La Nuit
AU, TeFu: In Paris, Tezuka is alone, and Fuji is lonely. There's scarcely a difference. "I will call you Tezuka." At this, the waiter wears a mischievous grin, "Unless you like mon cher better."
Disclaimer:: Prince of Tennis (c) Konomi and Giovanni's Room is the genius brainchild of James Baldwin. I own nothing.
Notes: I know I'm not supposed to be starting another story anytime soon because of my workload, but I read Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin the other day and I fell completely in love with it. It's a beautiful love tragedy about a Italian bartender and a visiting American. They reminded me of Tezuka and Fuji so much that I had to write something. This will hopefully end up as a short-term project like My Brother's Keeper or something. So I hope you enjoy! (My version will not be so tragic, though...)
Another thing, I'm trying a technique that Baldwin used in Giovanni's Room, where he wrote the book with alternating tenses, I thought it was sort of neat, although it may cause some confusion.
Side note: Go read Giovanni's Room, seriously! It's a damn good book. But read this first xD.
Chapter I
Giovanni
Tezuka doesn't hide because he lacks courage, far from it, actually. He has somehow managed to convince himself that he loves this city of light and the many glowing tapestries that the light paints outside of his hotel window on the thirteenth floor. His room is spotless, and even though a maid has not cleaned his room, the bed is neatly made.
On the table, there are two letters, one, from his grandfather who always begs him to come home. He hasn't been home for over a year, and evidently the old man has trouble drawing up his face from memory.
The second letter is from his girlfriend of five years, Shizumi. She is a nice girl, one that he had met in a coffee shop in Rome. Only perhaps because it was Rome, something akin to love had blossomed there.
Perhaps over time, the glitter of Rome has faded away. He remembers how her eyes had gleamed when he presented her with the diamond ring, yet the gleam falters too quickly. She is still a girl, barely out of her twenties while thirty is not that far away for Tezuka. She wants to have fun.
And then he wonders why he has even proposed to her. Perhaps it is because Shizumi is the only girl Tezuka has taken the trouble to know. Knowing women is not very high on his list of priorities, they are expensive and they take time.
Tezuka does not have much of either to spare.
The day after he proposes, she leaves on a ship to Spain, a country she has always read about in books, a country she has always loved. She is going to think about it, if Tezuka Kunimitsu is worth giving up fun for the rest of her life. Tezuka knows that by the end of the months, she will have shared the beds of many Spanish boys.
And then she will become his wife.
Tezuka tries not to think about how disgusting that will be. He does not open her letter.
--
Two months seemed a very long time to Tezuka. In an effort not to think about it, he flipped through the first two pages of his address book and scanned his meager means of entertainment. He decides on inviting Atobe Keigo for dinner--and if he is lucky enough, at the end of the meal, he will have coerced Atobe into paying the bill. Again.
Atobe is a multi-billionaire whose billions practically made themselves. He's older than Tezuka, but age is good to him and he ages gracefully, as if all the years merely melted away into a day. Unlike many, Atobe Keigo looks forward to aging until he's a senile old man...but that wouldn't be any good unless he had a young boy to parade on his arm.
Tezuka truthfully does not know how to make of anything, Atobe's penchant for drinking, gambling, and men--he supposes that it will become disgusting eventually if Atobe's millions ever run out. Which is close to never.
Atobe has a vacation house in Paris, he has a vacation house in almost every respectable country that Tezuka could have cared enough to name. Dinner is certainly no problem, and the older man insists on meeting him in one of the most expensive restaurants in Paris -- Lucient's.
"Why are you still in Paris?" Atobe asks him the moment he sits down. "I thought you would have gone back already."
Tezuka shrugs, "I like it here."
"Well, I hate it. Paris is a dismal city." Atobe scoffs, "Where is Shizumi?"
"Spain." Tezuka says, a bit stiff.
"I thought you were going to marry her." The waiter stops by to refill their glasses, the wine is a bloody red. At least, Atobe has enough propriety to wait until he leaves, "Did she run off with a handsome Spaniard?"
"I am going to marry her." Although his heart is suddenly doubtful. "She said she's going to think about it."
"You know, it's usually a bad sign whenever a woman says that. Did you at least buy her a diamond ring?"
Tezuka bites a comment about how Atobe would not know anything about women, since he had long professed to have little interest in them. "Of course I bought her a diamond ring. But even if I hadn't, Shizumi is certainly not going to think any less of me."
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you." Atobe sips his wine.
"Men and women are different." Tezuka points out, "You can't just compare Shizumi to one of your conquests, as she isn't." He's getting more than a little bit annoyed. "You're disgusting, why do I even put up with you?"
This earns him a look that isn't exactly fond. "Stop talking like you're such a saint that never gets his hands dirty. You like my wallet."
"Well, since you haven't given me any other reasons to put up with you, you're just going to have to settled with being a financial footstool." Tezuka reaches for his own glass. The wine is distinctively bitter, but perhaps it is only his tongue stung by too many bitter words.
"I had no idea a lack of a womanly influence could make you so cold, Tezuka. I'm disappointed in you."
Tezuka sets his teeth into his lip, "I never asked you to be proud of me." He downs his wine in a vicious gulp.
--
Later, when the veal is gone and both men have run out of excuses not to talk, Atobe ventures, "Come to a bar with me." The way his voice is flipping, it almost sounds inviting. Atobe just needs a new voice, one that is not his. "You're a free man now until your little girl comes back." He signals for the waiter to refill his glass.
Tezuka is determined to let his glass stay empty. After a minute, the waiter goes away.
"I"m not going to be another prize on your arm just because you're lazy."
Really, Tezuka is not opposed to bars, he just doesn't like the type of bar Atobe frequents. They are seedy, on the underside of the otherwise respectable Parisian society. The bars are always located along cracked sidewalks with mountains of waste in tight, hidden alleys.
And he hates the bar because there are never any women. If he looks too hard at a woman, he has to turn away and remind himself that they are indeed men.
For whatever reason, Atobe sounds perfectly jovial as he taps his fingers against the table thoughtfully, "Oh, come, I've given you a good dinner, I've paid handsomely for your services to hang on my arm."
"I'm not some...whore you can just purchase for the evening." Tezuka says, feeling too much like a corner rat in a cage with a hungry leopard. "Besides, I'm tired."
"You must learn to like men, Tezuka." Atobe says decided as he gets out of his chair.
"Why is that?" So that Atobe can finally take advantage of him, no doubt. With that in mind, Tezuka suppresses a shudder.
"Men are beautiful, more than women." Atobe smiles, the smile reminds Tezuka of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, only Atobe looks far from beautiful. "Come with me, you'll see."
--
They take a cab to a hidden, deplorable street littered with garbage. Tezuka has never hated Atobe so much in his life. But the man does have a point, he has paid for dinner, so the least that Tezuka can do is humor him for a little while, although he has a feeling that the night's activities will eventually end up disastrous. Even though he has more than enough means to clean up after his messes, Atobe could be more careful.
"Where is this?" He asks, as Atobe hands over a generous wad of bills to a very bewildered taxi driver.
"It's a bar called Les Miserables." Atobe replies, "They're famous for their cocktails. You don't drink nearly as much as you should, anyway."
Les Miserables, in Tezuka's own humble opinion, it is a truly horrible name. They probably have good drinks, but Atobe never goes to any bar with good drinks unless the waiters catch his eye. "Is it a bar for miserable men?"
Atobe has to stare at him for a full minute before it dawns on him that Tezuka is trying to be funny. "Tezuka's sense of humor sees daylight." He snorts elegantly in return, "Don't you even dare imply that I'm miserable. I'm not."
"I wasn't implying anything. You're jumping to conclusions."
That earns him a somewhat soured look, "Look, the owner of the place likes to read, and he picks the most horrible name for things. I've been trying to get him to show some class, but it seems to be futile."
And with a place holed up on a street like this, Tezuka wonders why.
"I don't want to stand here all day." Atobe taps his foot impatiently, "Are you coming with me or not, Tezuka?"
"Do I really have a choice?"
Atobe does not look so amused this time, "Just bury your sense of humor, it gets old quick, forget I even said anything."
--
Whatever the outlook had been, the inside of Les Miserables is fairly clean, but even then, Tezuka's first instinct is to feel uncomfortable. Atobe is a lover of many unfortunate men, and class. And as Tezuka tries to make himself scarce in a corner, he wonders why the man even puts up with dumps like this.
A moment later, he has his answer.
A man in a boy's body comes towards him, bearing a tray of colorful drinks. He has a bright, innocent smile, one that he is paid to plaster on his lips to win over endless patrons. And winning it is. Only his blue eyes are centuries old. "Might I offer you a drink?"
"I've better not." It takes Tezuka a few minutes to realize that the stranger is indeed talking to him. "I'm...with someone, I'm just waiting." He cranes his neck looking for Atobe and does not find him―how convenient.
"If you're talking about the older gentleman you came in with, he's probably off trading gossip with my benefactor. They look as if they are old friends." The boy points, giving Tezuka an opportunity to see that he has white girlish hands and neat nails. Atobe is sitting snugly in a booth trading laughs with a man that Tezuka has never seen. But then again, he doesn't have many acquaintances in Paris. Either way, he finds it almost impossible that Atobe would allow himself to have such an associate. The man's face and hair are greasy, and his livelihood depended on a bar. Les Miserables looks as miserable as its name deemed.
The waiter smiles at him winningly, "Come, don't be like this. Leave them be and have a drink with me. They will have to remember us sooner or later."
"But you don't want them to?" Tezuka asks, as he watches the waiter mull over the contents of his tray; finally, the man makes a decision and sets a glass of dark wine in front of him.
"Your friend there." As an answer, the waiter slides easily into the crooked chair across from him, "I've seen him before. He's never spoken to me, but he likes to come in and watch me. My benefactor lets him do that. Your friend seems to think that if he stares at me long enough, I will ask to sleep with him."
The waiter's frankness makes Tezuka's cheeks color.
This amuses the waiter, "Do you not like this kind of talk, mon cher?"
"I..." Tezuka purses his lips, "I don't know."
"I think you do."
Again, Tezuka feels like a cornered rat, but instead of being trapped with a hungry leopard, a tiger is sitting in the cage with him and laughing at him. It is not a pleasant feeling. "That sounds like something Atobe would do."
"Ah, Atobe is his name?"
"Yes. His friends call him Keigo." Well, Tezuka is doing Atobe a favor, most certainly. Atobe likes this boy, if his staring is anything to go by.
"And what is your name?"
"...Tezuka."
The waiter looks even more amused, "What do your friends call you?"
He almost betrays himself then, it is too easy for him to say that he has barely any acquaintances, let alone friends. Tezuka never has a problem with telling the truth, but suddenly, his having no friends is not exactly something he wants this stranger to know. He settles for a half-truth, after too long of a pause. Vaguely, he wonders if his amused companion notices.
"They call me Kunimitsu when I let them."
"I can certainly see why you don't like the name. The name doesn't fit you, it's more like an old man's name. I will call you Tezuka." At this, the waiter wears a mischievous grin, "Unless you like mon cher."
"I don't." Tezuka's face feels unnaturally warm, but he is afraid that rubbing his cheeks will make things even worse.
"Ah, well then. Are you going to ask me my name?"
"I suppose." Tezuka looks at him, "What is your name?"
The waiter gets up from the chair and makes a show of dusting off his pants, "Right now? I don't like my name much, my name is Giovanni, but it is not my real name."
Tezuka gives the waiter a good hard look. The waiter has a name now, Giovanni. But it isn't his real name and Tezuka agrees. "Why do you keep a name you don't like, then?"
"I didn't have a choice, Tezuka. Mizuki makes me keep it. Giovanni is exotic. Patrons come here to forget how miserable they are." Giovanni shrugs, and it is a hopeless shrug, "I suppose a man who looks like a boy, who's helplessly belle helps them do that." He bows, the gesture mocking, "If you'll excuse me."
Giovanni walks away, Tezuka just stares after him.
"And just when we were commenting on how beautifully you and the bartender have been getting along..." Atobe's voice, although when he sounds amused like that, Tezuka is overpowered by a sudden urge to grab something sharp and slit his throat. "Are you feeling confused?"
"Hardly." Tezuka stands up, "I think I'm done here. You certainly don't need me, so I'm going back. Please don't bother to be hospitable."
"You're certainly not done." Atobe steps up to him, "I was asking you about the bartender."
"Ask Giovanni yourself, you're the one that likes him." And then Tezuka gets this inevitable feeling that Giovanni is listening to every word he is saying. But thankfully for him, the bar is more crowded now and he has to scan the place for a moment before he spots Giovanni washing glasses.
Atobe follows his gaze, "...Giovanni?" He is doubtful.
"He says that's his name in this bar while he is working."
"Because Mizuki's an idiot of unspeakable proportions." Atobe shakes his head, "I talked to him about naming things...he never listens to me." The smirk that he wears is a triumphant one, "...Giovanni's real name is Fuji. I call him that."
Fuji. Tezuka looks towards Giovanni again, he looks more like Fuji. "Fuji says you've never spoken to him."
"I haven't." Atobe agrees readily, "...Yet."
Atobe is as low as they come. No wonder Fuji is disgusted. Tezuka is disgusted too. "I suppose you're waiting for him to come crawling."
"Maybe."
"You're impossible." Tezuka pushes past him, "I'm going, and that's the end of it." He pauses, and then shakes his head, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night, Atobe."
"I really don't have to take this from you."
"Of course you don't. As I said, I'm leaving."
"So soon?" A hand touches him on the shoulder, "I was so hoping that you'd be kind enough not to leave me by myself." Giovanni―or Fuji smiled winningly at him. "Good thing I'm just getting ready to leave. I'm just going to trust Mizuki to lock up. He does own this place, after all. It's his loss."
"Fu―I mean," Tezuka corrects himself, "...Giovanni."
Fuji's smile darkens for a minute, "You gave me away, mon cher." He brushes back a stray strand of hair, staring straight at Atobe. "I"m disappointed in you."
"Yes, I agree with you, Giovanni. For once." The oily man appears out of nowhere and slings a possessive arm around Fuji's waist. Judging by the information he has been given, this man is the infamous Mizuki. "Were you going to spirit my golden goose away, Atobe?"
"I plan on returning him." Atobe says offhandedly.
Fuji shakes Mizuki's arm free of his waist, "Don't call me Giovanni, I'm about to leave."
"Is this the way you talk to your savior?" Mizuki asks him. "He hasn't talked to you about how I rescued him, hasn't he?"
Fuji says nothing. His eyes are cold and blue. For a moment, he seems indecisive, and then takes Tezuka by the hand."But tell you what, I"ll tell Tezuka on our way home. Will you call me a cab?"
Tezuka nods numbly, he wants to leave too, but somehow leaving with Fuji clinging to his hand does not seem like a good idea to him. He doesn't know the blue-eyed bartender well, but has a feeling that the boy takes what he wants without question. Fuji doesn't leave him a choice.
--
They walked a block before Tezuka spotted a yellow taxi along and flags it down. He opened the passenger door for Fuji, who got in and looked at him expectantly, "Aren't you getting in? I don't live far."
"Where do you live?"
"La Rue Rose." Fuji made a face, "It's very bad French, some foreigner must have named the street while he was drunk. I live in a maid's room."
Tezuka got in the cab, "With the maid?" It certainly didn't surprise him if Fuji did, in fact, he was rather hopeful. With a pretty maid as an excuse, Fuji could have easily escaped Atobe's pining claws--as the man did believe in monogamy and the existence of true love for everyone except himself.
"No. But sometimes I wish." Fuji laughed easily. "You could tell there was never a maid if you ever saw my room."
"Was the maid your girlfriend?" Tezuka pressed.
Fuji turned back to look at him, "Why does it matter so much to you if I have a girlfriend? Do you like me?" He asked bluntly.
Tezuka almost choked, "No, I have a girlfriend, we're planning to be engaged, actually." He was saying that mostly for his own comfort. "If you have a girlfriend, then Atobe won't chase you."
At this, Fuji just laughed, "You're a true sweetheart, mon cher, I hope that your girlfriend loves you very much."
"She does." He thought.
"Then where is she and why are you here?"
"She is in Spain, I told her to go." This was a lie, but a comforting one. "She needs some time away from me, she does have the rest of her life to cater to an old man."
"Then I'm sorely jealous of your little girl, Tezuka. She is lucky." Fuji paused briefly to look to the driver, who was probably trying very hard not to listen. "Stop here, please." To Tezuka again, "Do you want to come up? We could have some wine."
"No, I've better not." Tezuka shook his head firmly, "I have to get back to my hotel."
"Ah, oui. Very well then." Fuji got out of the car, "Bonsoir, monsieur, I hope to see you again."
Strangely, Tezuka hoped so too.
-
Translations::
La Nuit - The Night
Bonsoir - Good Evening
Mon cher - my dear