White Collar fic: Black Tie
Black Tie
Title: Black Tie
Fandom: White Collar
Author: tigerlily0
Rating: K+ (a.k.a. PG)
Genre and/or Pairing: gen; humor
Spoilers: pilot; general info about the series
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1500
Disclaimer: White Collar and its characters are property of its copyright owners. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is taken from this story.
Author's Notes: Inspired by Per Diem by vanillafluffy.
Summary: Neal escorts June to a black-tie event, and soon all of her friends want a piece of him.
June heard the front door slam and looked up from her book. She smiled to herself as she scratched her pug behind the ears. She leaned over and whispered to him, “Neal’s home, baby.” The dog leaned into her hand and whacked his tail repeatedly against the arm of the chair. He clearly liked their houseguest. A lot. June was glad about that. Everything was really working out. She was glad she took the chance on the ex-convict. He reminded her so much of her late husband Byron. She stared into space for a moment, reliving her fond memories of the old charmer.
But then she frowned as the clock on the mantle caught her eye - 9:34 PM. Neal was early. Very early, compared to when he usually got home from these black-tie events. June got up and headed for the stairs, her forehead frowning with worry. She had to talk to Neal and see if something was wrong, if there was anything she could do. But before she even got half way up to his roof-side guest suite, she paused, frozen in place. Something was definitely wrong. Yelling, there was lots of yelling. She hurried up the stairs.
Pausing near Neal’s open door, but not close enough to intrude, she could see what it was all about. Peter (Neal’s FBI “friend”) was pacing back and forth, looking like thunder. Neal was looking distinctly uncomfortable, shifting his weight back and forth, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. They were both wearing tuxedos, but Neal’s was somewhat the worse for wear. When Peter turned back towards her in his pacing (or rather, stomping about, really), June ducked out of sight, where she could hear but not be seen. And listened.
“Damn it, Neal!”
“Peter, can I explain? Please...”
“What’s to explain?!? You’re a gigolo!” At the sound of something hitting the dining room table, June peeked around the corner. She could see a whole slew of twenty dollar bills sliding across the table, some of them sliding off onto the floor or onto a chair. Apparently Peter had just thrown a stack of them. “I can’t believe this! Five hundred dollars in cash! I should arrest you for prostitution!”
June ducked back and chuckled to herself. She had wondered how long Neal would be able to keep it up, before being discovered. As she headed back down the stairs, she remembered how it had all started.
She had bought a couple of tickets to a top-shelf charity event for the Metropolitan Museum of Art for her granddaughter Cindy. It was high time that she started mingling with and making contacts in the high society of the New York art world. She couldn’t be an art student forever and needed to start laying a foundation for a career as an art dealer, or whatever it was she ended up doing.
And June couldn’t think of a better escort for the twenty-two-year-old than Neal Caffrey. He was suave, he was gorgeous, he was charming, he was always impeccably dressed. And he knew all the right people. Cindy couldn’t do any better than to walk into the black-tie event on his arm. And June had made sure Neal was decked out in the perfect tuxedo, the right shoes, cufflinks, tie clip, everything. The highest quality. She had picked it all out herself.
But then her capricious granddaughter had pulled out at the last minute. June gave an exasperated sigh, remembering. All of her lectures had done no good. There had been some stupid concert or something Cindy had wanted to go to with her friends, of all things. Even June’s reminders that cancelling on a commitment at the last minute was an etiquette faux pas had fallen on deaf ears. June sighed. Kids these days. They had no sense of propriety. But then she smiled to herself and looked towards the ceiling. Except Neal, of course. He could always be counted on to act with perfect etiquette in polite society.
June sat back down in her chair next to her pug, hand on his back, and smiled to herself about how it all had turned out. She had decided to attend the charity event for the MET herself - couldn’t let a gorgeous man in a tux and two tickets go to waste, now could she? And she had loved every minute of it. All the envious glances from her friends, the fawning over the two of them. But then the next day...
“Oh, my god, June! Who was that gorgeous man?” Doris had said, even before June had been able to sit down at the luncheon with her two friends.
Frances had replied, “Don’t you know, Dor, our June here has this handsome man half her age living with her!”
June had had to head it off at the pass. She had shaken her head emphatically at her friends’ insinuations. “No, no, no. Ladies, it’s not like that! He’s just a tenant. He pays rent. He lives in the guest suite...”
Doris had looked at her, incredulous, with a big, lecherous grin on her face. “You mean you’ve never taken that beautiful hunk of a man to your bed? For shame!” She had laughed. And June had laughed back, realizing her friend was just teasing her.
Frances had jumped in. “Is he available?” She said, wiggling her eyebrows.
June had laughed, again. “As far as I know...” And as far as June had been concerned, that was the end of it.
Until the phone calls had started coming. Her friends. The friends of her friends. And so on. At first, the calls had come to the house phone, until she had instructed the housekeeper to refer all of the ladies to Neal’s phone. It was unbelievable. And then Neal had started going out in the evenings. Usually in the tux. At first it was Saturday nights, then every Friday and Saturday, and lately even some days during the week. Most of the time he came home late, but not that late. As in, about the time that these black-tie events would usually be over with. But sometimes, and lately more and more often, he would come sneaking back very late, but always comfortably before seven o’clock in the morning, which was when his FBI friend would come and pick him up for work.
June shook her head in disbelief at his exploits. Well, it wasn’t that unbelievable, she supposed, as no woman over the age of thirteen could resist the charms and those gorgeous blue eyes of the supposedly reformed con man. As the weeks wore on, she noticed Neal wearing new clothes, using a new upgraded cell phone, and so forth. She once even snuck into his room and took a look around (she knew she should respect his privacy and stay out, but she couldn’t resist). His armoire was filled with new clothes. His refrigerator and kitchen cabinets were stocked with food. He had an impressive wine collection.
June had no trouble figuring out where the money was coming from. And she was sure the FBI wouldn’t, either. (She seriously doubted that they had increased his allowance.) And apparently, at tonight’s charity event, Neal’s house of cards had come tumbling down. June looked back up towards her houseguest’s accommodations. She couldn’t hear anything from two floors down. Curiosity got the better of her, and she sneaked back up the stairs and peeked in.
By this time, Neal and Peter were sitting at the table, the twenty dollar bills in a neat stack in front of them. Peter and Neal both looked exasperated at each other.
Peter sighed. “Neal, you can’t do this any more. Do you realize the trouble you could get into because of this?”
“Are you arresting me, Peter?”
“No. I should, though.”
Neal scoffed. “On what evidence? I’m just a guy going out with some friends from time to time. Friends who on occasion give me gifts. Nothing illegal about that.”
Peter gestured at the cash on the table. “Gifts like five hundred dollars in cash? Those kinds of gifts?”
Neal stared at Peter defiantly. “Yes. Gifts like that.” He softened his voice. “Look, I can’t live on what the FBI is paying me. What do you want me to do?”
Peter sighed. “All right, all right, fine, you have a point. I’ll talk with Hughes about increasing your pay.” Peter leaned across the table, looking intently at Neal. “But you have to stop doing this. Even if there isn’t enough evidence to arrest and convict you, remember that you’re on a tenuous probation here. Just the hint that you have money that you can’t account for could get your probation revoked and send you back to prison for four years. You hear me?”
Neal reluctantly nodded. “I hear you, Peter.” Then he smiled one of his beguiling smiles. “But there are going to be a lot of disappointed ladies in this city...”
“Neal!”
June chuckled and headed back downstairs. She was definitely not looking forward to lunch tomorrow...
The End
Title: Black Tie
Fandom: White Collar
Author: tigerlily0
Rating: K+ (a.k.a. PG)
Genre and/or Pairing: gen; humor
Spoilers: pilot; general info about the series
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1500
Disclaimer: White Collar and its characters are property of its copyright owners. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is taken from this story.
Author's Notes: Inspired by Per Diem by vanillafluffy.
Summary: Neal escorts June to a black-tie event, and soon all of her friends want a piece of him.
June heard the front door slam and looked up from her book. She smiled to herself as she scratched her pug behind the ears. She leaned over and whispered to him, “Neal’s home, baby.” The dog leaned into her hand and whacked his tail repeatedly against the arm of the chair. He clearly liked their houseguest. A lot. June was glad about that. Everything was really working out. She was glad she took the chance on the ex-convict. He reminded her so much of her late husband Byron. She stared into space for a moment, reliving her fond memories of the old charmer.
But then she frowned as the clock on the mantle caught her eye - 9:34 PM. Neal was early. Very early, compared to when he usually got home from these black-tie events. June got up and headed for the stairs, her forehead frowning with worry. She had to talk to Neal and see if something was wrong, if there was anything she could do. But before she even got half way up to his roof-side guest suite, she paused, frozen in place. Something was definitely wrong. Yelling, there was lots of yelling. She hurried up the stairs.
Pausing near Neal’s open door, but not close enough to intrude, she could see what it was all about. Peter (Neal’s FBI “friend”) was pacing back and forth, looking like thunder. Neal was looking distinctly uncomfortable, shifting his weight back and forth, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there. They were both wearing tuxedos, but Neal’s was somewhat the worse for wear. When Peter turned back towards her in his pacing (or rather, stomping about, really), June ducked out of sight, where she could hear but not be seen. And listened.
“Damn it, Neal!”
“Peter, can I explain? Please...”
“What’s to explain?!? You’re a gigolo!” At the sound of something hitting the dining room table, June peeked around the corner. She could see a whole slew of twenty dollar bills sliding across the table, some of them sliding off onto the floor or onto a chair. Apparently Peter had just thrown a stack of them. “I can’t believe this! Five hundred dollars in cash! I should arrest you for prostitution!”
June ducked back and chuckled to herself. She had wondered how long Neal would be able to keep it up, before being discovered. As she headed back down the stairs, she remembered how it had all started.
She had bought a couple of tickets to a top-shelf charity event for the Metropolitan Museum of Art for her granddaughter Cindy. It was high time that she started mingling with and making contacts in the high society of the New York art world. She couldn’t be an art student forever and needed to start laying a foundation for a career as an art dealer, or whatever it was she ended up doing.
And June couldn’t think of a better escort for the twenty-two-year-old than Neal Caffrey. He was suave, he was gorgeous, he was charming, he was always impeccably dressed. And he knew all the right people. Cindy couldn’t do any better than to walk into the black-tie event on his arm. And June had made sure Neal was decked out in the perfect tuxedo, the right shoes, cufflinks, tie clip, everything. The highest quality. She had picked it all out herself.
But then her capricious granddaughter had pulled out at the last minute. June gave an exasperated sigh, remembering. All of her lectures had done no good. There had been some stupid concert or something Cindy had wanted to go to with her friends, of all things. Even June’s reminders that cancelling on a commitment at the last minute was an etiquette faux pas had fallen on deaf ears. June sighed. Kids these days. They had no sense of propriety. But then she smiled to herself and looked towards the ceiling. Except Neal, of course. He could always be counted on to act with perfect etiquette in polite society.
June sat back down in her chair next to her pug, hand on his back, and smiled to herself about how it all had turned out. She had decided to attend the charity event for the MET herself - couldn’t let a gorgeous man in a tux and two tickets go to waste, now could she? And she had loved every minute of it. All the envious glances from her friends, the fawning over the two of them. But then the next day...
“Oh, my god, June! Who was that gorgeous man?” Doris had said, even before June had been able to sit down at the luncheon with her two friends.
Frances had replied, “Don’t you know, Dor, our June here has this handsome man half her age living with her!”
June had had to head it off at the pass. She had shaken her head emphatically at her friends’ insinuations. “No, no, no. Ladies, it’s not like that! He’s just a tenant. He pays rent. He lives in the guest suite...”
Doris had looked at her, incredulous, with a big, lecherous grin on her face. “You mean you’ve never taken that beautiful hunk of a man to your bed? For shame!” She had laughed. And June had laughed back, realizing her friend was just teasing her.
Frances had jumped in. “Is he available?” She said, wiggling her eyebrows.
June had laughed, again. “As far as I know...” And as far as June had been concerned, that was the end of it.
Until the phone calls had started coming. Her friends. The friends of her friends. And so on. At first, the calls had come to the house phone, until she had instructed the housekeeper to refer all of the ladies to Neal’s phone. It was unbelievable. And then Neal had started going out in the evenings. Usually in the tux. At first it was Saturday nights, then every Friday and Saturday, and lately even some days during the week. Most of the time he came home late, but not that late. As in, about the time that these black-tie events would usually be over with. But sometimes, and lately more and more often, he would come sneaking back very late, but always comfortably before seven o’clock in the morning, which was when his FBI friend would come and pick him up for work.
June shook her head in disbelief at his exploits. Well, it wasn’t that unbelievable, she supposed, as no woman over the age of thirteen could resist the charms and those gorgeous blue eyes of the supposedly reformed con man. As the weeks wore on, she noticed Neal wearing new clothes, using a new upgraded cell phone, and so forth. She once even snuck into his room and took a look around (she knew she should respect his privacy and stay out, but she couldn’t resist). His armoire was filled with new clothes. His refrigerator and kitchen cabinets were stocked with food. He had an impressive wine collection.
June had no trouble figuring out where the money was coming from. And she was sure the FBI wouldn’t, either. (She seriously doubted that they had increased his allowance.) And apparently, at tonight’s charity event, Neal’s house of cards had come tumbling down. June looked back up towards her houseguest’s accommodations. She couldn’t hear anything from two floors down. Curiosity got the better of her, and she sneaked back up the stairs and peeked in.
By this time, Neal and Peter were sitting at the table, the twenty dollar bills in a neat stack in front of them. Peter and Neal both looked exasperated at each other.
Peter sighed. “Neal, you can’t do this any more. Do you realize the trouble you could get into because of this?”
“Are you arresting me, Peter?”
“No. I should, though.”
Neal scoffed. “On what evidence? I’m just a guy going out with some friends from time to time. Friends who on occasion give me gifts. Nothing illegal about that.”
Peter gestured at the cash on the table. “Gifts like five hundred dollars in cash? Those kinds of gifts?”
Neal stared at Peter defiantly. “Yes. Gifts like that.” He softened his voice. “Look, I can’t live on what the FBI is paying me. What do you want me to do?”
Peter sighed. “All right, all right, fine, you have a point. I’ll talk with Hughes about increasing your pay.” Peter leaned across the table, looking intently at Neal. “But you have to stop doing this. Even if there isn’t enough evidence to arrest and convict you, remember that you’re on a tenuous probation here. Just the hint that you have money that you can’t account for could get your probation revoked and send you back to prison for four years. You hear me?”
Neal reluctantly nodded. “I hear you, Peter.” Then he smiled one of his beguiling smiles. “But there are going to be a lot of disappointed ladies in this city...”
“Neal!”
June chuckled and headed back downstairs. She was definitely not looking forward to lunch tomorrow...
The End