels. You earned them."
"Thanks. I guess."
"Moz has a saying … "
"Moz has a lot of sayings."
"But this one's particularly relevant. 'Don't live your life in vain regret'. And he's right."
"Why do you think I'm - what did you say - living my life in vain regret?"
"Because I can see how sad you are. You're going through each day like a robot. Something's missing from the Neal Caffrey I know and love."
Neal ground his jaw and swallowed the pain. "I'm fine, El. There's nothing wrong."
"Then why aren't you happy?"
"I'm not unhappy."
"There's a world of difference between being happy and being not-unhappy. Nothing makes you smile."
Neal deliberately relaxed the muscles in his face and grinned. "There, I'm smiling."
"No, you're faking it."
They turned the corner onto 129th Street and went into the old coffee shop. A little past two on a Sunday and the place was deserted. Too late for churchgoers and too early for the post-brunch crowd, not that the place was frequented by too many brunch eaters.
Someone had placed a sign "Section Closed" in front of the booths where they normally parked themselves, so he and El sat at the counter. The line cook came out of the back and pushed cups of coffee at them. "No food until four, unless you want toast."
Neal took a cautious sip, tried not to grimace at the burnt taste of the brew and said, "No, we're good." As the man walked away, he emptied half a pitcher of milk and six packets of sugar into the cup, to make it palatable. El used the rest of the milk and almost twice as much sugar.
And she didn't let up on him. "You don't have to be miserable."
Of course, he insisted, "I'm not miserable. I'm just fine."
"Call him, Neal."
Neal toyed with the napkin, concentrating on turning it into a flower. "No."
"Why not?"
"You know why not."
"He apologized."
"Vincent used to apologize. At least in the beginning."
"You said that Peter wasn't like that bastard. You told me that he wouldn't hurt you." El was one of the very few people he'd told the whole truth about his time with Vincent.
"Not like that. No, Peter would never hit me. But he has a temper."
"News flash, so do you. And so do I. Moz has a temper, but that doesn't mean he's going to hurt me. I trust him."
Neal kept folding the napkin. It wasn't perfect, but it was beginning to look like a calla lily.
"Are you really afraid of Peter Burke? You don't trust him?"
Neal crumpled the flower and dropped it into his half-empty cup. "No, I don't trust myself. What if I go back to being that guy? That weak, spineless, needy man-child who was too stupid to walk away until he almost couldn't walk at all?"
"Neal…" El reached out and rested a hand on top of his.
"Don't. Don't pity me, don't tell me that Peter isn't Vincent, and even if he is - that I'm too strong, too smart to get caught up in another situation like that."
"You are. And I don't understand you at all. You stand up for everyone else, but you can't stand up for yourself and what you really want. You have friends here. Family, too. People who love you and who wouldn't hesitate to intervene if they thought you were being hurt. And remember, you're not without your own power. You can hurt Peter, you can make him happy, too."
Neal looked at the sodden brown mess in his coffee cup and thought that it was a perfect metaphor for his life. So he changed the subject. "I'm performing at the club on Thursday night."
"Excellent. Moz and I will be there, of course."
"But it's the last time."
"Neal, no! Why?"
"I can't live in two worlds. I'm a teacher. I'm not ashamed of performing in drag, but it's not really who I am. If I want to sing, I can join a choral group, but the nightclub act is over."
"Not because of what happened?"
Neal shook his head. "No, not really. I just don't want to hide like that. If I wanted a music career, I'd go after it. It's just that I can't live half a life, and even if I'm only performing a few times a year, it's still a distraction."
"You could just go on stage as Nick. No reason why you couldn't. You're a beautiful man with a beautiful voice. If you don't want to deal with Nicole's theatricality, just be the suave, slightly dangerous, extremely sexy Nick."
El's idea was sensible. "Maybe. I'll think about it." Neal smiled, and this time the expression was genuine. "So, have you and Moz firmed up your plans for the summer?"
"Yup. Moz is flying us up to his cabin in Michigan for most of July, then a road trip to Seattle."
"More pot?"
Elizabeth snickered. "It's legal in Washington State, and I love Seattle. What about you?"
"Don't really know. Thought about doing a road trip of my own, maybe the Southwest. But Hughes asked me to stay in New York and work with him on getting the school back on track."
"He's grooming you, you realize. A few years and you'll be ready to step into his shoes."
"I don't mind. It's a good future." Two days after Callaway's forced resignation, the entire school - students, teachers, administrators and staff - were required to report to Manhattan Prep's vast auditorium. Bancroft was on the stage and behind him was the entire Board of Governors, including Peter and Leland Shelton, the man who owned half of New York's local media operations, and Helen Anderson's boss. Notable in his absence was Phillip Kramer, and Neal figured that Shelton was the asshole's replacement.
Bancroft had spoken briefly and eloquently about the school and the duty that the Board owed to the students, the teachers, the staff, and to the legacy of Manhattan Prep as a bastion on secular education. He actually apologized on behalf of the Board for forgetting that, for letting their collective vision become clouded by the promises that were never intended to be kept. And then he moved on to happier subjects: the abrupt departure of Principal Callaway left a vacancy that needed to be quickly and carefully filled. At that moment, Reese Hughes came onto the stage and the audience had burst into cheers.
Hughes let everyone express their happiness at his return, and after two full minutes of hearing his name chanted, he quieted the audience with a single gesture. He spoke for only a few moments, in his typical no-nonsense fashion, telling everyone that they had work to do and there'd be no more of the bigoted bullshit that had been going on since he retired - the first time. He'd make sure of it.
"You want to get out of here?" El dropped some cash on the counter and they headed back out into the afternoon sunshine, Neal carrying the plaque that meant more to him than he was prepared to admit.
"Yeah. It's June's birthday, and I'm taking her dancing at the Starlight tonight."
"Give her a hug from me, okay?"
"I will. Maybe you and Moz could come over for dinner next Friday?"
"That sounds like fun. It'll be nice to get my fuzzy bear into something less hipsterish than worn plaids and chinos with frayed cuffs."
Neal leaned over and kissed El's cheek. "See you then."
El kissed him back and reminded him, "Actually, I'll see you on Thursday, at the club."
"Right. Till then." Neal watched as Elizabeth headed towards the downtown subway. He could have gone with her and gotten off in three stops, but the day was too nice to be underground and he walked home.
As he walked, El's words kept repeating inside his head. " And remember, you're not without your own power. You can hurt Peter, you can make him happy, too."
The truth of that statement hit him. Not like a fist to the face, but like dawn in the desert. He could see Peter's face when they'd last talked - the hope, the love, the worry. There was shame there, too - for the damage he'd done. Neal could also see how his own words stifled Peter's hope, turned it not to anger, but to resigned acceptance.
He was the one who had the power in this relationship. No, they both had power. Not merely the power to hurt each other, but the power to make each other - and themselves - happy.
Neal stood at the corner of 100th and Riverside, about a dozen blocks from home, and let the world flow around him as he made plans. It all might crash and burn, but unless he took this chance, he'd never know if he could have more than this closed off life. Yes, he was safe, but having briefly tasted happiness, he wanted more than safety.
He wanted love.
♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫
Blake brought in a cup of espresso and the news that Julian Larsen was in the office and would like to see him.
Peter told his admin to show his client in, but give him a few minutes first. He took a careful sip of the coffee and prayed that Julian's presence didn't require the firm to go into DEFCON-4 mode again. He was due to leave for a well-earned vacation in a few days. A week in Belize, at a friend's ocean side villa. No cellphone, no laptop, no clients, no problems. Just blue skies, sunshine, endless white sand beaches, and Nelson DeMille's latest thriller.
He would use the time to think about what he wanted from his life. Yes, he was fifty, in good health; he owned a business that had brought him wealth and professional satisfaction. But his time with Neal - a little more than a week from start to finish - had shown him just what was missing in his life.
Before Neal, relationships were more of an annoyance than anything. He shied away from even the mildest hint of something long term. He was too busy, too driven to waste time seeing to another person's emotional needs. But the truth was, he was simply too stupid to realize that without someone to share his life, all of his success was pointless. He was too old to club hop, as if that lifestyle held any appeal. Random hook-ups were not him, and apparently, neither were no-strings attached, friends-with-benefits relationships either. David had come back to town - not permanently, just for a week of meetings - and suggested that they get together. Dinner was pleasant, but when David suggested a nightcap and maybe something more at his hotel suite, Peter declined.
David seemed to take the rejection with good grace. He kissed Peter on the cheek and left him with the bill. Peter figured that this was probably the last time he'd see the other man and he was surprised how little the thought bothered him.
He knew he didn't want to spend the rest of his life alone, but the thought of spending it with someone who wasn't Neal was even less palatable. Maybe that would change in time. He hoped so.
He finished the espresso just as Blake brought Julian in.
"Peter!"
He stood up and was surprised when the other man, who'd never been the touchy-feely sort, gave him a tight hug. He stepped back and looked at Julian. He'd always been fit, but a quarter-century of rock 'n roll living took its toll on his face. Or rather, had once taken its toll. Julian looked twenty years younger than he had when he'd walked out the door nearly three months ago. He was tanned, clean shaven, the perpetual scowl he'd worn as long as Peter had known him was replaced by a wide smile. And more that than, Julian looked happy.
"How were your travels? Or do I have to ask?" Peter gestured for Julian to take a seat.
"It's that obvious?"
"Yeah, it is. So - where have you been and what's been going on?"
"You know I wanted to go off the grid, get as far away from the media as possible, so I went to Australia."
"They still have newspapers in Australia. And the paparazzi there can be more ruthless than they are here in the U.S."
"Not in the Outback."
Peter's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"
Julian nodded.
"I guess you really meant it when you said you were going off the grid."
"Yeah, it was a completely surreal experience."
"So, tell me, did you spend three months herding sheep?"
"God, no! Lasted on the station a little more than a week before I booked out of there. There's only so much g'day-ing and Fosters a sane man can take."
Peter laughed. "You big phony."
Julian got serious, though. "Not anymore."
That stopped Peter cold in his tracks. "Really?"
Julian nodded.
"What made you change your mind, after all these years?"
"I met someone. Someone who doesn't believe in living a lie, who doesn't need to live a lie. He's out and proud and it doesn't make one bit of difference in his life."
Peter had long given up hope that Julian would see that there was no shame in being gay, even if he was a rock god. "How did he manage to teach you that?"
"By example."
Peter stared at Julian, who stared right back, his smile now cast in mischievous lines. "No."
"Yes."
"You and Gordon Taylor?"
Julian leaned back in his chair, a full-fledged smirk on his face. "I always knew you were quick."
"It wasn't hard to figure out. It was either Gordon Taylor or Adam Lambert, and Adam's been touring in South America. Gordon's Australian, and he's been playing small venues there while gearing up for a new album and concert tour."
"That's how we met. Some of my old music school mates are in his backup band, and when I dropped in to say hello, I got an introduction."
"Some introduction."
Julian shrugged. "We're keeping it low key for now, but if we're outed, we're outed. I don't care."
Peter shook his head. "I agree that you shouldn't care, but there's still going to be a bit of notoriety around anything you do."
"Yeah, probably. What do you suggest?"
"An interview with a friendly reporter. Get ahead of the story, because there will be stories. Not just because of you and Chantal and her accident, but Gordon's a big star and his personal life will be news, too. I know it's not fair to have your love life plastered all over the front page and the lead story on the nightly news, but it helps. This is a chance for you and Gordon to control the story."
"Just like Bruce Jenner."
"Exactly, and it's Caitlyn Jenner, now."
"Right, right. Of course."
"Did Gordon come to New York with you?"
"He'll be here in about three weeks. And just so you don't get an over-inflated sense of your own brilliance, Gordon pretty much said we should do exactly what you recommended. The new album drops in a month and he wants to do the whole announcement thing at the same time."
There was something in Julian's voice that sent Peter's gut rumbling, but not in a bad way. "The album, are you - perchance - performing on it?"
Julian laughed. "Okay, you are freaking brilliant. Gordon and I recorded a few new tracks after he finished it. We'd like to release them as an EP - or do they even do that anymore? Gordon said something about bonus tracks."
"You could do both - the bonus tracks for the digital release and then a separate CD with the new material."
"Good. Would like the proceeds to go to a charity, though. Not sure which. Is there one for old queer rockers who are finally sick and tired of hiding in the closet?"
Peter chuckled. "I'm sure we can find something appropriate. The labels will need their cut first, though."
Julian stood up. "Okay, great. This is great. I guess I don't have to ask you to take care of those fucking bloodsuckers - the labels, I mean."
"No, you don't have to ask, and of course I will. I think you're going to be very surprised at how well your announcement goes over."
"I hope so."
This time, Peter reached out and hugged Julian. "You deserve to be happy."
"You're damned right I do." Julian stepped back. "We'll get together when Gordon's in New York, and start planning this."
"Yeah." Peter rubbed the back of his neck and winced.
"What's the matter?"
"I was going on vacation - leaving Saturday for a week in the Caribbean. I probably should cancel and get the ball rolling on your interview."
"No, don't. You really look like you could use a break. And besides, you've got a staff - let them get the grunt work done. I'm just in for a few days to settle up things with Chantal's estate, getting the townhouse sold, then I'm going back to Sydney. There's nothing for you to do until we're ready."
Peter wasn't sure he agreed with that. There was going to be a lot of background work to do, but Julian was right in that he had a good staff and he needed to let them step up.
He called Blake in to start setting things up and his admin gave him an envelope. "This just arrived by private courier."
Peter opened it, and to his surprise, he found a full color advertisement for this month's performances at Ellington's. His eyes skimmed to the bottom, to the last Thursday of the month, two days from today.
Performing for the very last time - Nicole
He stared at the card, his mouth dry and his heart pounding. Had Neal sent this? Was this his way of reaching out?
Unlikely. It probably came from June. He figured that Neal wouldn't have said anything to her about what an asshole her old friend, Peter Burke, was. And of course June knew he was interested in Nicole from a professional standpoint. This card was just a reminder.
But the tag, "for the very last time", troubled him. Was Neal giving her up? He couldn't imagine that the school would be pressuring him. Not now, not after everything. He could call Bancroft and ask, except that wasn't necessary. He'd see Bancroft tomorrow, at his first Board of Governors meeting. His appointment, and that of Leland Shelton - who'd stepped in when some not-so-gentle arm twisting pried Phillip Kramer's fat ass out of his seat – was all but confirmed. The vote tomorrow was a formality.
Peter checked his calendar for Thursday night and there were two appointments. One was an early dinner with executives from an industry group representing independent artists and the second was for a performance at Café Carlyle. He'd go to the dinner, since Neal - as Nicole - wouldn't take the stage until ten. The tickets for Alan Cummings' show would be gratefully accepted by Clinton.
He'd go and see Nicole, see Neal. His heart would likely bleed, but he wouldn't miss the chance for the world.
♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫
Neal hadn't been this nervous about performing, ever. Not even the first time he'd taken the stage as Nicole.
It was ironic - this was his last performance and his torso was swimming in flop sweat. The silver lamé dress was waiting for him, but it would have to wait until the very last minute. Otherwise, he'd be drenched before he stepped on stage.
A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Yes?"
"It's me, June."
He told his godmother to come in.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm a bit of a wreck."
"You'll be fine." June knew that he wasn't really talking about his performance. Nor was she.
"How is it out there?"
"Biggest house we've had since Diana Krall performed, and that's going back a while. We might actually have to start turning people away and I can't remember the last time that happened."
Neal didn't want to ask, but he couldn't help himself. "Is Peter here?"
June shook her head. "Not yet, but don't worry. He'll be here, I'm certain of it."
"I'm glad one of us is."
June picked up the mascara wand from the dressing table and started working on Neal's eyelashes. "I wish you'd let me go see him, to tell him that this was all my fault."
"But it wasn't your fault."
"It was, sweetheart, it certainly was. If I hadn't played so coy when you were on stage in March, insisting that Peter had to see your whole act, if I'd just introduced you properly, none of this heartache would have happened."
"Maybe, but it's likely that Peter would never have seen me as anything more than an act, a client to represent. He might never have seen past the dress and the falsies. What happened was as much my fault as Peter's. I could have told him the truth the first time he mentioned Nicole. Everything would have played out so much differently."
June looked as if she was going to continue to protest. Neal gave her a hard stare from behind his heavily made-up lashes and she stopped. Neal was grateful that June said nothing more as she finished working on his face.
"Okay, arms up."
Despite the semi-argument they just had, Neal was suddenly a lot less nervous. June carefully dropped the heavy dress over his head, and as he stood up, it fell mostly into place. He adjusted the front, aligning the deep vee neck with his "cleavage" and let June zip him up.
There was just one more piece to complete his transformation – his wig. He settled it on his head – his own hair tightly contained by a stocking cap - and made sure the adhesive and clips would hold everything in place. Neal pulled on long white elbow length gloves and added wide rhinestone cuffs over each wrist.
Only then, did he check himself in the mirror. As always, the transformation kind of shocked him. He knew it was the dress, the foundation garments, the falsies, the makeup and of course, the wig, but he actually did look like a beautiful woman. Which unnerved him.
"You look stunning, Neal." June stood behind him, a pleased expression on her face.
"Thank you. For this, for everything."
June just nodded. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
"Of course you are."
Neal followed her out of the dressing room and through the maze of old furniture and sound equipment, to the back of the stage. The musicians were set up and just waiting for the lighting cue to begin playing Limehouse Blues, June's walk-on music.
This show was a risk in so many ways. Most of the songs were new for him, but each song was part of a message. He just hoped that Peter was here to get it.
♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫
Peter wasn't the type of man who used his industry connections to get favors. Nor was he the type of man who got into fist fights. But right now, his temper was frayed and he was a heartbeat from punching the six-foot-nine doorman in the face. It didn't help his temper that he was late because the gasbags from the industry group insisted on getting milkshakes from Shake Shack. After a five course meal at The Four Seasons.
"Look, I've been invited." Peter pulled out the card he received.
"Don't look like no invite to me."
Peter did have to give him that – the card was an advertisement, not an invitation. "I'm close friends with June Ellington. You know, the lady who owns this place."
"And I'm drinking buddies with Barack Obama. You know, the guy in the White House."
Peter had to admit it, but that was a good comeback. "Look, can you just go ask Paul? He knows me, too."
The doorman – or more appropriately, the hired muscle – folded his arms across his massive chest and shook his head. "Paul said the house was full. No one else gets in. I got my orders and I ain't disobeyin' them."
"So I guess this wouldn't help?" Peter pulled a one-hundred dollar bill from his money clip and held it up.
The muscle grunted, grabbed for the money, but Peter was quicker. "You get this when I'm on the other side of that door."
It took just two seconds. The velvet rope was unclipped; the doorman stood aside and let Peter through. Peter handed him the bribe and figured he got off cheaply.
And irony of ironies, Paul came rushing out. "Mr. Burke! We've been waiting for you! Mrs. June has been holding a table for you, come, come. Nicole is about to take the stage."
Peter was rushed to a small table, dead center in front of the stage, just as the house lights dimmed and the light sounds of a snare drum and clarinet began. June took the stage to uproarious applause.
"It's been a very long time since I got a greeting like that. Maybe when Byron got out of Rikers the first time. Let's just say I couldn't walk for a few days afterwards."
The crowd burst into laughter.
"But you're not here to hear about my sex life." She leaned into the mic and cast a conspiratorial look around the room. "Or are you?"
There was more laughter; June's slightly risqué patter was a well-established part of her stage persona. She continued, "No, I don't think so. I think you're here for some fabulous music from a fabulous singer." She looked over her shoulder and said, "Hit it, boys."
They played the first few stanzas of "One For My Baby (and One More For the Road)" before June made a slicing motion across her throat. "Nope – I know I'm not the singer you came to hear."
The audience shouted out encouragement, and June shrugged. "Just warning you, these pipes aren't what they used to be."
And the response was, "We don't care."
"No, thankfully, you never do." June nodded to the band. "From the top, Marcel."
"Whatever you say, Ms. June. Whatever you say."
It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place except you and me
So, set 'em up, Joe, I got a little story you oughta know
We're drinkin', my friend, to the end of a brief episode
Make it one for my baby and one more for the road
I got the routine, so drop another nickel in the machine
I'm feelin' so bad, wish you'd make the music pretty and sad
Could tell you a lot, but you've got to be true to your code
So, make it one for my baby and one more for the road
June worked the audience and even Peter could feel the tug of sadness, but the humor of the song too.
This torch that I found must be drowned or it soon might explode
So, make it one for my baby and one more for the road
That long, long road
"That road, it's so damn long!"
June acknowledged the audience's worship, but lightly waved it off. "That's all you're getting out of me tonight. You know who's waiting behind this curtain, and so I ask you, for the very last time, here at Ellington's or anywhere else, to please show your appreciation for Nicole!"
Peter held his breath as June stepped off the stage and the curtain rose. It was like that night almost three months ago, and knowing that this beautiful woman was an even more beautiful man didn't lessen the impact of his first glimpse of the tall, leggy brunette in silver lamé.
Neal – or should he say even in his head, Nicole seduced the audience before she sang a single note. It was in the subtleness of an arm movement, the tilt of her head, the proud stance before the microphone and a hushed, almost reverent audience.
Yes, it was pure theater and it was brilliant.
Then the music started; a honky-tong twang that sent chills up his spine.
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.
Nicole lifted her arms as she sang.
What a wicked game you play to make me feel this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you
Peter wondered – he had to – if there was a message in those aching, damning words. No I don't want to fall in love with you.
The song ended and Peter felt as if one sharp blow could shatter him, it hurt that much.
But the next song sent a completely different message.
In your eyes
I see the deepness of the sea
I see the deepness of the love
The love I feel you feel for me
Autumn comes, summer dies
I see the passing of the years in your eyes
And when we part there’ll be no tears, no goodbyes
I’ll just look into your eyes
I feel the love you feel for me
What was Neal trying to tell him? Or was he trying to tell him anything?
The roar of the audience was a jolt.
Unlike that night in March, when Nicole belted out song after song, this time, she talked to the audience. Her voice was not Neal's voice. It was throatier, if anything, a touch deeper. It was deliberately unfeminine.
"The roads we travel can be – as my dearest June just pointed out – pretty damn long. They can be hard, too. Not just the bumps and breaks, but all the turns and choices that you can make. I've made choices, and some of them were very bad. But I've learned from the pain those choices brought me. And some of what I've learned I need to forget."
The steady beat of the piano was joined by a slightly sour note from a clarinet.
I'm leaving by night, I'm leaving alone
I'm leaving it lie when you waken I'll be gone
I would not beg for me as I would not beg for you
Though I'd like to be the one to see you through
Every step you have taken disappears with the tide
You're torn up and shaken with changing your mind
You haven't got the grace to say you'll finally decide
And you haven't got the strength to stay and fight
Peter thought he understood the message here, but he didn't want to believe. He couldn't allow himself to hope.
The blows kept coming until Peter was numb. Between songs, Nicole stripped herself bare, revealing parts of herself that he knew Neal would never have the courage to do without the costume, without the masks that this persona gave him.
Peter tried to look at Nicole with the enthusiasm he had had for her before he'd learned the truth. He couldn't deny the tremendous talent, but as he listened, he remembered what Neal had told the reporter - that he was merely a forger - able to copy other artists' voices, styles, that he really didn't have one of his own. As much as he hated to admit it, Neal's self-assessment was right.
He was an excellent copyist, a forger, as he called himself. Not that with the right coaching and training he couldn't take that raw talent and find his own voice, his own style.
Here is my song for the asking
Ask me and I will play
So sweetly, I’ll make you smile
This is my tune for the taking
Take it, don’t turn away
I’ve been waiting all my life
Thinking it over, I’ve been sad
Thinking it over, I’d be more than glad
To change my ways for the asking
Ask me and I will play
All the love that I hold inside
Yes, Neal was amazing and it seemed like there was no style he couldn't replicate.
"My friends, this is my very last song. It is a gift, not just from me to you, but to everyone who has lived a lie and regretted the moment the truth was told, but never the truth itself."
Over the years, Peter had heard dozens of covers of Leonard Cohen's signature hymn, Hallelujah. While the song had power, it hadn't moved him in a long, long time.
But maybe it was the singer, or maybe it was the culmination of so much pain and hope and loss - emotions that resonated in each note. In each word.
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
As Hallelujah echoed over and over again, the spotlight shrank and Nicole disappeared as the stage went dark.
The audience erupted in furious applause and Peter, like everyone else, sprang out of his chair, calling for an encore.
But instead of Neal returning to the stage, June appeared.
She waited for the commotion to die back down and when she spoke, Peter could hear the tears in her voice.
"Nicole asked me to thank you, and to remember her with joy. But she is gone and despite your love and affection, she won't be back on stage, here or anywhere else. Nick, however, will be taking the stage soon, and I can promise you, you won't regret staying."
Peter wanted to go - not to leave the club, but to go backstage, to Neal's dressing room. He wanted to tell Neal that he got the message and that he would wait for him, however long that was. He was about to stand up, but found himself pressed firmly into his chair.
"Don't think you're going anywhere, Suit. At least not for the moment." Two people pulled up chairs and sat down at his table. The speaker was a short guy, bald and bespectacled, wearing seersucker, of all things. With him was a rather stunning brunette, small and curvy, with bright blue eyes that were staring at him with amused curiosity.
"Do I know you?"
The brunette answered, "No, but you will. We're friends of Neal's. I'm Elizabeth and this is Mozzie."
Peter remembered Neal mentioning an Elizabeth as one of his colleagues. "You teach at Manhattan Prep, right? You're the former FBI agent."
Elizabeth nodded, clearly pleased that he knew who she was.
"I don't suppose that Neal mentioned a former chemistry teacher."
Something clicked in Peter's memory, something about a teacher who'd lost his job because he disagreed with the government's position on marijuana. "Actually, he did."
The little guy beamed.
"Look, I'd like to stay and chat, but – " Peter started to get up, but Elizabeth wrapped her hand around his wrist. For a small woman, her grip was strong, like a manacle. Peter figured it was her FBI training.
"Sit with us, Suit. We'd like to get to know you a bit better." Moz leaned back in his chair and the way the club lighting reflected on his glasses made Peter a little dizzy.
"Okay, but maybe we can do this another time?" Peter really wanted to get to Neal.
"No, now would be best."
"Look, I don't want to be rude, but …" He tugged, but unless he wanted to start knocking over tables and causing a scene, he wasn't going to break free.
Elizabeth let go of his hand. "Just relax. You are not going to talk to Neal until after he finishes his performance."
"So you know about this?" Peter felt like an idiot for asking. Of course they did. "Did he ask you to keep me here?"
"Yes, we do and no, Neal didn't. And he'd probably be pissed at us for interfering, but it took him a long time to get to this point and if you talked to him now, he just might not be able to make it through this set."
Peter could understand that. He didn't like it, but he could accept it. "So I guess you know that I behaved like a total ass. I said some terrible things and I hurt Neal very badly."
The pair nodded like Chinese good-luck cats.
"And is this where you threaten me with grievous bodily harm if I hurt Neal again?"
Mozzie snorted, "As if we'd resort to such a tired and worn-out trope."
"Huh? Trope?"
Elizabeth's explanation confused him even further. "Even though Mozzie writes fan fiction, he is an excellent writer because he always tries to avoid clichés if he can."
"Fan fiction?" Of course, Peter knew what that was. Who didn't these days? But he couldn't picture this strange little man writing steamy scenes between fictional characters who probably didn't even like each other.
But apparently he did, as Elizabeth proudly informed him. "Moz is a BNF in the Tiles of Fire fandom. His hate-sex stories between Farmer Boy and Li Kang burn up the Internet."
Peter felt liked he'd just fallen, head-first, down Alice's rabbit hole. He had no idea what anything she had just said meant.
Thankfully, the house lights dimmed and Elizabeth and Mozzie took off, probably back to the alternate universe they inhabited. The band reprised "Limehouse Blues" as June took the stage again.
She kept the introduction brief. "My friends, thank you for waiting. Nicole may have left the building, but Nick is here to warm you up."
Peter's heart raced as the curtain rose; this was what he'd missed that night in March. The single picture he'd seen of Neal as "Nick" – a blurry shot posted on Instagram, had made his mouth water once he'd gotten past his anger. The man on stage now was dressed in an impeccably cut tux, dark hair a little slicked back, but his eyes and lips were still adorned with Nicole's makeup. Peter couldn't breathe from the desire that rose in his veins.
If you could read my mind, love
What a tale my thoughts could tell
Just like an old-time movie
'Bout a ghost from a wishin' well
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
With chains upon my feet
You know that ghost is me
And I will never be set free
As long as I'm a ghost that you can't see
Peter knew the Gordon Lightfoot classic like the back of his hand. The summer he turned seven, this song had been in heavy rotation on AM radio. At the time, he hadn't understood what the words meant, but the music and the singer's voice always made him feel a desperately sad. But it had become something of a disco hit when he was in high school, and that had always struck him as ironic – the singer mourning the loss of deeper feeling when disco was all about living in the moment.
Now, though, he wondered just what Neal was trying to tell him.
And then he didn't have to wonder at all.
"I know you loved Nicole, and she loved you, too. But she wasn't real – she was a mask I created, someone I could use to make some dreams come true. No – not dreams of fame and fortune, but dreams of strength, of fearlessness. And yet, over the past few months, I've discovered that I don't need Nicole to be strong. And so, in the same way that the singer talks about his wife, I can tell you about Nicole. We'd grown distant – she was as much of a ghost as any fantasy. She couldn't rescue me, but she taught me that I could rescue myself."
Peter knew, down to his bones, that this was the truth, like Nicole's earlier revelations. The lights, the stage, even the tux and the makeup, gave Neal the courage to strip himself bare and show him – and the world - what he was.
A soft, almost conversational set of piano chords introduced the next song and Peter felt himself grinning at the choice. It was so inappropriately appropriate.
Don't go changing, to try and please me
You never let me down before
Don't imagine you're too familiar
And I don't see you anymore
I wouldn't leave you in times of trouble
We never could have come this far
I took the good times, I'll take the bad times
I'll take you just the way you are
Peter listened in a haze of pleasure, doing his best not to get up and sweep Neal off the stage and into his arms. Every word was calculated to seduce him. Not sexually, but emotionally, intellectually.
Existentially. It made him feel alive.
The music was so carefully chosen and it was hard to remember that he and Neal barely knew each other – at least in linear time.
Even the songs of love and loss resonated. He could feel Neal's fear, because it was his own.
I wanna have you
'Cause you're all I've got
Don't wanna lose you
'Cause it means a lot
All the joy this world can bring
Doesn't give me anything
When you're not here ...
Idiot me
Stupid fool
How could you be
So uncool?
To fall in love with someone who
Doesn't really care for you
It's so obscure...
Peter wanted to call out and tell Neal that he was loved, but he still held back. Not out of fear, but out of respect. This set would come to an end – and after six songs and almost as many confessional moments, Peter knew that the moment would be coming soon.
And it did, with gut-wrenching honesty.
I bruise you, you bruise me
We both bruise too easily, too easily to let it show
I love you and that's all I know .
All my plans have fallin' through,
All my plans depend on you, depend on you to help them grow,
I love you and that's all I know.
When the singer's gone let the song go on...
But the ending always comes at last,
Endings always come too fast,
They come too fast but they past too slow,
I love you and that's all I know .
Unlike Nicole's dramatic exit, Nick played the audience, taking bows, accepting a bouquet of flowers, blowing kisses, and when he walked off the stage, the musicians stayed behind. A few moments later, the lights dimmed and Neal, still as Nick, returned.
The song that Neal picked for his encore sent chills down Peter's spine.
The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the endless skies, my love
To the dark and the endless skies
Neal moved to the edge of the stage, and for the very first time that entire night, he was looking directly at Peter, he was singing to him as if they were the only ones in the room.
And the first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hand
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command, my love
If Peter had any doubts about Neal's feelings after the dual performance tonight, this encore, this song, the words themselves laid those doubts to rest.
And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last 'til the end of time, my love
And it would last 'til the end of time, my love
My love, my love, my love
As the last notes faded, Neal stepped back and the stage went dark. Peter was out of his seat and heading towards the back before the audience started clapping. He'd been patient until it nearly killed him.
♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫
Like one of his students at the end of finals week, Neal was grateful beyond words that this performance was over. Since Sunday, he'd re-worked both sets, putting in and pulling out songs, trying to hone a message to a man he wasn't sure would even show up.
The rehearsals had been brutal, too – of the fourteen songs, he'd actually only performed three of them before. Ellington's house band, thankfully, was experienced and flexible and accommodated his craziness. He would have rehearsed until he lost his voice, but June had been there to keep him from making that mistake.
He just wanted everything to be perfect.
Neal had thought about delivering the show card to Peter's office himself, but that would have been a mistake. He also thought about including a note, or some type of message, something that would draw Peter in. But he didn't do that either.
It Peter wanted to be here, he'd come. If he didn't, there was nothing Neal could do to entice him back.
At least he hadn't gone out on stage without knowing if Peter had or had not shown up. June was clever and told him that if she sang "Strangers in the Night", Peter was not there, but if she did "One for My Baby", he was.
Not that Neal could see into the audience with the spotlight focused on him, but he sensed Peter's presence. Or at least that's what he told himself to keep going when all he wanted to do was run off the stage and hide back here, in the bowels of the club.
Exhausted, hot, and more than a touch depressed, Neal leaned against the wall and pulled his bowtie loose and undid the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Not that that helped. The backstage area wasn't air conditioned, and worse, his entire torso was still encased in the heavy Spandex and Lycra garment he wore to fit into Nicole's costume. There was never enough time between sets to get himself out of that, and he just took off the bra and fake boobs before getting into Nick's tuxedo.
At least this was the last time he'd have to do that.
"Neal?"
He turned his head and there was Peter, tall and beautiful, wearing the same gray suit he'd worn that night they'd met at June's.
"You were magnificent."
Neal smiled slightly. "It was a farewell performance." He wanted Peter to understand that he wasn't looking for fame or fortune or any career other than the one he had at an Upper West Side private school.
"I know, and you took my breath away. Over and over again."
Neal swallowed, not sure of what to say. His throat was dry and his voice felt used up.
"I have to ask. Did you send me the notice?"
Neal nodded. "I wanted you here."
"Why?"
Maybe Peter didn't understand. "I'm not looking for representation. This is it, I'm done with performing."
"I know that. So why did you want me here?"
It felt all horrible and awkward now, nothing like what he'd planned. All the words, the beautiful words of love and forgiveness couldn't make it past his lips. He shook his head and bit his lip, wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear.
Peter moved closer, and the heat from his body was different, welcome. It took all of Neal's strength not to lean into it.
"I think you wanted me here because you wanted to tell me something. I think you wanted me to listen to those songs and understand the man that you are, and how a man like me could fit into your life."
Neal felt like sobbing with relief. Peter did understand. "Do you want to fit into my life?"
Peter smiled. "If you want to fit into mine."
"Yes, oh god, yes."
He wasn't sure if he reached for Peter or if Peter reached for him, but they were in each other's arms and their mouths met and Peter was kissing him. And he was kissing Peter and all of the voices that whispered to him about pain and worry and fear that had dogged him for so long were silenced.
Peter lifted his mouth and when he smiled, there was a little spark of mischief in his eyes. "You know, this is the first time in almost thirty years that I've kissed the lipstick off of someone's mouth."
Neal let out a shout of laughter and it felt so damn good. "Of all the things I expected you to say, that was the very last on the list, if it even made the list."
Peter chuckled and wiped his lips with his thumb and looked at the smear of red. "Well, as you say, it's the last time."
"It is." Neal sighed. "I was afraid, Peter."
"I'd never, ever hit you, Neal. I know that I have a wicked tongue sometimes and I can say things that are – well – cruel when I'm angry. And that's something I have to work on."
"That's not what I was afraid of, not really."
"No?"
"I was afraid that I'd be powerless." It hurt like hell to admit it. "That I'd become nothing again."
Peter nodded. "I know – you said you were scared that you'd lose yourself again. I wouldn't let that happen." Peter stroked his cheek. "You know what it was about you that attracted me that first night?"
"My underwear model good looks?"
Peter tilted his head, acknowledging that, yes, Neal had a strong physical appeal. "More than that, it was your intelligence, your strength of personality, your wit. I don't want – or need – an appendage. I want an equal. And you are, despite your fears, my equal. Or more than my equal. I won't let you lose yourself."
Neal reached out and replicated Peter's gesture. "Good. But I realized something. Or rather, a my friend, Elizabeth, helped me realize something."
"Which is?"
"I have power, too. As much power to make you hurt as you hurt me. I can say cruel things, too. I can be an asshole, too. And it's likely, if we're together for any length of time, I will be that asshole."
"There are two sides to that coin, Neal. You also have the power to make me happy."
He sucked in his breath. "Yes, I do. And I want to make you happy. And I want you to make me happy." The last came out in a rush and Neal felt his cheeks burn.
Peter smiled and rested his head against his. "You would make me very happy if you were part of my life."
"That's almost a song, you know."
"Don't, whatever you do, don't start humming that tune. I spent the better part of eighth grade with that earworm in my head."
"Okay, I won't. But just so I'm clear – are we talking Debby Boone or Fleetwood Mac?"
Peter growled and kissed him. "How would you like to go away with me?"
"Now?"
"Now, yes. And also this weekend. I've got a vacation booked. Have you ever been to Belize? I'm staying at a friend's incredible beach front villa. I'd planned on spending the week sipping frou-frou drinks and reading the latest Nelson DeMille. I'd rather spend it with you. No strings – separate bedrooms if you want."
"And if I don't want?"
"To go with me?"
"No, what if I don't want separate bedrooms?"
"I'm sure I could live with that. I don't think it would be too much of a hardship."
Neal felt a little mischievous, and said in the most off-hand manner he could muster, "Well, maybe we should take it slowly. Get to really know each other first."
Peter backed away a bit, and he seemed a little deflated. "Well, okay. If that's what you think is best. The place – from what I've seen – is huge. We'll go as slowly as you want."
Like that first afternoon in Peter's apartment, Neal felt reckless. "Really? How about going as fast as I liked?"
"We can go as fast or as slow as you like, how does that sound?"
"Like perfection." This time, Neal kissed Peter and kept on kissing him until he felt him start to tremble.
"This is crazy, you know that? We haven't talked for three months and all I want to do is fuck you against the wall."
Neal shivered. "I want that, too." He canted his hips against Peter's to give proof of that. "But tonight's probably not a good idea. Wouldn't want to scare the staff."
Then Peter shocked him. "I lost my virginity back here. The summer before I started Harvard. I don't remember his name, but he could suck-start a leaf-blower and I think I came in like two minutes."
"You're crazy, you know that?"
Peter rested his arm against the wall, but Neal didn't feel at all trapped. "No crazier than you."
"Wanna get out of here?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
A woman's warm and happy chuckle interrupted them and they both looked up to find June standing in the dark corridor, smiling. "Peter's not the first person to lose their virginity behind the stage at Ellington's."
Neal's jaw dropped and he felt Peter's own astonishment.
"Go, get out of here. Be happy, both of you."
Neal ducked out from under Peter's arm and hugged his godmother. "Thank you, thank you for everything."
Peter kissed June's cheek, then grabbed Neal's hand, gently tugging him towards the fire exit. As he pushed the door open, the alarm sounded. As they ran down the block, Neal heard June's laughter and he thought that was the sweetest sound in the world.
♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫
June pulled the old, heavy door shut and turned off the siren. She was so happy for Neal. And for Peter. But she was just a little sad, too. It was so nice having Neal under her roof. He brought light and joy into her life. But he was entitled to a life of his own, with a good man. One who understood just how special he was.
She made her way back to the club's dressing room, and was a little surprised at what she found. Nicole's costume – the beautiful lamé dress – was draped over the dressing table and spilling onto the floor. One long white glove was on the stool and there was no sign of the second one. The long, brunette wig was in the trash, along with the falsies and the bra Neal had used.
June sniffled and wiped at her cheeks. Yes, Nicole and everything she was, was gone.
But never forgotten.
She picked up the dress, carefully hanging it back in its garment bag. The second glove had fallen to the floor, and she rescued it – folding it up with its mate. The rhinestone bracelets were there, too. She tucked everything into the bag and zipped it up. She knew that Neal would never put the garment on again, but it never hurt to have a reminder of something well worth remembering.
June wiped the tears from her cheeks and thought, foolish old woman, to get so sentimental over a silly costume.
But she still took the garment bag, cradling it carefully in her arms. As she walked back to the front of the house, she thought she could still hear Byron's music, his laughter, his happiness.
Like all the best songs, love has a way of echoing in the rafters long after the singer has left the stage.
FIN
GO TO MASTER POST
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.
"Neal?" Elizabeth nudged him. "Earth to Neal. Come in, Neal."
"What?"
"You were spacing out."
"Sorry, just lost in thought."
"Obviously." They were walking down Riverside Drive. It was Sunday, sunny, and a perfectly nice day for a post-graduation stroll. Elizabeth asked him, "So, how does it feel to be 'Teacher of the Year'?"
Neal looked down at the small plaque he was holding. It had been given to him at the graduation ceremony they'd just escaped from, and he shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Wasn't expecting it."
"I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."
"I'm really not into popularity contests."
"Teacher of the Year isn't like being voted as Prom King. It's not just the students who vote, it's the teachers and the administrators, too."
"Huh, I didn't know that."
El was merciless. "And I've heard, through the grapevine, that the vote was just about unanimous. Like it or not, you're a hero."
Neal protested that title, like he had a hundred times before. "I'm not a hero. I just did - "
"What you thought was right, what anyone else would do. I've heard that from you before, and as I've said before, no one else had the balls to stand up to that bitch but you. If they had, they'd have gotten the award. So sit back and enjoy the laurels. You earned them."
"Thanks. I guess."
"Moz has a saying … "
"Moz has a lot of sayings."
"But this one's particularly relevant. 'Don't live your life in vain regret'. And he's right."
"Why do you think I'm - what did you say - living my life in vain regret?"
"Because I can see how sad you are. You're going through each day like a robot. Something's missing from the Neal Caffrey I know and love."
Neal ground his jaw and swallowed the pain. "I'm fine, El. There's nothing wrong."
"Then why aren't you happy?"
"I'm not unhappy."
"There's a world of difference between being happy and being not-unhappy. Nothing makes you smile."
Neal deliberately relaxed the muscles in his face and grinned. "There, I'm smiling."
"No, you're faking it."
They turned the corner onto 129th Street and went into the old coffee shop. A little past two on a Sunday and the place was deserted. Too late for churchgoers and too early for the post-brunch crowd, not that the place was frequented by too many brunch eaters.
Someone had placed a sign "Section Closed" in front of the booths where they normally parked themselves, so he and El sat at the counter. The line cook came out of the back and pushed cups of coffee at them. "No food until four, unless you want toast."
Neal took a cautious sip, tried not to grimace at the burnt taste of the brew and said, "No, we're good." As the man walked away, he emptied half a pitcher of milk and six packets of sugar into the cup, to make it palatable. El used the rest of the milk and almost twice as much sugar.
And she didn't let up on him. "You don't have to be miserable."
Of course, he insisted, "I'm not miserable. I'm just fine."
"Call him, Neal."
Neal toyed with the napkin, concentrating on turning it into a flower. "No."
"Why not?"
"You know why not."
"He apologized."
"Vincent used to apologize. At least in the beginning."
"You said that Peter wasn't like that bastard. You told me that he wouldn't hurt you." El was one of the very few people he'd told the whole truth about his time with Vincent.
"Not like that. No, Peter would never hit me. But he has a temper."
"News flash, so do you. And so do I. Moz has a temper, but that doesn't mean he's going to hurt me. I trust him."
Neal kept folding the napkin. It wasn't perfect, but it was beginning to look like a calla lily.
"Are you really afraid of Peter Burke? You don't trust him?"
Neal crumpled the flower and dropped it into his half-empty cup. "No, I don't trust myself. What if I go back to being that guy? That weak, spineless, needy man-child who was too stupid to walk away until he almost couldn't walk at all?"
"Neal…" El reached out and rested a hand on top of his.
"Don't. Don't pity me, don't tell me that Peter isn't Vincent, and even if he is - that I'm too strong, too smart to get caught up in another situation like that."
"You are. And I don't understand you at all. You stand up for everyone else, but you can't stand up for yourself and what you really want. You have friends here. Family, too. People who love you and who wouldn't hesitate to intervene if they thought you were being hurt. And remember, you're not without your own power. You can hurt Peter, you can make him happy, too."
Neal looked at the sodden brown mess in his coffee cup and thought that it was a perfect metaphor for his life. So he changed the subject. "I'm performing at the club on Thursday night."
"Excellent. Moz and I will be there, of course."
"But it's the last time."
"Neal, no! Why?"
"I can't live in two worlds. I'm a teacher. I'm not ashamed of performing in drag, but it's not really who I am. If I want to sing, I can join a choral group, but the nightclub act is over."
"Not because of what happened?"
Neal shook his head. "No, not really. I just don't want to hide like that. If I wanted a music career, I'd go after it. It's just that I can't live half a life, and even if I'm only performing a few times a year, it's still a distraction."
"You could just go on stage as Nick. No reason why you couldn't. You're a beautiful man with a beautiful voice. If you don't want to deal with Nicole's theatricality, just be the suave, slightly dangerous, extremely sexy Nick."
El's idea was sensible. "Maybe. I'll think about it." Neal smiled, and this time the expression was genuine. "So, have you and Moz firmed up your plans for the summer?"
"Yup. Moz is flying us up to his cabin in Michigan for most of July, then a road trip to Seattle."
"More pot?"
Elizabeth snickered. "It's legal in Washington State, and I love Seattle. What about you?"
"Don't really know. Thought about doing a road trip of my own, maybe the Southwest. But Hughes asked me to stay in New York and work with him on getting the school back on track."
"He's grooming you, you realize. A few years and you'll be ready to step into his shoes."
"I don't mind. It's a good future." Two days after Callaway's forced resignation, the entire school - students, teachers, administrators and staff - were required to report to Manhattan Prep's vast auditorium. Bancroft was on the stage and behind him was the entire Board of Governors, including Peter and Leland Shelton, the man who owned half of New York's local media operations, and Helen Anderson's boss. Notable in his absence was Phillip Kramer, and Neal figured that Shelton was the asshole's replacement.
Bancroft had spoken briefly and eloquently about the school and the duty that the Board owed to the students, the teachers, the staff, and to the legacy of Manhattan Prep as a bastion on secular education. He actually apologized on behalf of the Board for forgetting that, for letting their collective vision become clouded by the promises that were never intended to be kept. And then he moved on to happier subjects: the abrupt departure of Principal Callaway left a vacancy that needed to be quickly and carefully filled. At that moment, Reese Hughes came onto the stage and the audience had burst into cheers.
Hughes let everyone express their happiness at his return, and after two full minutes of hearing his name chanted, he quieted the audience with a single gesture. He spoke for only a few moments, in his typical no-nonsense fashion, telling everyone that they had work to do and there'd be no more of the bigoted bullshit that had been going on since he retired - the first time. He'd make sure of it.
"You want to get out of here?" El dropped some cash on the counter and they headed back out into the afternoon sunshine, Neal carrying the plaque that meant more to him than he was prepared to admit.
"Yeah. It's June's birthday, and I'm taking her dancing at the Starlight tonight."
"Give her a hug from me, okay?"
"I will. Maybe you and Moz could come over for dinner next Friday?"
"That sounds like fun. It'll be nice to get my fuzzy bear into something less hipsterish than worn plaids and chinos with frayed cuffs."
Neal leaned over and kissed El's cheek. "See you then."
El kissed him back and reminded him, "Actually, I'll see you on Thursday, at the club."
"Right. Till then." Neal watched as Elizabeth headed towards the downtown subway. He could have gone with her and gotten off in three stops, but the day was too nice to be underground and he walked home.
As he walked, El's words kept repeating inside his head. " And remember, you're not without your own power. You can hurt Peter, you can make him happy, too."
The truth of that statement hit him. Not like a fist to the face, but like dawn in the desert. He could see Peter's face when they'd last talked - the hope, the love, the worry. There was shame there, too - for the damage he'd done. Neal could also see how his own words stifled Peter's hope, turned it not to anger, but to resigned acceptance.
He was the one who had the power in this relationship. No, they both had power. Not merely the power to hurt each other, but the power to make each other - and themselves - happy.
Neal stood at the corner of 100th and Riverside, about a dozen blocks from home, and let the world flow around him as he made plans. It all might crash and burn, but unless he took this chance, he'd never know if he could have more than this closed off life. Yes, he was safe, but having briefly tasted happiness, he wanted more than safety.
He wanted love.
Blake brought in a cup of espresso and the news that Julian Larsen was in the office and would like to see him.
Peter told his admin to show his client in, but give him a few minutes first. He took a careful sip of the coffee and prayed that Julian's presence didn't require the firm to go into DEFCON-4 mode again. He was due to leave for a well-earned vacation in a few days. A week in Belize, at a friend's ocean side villa. No cellphone, no laptop, no clients, no problems. Just blue skies, sunshine, endless white sand beaches, and Nelson DeMille's latest thriller.
He would use the time to think about what he wanted from his life. Yes, he was fifty, in good health; he owned a business that had brought him wealth and professional satisfaction. But his time with Neal - a little more than a week from start to finish - had shown him just what was missing in his life.
Before Neal, relationships were more of an annoyance than anything. He shied away from even the mildest hint of something long term. He was too busy, too driven to waste time seeing to another person's emotional needs. But the truth was, he was simply too stupid to realize that without someone to share his life, all of his success was pointless. He was too old to club hop, as if that lifestyle held any appeal. Random hook-ups were not him, and apparently, neither were no-strings attached, friends-with-benefits relationships either. David had come back to town - not permanently, just for a week of meetings - and suggested that they get together. Dinner was pleasant, but when David suggested a nightcap and maybe something more at his hotel suite, Peter declined.
David seemed to take the rejection with good grace. He kissed Peter on the cheek and left him with the bill. Peter figured that this was probably the last time he'd see the other man and he was surprised how little the thought bothered him.
He knew he didn't want to spend the rest of his life alone, but the thought of spending it with someone who wasn't Neal was even less palatable. Maybe that would change in time. He hoped so.
He finished the espresso just as Blake brought Julian in.
"Peter!"
He stood up and was surprised when the other man, who'd never been the touchy-feely sort, gave him a tight hug. He stepped back and looked at Julian. He'd always been fit, but a quarter-century of rock 'n roll living took its toll on his face. Or rather, had once taken its toll. Julian looked twenty years younger than he had when he'd walked out the door nearly three months ago. He was tanned, clean shaven, the perpetual scowl he'd worn as long as Peter had known him was replaced by a wide smile. And more that than, Julian looked happy.
"How were your travels? Or do I have to ask?" Peter gestured for Julian to take a seat.
"It's that obvious?"
"Yeah, it is. So - where have you been and what's been going on?"
"You know I wanted to go off the grid, get as far away from the media as possible, so I went to Australia."
"They still have newspapers in Australia. And the paparazzi there can be more ruthless than they are here in the U.S."
"Not in the Outback."
Peter's jaw dropped. "Seriously?"
Julian nodded.
"I guess you really meant it when you said you were going off the grid."
"Yeah, it was a completely surreal experience."
"So, tell me, did you spend three months herding sheep?"
"God, no! Lasted on the station a little more than a week before I booked out of there. There's only so much g'day-ing and Fosters a sane man can take."
Peter laughed. "You big phony."
Julian got serious, though. "Not anymore."
That stopped Peter cold in his tracks. "Really?"
Julian nodded.
"What made you change your mind, after all these years?"
"I met someone. Someone who doesn't believe in living a lie, who doesn't need to live a lie. He's out and proud and it doesn't make one bit of difference in his life."
Peter had long given up hope that Julian would see that there was no shame in being gay, even if he was a rock god. "How did he manage to teach you that?"
"By example."
Peter stared at Julian, who stared right back, his smile now cast in mischievous lines. "No."
"Yes."
"You and Gordon Taylor?"
Julian leaned back in his chair, a full-fledged smirk on his face. "I always knew you were quick."
"It wasn't hard to figure out. It was either Gordon Taylor or Adam Lambert, and Adam's been touring in South America. Gordon's Australian, and he's been playing small venues there while gearing up for a new album and concert tour."
"That's how we met. Some of my old music school mates are in his backup band, and when I dropped in to say hello, I got an introduction."
"Some introduction."
Julian shrugged. "We're keeping it low key for now, but if we're outed, we're outed. I don't care."
Peter shook his head. "I agree that you shouldn't care, but there's still going to be a bit of notoriety around anything you do."
"Yeah, probably. What do you suggest?"
"An interview with a friendly reporter. Get ahead of the story, because there will be stories. Not just because of you and Chantal and her accident, but Gordon's a big star and his personal life will be news, too. I know it's not fair to have your love life plastered all over the front page and the lead story on the nightly news, but it helps. This is a chance for you and Gordon to control the story."
"Just like Bruce Jenner."
"Exactly, and it's Caitlyn Jenner, now."
"Right, right. Of course."
"Did Gordon come to New York with you?"
"He'll be here in about three weeks. And just so you don't get an over-inflated sense of your own brilliance, Gordon pretty much said we should do exactly what you recommended. The new album drops in a month and he wants to do the whole announcement thing at the same time."
There was something in Julian's voice that sent Peter's gut rumbling, but not in a bad way. "The album, are you - perchance - performing on it?"
Julian laughed. "Okay, you are freaking brilliant. Gordon and I recorded a few new tracks after he finished it. We'd like to release them as an EP - or do they even do that anymore? Gordon said something about bonus tracks."
"You could do both - the bonus tracks for the digital release and then a separate CD with the new material."
"Good. Would like the proceeds to go to a charity, though. Not sure which. Is there one for old queer rockers who are finally sick and tired of hiding in the closet?"
Peter chuckled. "I'm sure we can find something appropriate. The labels will need their cut first, though."
Julian stood up. "Okay, great. This is great. I guess I don't have to ask you to take care of those fucking bloodsuckers - the labels, I mean."
"No, you don't have to ask, and of course I will. I think you're going to be very surprised at how well your announcement goes over."
"I hope so."
This time, Peter reached out and hugged Julian. "You deserve to be happy."
"You're damned right I do." Julian stepped back. "We'll get together when Gordon's in New York, and start planning this."
"Yeah." Peter rubbed the back of his neck and winced.
"What's the matter?"
"I was going on vacation - leaving Saturday for a week in the Caribbean. I probably should cancel and get the ball rolling on your interview."
"No, don't. You really look like you could use a break. And besides, you've got a staff - let them get the grunt work done. I'm just in for a few days to settle up things with Chantal's estate, getting the townhouse sold, then I'm going back to Sydney. There's nothing for you to do until we're ready."
Peter wasn't sure he agreed with that. There was going to be a lot of background work to do, but Julian was right in that he had a good staff and he needed to let them step up.
He called Blake in to start setting things up and his admin gave him an envelope. "This just arrived by private courier."
Peter opened it, and to his surprise, he found a full color advertisement for this month's performances at Ellington's. His eyes skimmed to the bottom, to the last Thursday of the month, two days from today.
Performing for the very last time - Nicole
He stared at the card, his mouth dry and his heart pounding. Had Neal sent this? Was this his way of reaching out?
Unlikely. It probably came from June. He figured that Neal wouldn't have said anything to her about what an asshole her old friend, Peter Burke, was. And of course June knew he was interested in Nicole from a professional standpoint. This card was just a reminder.
But the tag, "for the very last time", troubled him. Was Neal giving her up? He couldn't imagine that the school would be pressuring him. Not now, not after everything. He could call Bancroft and ask, except that wasn't necessary. He'd see Bancroft tomorrow, at his first Board of Governors meeting. His appointment, and that of Leland Shelton - who'd stepped in when some not-so-gentle arm twisting pried Phillip Kramer's fat ass out of his seat – was all but confirmed. The vote tomorrow was a formality.
Peter checked his calendar for Thursday night and there were two appointments. One was an early dinner with executives from an industry group representing independent artists and the second was for a performance at Café Carlyle. He'd go to the dinner, since Neal - as Nicole - wouldn't take the stage until ten. The tickets for Alan Cummings' show would be gratefully accepted by Clinton.
He'd go and see Nicole, see Neal. His heart would likely bleed, but he wouldn't miss the chance for the world.
Neal hadn't been this nervous about performing, ever. Not even the first time he'd taken the stage as Nicole.
It was ironic - this was his last performance and his torso was swimming in flop sweat. The silver lamé dress was waiting for him, but it would have to wait until the very last minute. Otherwise, he'd be drenched before he stepped on stage.
A tap on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Yes?"
"It's me, June."
He told his godmother to come in.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm a bit of a wreck."
"You'll be fine." June knew that he wasn't really talking about his performance. Nor was she.
"How is it out there?"
"Biggest house we've had since Diana Krall performed, and that's going back a while. We might actually have to start turning people away and I can't remember the last time that happened."
Neal didn't want to ask, but he couldn't help himself. "Is Peter here?"
June shook her head. "Not yet, but don't worry. He'll be here, I'm certain of it."
"I'm glad one of us is."
June picked up the mascara wand from the dressing table and started working on Neal's eyelashes. "I wish you'd let me go see him, to tell him that this was all my fault."
"But it wasn't your fault."
"It was, sweetheart, it certainly was. If I hadn't played so coy when you were on stage in March, insisting that Peter had to see your whole act, if I'd just introduced you properly, none of this heartache would have happened."
"Maybe, but it's likely that Peter would never have seen me as anything more than an act, a client to represent. He might never have seen past the dress and the falsies. What happened was as much my fault as Peter's. I could have told him the truth the first time he mentioned Nicole. Everything would have played out so much differently."
June looked as if she was going to continue to protest. Neal gave her a hard stare from behind his heavily made-up lashes and she stopped. Neal was grateful that June said nothing more as she finished working on his face.
"Okay, arms up."
Despite the semi-argument they just had, Neal was suddenly a lot less nervous. June carefully dropped the heavy dress over his head, and as he stood up, it fell mostly into place. He adjusted the front, aligning the deep vee neck with his "cleavage" and let June zip him up.
There was just one more piece to complete his transformation – his wig. He settled it on his head – his own hair tightly contained by a stocking cap - and made sure the adhesive and clips would hold everything in place. Neal pulled on long white elbow length gloves and added wide rhinestone cuffs over each wrist.
Only then, did he check himself in the mirror. As always, the transformation kind of shocked him. He knew it was the dress, the foundation garments, the falsies, the makeup and of course, the wig, but he actually did look like a beautiful woman. Which unnerved him.
"You look stunning, Neal." June stood behind him, a pleased expression on her face.
"Thank you. For this, for everything."
June just nodded. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
"Of course you are."
Neal followed her out of the dressing room and through the maze of old furniture and sound equipment, to the back of the stage. The musicians were set up and just waiting for the lighting cue to begin playing Limehouse Blues, June's walk-on music.
This show was a risk in so many ways. Most of the songs were new for him, but each song was part of a message. He just hoped that Peter was here to get it.
Peter wasn't the type of man who used his industry connections to get favors. Nor was he the type of man who got into fist fights. But right now, his temper was frayed and he was a heartbeat from punching the six-foot-nine doorman in the face. It didn't help his temper that he was late because the gasbags from the industry group insisted on getting milkshakes from Shake Shack. After a five course meal at The Four Seasons.
"Look, I've been invited." Peter pulled out the card he received.
"Don't look like no invite to me."
Peter did have to give him that – the card was an advertisement, not an invitation. "I'm close friends with June Ellington. You know, the lady who owns this place."
"And I'm drinking buddies with Barack Obama. You know, the guy in the White House."
Peter had to admit it, but that was a good comeback. "Look, can you just go ask Paul? He knows me, too."
The doorman – or more appropriately, the hired muscle – folded his arms across his massive chest and shook his head. "Paul said the house was full. No one else gets in. I got my orders and I ain't disobeyin' them."
"So I guess this wouldn't help?" Peter pulled a one-hundred dollar bill from his money clip and held it up.
The muscle grunted, grabbed for the money, but Peter was quicker. "You get this when I'm on the other side of that door."
It took just two seconds. The velvet rope was unclipped; the doorman stood aside and let Peter through. Peter handed him the bribe and figured he got off cheaply.
And irony of ironies, Paul came rushing out. "Mr. Burke! We've been waiting for you! Mrs. June has been holding a table for you, come, come. Nicole is about to take the stage."
Peter was rushed to a small table, dead center in front of the stage, just as the house lights dimmed and the light sounds of a snare drum and clarinet began. June took the stage to uproarious applause.
"It's been a very long time since I got a greeting like that. Maybe when Byron got out of Rikers the first time. Let's just say I couldn't walk for a few days afterwards."
The crowd burst into laughter.
"But you're not here to hear about my sex life." She leaned into the mic and cast a conspiratorial look around the room. "Or are you?"
There was more laughter; June's slightly risqué patter was a well-established part of her stage persona. She continued, "No, I don't think so. I think you're here for some fabulous music from a fabulous singer." She looked over her shoulder and said, "Hit it, boys."
They played the first few stanzas of "One For My Baby (and One More For the Road)" before June made a slicing motion across her throat. "Nope – I know I'm not the singer you came to hear."
The audience shouted out encouragement, and June shrugged. "Just warning you, these pipes aren't what they used to be."
And the response was, "We don't care."
"No, thankfully, you never do." June nodded to the band. "From the top, Marcel."
"Whatever you say, Ms. June. Whatever you say."
It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place except you and me
So, set 'em up, Joe, I got a little story you oughta know
We're drinkin', my friend, to the end of a brief episode
Make it one for my baby and one more for the road
I got the routine, so drop another nickel in the machine
I'm feelin' so bad, wish you'd make the music pretty and sad
Could tell you a lot, but you've got to be true to your code
So, make it one for my baby and one more for the road
June worked the audience and even Peter could feel the tug of sadness, but the humor of the song too.
This torch that I found must be drowned or it soon might explode
So, make it one for my baby and one more for the road
That long, long road
"That road, it's so damn long!"
June acknowledged the audience's worship, but lightly waved it off. "That's all you're getting out of me tonight. You know who's waiting behind this curtain, and so I ask you, for the very last time, here at Ellington's or anywhere else, to please show your appreciation for Nicole!"
Peter held his breath as June stepped off the stage and the curtain rose. It was like that night almost three months ago, and knowing that this beautiful woman was an even more beautiful man didn't lessen the impact of his first glimpse of the tall, leggy brunette in silver lamé.
Neal – or should he say even in his head, Nicole seduced the audience before she sang a single note. It was in the subtleness of an arm movement, the tilt of her head, the proud stance before the microphone and a hushed, almost reverent audience.
Yes, it was pure theater and it was brilliant.
Then the music started; a honky-tong twang that sent chills up his spine.
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.
Nicole lifted her arms as she sang.
What a wicked game you play to make me feel this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you
Peter wondered – he had to – if there was a message in those aching, damning words. No I don't want to fall in love with you.
The song ended and Peter felt as if one sharp blow could shatter him, it hurt that much.
But the next song sent a completely different message.
In your eyes
I see the deepness of the sea
I see the deepness of the love
The love I feel you feel for me
Autumn comes, summer dies
I see the passing of the years in your eyes
And when we part there’ll be no tears, no goodbyes
I’ll just look into your eyes
I feel the love you feel for me
What was Neal trying to tell him? Or was he trying to tell him anything?
The roar of the audience was a jolt.
Unlike that night in March, when Nicole belted out song after song, this time, she talked to the audience. Her voice was not Neal's voice. It was throatier, if anything, a touch deeper. It was deliberately unfeminine.
"The roads we travel can be – as my dearest June just pointed out – pretty damn long. They can be hard, too. Not just the bumps and breaks, but all the turns and choices that you can make. I've made choices, and some of them were very bad. But I've learned from the pain those choices brought me. And some of what I've learned I need to forget."
The steady beat of the piano was joined by a slightly sour note from a clarinet.
I'm leaving by night, I'm leaving alone
I'm leaving it lie when you waken I'll be gone
I would not beg for me as I would not beg for you
Though I'd like to be the one to see you through
Every step you have taken disappears with the tide
You're torn up and shaken with changing your mind
You haven't got the grace to say you'll finally decide
And you haven't got the strength to stay and fight
Peter thought he understood the message here, but he didn't want to believe. He couldn't allow himself to hope.
The blows kept coming until Peter was numb. Between songs, Nicole stripped herself bare, revealing parts of herself that he knew Neal would never have the courage to do without the costume, without the masks that this persona gave him.
Peter tried to look at Nicole with the enthusiasm he had had for her before he'd learned the truth. He couldn't deny the tremendous talent, but as he listened, he remembered what Neal had told the reporter - that he was merely a forger - able to copy other artists' voices, styles, that he really didn't have one of his own. As much as he hated to admit it, Neal's self-assessment was right.
He was an excellent copyist, a forger, as he called himself. Not that with the right coaching and training he couldn't take that raw talent and find his own voice, his own style.
Here is my song for the asking
Ask me and I will play
So sweetly, I’ll make you smile
This is my tune for the taking
Take it, don’t turn away
I’ve been waiting all my life
Thinking it over, I’ve been sad
Thinking it over, I’d be more than glad
To change my ways for the asking
Ask me and I will play
All the love that I hold inside
Yes, Neal was amazing and it seemed like there was no style he couldn't replicate.
"My friends, this is my very last song. It is a gift, not just from me to you, but to everyone who has lived a lie and regretted the moment the truth was told, but never the truth itself."
Over the years, Peter had heard dozens of covers of Leonard Cohen's signature hymn, Hallelujah. While the song had power, it hadn't moved him in a long, long time.
But maybe it was the singer, or maybe it was the culmination of so much pain and hope and loss - emotions that resonated in each note. In each word.
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
As Hallelujah echoed over and over again, the spotlight shrank and Nicole disappeared as the stage went dark.
The audience erupted in furious applause and Peter, like everyone else, sprang out of his chair, calling for an encore.
But instead of Neal returning to the stage, June appeared.
She waited for the commotion to die back down and when she spoke, Peter could hear the tears in her voice.
"Nicole asked me to thank you, and to remember her with joy. But she is gone and despite your love and affection, she won't be back on stage, here or anywhere else. Nick, however, will be taking the stage soon, and I can promise you, you won't regret staying."
Peter wanted to go - not to leave the club, but to go backstage, to Neal's dressing room. He wanted to tell Neal that he got the message and that he would wait for him, however long that was. He was about to stand up, but found himself pressed firmly into his chair.
"Don't think you're going anywhere, Suit. At least not for the moment." Two people pulled up chairs and sat down at his table. The speaker was a short guy, bald and bespectacled, wearing seersucker, of all things. With him was a rather stunning brunette, small and curvy, with bright blue eyes that were staring at him with amused curiosity.
"Do I know you?"
The brunette answered, "No, but you will. We're friends of Neal's. I'm Elizabeth and this is Mozzie."
Peter remembered Neal mentioning an Elizabeth as one of his colleagues. "You teach at Manhattan Prep, right? You're the former FBI agent."
Elizabeth nodded, clearly pleased that he knew who she was.
"I don't suppose that Neal mentioned a former chemistry teacher."
Something clicked in Peter's memory, something about a teacher who'd lost his job because he disagreed with the government's position on marijuana. "Actually, he did."
The little guy beamed.
"Look, I'd like to stay and chat, but – " Peter started to get up, but Elizabeth wrapped her hand around his wrist. For a small woman, her grip was strong, like a manacle. Peter figured it was her FBI training.
"Sit with us, Suit. We'd like to get to know you a bit better." Moz leaned back in his chair and the way the club lighting reflected on his glasses made Peter a little dizzy.
"Okay, but maybe we can do this another time?" Peter really wanted to get to Neal.
"No, now would be best."
"Look, I don't want to be rude, but …" He tugged, but unless he wanted to start knocking over tables and causing a scene, he wasn't going to break free.
Elizabeth let go of his hand. "Just relax. You are not going to talk to Neal until after he finishes his performance."
"So you know about this?" Peter felt like an idiot for asking. Of course they did. "Did he ask you to keep me here?"
"Yes, we do and no, Neal didn't. And he'd probably be pissed at us for interfering, but it took him a long time to get to this point and if you talked to him now, he just might not be able to make it through this set."
Peter could understand that. He didn't like it, but he could accept it. "So I guess you know that I behaved like a total ass. I said some terrible things and I hurt Neal very badly."
The pair nodded like Chinese good-luck cats.
"And is this where you threaten me with grievous bodily harm if I hurt Neal again?"
Mozzie snorted, "As if we'd resort to such a tired and worn-out trope."
"Huh? Trope?"
Elizabeth's explanation confused him even further. "Even though Mozzie writes fan fiction, he is an excellent writer because he always tries to avoid clichés if he can."
"Fan fiction?" Of course, Peter knew what that was. Who didn't these days? But he couldn't picture this strange little man writing steamy scenes between fictional characters who probably didn't even like each other.
But apparently he did, as Elizabeth proudly informed him. "Moz is a BNF in the Tiles of Fire fandom. His hate-sex stories between Farmer Boy and Li Kang burn up the Internet."
Peter felt liked he'd just fallen, head-first, down Alice's rabbit hole. He had no idea what anything she had just said meant.
Thankfully, the house lights dimmed and Elizabeth and Mozzie took off, probably back to the alternate universe they inhabited. The band reprised "Limehouse Blues" as June took the stage again.
She kept the introduction brief. "My friends, thank you for waiting. Nicole may have left the building, but Nick is here to warm you up."
Peter's heart raced as the curtain rose; this was what he'd missed that night in March. The single picture he'd seen of Neal as "Nick" – a blurry shot posted on Instagram, had made his mouth water once he'd gotten past his anger. The man on stage now was dressed in an impeccably cut tux, dark hair a little slicked back, but his eyes and lips were still adorned with Nicole's makeup. Peter couldn't breathe from the desire that rose in his veins.
If you could read my mind, love
What a tale my thoughts could tell
Just like an old-time movie
'Bout a ghost from a wishin' well
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
With chains upon my feet
You know that ghost is me
And I will never be set free
As long as I'm a ghost that you can't see
Peter knew the Gordon Lightfoot classic like the back of his hand. The summer he turned seven, this song had been in heavy rotation on AM radio. At the time, he hadn't understood what the words meant, but the music and the singer's voice always made him feel a desperately sad. But it had become something of a disco hit when he was in high school, and that had always struck him as ironic – the singer mourning the loss of deeper feeling when disco was all about living in the moment.
Now, though, he wondered just what Neal was trying to tell him.
And then he didn't have to wonder at all.
"I know you loved Nicole, and she loved you, too. But she wasn't real – she was a mask I created, someone I could use to make some dreams come true. No – not dreams of fame and fortune, but dreams of strength, of fearlessness. And yet, over the past few months, I've discovered that I don't need Nicole to be strong. And so, in the same way that the singer talks about his wife, I can tell you about Nicole. We'd grown distant – she was as much of a ghost as any fantasy. She couldn't rescue me, but she taught me that I could rescue myself."
Peter knew, down to his bones, that this was the truth, like Nicole's earlier revelations. The lights, the stage, even the tux and the makeup, gave Neal the courage to strip himself bare and show him – and the world - what he was.
A soft, almost conversational set of piano chords introduced the next song and Peter felt himself grinning at the choice. It was so inappropriately appropriate.
Don't go changing, to try and please me
You never let me down before
Don't imagine you're too familiar
And I don't see you anymore
I wouldn't leave you in times of trouble
We never could have come this far
I took the good times, I'll take the bad times
I'll take you just the way you are
Peter listened in a haze of pleasure, doing his best not to get up and sweep Neal off the stage and into his arms. Every word was calculated to seduce him. Not sexually, but emotionally, intellectually.
Existentially. It made him feel alive.
The music was so carefully chosen and it was hard to remember that he and Neal barely knew each other – at least in linear time.
Even the songs of love and loss resonated. He could feel Neal's fear, because it was his own.
I wanna have you
'Cause you're all I've got
Don't wanna lose you
'Cause it means a lot
All the joy this world can bring
Doesn't give me anything
When you're not here ...
Idiot me
Stupid fool
How could you be
So uncool?
To fall in love with someone who
Doesn't really care for you
It's so obscure...
Peter wanted to call out and tell Neal that he was loved, but he still held back. Not out of fear, but out of respect. This set would come to an end – and after six songs and almost as many confessional moments, Peter knew that the moment would be coming soon.
And it did, with gut-wrenching honesty.
I bruise you, you bruise me
We both bruise too easily, too easily to let it show
I love you and that's all I know .
All my plans have fallin' through,
All my plans depend on you, depend on you to help them grow,
I love you and that's all I know.
When the singer's gone let the song go on...
But the ending always comes at last,
Endings always come too fast,
They come too fast but they past too slow,
I love you and that's all I know .
Unlike Nicole's dramatic exit, Nick played the audience, taking bows, accepting a bouquet of flowers, blowing kisses, and when he walked off the stage, the musicians stayed behind. A few moments later, the lights dimmed and Neal, still as Nick, returned.
The song that Neal picked for his encore sent chills down Peter's spine.
The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the endless skies, my love
To the dark and the endless skies
Neal moved to the edge of the stage, and for the very first time that entire night, he was looking directly at Peter, he was singing to him as if they were the only ones in the room.
And the first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hand
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command, my love
If Peter had any doubts about Neal's feelings after the dual performance tonight, this encore, this song, the words themselves laid those doubts to rest.
And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last 'til the end of time, my love
And it would last 'til the end of time, my love
My love, my love, my love
As the last notes faded, Neal stepped back and the stage went dark. Peter was out of his seat and heading towards the back before the audience started clapping. He'd been patient until it nearly killed him.
Like one of his students at the end of finals week, Neal was grateful beyond words that this performance was over. Since Sunday, he'd re-worked both sets, putting in and pulling out songs, trying to hone a message to a man he wasn't sure would even show up.
The rehearsals had been brutal, too – of the fourteen songs, he'd actually only performed three of them before. Ellington's house band, thankfully, was experienced and flexible and accommodated his craziness. He would have rehearsed until he lost his voice, but June had been there to keep him from making that mistake.
He just wanted everything to be perfect.
Neal had thought about delivering the show card to Peter's office himself, but that would have been a mistake. He also thought about including a note, or some type of message, something that would draw Peter in. But he didn't do that either.
It Peter wanted to be here, he'd come. If he didn't, there was nothing Neal could do to entice him back.
At least he hadn't gone out on stage without knowing if Peter had or had not shown up. June was clever and told him that if she sang "Strangers in the Night", Peter was not there, but if she did "One for My Baby", he was.
Not that Neal could see into the audience with the spotlight focused on him, but he sensed Peter's presence. Or at least that's what he told himself to keep going when all he wanted to do was run off the stage and hide back here, in the bowels of the club.
Exhausted, hot, and more than a touch depressed, Neal leaned against the wall and pulled his bowtie loose and undid the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Not that that helped. The backstage area wasn't air conditioned, and worse, his entire torso was still encased in the heavy Spandex and Lycra garment he wore to fit into Nicole's costume. There was never enough time between sets to get himself out of that, and he just took off the bra and fake boobs before getting into Nick's tuxedo.
At least this was the last time he'd have to do that.
"Neal?"
He turned his head and there was Peter, tall and beautiful, wearing the same gray suit he'd worn that night they'd met at June's.
"You were magnificent."
Neal smiled slightly. "It was a farewell performance." He wanted Peter to understand that he wasn't looking for fame or fortune or any career other than the one he had at an Upper West Side private school.
"I know, and you took my breath away. Over and over again."
Neal swallowed, not sure of what to say. His throat was dry and his voice felt used up.
"I have to ask. Did you send me the notice?"
Neal nodded. "I wanted you here."
"Why?"
Maybe Peter didn't understand. "I'm not looking for representation. This is it, I'm done with performing."
"I know that. So why did you want me here?"
It felt all horrible and awkward now, nothing like what he'd planned. All the words, the beautiful words of love and forgiveness couldn't make it past his lips. He shook his head and bit his lip, wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear.
Peter moved closer, and the heat from his body was different, welcome. It took all of Neal's strength not to lean into it.
"I think you wanted me here because you wanted to tell me something. I think you wanted me to listen to those songs and understand the man that you are, and how a man like me could fit into your life."
Neal felt like sobbing with relief. Peter did understand. "Do you want to fit into my life?"
Peter smiled. "If you want to fit into mine."
"Yes, oh god, yes."
He wasn't sure if he reached for Peter or if Peter reached for him, but they were in each other's arms and their mouths met and Peter was kissing him. And he was kissing Peter and all of the voices that whispered to him about pain and worry and fear that had dogged him for so long were silenced.
Peter lifted his mouth and when he smiled, there was a little spark of mischief in his eyes. "You know, this is the first time in almost thirty years that I've kissed the lipstick off of someone's mouth."
Neal let out a shout of laughter and it felt so damn good. "Of all the things I expected you to say, that was the very last on the list, if it even made the list."
Peter chuckled and wiped his lips with his thumb and looked at the smear of red. "Well, as you say, it's the last time."
"It is." Neal sighed. "I was afraid, Peter."
"I'd never, ever hit you, Neal. I know that I have a wicked tongue sometimes and I can say things that are – well – cruel when I'm angry. And that's something I have to work on."
"That's not what I was afraid of, not really."
"No?"
"I was afraid that I'd be powerless." It hurt like hell to admit it. "That I'd become nothing again."
Peter nodded. "I know – you said you were scared that you'd lose yourself again. I wouldn't let that happen." Peter stroked his cheek. "You know what it was about you that attracted me that first night?"
"My underwear model good looks?"
Peter tilted his head, acknowledging that, yes, Neal had a strong physical appeal. "More than that, it was your intelligence, your strength of personality, your wit. I don't want – or need – an appendage. I want an equal. And you are, despite your fears, my equal. Or more than my equal. I won't let you lose yourself."
Neal reached out and replicated Peter's gesture. "Good. But I realized something. Or rather, a my friend, Elizabeth, helped me realize something."
"Which is?"
"I have power, too. As much power to make you hurt as you hurt me. I can say cruel things, too. I can be an asshole, too. And it's likely, if we're together for any length of time, I will be that asshole."
"There are two sides to that coin, Neal. You also have the power to make me happy."
He sucked in his breath. "Yes, I do. And I want to make you happy. And I want you to make me happy." The last came out in a rush and Neal felt his cheeks burn.
Peter smiled and rested his head against his. "You would make me very happy if you were part of my life."
"That's almost a song, you know."
"Don't, whatever you do, don't start humming that tune. I spent the better part of eighth grade with that earworm in my head."
"Okay, I won't. But just so I'm clear – are we talking Debby Boone or Fleetwood Mac?"
Peter growled and kissed him. "How would you like to go away with me?"
"Now?"
"Now, yes. And also this weekend. I've got a vacation booked. Have you ever been to Belize? I'm staying at a friend's incredible beach front villa. I'd planned on spending the week sipping frou-frou drinks and reading the latest Nelson DeMille. I'd rather spend it with you. No strings – separate bedrooms if you want."
"And if I don't want?"
"To go with me?"
"No, what if I don't want separate bedrooms?"
"I'm sure I could live with that. I don't think it would be too much of a hardship."
Neal felt a little mischievous, and said in the most off-hand manner he could muster, "Well, maybe we should take it slowly. Get to really know each other first."
Peter backed away a bit, and he seemed a little deflated. "Well, okay. If that's what you think is best. The place – from what I've seen – is huge. We'll go as slowly as you want."
Like that first afternoon in Peter's apartment, Neal felt reckless. "Really? How about going as fast as I liked?"
"We can go as fast or as slow as you like, how does that sound?"
"Like perfection." This time, Neal kissed Peter and kept on kissing him until he felt him start to tremble.
"This is crazy, you know that? We haven't talked for three months and all I want to do is fuck you against the wall."
Neal shivered. "I want that, too." He canted his hips against Peter's to give proof of that. "But tonight's probably not a good idea. Wouldn't want to scare the staff."
Then Peter shocked him. "I lost my virginity back here. The summer before I started Harvard. I don't remember his name, but he could suck-start a leaf-blower and I think I came in like two minutes."
"You're crazy, you know that?"
Peter rested his arm against the wall, but Neal didn't feel at all trapped. "No crazier than you."
"Wanna get out of here?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
A woman's warm and happy chuckle interrupted them and they both looked up to find June standing in the dark corridor, smiling. "Peter's not the first person to lose their virginity behind the stage at Ellington's."
Neal's jaw dropped and he felt Peter's own astonishment.
"Go, get out of here. Be happy, both of you."
Neal ducked out from under Peter's arm and hugged his godmother. "Thank you, thank you for everything."
Peter kissed June's cheek, then grabbed Neal's hand, gently tugging him towards the fire exit. As he pushed the door open, the alarm sounded. As they ran down the block, Neal heard June's laughter and he thought that was the sweetest sound in the world.
June pulled the old, heavy door shut and turned off the siren. She was so happy for Neal. And for Peter. But she was just a little sad, too. It was so nice having Neal under her roof. He brought light and joy into her life. But he was entitled to a life of his own, with a good man. One who understood just how special he was.
She made her way back to the club's dressing room, and was a little surprised at what she found. Nicole's costume – the beautiful lamé dress – was draped over the dressing table and spilling onto the floor. One long white glove was on the stool and there was no sign of the second one. The long, brunette wig was in the trash, along with the falsies and the bra Neal had used.
June sniffled and wiped at her cheeks. Yes, Nicole and everything she was, was gone.
But never forgotten.
She picked up the dress, carefully hanging it back in its garment bag. The second glove had fallen to the floor, and she rescued it – folding it up with its mate. The rhinestone bracelets were there, too. She tucked everything into the bag and zipped it up. She knew that Neal would never put the garment on again, but it never hurt to have a reminder of something well worth remembering.
June wiped the tears from her cheeks and thought, foolish old woman, to get so sentimental over a silly costume.
But she still took the garment bag, cradling it carefully in her arms. As she walked back to the front of the house, she thought she could still hear Byron's music, his laughter, his happiness.
Like all the best songs, love has a way of echoing in the rafters long after the singer has left the stage.
GO TO MASTER POST
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
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-07-03 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-11 12:14 pm (UTC)It was a challenging story to write, but very satisfying.
no subject
Date: 2015-07-03 02:06 pm (UTC)One of the things I have learned from my son is a view into the transgender world. Some of his friends are transgender and a few have made the transition. It makes me appreciate how much the world has changed from when I growing up in the 1960s and being gay was not talked about. I remember the original name for AIDS and that it was referred to as a gay disease.
I look forward to the timestamps.
no subject
Date: 2015-07-11 12:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-07-03 08:53 pm (UTC)Poor Neal, all angsty and thinking he's broken. That broke my fuzzy heart. And, yay for Peter being open, chivalrous and smart enough to wake up in the morning and reevaluate his anger.
I adored June in this fic, very much inline with her canon character, but so much more.
And as others have mentioned a poignant look at some very serious, current social issues done in an imaginative and honest manner.
LOVED IT! Stayed up way too late to finish it last night and then couldn't comment until I was conscious.
Thanks for a wonderful read!
no subject
Date: 2015-07-11 12:13 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much for devouring this in a single sitting.
It wasn't an easy story to write - the issues that I was dealing with were complex and required a lot of research. But I'm glad I wrote it.
no subject
Date: 2015-07-04 11:09 pm (UTC)Neal shivered. "I want that, too." He canted his hips against Peter's to give proof of that. "But tonight's probably not a good idea. Wouldn't want to scare the staff."
Then Peter shocked him. "I lost my virginity back here. The summer before I started Harvard. I don't remember his name, but he could suck-start a leaf-blower and I think I came in like two minutes."
"You're crazy, you know that?"
Peter rested his arm against the wall, but Neal didn't feel at all trapped. "No crazier than you."
"Wanna get out of here?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
A woman's warm and happy chuckle interrupted them and they both looked up to find June standing in the dark corridor, smiling. "Peter's not the first person to lose their virginity behind the stage at Ellington's."
Neal's jaw dropped and he felt Peter's own astonishment.
"Go, get out of here. Be happy, both of you."
Neal ducked out from under Peter's arm and hugged his godmother. "Thank you, thank you for everything."
LOL! Go June!
And what a wonderful story this was! And I loved how Peter and Neal gave love second chance. Simply beautiful!
no subject
Date: 2015-07-11 12:12 pm (UTC)It wasn't an easy story to write, but very satisfying. Thank you for reading.
no subject
Date: 2015-07-11 10:44 am (UTC)It's such a great story, love the perfect AU you created and I love the topic of transgender kids...so actual and very important.
great job
no subject
Date: 2015-07-11 12:10 pm (UTC)