FIC: Keep Your Enemies Closer (Adam/Kris, PG-13), 3/7
Author: Clio
Title: Keep Your Enemies Closer, Chapter 3: Crowds of Witness
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen; established Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Simon Cowell, manager of pop star hopefuls and owner of the hot downtown Club Idol, has been framed for a crime he didn't commit. Can new kid Kris Allen convince rival divas David Cook and Adam Lambert to work together to clear Simon's name? And what will happen when Simon asks Adam and Kris to "take care" of his boyfriend Ryan for him?
This chapter: Megan's revelation, Kris's audition, and Ryan's visit to Simon.
Chapter Length: 6500 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Keep Your Enemies Closer is an mystery AU set in the New York club scene of the mid-90s, when a rapidly gentrifying East Village contained chain stores and after hours clubs, hungry young artists and heroin dealers. As usual, there will be plenty of music to set the scene and bring you back to a time not long ago. This story is entirely written, but being posted in chapters once per week.
Thank you to ali_wildgoose, who as usual went well beyond the call of beta-duty on this one, dreamerren, who encouraged me to keep going when I'd hit an impasse, and honestys_easy, who helped me give it that final polish. This chapter from Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers.
The Unpleasantness at Club Idol | Whose Heroin?
Crowds of Witness
This is how it happened:
Ryan Seacrest came by during set-up at Club Idol, on a night when David was overseeing the other bartenders. He was surprised to see Ryan, as he knew Simon was out at his Fire Island house for the next two weeks, and had just assumed that Ryan was out there with him. Then again, Ryan was kind of a workaholic, and the two weren't exactly joined at the hip.
"You like tennis, David?" Ryan asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "I mean, not as much as baseball, but yeah. Why?"
"I have an extra ticket to the MTV Networks box on Wednesday for the Open," he said. "Kind of a thank-you gift for having to be in town to do pre-VMA stuff. Come along?"
Which is how David Cook found himself in Flushing, in a luxury box, watching a men's quarterfinals. The ticket was for all day, both matches at center court, but Ryan was busy schmoozing various head honchos from his network, so between matches David decided to go for a stroll around the grounds. Other players were working out on the practice courts-juniors, seniors, some major players too. The Tennis Center was electric because so many male seeded players had gone out early-Sampras, Ivanisavic, Courier, Becker, Chang, all gone. Dave was really looking forward to Agassi's match later that evening; he'd always liked Agassi, even if he was an uneven player. He was often brilliant and besides, he was really hot.
David avoided the crowds around stars like Stich and Muster, instead sitting in the mostly-empty bleachers near where some men's doubles pairs were practicing, figuring that having twice as many guys in shorts to stare at was good for him. Doubles was a fast-moving game, and sometimes the ball didn't even hit bounce before a player hit it back. The doubles partners worked together seamlessly, sort of like a really good infield, and often they didn't even need to call the ball-not that there was time. One of the players in particular caught Dave's eye; he was on David's side of the net, which meant he got a good look at that ass every time he bent low to await the serve. He was handsome, with shaggy dark brown hair and full lips, and David had a thing for lips, so he'd perked up pretty immediately. He hadn't thought of getting too much eye candy at this thing beyond Agassi (well, and Ryan, but Ryan was a known quantity and also very taken) and found himself sliding forward just a little in his seat.
Of course it was at that moment that the player decided to glance backwards while talking to his partner, and saw David staring. He looked back and gave a little half grin and-was that a wink? David felt suddenly self-conscious and sat back as soon as the player had turned around again, slumping into a too-cool-for-this slouch. After all, he was a rock star in the making, not a band geek staring at the football players from the bleachers. He was glad he'd decided to look a little classier than usual for Ryan's sake, in dark jeans and a blue shirt, a B&W Cards cap pulled low over forehead.
They finished after not too much longer, and the player gathered up his things, then, to David's surprise, walked right up the bleachers to him. "Saw you watching," he said in a broad Australian accent. "Like what you see?"
David looked up at him, one eye closed against the sun. (He'd seen Gary Cooper do it in an old movie and thought it looked cool, then practiced it in a mirror until he got it right.) "Maybe," he replied.
The guy nodded, smiling, and looked out over the courts. "You from around here, or just in for the tennis?" he asked.
"I live in Manhattan," David replied.
He leaned down, his hand resting on the step above David's, and he smelled of sweat and soap and sunblock. "So you must know where a fella can have some fun."
"What kind of fun are you looking to have?" David asked with a smile.
The other man's smile grew broader in response. "Whatever kind of fun you're having," he said.
David broke eye contact, looking around a bit before saying, "Don't you have some tennis to play?"
He laughed. "Yeah, semis tomorrow," he said, "and we gotta good shot, but either way, we'll be done by Saturday night, and we're not leaving for another week. You know, last grand slam of the season, so we've given ourselves a minibreak in the big city."
David reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a flyer for the club and a pen. "Well, whenever you're free, just go here," he said, writing his name on the top, "and tell them you're friends of mine. They'll let you in and someone will come find me." He handed the flyer to the man. "I'll make sure you have a good time."
The man looked him up and down. "I'll bet you will," he said, then glanced at the flyer. "David Cook, that's you?"
David nodded. "That's me."
The man held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, David Cook. I'm Michael Johns."
Kristy Lee was working the door on Saturday in that "are you awesome enough to impress me? No? Then fuck off" manner so necessary for summer weekends when the crowd outside the door was mostly tourists or bridge-and-tunnel (and didn't they have clubs in Jersey?). David wasn't hovering exactly, more paying attention to the door like any good floor manager, when Michael Johns came in. David was used to the famous and semi-famous coming to the club and had expected an entourage, or at least just his partner and a coach or two, but Michael was alone, looking even more handsome in jeans, t-shirt and denim jacket than he had in tennis whites. He walked right up to David.
"Thanks for inviting me," he said.
David looked him up and down. "You could have gotten in on your own," he said. "Sorry you guys lost today."
Michael shrugged. "We made it to a grand slam final," he said. "I think that's worth celebrating."
"Well," David said, feeling suddenly bold, "I'll have to make sure you have a good time tonight."
"I'm sure you will," Michael replied.
Kris pulled back, blinking, not quite able to process what he'd just been told. "You put the drugs in his desk? Why?"
"The message said that was the drop off!" Megan replied. "I was just doing what I was told!
He looked around the storage room. "Honey I'm gonna run and get you some tissues and I'll be right back. Don't move, okay?"
She nodded, looking up at him from where she sat on the crate. "Thanks."
Kris ran upstairs to the main room, meaning to grab his phone, when to his relief he saw David and Adam just coming in. "Guys, guys, you've gotta come with me," he said.
"Why?" Adam asked.
He grabbed some napkins from underneath the bar, wanting to make good on his promise to Megan, and quickly filled a glass with water. "I'll explain-or, Megan will. You've gotta hear what she told me."
They quickly followed him back down to the room. Kris went in first and walked right up to Megan, embracing her once again, and spoke in soothing tones. "Megan, Adam and David are helping to get Simon out of trouble. I need you to tell them what you just told me." She shook her head and Kris said, "Come on, now. You want to help Simon, don't you?" He handed her a napkin.
Megan sat up a little and blew her nose. "Yeah, I guess," she said.
"All right then," Kris said, and handed her the glass.
She took a sip, and cleared her throat. "I'm the one who put the packet in Simon's desk."
Adam and David exchanged a look. "Why did you do that, Megan?" Adam asked.
David cocked his head. "Are you working for Nigel Lythgoe?"
Megan looked up, and started to cry again as she nodded.
"It's okay, honey," Kris said. "Calm down, and tell us what happened."
Megan took a deep breath, and a long drink of water, and then started talking again. "I'm a courier. They put the stuff in a mailing envelope so if we're worried, we can just pop it into a mailbox. We pick it up from one place and we put it where the dealer can get it-usually taped under a chair or stuffed into a hidden crevice."
"Right, a dead drop," David said. "And you get a phone call each week."
"And this week she told me where to pick it up, and to put it into Simon's hidden drawer."
"You didn't think that was strange?" Adam asked. "Since Simon doesn't allow drugs in the club?"
"But she knew about the drawer," Megan said. "I figured they were for him for some reason, you know, personally from Nigel, and that's why they wanted me to deliver them."
"Because you also knew about the drawer, because you worked as Simon's office girl," David said.
"Yeah," she said. "So I came to the club a little early, and I put the drugs in the drawer when Simon went out for dinner."
"What's going on?" asked Carly, who was standing in the door. "Are we rehearsing today, or what?"
David walked to the door. "Carls, give us just five more minutes, okay? Just five minutes, then I promise, we'll bring her back to you."
Carly sighed, tapping her foot. "Fine, but that's all," she said, and walked away, shutting the door behind her.
"When do you get the phone call?" Adam asked.
"The call comes on Wednesday afternoon," she said. "I make the pick up in the early evening, and then I deliver to the drop. If I'm not home, she leaves the message on my machine."
"How do you get paid?" David asked.
"I get money for the previous week with the package," she said. "Two hundred dollars a week can make a big difference for the kids."
"How does Alexis not know, if there are messages left on your machine?" Kris asked.
"She works on Wednesdays, so I get the call, then head out to make the delivery when she gets home. Except this week, I was working, so I had to call home to pick up the message from the sitter." Megan sighed. "I guess I'm gonna have to tell her now, huh?"
Kris squeezed her hand. "We can be there with you when you do," he said.
"No, it's okay," she said, and took another deep breath. "Better to face it on my own."
"But Megan," David said, "don't tell anyone else, all right?"
They left the room then, Megan leaning on Adam's shoulder as she walked. At the door of the practice space Adam just said, "Hey, guys, can we give them a minute?" and walked back out to the bar with Carly and Brooke.
"So, Megan's with Alexis?" David asked.
"Yeah, they live out in Queens with their kids," Adam replied. "Kinda like Kate and Allie, but with fringe benefits."
"I always thought Kate and Allie were doing it anyway," Carly said.
"You would," David replied.
"I'm just sorry you were subjected to Kate and Allie in Ireland," Adam said. "It's kind of a shitty show."
"It is not!" Brooke said. "It's a perfectly nice little show."
"It was on for billions of years," Kris added.
"So was Full House," Adam said.
The front door opened then, and Nick Mitchell came in, wearing a cloak and carrying a walking stick. Nick was the eccentric manager and emcee of the little club, and no one really knew where or how he'd met Simon. Kris had been to shows down at Club AGT a couple of times since Simon hired him, and getting up on stage between acts, especially on open mike night, was Nick's forte. He could rouse a crowd like nobody's business, smooth over rough transitions and even oblige with a song when things got a bit slow. He was also a bit flamboyant; he acted the way most of the assholes at Kris's high school thought all gay men acted. He reminded Kris of a kindler, gentler Paul Lynde, if such a thing could exist.
"Hello dumplings," Nick said as he came in, removing his cloak to reveal a Hawaiian shirt in bright fuchsia and peacock. He regarded the group sitting at the bar and said, "Aren't you girls supposed to be practicing?"
Carly shrugged. "There's been some drama."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Women. Can't live with them, can't become one of them without extensive surgery. Hello little David Cook, welcome back," he said, hugging the man. "Carly's been all aflutter about your return."
"Wives are like that," he said smiling. "You look just the same."
"Just as good, you mean," Nick said, doing a slow turn.
David laughed. "Of course, that's exactly what I meant."
"And when are we getting you back up on that stage?" Nick asked.
"As soon as my band gets here," David said. "Some friends from back home."
"So Daddy comes out to the big bad city and once he gets a job he sends for the rest of the family. That's really sweet, David," he said, patting him on the cheek. Then his eyes lit on Kris. "Ah, you look like fresh meat. You must be Kris."
Nick extended his hand like a lady, but shook like a man. "Yeah, that's me," Kris said.
"The one little Matty found playing in the subway, no?"
Kris nodded.
"Well, go on up there," he said, flicking his wrist toward the small stage. "Show us what you've got."
Kris looked up at the stage. He'd brought his guitar, intending to play an acoustic version of a Donna Summer song that had always gone over well when he was busking, but that was in the practice space with Alexis and Megan. He walked up to the piano, not entirely sure what he was going to do until he sat down, and his fingers found the chords of an old Bill Withers tune he'd been messing around with lately on the little keyboard in his apartment.
Kris had always hated auditions. He could be self-conscious as a performer; he found it difficult to get over the "me, me, look at me!" aspect of it. Generally the music just took over, flowing through him, and he thought of performing more as sharing that music than as a real grab for attention. (Besides, when he sang his lower jaw did this weird slide to the right, which of course everyone made fun of, and he didn't mind because it wasn't like he could change it, but it did add to his self-consciousness.) Which was why he'd liked busking more than he would have thought; people could listen, or not. He wasn't demanding their attention, just asking for it. And often, he got it. But auditions were different-vague disinterested listening at best, and it was less than professional to get too lost in the music.
When he finished, he sat back from the keys and ran a hand through his hair. He probably hadn't quite hit that last note, but that was what practice was for. He didn't expect the silence, but when he looked over to the bar they were all just sort of staring at him. He rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Um, I can do something else if you want," he said.
"Kris, that was amazing," Adam said, and his eyes were wide.
"Yeah, I'll clap for that," David said, and the others joined in.
Kris hoped he wasn't blushing, because that would be a silly reaction. "Thanks," he said, turning around on the piano bench to face them squarely. He noticed Alexis and Megan, and realized they must have come back upstairs while he was singing.
"We're having a showcase here in a week," Nick said. "Think you can work up a few songs for that, kid?"
"You bet," Kris said, stepping down from the stage to shake Nick's hand.
"Excellent! Done," Nick said, then turned to the girls. "Drama over? Then get to practice!" he said, shooing them out of the room with a brush of his hands.
"Say, Nick," David said, "what's your take on this whole Simon thing?"
"Well," Nick said, hopping up on the bar and crossing his legs, "I have to say, I just can't believe it, and with Nigel's product! And they're thick as thieves, or were, so the story goes. I mean, Simon has people who'd love to see him go out, believe me, but they'd just trip him in the street. None of them would go to all this trouble." He pulled out a pack of Kool's and offered them to the others before lighting up. "Music business ain't that cutthroat. Not yet anyway."
"Can't think of anyone who might want to?" Adam asked.
Nick shook his head. "And I've been thinking. I mean, it ain't me-who else would hire me?" He looked up at the door. "There you are!" he said.
A man with blond curly hair was coming in the door then, tapping the show off his boots. "No thanks to you!" he said.
"Me? I'm not your seeing eye dog, you know," Nick replied.
"Really?" he said, walking over to the bar so smoothly that you wouldn't know he couldn't actually see it. "Because you certainly were a bitch this morning."
"Hello!" Nick sang out. "Ladies present!"
"No, I can hear them practicing," the other man said, slipping off his wool coat to reveal a deep purple shirt.
"Yes, but Lambert is here," Nick said, winking at Adam.
"Hi, Scott," Adam said, chuckling, and moved over to give him a hug.
"Feels like a man to me," Scott said.
"And David Cook is back from traveling the world with his golfer," Nick continued.
"Tennis player," David corrected, greeting Scott.
"And we have a new little one here," Nick said, "named Kris. Killer voice and cute as a button!"
Kris smiled nervously. "I'd shake your hand but …"
"You just wait for me," Scott said, offering his hand.
"Seacrest never seems to grasp that," Nick said. "Grasp! HA!"
Adam turned to David. "We should probably call him, actually."
David nodded and pulled out his cell phone, stepping away from the group slightly.
"How was he this morning?" Kris asked.
Adam shrugged. "I don't think he's slept," he said, "but he was functional. I don't know if I'd be, if I were in his shoes."
"Oh, poor Ryan," Nick said, shaking his head. "Scott, we should send him a fruit basket."
"Already did," Scott said as he made his way to the piano.
David put his hand over his phone. "He wants to take us out to dinner. You guys up for it?"
"Free meal?" Adam asked. "I'm so there."
"Damn," Ryan said. "That's-that's really surprising. I had no idea. Megan, really?"
David nodded. Ryan had taken them to a private room in some upscale sushi den in the East Village he was thinking of investing in. The decor was the same kind of ironic kitch you could find in a lot of downtown hipster dives, only Japanese-Hello Kitty and her friends were all over the place, old 80s anime played on some TVs in the bar, and Japanese pop music played on the stereo. David was happy to see that the table, while low, had a cut out for his legs, because he didn't like to kneel that much. The platter in the middle of the table was covered with more different kinds of rolls than he had ever seen. But the four of them had still managed to put a good dent in it.
"She's pretty broken up about it," Kris said.
"And frankly, I don't think she's that good an actress," Adam said. "So that's her off the list. Anyone you think we should add, Ryan?"
"No," he replied, "but you should check in with Hernandez after you talk to these people, see where he's at." He looked down at the list. "Wow, I made the list? Kinda makes me feel like a femme fatale."
David looked at Adam and raised one eyebrow, then drew a line through Ryan's name.
"Aww, man!" Ryan said.
"Shoulda kept your mouth shut," Kris said, laughing.
"While we're at it," Adam said, "I think we should take Tatiana, Ramiele and Kristy Lee off, too, now that knowing about that drawer isn't important."
David cocked his head, wondering when the kid had made that decision. "Kinda hasty, don't you think?" David replied.
"No," Adam said. "Ramiele could have easily put those drugs in there herself, and not used Megan at all."
"And then been at the top of the list of suspects, Adam."
"Along with half a dozen other people," Adam replied, not without attitude.
Out of the corner of his eye David could see Kris lean over to Ryan and say, "I thought they would get better in time."
"This is better," Ryan replied.
"Well Kristy Lee really has a hate on for Simon," David said, Kris and Ryan's comments making him even more stubborn. "We have to talk to her."
"If you say so."
"And Ramiele we'll see anyway, so there's no harm in slipping in a few questions."
Adam sighed. "Fine, but Tatiana comes off."
"I agree with that. And the dealer, we can stop looking for him."
"No, because the dealer could have set up the whole thing, David," Adam said, "since he knows how the system works."
"We got lucky with Megan," David said. "How are we going to find a mysterious dealer who can float a week of income?"
"Guys?" Ryan said. "Don't you already know him?"
David looked at Adam, and then back at Ryan. "We do?"
"A trust fund kid who deals drugs because he's in love with that thug lifestyle?" Ryan continued, using his fingers to mark "thug" with scare quotes.
"Oh, of course," Adam said.
"Why didn't we think of that before?" David asked.
"Wait, who?" Kris asked.
David turned to him. "Anoop. So there's someone to add to the list."
"Well, he'll show up at Idol sooner or later," Adam said.
"Speaking of which," Kris said, "I need to get to work."
"Oh yeah," Adam said. "Me too."
They all got up then, thanking Ryan for the meal, shaking his hand, and he smiled broadly and said it was his pleasure.
And then when the three of them were on the street, Kris said, "Did y'all notice that Ryan didn't eat anything?"
David hadn't, and Adam's "Huh," indicated he hadn't either. "Well," Adam went on, "Ryan's kinda manorexic under the best of circumstances, so I dunno. I'm willing to cut him some slack."
"Yeah, if Mike were in trouble? I don't know if I'd be as focussed as Ryan is. I'd probably be all over the place." He glanced at his watch. "I should see what he's doing, actually. Adam, what time tomorrow?"
"God, something human. Noon?"
"The Kiev?"
"Sounds good."
David nodded and went off in the direction of the apartment, breaking into a run as soon as he was around the corner. It was kinda high school, but somehow he didn't want Adam Lambert to see him literally running to see his boyfriend, especially after the whole thing with Lacey teaching him how to move. One humiliating revelation a day was enough.
At home, Mike was watching TV, a notebook in his hand. David craned his neck around to see the screen, and of course, it was some tennis match on the VCR. He had that same serious, concentrating expression he got when he was practicing before a match, and David could just about eat him with cream.
He kicked off his shoes and tried to act cool. "Where's the kid?"
"Carly took him to dinner and then AGT," he replied.
"So we have the place to ourselves for a while?" David asked, sinking down on the couch next to Mike.
"Yep," he replied, wrapping his arm around David's shoulders while not taking his eyes off the video. "Any ideas on what you want to do?" he asked.
"I'm sure I can come up with something." David put his head on Mike's chest. His heart beat and the slow rise and fall of his breathing were soothing, even though David hadn't known he needed to be soothed, not really. He wrapped an arm around Mike's waist.
Mike looked down at David. "Hey, what's all this?" he asked.
"Nothing," David said. He looked up. "Don't go getting into trouble."
Mike smiled at him, carding a hand through his hair. "I won't," he said, and kissed him.
Kris's set up at Idol went pretty much as usual-soda loaded in the basement, plenty of beer, double check the stock of flavored vodkas that went down like water with the dancers. Blake was playing old music that he loved but didn't bring the dancers-today, Sly and the Family Stone-which always put the staff in a good mood. Still, it was eerie to have only Chris Richardson wandering around double checking, not Simon in his black t-shirt, cigarette hanging from his lips, peering at them all suspiciously. Chris was mostly up in the office and buzzing around the margins, leaving Matt Giraud, the assistant manager, to do Chris's usual job of taking care of the set up and watching over service. Tonight Kris was working the main bar alongside Jason Castro, and Kris liked how laid back he was, which made for a fun, relaxing night. Adam had gone home to change after dinner and was now sitting atop a bar stool in full regalia-makeup, platform boots, leather trousers, some kind of sparkly vest-flipping through the latest Village Voice and reading aloud the personal ads that amused him.
"God, why are there so many ads for 'straight-acting' men?" he asked with a shake of his head.
"Maybe they just want someone to watch football with?" Jason asked.
"You know who's a huge sports fan?" Adam asked. "Ryan Seacrest. He has like, all the sports channels on satellite and watches basketball and football and all that shit. And he is pretty far from 'straight-acting.' So I'm not thinking they're the same thing."
"What about Kris?" Jason asked. "He's pretty straight-acting."
"No I'm not," Kris said. "Am I?"
"Compared to Adam," Jason said.
"Compared to Adam Nick is straight-acting," Matt said, hopping up on the seat near Adam.
"Oh thanks for that," Adam said. "Kris isn't straight-acting; Kris is Kris-acting."
Kris smiled. "Thanks!" he said, and felt suddenly aligned to the guy.
"Besides," Adam went on, "he isn't looking for someone straight-acting. Are you, Kris?"
Kris was a little flustered; he wasn't sure what the right answer was here. He wasn't even entirely sure what straight-acting was, other than the obvious. "Um, no," he said. "I just want people to act like themselves, y'know? I want Adam to be Adam-acting."
"He sure is that," Matt said, earning himself a swat on the head with the rolled-up Voice.
"Thank you, Kris," Adam said.
Matt said, "Well, I think most of those guys looking for straight-acting guys are just serious closet cases with a lot of baggage. Who needs that?"
"Speaking of closet cases," Adam said, "is your boyfriend Anoop gonna be here tonight?" Kris was impressed at how casual Adam sounded.
"He isn't my boyfriend," Matt said, "and you know he's straight. I don't think so, why? You need something?"
"No, no," Adam said. "Just wondering."
At that moment the side door burst open and a woman in an ill-fitting bright blue coat walked in, talking very fast. "Oh my goodness!" she said, speaking with a slight Spanish accent. "That poor Mr. Cowell, I just heard. Is he going to be all right?" As she walked toward the boys at the bar, she removed her accessories and flung them over her shoulder, leaving a trail of warm knits behind her on the floor.
"I'm sure he'll be fine," Matt said. "He has people working for him."
"Oh that's good," the girl replied. "Hello boys!"
"Hello, Tatiana," they all replied. She was the only daughter of Simon's landlord-some sugar magnate from Puerto Rico who'd put his money into Manhattan real estate back in the early 80s when it was very cheap. The Idol staff humored her, which wasn't difficult as she so rarely listened to anything anyone said anyway; she was too busy talking.
Adam had returned to flipping through the Voice and Jason had wandered off to the other side of the bar. Matt, meanwhile, picked up her discarded items and put them on the bar. Since no one else was talking to her, Kris felt bound to do so. "What's going on, Tatiana?" he asked.
"Nothing, I just wanted to see what is going on here!" She took off her coat and laid it across the stool next to Adam, and it promptly slid off and landed in a pool at his feet. "I just wanted to come and see if I could be any help?" She was wearing a sparkly top with a tulle skirt, which made her look like a disco ballerina.
"Help with what?" Kris asked, noticing that Matt had beat a hasty retreat.
"Oh, with anything," she said. "I mean, it must be so shocking, Mr. Cowell and all those drugs in his desk!"
Adam looked up then. "Tatiana, none of us think that they're his," he said.
"Of course not!" she said, "but it's still shocking, that someone would put them there! And poor Mr. Cowell in jail and all! It must be so upsetting for him!"
"I'm sure it is," Kris said dryly.
"I heard, that people are asking questions, and you're one of them, aren't you Adam?"
"Yeah," Adam said, "but he has lawyers and private investigators, too. There's plenty of people helping."
She smiled in that funny, calculating way she had-Kris didn't think she did anything that wasn't calculated, which was probably why she was so off-putting-and stroked Adam's arm. "Don't you have any questions for me?" she asked. "After all, I did work for Mr. Cowell once."
Adam cocked his head, and Kris could see he was trying to decide if it was worth it to humor her. "Okay," he said. "Since you were his office girl, you know how to open that secret drawer, right?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. "He kept his cigarettes in the drawer, and one of my jobs was to keep it fully stocked. Very important!"
Kris thought for a moment of Cowell deprived of his nicotine fix, and shuddered.
"Did you ever tell anyone else how to get into the drawer?" he asked. "Think hard, now. It's okay if you did; no one would blame you."
Tatiana's eyes went wide. "Oh, but of course I didn't!" she said. "I would never do that!"
"And where were you last night?" Adam asked.
"I was babysitting for a friend," she said.
"So there you go," Adam said. "No further questions."
"Did I help?" she asked.
"Of course you did," Adam said, returning his attention to the Voice.
"Still, poor Mr. Cowell. Perhaps I could send him a fruit basket!"
"I don't think they let you send fruit baskets to Riker's," Adam replied without looking up.
"Maybe you can write him a letter," Kris suggested, smiling at her.
Her eyes flew wide open. "Oh Kris, you have the best suggestions!" she said, leaning over the bar to hug him and nearly spilling out of her dress. "Oh and you too, Adam," she said, and hugged him as well.
"Thanks, Tatiana," Kris said.
"Oh, it's Blake, I must talk to Blake. Blake! Blake!" She ran off in some other direction.
"God, that girl is a nightmare," Adam said.
Kris leaned in closer to Adam, so no one else would hear, and muttered, "Why'd you ask her those questions? We already know-"
"Yeah, but no one else knows that, and anyway, I just wanted to get her off our backs."
Kris cocked his head. "After bitching to David Cook that you wanted her off that list?"
"Yeah, well," Adam said, "maybe that was hasty." He looked up at Kris, and they shared a smile.
"Hey," Jason said, rejoining them from the other side of the bar, "what are you two whispering about, huh?"
"Oh," Adam said, "just Tatiana."
"At least she's gone," Jason said.
"Yeah, no thanks to you," Adam said.
"I think you guys are being ridiculous," Kris said. "She's just a girl. Sure she's kinda loud and mixed up, but she's a good kid."
"Whatever," Jason said. "She caused some trouble for Ramiele when she started working with Cowell. Didn't want to give up the job, all that. Didn't even do it that well, so I don't know why she wanted it. Wouldn't her dad make Cowell let her sing anyway, since it's his building?"
"You'd think," Adam replied. "But have you ever seen her sing?"
Kris hadn't, but Jason shook his head. "Too much," he said. "All of it too much, and she never listened to Cowell anyway."
"But she's harmless," Kris said.
"Yeah," Adam said, "I just wish she weren't so annoying."
Kris rolled his eyes; he really didn't think being annoying or uncool was the crime that these fellas clearly thought it was. But then Matt came over, clapping his hands.
"Plan on working tonight, ladies?" he asked. "Adam, time to go to the door."
Adam scowled, and set the Voice aside. "I'm going," he said, giving Kris a smile and a little wink just before he left.
Jason shook his head. "Man, that Adam, he's a trip, isn't he?"
"Yeah," Kris said, "he certainly is."
For once, Ryan was glad that Simon smoked. The rules concerning appropriate gifts for the inmates at Riker's Island were long and confusing, but cigarettes were on the list, so Ryan was on his way with two cartons of Kools under his arm. He'd made a personal reservation with his usual MTV driver to get him out to the island-a ridiculous trip that consisted of going first to Queens, and then taking some side road west again onto this tiny island in the East River. He had to leave everything in the car, including his cell phone, and then get on a bus with the other visitors to get to the prison. He just hoped that the stubble, sunglasses and baseball cap were enough of a disguise from any MTV watchers that might be on the bus.
Everything was inspected-the gifts, his person, even his shoes. The visiting room was sterile, which he'd expected from the movies. They were filed in to some folding chairs, and told that they couldn't touch the prisoners during the visit or it would be immediately terminated. This was fine with Ryan-he was doing all he could not to give too much away, as he didn't want to cause Simon any problems. Certainly the other men didn't need to know that he was Simon's lover. He looked around and saw elderly mothers and small children and everything in between, and was glad that they hadn't told any of Simon's family about his problems quite yet.
After about twenty minutes the prisoners came in, and Ryan had to keep himself from smiling too broadly when he saw Simon. He actually didn't look too horrible-circles under his eyes for sure, and entirely generic clothing, but other than that it was hard to tell.
"Hello," he said, in that purring way he had, and Ryan didn't really know what to do.
"I, um, I brought you these," he said, handing him the cartons. "That should last you until the arraignment anyway."
"More than enough," Simon said, smiling. "And you know, a lot of the boys in here smoke these. I had no idea they were so popular in Harlem."
"Do prisoners still trade cigarettes on some kind of black market?" Ryan asked.
"Actually, yes," Simon said, "so you may have purchased me an extra phone call, or shaving cream."
Ryan nodded. "Glad to be of help." He paused, fidgeting a little, then asked, "How are you, really?"
"I'll be fine when I leave," he said, "and I'm okay now."
"But-"
Simon held up his hand. "Don't worry about me. I'm getting all the updates from Hernandez," he said. "I don't want to talk about any of that here. This time is too precious."
"Um, okay," Ryan said. "What do you want to talk about?"
"First, please tell me you've been taking care of yourself," he said, "and this stubble is just a disguise."
Ryan let himself smile then, just a little. "Some people like it when I haven't shaved in a while," Ryan said.
"Mmm, I suppose," Simon replied. "So, tell me about your days. Pretend this is the club and you've just wandered in, or whathaveyou."
"So that's what you want, just normal?"
"Ryan," he said, low, "I really just want to sit here and be able to stare at you. I don't care what you say."
"Oh," Ryan said, blushing. "Um, okay. I can do that."
And so they just gossiped, about new records coming out and various bright lights in the New York media scene, about what Ryan had put on MTV News that day and what was too much of a rumor but too juicy to keep to himself, and it really was like just being out to dinner, not as difficult to hide the true nature of their relationship here as it was anyplace else. Not that Ryan truly forgot where he was; the room was too full of other people's conversations. But it was easy to focus on the man in front of him and not think about the rest.
In the bus on the way back to the parking lot the radio was on, that new singer Erykah Badu that Simon liked so much. Oh what a day, what a day, what a day. Ryan felt suddenly exhausted, and wondered if it was all the lack of sleep finally catching up to him, though it had never really been a problem before. He pulled his hat down lower, and hoped he could keep back the tears at least until he was in the car.
A Few Red Herrings
Title: Keep Your Enemies Closer, Chapter 3: Crowds of Witness
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen; established Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Simon Cowell, manager of pop star hopefuls and owner of the hot downtown Club Idol, has been framed for a crime he didn't commit. Can new kid Kris Allen convince rival divas David Cook and Adam Lambert to work together to clear Simon's name? And what will happen when Simon asks Adam and Kris to "take care" of his boyfriend Ryan for him?
This chapter: Megan's revelation, Kris's audition, and Ryan's visit to Simon.
Chapter Length: 6500 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Keep Your Enemies Closer is an mystery AU set in the New York club scene of the mid-90s, when a rapidly gentrifying East Village contained chain stores and after hours clubs, hungry young artists and heroin dealers. As usual, there will be plenty of music to set the scene and bring you back to a time not long ago. This story is entirely written, but being posted in chapters once per week.
Thank you to ali_wildgoose, who as usual went well beyond the call of beta-duty on this one, dreamerren, who encouraged me to keep going when I'd hit an impasse, and honestys_easy, who helped me give it that final polish. This chapter from Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers.
The Unpleasantness at Club Idol | Whose Heroin?
Crowds of Witness
This is how it happened:
Ryan Seacrest came by during set-up at Club Idol, on a night when David was overseeing the other bartenders. He was surprised to see Ryan, as he knew Simon was out at his Fire Island house for the next two weeks, and had just assumed that Ryan was out there with him. Then again, Ryan was kind of a workaholic, and the two weren't exactly joined at the hip.
"You like tennis, David?" Ryan asked.
"Yeah," he replied. "I mean, not as much as baseball, but yeah. Why?"
"I have an extra ticket to the MTV Networks box on Wednesday for the Open," he said. "Kind of a thank-you gift for having to be in town to do pre-VMA stuff. Come along?"
Which is how David Cook found himself in Flushing, in a luxury box, watching a men's quarterfinals. The ticket was for all day, both matches at center court, but Ryan was busy schmoozing various head honchos from his network, so between matches David decided to go for a stroll around the grounds. Other players were working out on the practice courts-juniors, seniors, some major players too. The Tennis Center was electric because so many male seeded players had gone out early-Sampras, Ivanisavic, Courier, Becker, Chang, all gone. Dave was really looking forward to Agassi's match later that evening; he'd always liked Agassi, even if he was an uneven player. He was often brilliant and besides, he was really hot.
David avoided the crowds around stars like Stich and Muster, instead sitting in the mostly-empty bleachers near where some men's doubles pairs were practicing, figuring that having twice as many guys in shorts to stare at was good for him. Doubles was a fast-moving game, and sometimes the ball didn't even hit bounce before a player hit it back. The doubles partners worked together seamlessly, sort of like a really good infield, and often they didn't even need to call the ball-not that there was time. One of the players in particular caught Dave's eye; he was on David's side of the net, which meant he got a good look at that ass every time he bent low to await the serve. He was handsome, with shaggy dark brown hair and full lips, and David had a thing for lips, so he'd perked up pretty immediately. He hadn't thought of getting too much eye candy at this thing beyond Agassi (well, and Ryan, but Ryan was a known quantity and also very taken) and found himself sliding forward just a little in his seat.
Of course it was at that moment that the player decided to glance backwards while talking to his partner, and saw David staring. He looked back and gave a little half grin and-was that a wink? David felt suddenly self-conscious and sat back as soon as the player had turned around again, slumping into a too-cool-for-this slouch. After all, he was a rock star in the making, not a band geek staring at the football players from the bleachers. He was glad he'd decided to look a little classier than usual for Ryan's sake, in dark jeans and a blue shirt, a B&W Cards cap pulled low over forehead.
They finished after not too much longer, and the player gathered up his things, then, to David's surprise, walked right up the bleachers to him. "Saw you watching," he said in a broad Australian accent. "Like what you see?"
David looked up at him, one eye closed against the sun. (He'd seen Gary Cooper do it in an old movie and thought it looked cool, then practiced it in a mirror until he got it right.) "Maybe," he replied.
The guy nodded, smiling, and looked out over the courts. "You from around here, or just in for the tennis?" he asked.
"I live in Manhattan," David replied.
He leaned down, his hand resting on the step above David's, and he smelled of sweat and soap and sunblock. "So you must know where a fella can have some fun."
"What kind of fun are you looking to have?" David asked with a smile.
The other man's smile grew broader in response. "Whatever kind of fun you're having," he said.
David broke eye contact, looking around a bit before saying, "Don't you have some tennis to play?"
He laughed. "Yeah, semis tomorrow," he said, "and we gotta good shot, but either way, we'll be done by Saturday night, and we're not leaving for another week. You know, last grand slam of the season, so we've given ourselves a minibreak in the big city."
David reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a flyer for the club and a pen. "Well, whenever you're free, just go here," he said, writing his name on the top, "and tell them you're friends of mine. They'll let you in and someone will come find me." He handed the flyer to the man. "I'll make sure you have a good time."
The man looked him up and down. "I'll bet you will," he said, then glanced at the flyer. "David Cook, that's you?"
David nodded. "That's me."
The man held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, David Cook. I'm Michael Johns."
Kristy Lee was working the door on Saturday in that "are you awesome enough to impress me? No? Then fuck off" manner so necessary for summer weekends when the crowd outside the door was mostly tourists or bridge-and-tunnel (and didn't they have clubs in Jersey?). David wasn't hovering exactly, more paying attention to the door like any good floor manager, when Michael Johns came in. David was used to the famous and semi-famous coming to the club and had expected an entourage, or at least just his partner and a coach or two, but Michael was alone, looking even more handsome in jeans, t-shirt and denim jacket than he had in tennis whites. He walked right up to David.
"Thanks for inviting me," he said.
David looked him up and down. "You could have gotten in on your own," he said. "Sorry you guys lost today."
Michael shrugged. "We made it to a grand slam final," he said. "I think that's worth celebrating."
"Well," David said, feeling suddenly bold, "I'll have to make sure you have a good time tonight."
"I'm sure you will," Michael replied.
Kris pulled back, blinking, not quite able to process what he'd just been told. "You put the drugs in his desk? Why?"
"The message said that was the drop off!" Megan replied. "I was just doing what I was told!
He looked around the storage room. "Honey I'm gonna run and get you some tissues and I'll be right back. Don't move, okay?"
She nodded, looking up at him from where she sat on the crate. "Thanks."
Kris ran upstairs to the main room, meaning to grab his phone, when to his relief he saw David and Adam just coming in. "Guys, guys, you've gotta come with me," he said.
"Why?" Adam asked.
He grabbed some napkins from underneath the bar, wanting to make good on his promise to Megan, and quickly filled a glass with water. "I'll explain-or, Megan will. You've gotta hear what she told me."
They quickly followed him back down to the room. Kris went in first and walked right up to Megan, embracing her once again, and spoke in soothing tones. "Megan, Adam and David are helping to get Simon out of trouble. I need you to tell them what you just told me." She shook her head and Kris said, "Come on, now. You want to help Simon, don't you?" He handed her a napkin.
Megan sat up a little and blew her nose. "Yeah, I guess," she said.
"All right then," Kris said, and handed her the glass.
She took a sip, and cleared her throat. "I'm the one who put the packet in Simon's desk."
Adam and David exchanged a look. "Why did you do that, Megan?" Adam asked.
David cocked his head. "Are you working for Nigel Lythgoe?"
Megan looked up, and started to cry again as she nodded.
"It's okay, honey," Kris said. "Calm down, and tell us what happened."
Megan took a deep breath, and a long drink of water, and then started talking again. "I'm a courier. They put the stuff in a mailing envelope so if we're worried, we can just pop it into a mailbox. We pick it up from one place and we put it where the dealer can get it-usually taped under a chair or stuffed into a hidden crevice."
"Right, a dead drop," David said. "And you get a phone call each week."
"And this week she told me where to pick it up, and to put it into Simon's hidden drawer."
"You didn't think that was strange?" Adam asked. "Since Simon doesn't allow drugs in the club?"
"But she knew about the drawer," Megan said. "I figured they were for him for some reason, you know, personally from Nigel, and that's why they wanted me to deliver them."
"Because you also knew about the drawer, because you worked as Simon's office girl," David said.
"Yeah," she said. "So I came to the club a little early, and I put the drugs in the drawer when Simon went out for dinner."
"What's going on?" asked Carly, who was standing in the door. "Are we rehearsing today, or what?"
David walked to the door. "Carls, give us just five more minutes, okay? Just five minutes, then I promise, we'll bring her back to you."
Carly sighed, tapping her foot. "Fine, but that's all," she said, and walked away, shutting the door behind her.
"When do you get the phone call?" Adam asked.
"The call comes on Wednesday afternoon," she said. "I make the pick up in the early evening, and then I deliver to the drop. If I'm not home, she leaves the message on my machine."
"How do you get paid?" David asked.
"I get money for the previous week with the package," she said. "Two hundred dollars a week can make a big difference for the kids."
"How does Alexis not know, if there are messages left on your machine?" Kris asked.
"She works on Wednesdays, so I get the call, then head out to make the delivery when she gets home. Except this week, I was working, so I had to call home to pick up the message from the sitter." Megan sighed. "I guess I'm gonna have to tell her now, huh?"
Kris squeezed her hand. "We can be there with you when you do," he said.
"No, it's okay," she said, and took another deep breath. "Better to face it on my own."
"But Megan," David said, "don't tell anyone else, all right?"
They left the room then, Megan leaning on Adam's shoulder as she walked. At the door of the practice space Adam just said, "Hey, guys, can we give them a minute?" and walked back out to the bar with Carly and Brooke.
"So, Megan's with Alexis?" David asked.
"Yeah, they live out in Queens with their kids," Adam replied. "Kinda like Kate and Allie, but with fringe benefits."
"I always thought Kate and Allie were doing it anyway," Carly said.
"You would," David replied.
"I'm just sorry you were subjected to Kate and Allie in Ireland," Adam said. "It's kind of a shitty show."
"It is not!" Brooke said. "It's a perfectly nice little show."
"It was on for billions of years," Kris added.
"So was Full House," Adam said.
The front door opened then, and Nick Mitchell came in, wearing a cloak and carrying a walking stick. Nick was the eccentric manager and emcee of the little club, and no one really knew where or how he'd met Simon. Kris had been to shows down at Club AGT a couple of times since Simon hired him, and getting up on stage between acts, especially on open mike night, was Nick's forte. He could rouse a crowd like nobody's business, smooth over rough transitions and even oblige with a song when things got a bit slow. He was also a bit flamboyant; he acted the way most of the assholes at Kris's high school thought all gay men acted. He reminded Kris of a kindler, gentler Paul Lynde, if such a thing could exist.
"Hello dumplings," Nick said as he came in, removing his cloak to reveal a Hawaiian shirt in bright fuchsia and peacock. He regarded the group sitting at the bar and said, "Aren't you girls supposed to be practicing?"
Carly shrugged. "There's been some drama."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Women. Can't live with them, can't become one of them without extensive surgery. Hello little David Cook, welcome back," he said, hugging the man. "Carly's been all aflutter about your return."
"Wives are like that," he said smiling. "You look just the same."
"Just as good, you mean," Nick said, doing a slow turn.
David laughed. "Of course, that's exactly what I meant."
"And when are we getting you back up on that stage?" Nick asked.
"As soon as my band gets here," David said. "Some friends from back home."
"So Daddy comes out to the big bad city and once he gets a job he sends for the rest of the family. That's really sweet, David," he said, patting him on the cheek. Then his eyes lit on Kris. "Ah, you look like fresh meat. You must be Kris."
Nick extended his hand like a lady, but shook like a man. "Yeah, that's me," Kris said.
"The one little Matty found playing in the subway, no?"
Kris nodded.
"Well, go on up there," he said, flicking his wrist toward the small stage. "Show us what you've got."
Kris looked up at the stage. He'd brought his guitar, intending to play an acoustic version of a Donna Summer song that had always gone over well when he was busking, but that was in the practice space with Alexis and Megan. He walked up to the piano, not entirely sure what he was going to do until he sat down, and his fingers found the chords of an old Bill Withers tune he'd been messing around with lately on the little keyboard in his apartment.
Kris had always hated auditions. He could be self-conscious as a performer; he found it difficult to get over the "me, me, look at me!" aspect of it. Generally the music just took over, flowing through him, and he thought of performing more as sharing that music than as a real grab for attention. (Besides, when he sang his lower jaw did this weird slide to the right, which of course everyone made fun of, and he didn't mind because it wasn't like he could change it, but it did add to his self-consciousness.) Which was why he'd liked busking more than he would have thought; people could listen, or not. He wasn't demanding their attention, just asking for it. And often, he got it. But auditions were different-vague disinterested listening at best, and it was less than professional to get too lost in the music.
When he finished, he sat back from the keys and ran a hand through his hair. He probably hadn't quite hit that last note, but that was what practice was for. He didn't expect the silence, but when he looked over to the bar they were all just sort of staring at him. He rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Um, I can do something else if you want," he said.
"Kris, that was amazing," Adam said, and his eyes were wide.
"Yeah, I'll clap for that," David said, and the others joined in.
Kris hoped he wasn't blushing, because that would be a silly reaction. "Thanks," he said, turning around on the piano bench to face them squarely. He noticed Alexis and Megan, and realized they must have come back upstairs while he was singing.
"We're having a showcase here in a week," Nick said. "Think you can work up a few songs for that, kid?"
"You bet," Kris said, stepping down from the stage to shake Nick's hand.
"Excellent! Done," Nick said, then turned to the girls. "Drama over? Then get to practice!" he said, shooing them out of the room with a brush of his hands.
"Say, Nick," David said, "what's your take on this whole Simon thing?"
"Well," Nick said, hopping up on the bar and crossing his legs, "I have to say, I just can't believe it, and with Nigel's product! And they're thick as thieves, or were, so the story goes. I mean, Simon has people who'd love to see him go out, believe me, but they'd just trip him in the street. None of them would go to all this trouble." He pulled out a pack of Kool's and offered them to the others before lighting up. "Music business ain't that cutthroat. Not yet anyway."
"Can't think of anyone who might want to?" Adam asked.
Nick shook his head. "And I've been thinking. I mean, it ain't me-who else would hire me?" He looked up at the door. "There you are!" he said.
A man with blond curly hair was coming in the door then, tapping the show off his boots. "No thanks to you!" he said.
"Me? I'm not your seeing eye dog, you know," Nick replied.
"Really?" he said, walking over to the bar so smoothly that you wouldn't know he couldn't actually see it. "Because you certainly were a bitch this morning."
"Hello!" Nick sang out. "Ladies present!"
"No, I can hear them practicing," the other man said, slipping off his wool coat to reveal a deep purple shirt.
"Yes, but Lambert is here," Nick said, winking at Adam.
"Hi, Scott," Adam said, chuckling, and moved over to give him a hug.
"Feels like a man to me," Scott said.
"And David Cook is back from traveling the world with his golfer," Nick continued.
"Tennis player," David corrected, greeting Scott.
"And we have a new little one here," Nick said, "named Kris. Killer voice and cute as a button!"
Kris smiled nervously. "I'd shake your hand but …"
"You just wait for me," Scott said, offering his hand.
"Seacrest never seems to grasp that," Nick said. "Grasp! HA!"
Adam turned to David. "We should probably call him, actually."
David nodded and pulled out his cell phone, stepping away from the group slightly.
"How was he this morning?" Kris asked.
Adam shrugged. "I don't think he's slept," he said, "but he was functional. I don't know if I'd be, if I were in his shoes."
"Oh, poor Ryan," Nick said, shaking his head. "Scott, we should send him a fruit basket."
"Already did," Scott said as he made his way to the piano.
David put his hand over his phone. "He wants to take us out to dinner. You guys up for it?"
"Free meal?" Adam asked. "I'm so there."
"Damn," Ryan said. "That's-that's really surprising. I had no idea. Megan, really?"
David nodded. Ryan had taken them to a private room in some upscale sushi den in the East Village he was thinking of investing in. The decor was the same kind of ironic kitch you could find in a lot of downtown hipster dives, only Japanese-Hello Kitty and her friends were all over the place, old 80s anime played on some TVs in the bar, and Japanese pop music played on the stereo. David was happy to see that the table, while low, had a cut out for his legs, because he didn't like to kneel that much. The platter in the middle of the table was covered with more different kinds of rolls than he had ever seen. But the four of them had still managed to put a good dent in it.
"She's pretty broken up about it," Kris said.
"And frankly, I don't think she's that good an actress," Adam said. "So that's her off the list. Anyone you think we should add, Ryan?"
"No," he replied, "but you should check in with Hernandez after you talk to these people, see where he's at." He looked down at the list. "Wow, I made the list? Kinda makes me feel like a femme fatale."
David looked at Adam and raised one eyebrow, then drew a line through Ryan's name.
"Aww, man!" Ryan said.
"Shoulda kept your mouth shut," Kris said, laughing.
"While we're at it," Adam said, "I think we should take Tatiana, Ramiele and Kristy Lee off, too, now that knowing about that drawer isn't important."
David cocked his head, wondering when the kid had made that decision. "Kinda hasty, don't you think?" David replied.
"No," Adam said. "Ramiele could have easily put those drugs in there herself, and not used Megan at all."
"And then been at the top of the list of suspects, Adam."
"Along with half a dozen other people," Adam replied, not without attitude.
Out of the corner of his eye David could see Kris lean over to Ryan and say, "I thought they would get better in time."
"This is better," Ryan replied.
"Well Kristy Lee really has a hate on for Simon," David said, Kris and Ryan's comments making him even more stubborn. "We have to talk to her."
"If you say so."
"And Ramiele we'll see anyway, so there's no harm in slipping in a few questions."
Adam sighed. "Fine, but Tatiana comes off."
"I agree with that. And the dealer, we can stop looking for him."
"No, because the dealer could have set up the whole thing, David," Adam said, "since he knows how the system works."
"We got lucky with Megan," David said. "How are we going to find a mysterious dealer who can float a week of income?"
"Guys?" Ryan said. "Don't you already know him?"
David looked at Adam, and then back at Ryan. "We do?"
"A trust fund kid who deals drugs because he's in love with that thug lifestyle?" Ryan continued, using his fingers to mark "thug" with scare quotes.
"Oh, of course," Adam said.
"Why didn't we think of that before?" David asked.
"Wait, who?" Kris asked.
David turned to him. "Anoop. So there's someone to add to the list."
"Well, he'll show up at Idol sooner or later," Adam said.
"Speaking of which," Kris said, "I need to get to work."
"Oh yeah," Adam said. "Me too."
They all got up then, thanking Ryan for the meal, shaking his hand, and he smiled broadly and said it was his pleasure.
And then when the three of them were on the street, Kris said, "Did y'all notice that Ryan didn't eat anything?"
David hadn't, and Adam's "Huh," indicated he hadn't either. "Well," Adam went on, "Ryan's kinda manorexic under the best of circumstances, so I dunno. I'm willing to cut him some slack."
"Yeah, if Mike were in trouble? I don't know if I'd be as focussed as Ryan is. I'd probably be all over the place." He glanced at his watch. "I should see what he's doing, actually. Adam, what time tomorrow?"
"God, something human. Noon?"
"The Kiev?"
"Sounds good."
David nodded and went off in the direction of the apartment, breaking into a run as soon as he was around the corner. It was kinda high school, but somehow he didn't want Adam Lambert to see him literally running to see his boyfriend, especially after the whole thing with Lacey teaching him how to move. One humiliating revelation a day was enough.
At home, Mike was watching TV, a notebook in his hand. David craned his neck around to see the screen, and of course, it was some tennis match on the VCR. He had that same serious, concentrating expression he got when he was practicing before a match, and David could just about eat him with cream.
He kicked off his shoes and tried to act cool. "Where's the kid?"
"Carly took him to dinner and then AGT," he replied.
"So we have the place to ourselves for a while?" David asked, sinking down on the couch next to Mike.
"Yep," he replied, wrapping his arm around David's shoulders while not taking his eyes off the video. "Any ideas on what you want to do?" he asked.
"I'm sure I can come up with something." David put his head on Mike's chest. His heart beat and the slow rise and fall of his breathing were soothing, even though David hadn't known he needed to be soothed, not really. He wrapped an arm around Mike's waist.
Mike looked down at David. "Hey, what's all this?" he asked.
"Nothing," David said. He looked up. "Don't go getting into trouble."
Mike smiled at him, carding a hand through his hair. "I won't," he said, and kissed him.
Kris's set up at Idol went pretty much as usual-soda loaded in the basement, plenty of beer, double check the stock of flavored vodkas that went down like water with the dancers. Blake was playing old music that he loved but didn't bring the dancers-today, Sly and the Family Stone-which always put the staff in a good mood. Still, it was eerie to have only Chris Richardson wandering around double checking, not Simon in his black t-shirt, cigarette hanging from his lips, peering at them all suspiciously. Chris was mostly up in the office and buzzing around the margins, leaving Matt Giraud, the assistant manager, to do Chris's usual job of taking care of the set up and watching over service. Tonight Kris was working the main bar alongside Jason Castro, and Kris liked how laid back he was, which made for a fun, relaxing night. Adam had gone home to change after dinner and was now sitting atop a bar stool in full regalia-makeup, platform boots, leather trousers, some kind of sparkly vest-flipping through the latest Village Voice and reading aloud the personal ads that amused him.
"God, why are there so many ads for 'straight-acting' men?" he asked with a shake of his head.
"Maybe they just want someone to watch football with?" Jason asked.
"You know who's a huge sports fan?" Adam asked. "Ryan Seacrest. He has like, all the sports channels on satellite and watches basketball and football and all that shit. And he is pretty far from 'straight-acting.' So I'm not thinking they're the same thing."
"What about Kris?" Jason asked. "He's pretty straight-acting."
"No I'm not," Kris said. "Am I?"
"Compared to Adam," Jason said.
"Compared to Adam Nick is straight-acting," Matt said, hopping up on the seat near Adam.
"Oh thanks for that," Adam said. "Kris isn't straight-acting; Kris is Kris-acting."
Kris smiled. "Thanks!" he said, and felt suddenly aligned to the guy.
"Besides," Adam went on, "he isn't looking for someone straight-acting. Are you, Kris?"
Kris was a little flustered; he wasn't sure what the right answer was here. He wasn't even entirely sure what straight-acting was, other than the obvious. "Um, no," he said. "I just want people to act like themselves, y'know? I want Adam to be Adam-acting."
"He sure is that," Matt said, earning himself a swat on the head with the rolled-up Voice.
"Thank you, Kris," Adam said.
Matt said, "Well, I think most of those guys looking for straight-acting guys are just serious closet cases with a lot of baggage. Who needs that?"
"Speaking of closet cases," Adam said, "is your boyfriend Anoop gonna be here tonight?" Kris was impressed at how casual Adam sounded.
"He isn't my boyfriend," Matt said, "and you know he's straight. I don't think so, why? You need something?"
"No, no," Adam said. "Just wondering."
At that moment the side door burst open and a woman in an ill-fitting bright blue coat walked in, talking very fast. "Oh my goodness!" she said, speaking with a slight Spanish accent. "That poor Mr. Cowell, I just heard. Is he going to be all right?" As she walked toward the boys at the bar, she removed her accessories and flung them over her shoulder, leaving a trail of warm knits behind her on the floor.
"I'm sure he'll be fine," Matt said. "He has people working for him."
"Oh that's good," the girl replied. "Hello boys!"
"Hello, Tatiana," they all replied. She was the only daughter of Simon's landlord-some sugar magnate from Puerto Rico who'd put his money into Manhattan real estate back in the early 80s when it was very cheap. The Idol staff humored her, which wasn't difficult as she so rarely listened to anything anyone said anyway; she was too busy talking.
Adam had returned to flipping through the Voice and Jason had wandered off to the other side of the bar. Matt, meanwhile, picked up her discarded items and put them on the bar. Since no one else was talking to her, Kris felt bound to do so. "What's going on, Tatiana?" he asked.
"Nothing, I just wanted to see what is going on here!" She took off her coat and laid it across the stool next to Adam, and it promptly slid off and landed in a pool at his feet. "I just wanted to come and see if I could be any help?" She was wearing a sparkly top with a tulle skirt, which made her look like a disco ballerina.
"Help with what?" Kris asked, noticing that Matt had beat a hasty retreat.
"Oh, with anything," she said. "I mean, it must be so shocking, Mr. Cowell and all those drugs in his desk!"
Adam looked up then. "Tatiana, none of us think that they're his," he said.
"Of course not!" she said, "but it's still shocking, that someone would put them there! And poor Mr. Cowell in jail and all! It must be so upsetting for him!"
"I'm sure it is," Kris said dryly.
"I heard, that people are asking questions, and you're one of them, aren't you Adam?"
"Yeah," Adam said, "but he has lawyers and private investigators, too. There's plenty of people helping."
She smiled in that funny, calculating way she had-Kris didn't think she did anything that wasn't calculated, which was probably why she was so off-putting-and stroked Adam's arm. "Don't you have any questions for me?" she asked. "After all, I did work for Mr. Cowell once."
Adam cocked his head, and Kris could see he was trying to decide if it was worth it to humor her. "Okay," he said. "Since you were his office girl, you know how to open that secret drawer, right?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. "He kept his cigarettes in the drawer, and one of my jobs was to keep it fully stocked. Very important!"
Kris thought for a moment of Cowell deprived of his nicotine fix, and shuddered.
"Did you ever tell anyone else how to get into the drawer?" he asked. "Think hard, now. It's okay if you did; no one would blame you."
Tatiana's eyes went wide. "Oh, but of course I didn't!" she said. "I would never do that!"
"And where were you last night?" Adam asked.
"I was babysitting for a friend," she said.
"So there you go," Adam said. "No further questions."
"Did I help?" she asked.
"Of course you did," Adam said, returning his attention to the Voice.
"Still, poor Mr. Cowell. Perhaps I could send him a fruit basket!"
"I don't think they let you send fruit baskets to Riker's," Adam replied without looking up.
"Maybe you can write him a letter," Kris suggested, smiling at her.
Her eyes flew wide open. "Oh Kris, you have the best suggestions!" she said, leaning over the bar to hug him and nearly spilling out of her dress. "Oh and you too, Adam," she said, and hugged him as well.
"Thanks, Tatiana," Kris said.
"Oh, it's Blake, I must talk to Blake. Blake! Blake!" She ran off in some other direction.
"God, that girl is a nightmare," Adam said.
Kris leaned in closer to Adam, so no one else would hear, and muttered, "Why'd you ask her those questions? We already know-"
"Yeah, but no one else knows that, and anyway, I just wanted to get her off our backs."
Kris cocked his head. "After bitching to David Cook that you wanted her off that list?"
"Yeah, well," Adam said, "maybe that was hasty." He looked up at Kris, and they shared a smile.
"Hey," Jason said, rejoining them from the other side of the bar, "what are you two whispering about, huh?"
"Oh," Adam said, "just Tatiana."
"At least she's gone," Jason said.
"Yeah, no thanks to you," Adam said.
"I think you guys are being ridiculous," Kris said. "She's just a girl. Sure she's kinda loud and mixed up, but she's a good kid."
"Whatever," Jason said. "She caused some trouble for Ramiele when she started working with Cowell. Didn't want to give up the job, all that. Didn't even do it that well, so I don't know why she wanted it. Wouldn't her dad make Cowell let her sing anyway, since it's his building?"
"You'd think," Adam replied. "But have you ever seen her sing?"
Kris hadn't, but Jason shook his head. "Too much," he said. "All of it too much, and she never listened to Cowell anyway."
"But she's harmless," Kris said.
"Yeah," Adam said, "I just wish she weren't so annoying."
Kris rolled his eyes; he really didn't think being annoying or uncool was the crime that these fellas clearly thought it was. But then Matt came over, clapping his hands.
"Plan on working tonight, ladies?" he asked. "Adam, time to go to the door."
Adam scowled, and set the Voice aside. "I'm going," he said, giving Kris a smile and a little wink just before he left.
Jason shook his head. "Man, that Adam, he's a trip, isn't he?"
"Yeah," Kris said, "he certainly is."
For once, Ryan was glad that Simon smoked. The rules concerning appropriate gifts for the inmates at Riker's Island were long and confusing, but cigarettes were on the list, so Ryan was on his way with two cartons of Kools under his arm. He'd made a personal reservation with his usual MTV driver to get him out to the island-a ridiculous trip that consisted of going first to Queens, and then taking some side road west again onto this tiny island in the East River. He had to leave everything in the car, including his cell phone, and then get on a bus with the other visitors to get to the prison. He just hoped that the stubble, sunglasses and baseball cap were enough of a disguise from any MTV watchers that might be on the bus.
Everything was inspected-the gifts, his person, even his shoes. The visiting room was sterile, which he'd expected from the movies. They were filed in to some folding chairs, and told that they couldn't touch the prisoners during the visit or it would be immediately terminated. This was fine with Ryan-he was doing all he could not to give too much away, as he didn't want to cause Simon any problems. Certainly the other men didn't need to know that he was Simon's lover. He looked around and saw elderly mothers and small children and everything in between, and was glad that they hadn't told any of Simon's family about his problems quite yet.
After about twenty minutes the prisoners came in, and Ryan had to keep himself from smiling too broadly when he saw Simon. He actually didn't look too horrible-circles under his eyes for sure, and entirely generic clothing, but other than that it was hard to tell.
"Hello," he said, in that purring way he had, and Ryan didn't really know what to do.
"I, um, I brought you these," he said, handing him the cartons. "That should last you until the arraignment anyway."
"More than enough," Simon said, smiling. "And you know, a lot of the boys in here smoke these. I had no idea they were so popular in Harlem."
"Do prisoners still trade cigarettes on some kind of black market?" Ryan asked.
"Actually, yes," Simon said, "so you may have purchased me an extra phone call, or shaving cream."
Ryan nodded. "Glad to be of help." He paused, fidgeting a little, then asked, "How are you, really?"
"I'll be fine when I leave," he said, "and I'm okay now."
"But-"
Simon held up his hand. "Don't worry about me. I'm getting all the updates from Hernandez," he said. "I don't want to talk about any of that here. This time is too precious."
"Um, okay," Ryan said. "What do you want to talk about?"
"First, please tell me you've been taking care of yourself," he said, "and this stubble is just a disguise."
Ryan let himself smile then, just a little. "Some people like it when I haven't shaved in a while," Ryan said.
"Mmm, I suppose," Simon replied. "So, tell me about your days. Pretend this is the club and you've just wandered in, or whathaveyou."
"So that's what you want, just normal?"
"Ryan," he said, low, "I really just want to sit here and be able to stare at you. I don't care what you say."
"Oh," Ryan said, blushing. "Um, okay. I can do that."
And so they just gossiped, about new records coming out and various bright lights in the New York media scene, about what Ryan had put on MTV News that day and what was too much of a rumor but too juicy to keep to himself, and it really was like just being out to dinner, not as difficult to hide the true nature of their relationship here as it was anyplace else. Not that Ryan truly forgot where he was; the room was too full of other people's conversations. But it was easy to focus on the man in front of him and not think about the rest.
In the bus on the way back to the parking lot the radio was on, that new singer Erykah Badu that Simon liked so much. Oh what a day, what a day, what a day. Ryan felt suddenly exhausted, and wondered if it was all the lack of sleep finally catching up to him, though it had never really been a problem before. He pulled his hat down lower, and hoped he could keep back the tears at least until he was in the car.
A Few Red Herrings