Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created by L.J. Smith, as portrayed in the TV series created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec. All rights to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

WRITE TO LIVE

~ Who's That? ~

Damon dragged himself out of bed when there was a knock on the door. Crap. His alarm didn't go off. He pulled on a pair of sweats and climbed down from the loft.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he groaned. His eyes were still slits as he unlocked the door and took off the safety chain.

"You don't look so great," Elena remarked as she stepped inside.

"A good morning to you too," Damon yawned and closed the door. "I overslept. Go ahead and set up and I'll get dressed."

Elena almost said 'don't bother on my account', but that would be highly inappropriate. Still, she would have to be blind to not notice the rippled abs and muscular arms of Damon Salvatore. His bed head hair completed the look of drool-worthy hunk. Elena shook her head. Focus, Gilbert, focus.

"You want coffee?"

"Huh?"

"Co-ffee," he enunciated.

"Um… Yes, please."

"So where did we leave off last night?" Damon asked as he handed her a cup of coffee a few minutes later, after having – unfortunately – put on a shirt and jeans.

"Derek Smythe was in love," Elena read from her typed-up notes.

"Right…"

When she spoke, it was as though doves lifted from the ground and soared higher and higher…

"High-pitched voice, huh?" Elena remarked casually, her eyes on the keyboard. Damon ignored her and continued.

"Detective Smythe. I have a case for you."

"Please, come on in, miss…?"

"Kat. Kitty Kat."

"Miss Kat?"

"It's my stage name. I sing at Club Mystique."

"Club Mystique? Capone's favorite joint?"

"Yes."

"What seems to be the problem, miss Kat?"

"Please, call me Kitty," she purred and extended her gloved hand, a sparkling diamond on her ring finger.

"That's a big rock," he remarked.

"Oh, yes, it was a gift…"

"What is it that you need my assistance with, Miss… um… Kitty?"

"I am in horrible debt," she sighed and flopped down in the seat opposite his desk, crossing her long stems in such a way that Derek Smythe was thankful there was indeed a desk between them.

"Gross," Elena huffed.

He waited patiently for the distraught dame to continue her story.

"My boss, Klaus Coffin, loaned me some money when I was behind on my rent, and now he's making me work for him until my debt's paid. I will never be able to pay him back. He owns me, Mr. Smythe."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Miss, but I don't…"

"I think he's cooking the books. If I can get proof of that, I could make him set me free."

"You're talking about blackmail here?"

"Believe me, if there was another way… but there isn't. I am supposed to marry him next month, unless I can find something by then, I'll be lost forever…" she let out a sniffle. "It is just so… hopeless," she said and broke down in tears.

He quickly found a relatively un-used handkerchief and held it out to her. She took it gratefully and wiped her tears away.

"Will you help me?" she said in a broken voice, looking up at him with big, blue eyes.

How could he resist such a face? Such a dame? He would gladly lay down his life – at the very least his suit jacket – to keep her…

"What now?" Damon sighed when he caught Elena rolling her eyes as she typed.

"Nothing. Go on. I didn't say anything."

"Something's clearly bothering you, and I have a feeling you'll sulk until you get it off your chest."

"I'm just… he seems awfully shallow, that's all."

"He's not shallow!"

"Oh no? He'll lay down his life for a woman he just met because she's got a pretty face? Sounds like the definition of shallow to me."

"It's just the type of guy he is."

"How do you know what kind of guy he is?"

"I have a picture of him in my mind, a rough draft, if you will."

"And in your draft, he's not shallow? Too bad your readers will get that impression."

"They'll get to know him eventually."

"Why would they want to?"

"Fine, how 'bout this…"

There was something so innocent about her, sitting there sobbing ever so softly, that struck a chord with him. He was filled with an overpowering need to protect this gentle flower, to lay down his life if necessary. Besides, this was also a unique opportunity to get close to Klaus Coffin and perhaps find out the truth about his dealings with Capone.

"I will take the job, Miss Kitty. Rest assured I will not rest until you are free."

"Thank you, Mr. Smythe," she whimpered, drying the last of her tears, and stood up, holding out his handkerchief.

Although the thought of having but a small part of her in his pocket, the smudges of her mascara had soiled the small piece of fabric to such an extent that he thought it best to decline her offer.

"You keep it," he said with a sympathetic smile.

As Miss Kitty Kat sashayed out of his office, Derek Smythe was feeling a whole lot better about his lot in life.

"Did you have your breakfast?" Damon asked, getting off the couch.

"I did, thank you."

"Good. I only have cereal, anyways…" he mumbled, looking through his cupboards. He opened the small fridge door and got out a carton of milk, sniffed it, crinkled his nose and put it back.

"Derek Smythe," the high-pitched, disapproving voice pierced his eardrums as she walked into his office without knocking, as per usual.

"Elka," he acknowledged her presence. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Elka? What kind of name is that?"

"It's a popular woman's name in Bulgaria."

"Who's she?"

"She's an annoying secretary that's been with him for years."

"I found your bottles in my waste bin again," she said with her hands on her hips. "You've been drinking in the office again, haven't you?"

"What's it to you?"

"This is a place of business, Mr. Smythe. Not a very successful business, but a business just the same."

"Well, things are about to change, Elka. We've landed ourselves a new client."

"I did not see anyone come in here yesterday… or the day before that… or the day before that…"

"It was after hours."

"I see… we've gone into business with the shady elements of this town. I was foolish to think you would resist."

"I don't owe you any explanations, Elka. But no, we have not gone into business with any shady characters."

"Then why did they come to the office after hours? Are you sure you were not hallucinating?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "I'm sure."

Surely he hadn't imagined the alluring creature that had walked into his office – and his life – late last night?

Damon paused in his dictation and stretched his arms.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"If I say 'no', will that stop you?"

"Not really."

"Then by all means – go ahead."

"Why didn't you describe Elka's appearance like you did Kitty's?"

"Because she's not important to the story. She's a secretary."

"Why introduce a character that's not important?"

"Maybe down the line she will be, I don't know. Right now, what she looks like isn't important, because he doesn't see her as anything but a busybody secretary."

"That's stereotypical."

"And what part of this story isn't?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Ok, then," she shrugged.

Damon leaned back in his seat, chewing absentmindedly on a pencil for inspiration to reappear. "You know what? It's not stereotypical enough. Strike the last paragraph."

Derek Smythe walked into his office at 9 am sharp. He had stopped at his favorite bar on his way home last night and the sun was not his friend at the moment. He gruffed a greeting to his secretary and headed into his private office.

Being the sympathetic secretary that she was, she soon appeared with a pitcher of black coffee and a handful of aspirin. She poured him a cup and hopped up on his desk, crossing her long, sun kissed legs, thereby hiking up her short skirt to reveal a good part of her thigh and tossed her blonde hair to one side as she held out his cup.

"Rough night, Detective Smythe?" she asked sympathetically.

He smiled at her and with a hand on her knee, replied, "Well, Elsa, let me tell you…"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Elena stopped him. "Elsa?"

"Yeah, it's Swedish."

"I thought she was Elka, the Bulgarian."

"That was before I turned her into a sexy secretary – what's more stereotypical than a sexy Swedish secretary?"

"Uh… Swedish flight attendant?"

"Yeah, there's that, of course," he smiled.

"Because all Swedish women are sexy, airhead blondes?"

"What? You've never heard of the Swedish sin? I Am Curious (Yellow)*?"

"No."

"Wow. You've clearly been missing out."

"Ok, so last night he was dazzled by this dark-haired beauty and this morning he's putting his hands on his secretary? Do you want your readers to think he's a shallow skirt-chaser?"

"Ok, fine, we'll go middle ground here. She's a brunette, mousy American named… Emma. Does that work for you?"

"It's your story," Elena shrugged.

"Somehow I think that's not entirely true," he sighed.

Emma looked up from her desk when Derek entered the office the following morning. She smiled her sweet, timid smile he had grown so accustomed to seeing each morning, and handed him his messages. There was only one. 'Call your father'. He crumpled the paper and dropped it in the bin. The paper hit one of the empty bottles from last night and bounced back out. He bent down to pick it up, but so did Emma, and they wound up butting heads.

The impact sent shockwaves akin to earthquake tremors through his head. He had really had too much to drink last night at Ric's Bar.

"Ow," he groaned.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Smythe," Emma said quickly.

"Please, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Derek, Emma?" he said tiredly.

"Can I get you something… Derek?"

"A couple of aspirins would be nice. And coffee. Make it strong, will you? We have a new case."

"Really?" she started leafing through her papers. "I didn't see…"

"A client came in late last night."

"That's great news, Derek."

"Yeah, it is. Hopefully it will pay well, too."

"Oh, that reminds me. I managed to get an extension on our loan payments. Money's tight, but we'll stay afloat for another couple of months."

"That's really great, Emma. Thank you."

A blush crept up on her cheeks and she looked down at her desk. "You're welcome," she mumbled and Derek retreated to his office.

It was only seven o'clock, but Derek decided to go down to Club Mystique to scout out the joint before the nightlife got started.

He walked up to the bartender and ordered himself a bourbon neat. He might as well look as though he belonged. Besides, he was thirsty.

"You're here early," the bartender commented. He was a young man in his mid-20s with blonde hair and that corn-fed Iowa boy look about him. "The show doesn't start until nine."

"Oh, yeah? What kind of show? It is any good?"

"The girls here are top-notch. They waitress until their slot comes up, and then they go into full diva-mode."

"All your performers waitress?"

"All except for Kitty. She's the boss' girlfriend, and the star act. The whole club stops when she's on stage. She's got a set of pipes that can't be denied. A set of other assets too, if you get my drift," he added in a stage whisper.

"Oh, I do," Derek smiled knowingly.

Derek found himself a seat in one of the leather chairs with a perfect view of the stage. People started dropping in – a predominantly male clientele, he noted. It was starting to look more like a gentlemen's club by the minute.

He casually tilted his head back and saw a door marked 'Private' just to the side of the stage. Could that be Klaus Coffin's office? Or the girls' changing room? Important questions, both.

"Please put your hands together for…" a man in a broad pinstriped suit announced, "… the Care Bears."

A round of applause filled the room much like the heavy smell of cigars. Two blondes walked out on stage in military style pencil skirts and blouses and swing music started playing.

"Excuse me," Derek said to the waitress who was currently refilling his tumbler. "Who are they?"

"Oh, that's Caroline and Lexi. They've been performing here for a couple of years now. My brother, the bartender," she nodded towards the blond guy, "he's sweet on Caroline, but she's a bit of a snob. She want more in life, she says," the waitress rolled her eyes. "She really thinks she's going to be discovered by some record producer and live a glamorous Hollywood life. Pfft," she scoffed, "the only way that girl's going to the top is if she goes down…"

Derek smiled at the chatterbox. He had just found the perfect informant. He had a feeling this girl could prove very useful to him.

"What's your name, doll?" he said sweetly.

"Vicki," she giggled, blushing from his favorable attention.

"You seem like a really bright girl, Vicki. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind joining me for the evening? I tip well, of course. I'm just new to this place and I find it intriguing. I would love to hear what you have to say."

"Well, my shift will be over in about twenty minutes, so… I suppose I could stick around for awhile."

"Excellent," he smiled.

Derek leaned back in his plush leather armchair and observed. The two blondes did another set before the MC reappeared and announced the second act of the evening.

"All the way from a little jazz club in Paris… give it up for Mademoiselle Belle."

The stage lights went off and a screen of smoke appeared. It dissipated to reveal a dark-haired beauty in fishnet stockings and short black shorts worn with a tight fitted black vest sat straddling a black café-chair. Her black hat covered most of her features as her head was tilted down, waiting for the music to start.

"French my ass," Vicki huffed as she flopped down on the armrest of Derek's chair. "Pardon my French," she added with a laugh. "That's Anna, she's an American like the rest of us."

"She certainly has an exotic look," Derek observed as the young woman's head suddenly flew up and she began singing in a husky, sultry voice.

"Part Chinese, or something," Vicki waved her hand dismissively. "But she ain't French, I can tell you that."

"Has she been here long?"

"Nah, a year or so. Apparently, her mom owed the boss man some money and traded in her daughter. Classy, huh?"

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Kitty used to have that part – you know, before she went and got herself a promotion."

"Promotion?"

"The boss man took a shine to her. Suddenly only high-class gigs were good enough for Kitty. You should see the jewelry he has her decked out in. Straight from the big boss' safe, I'm sure."

"The big boss?" Derek said, sipping his drink to keep up his casual-interest act.

"Yeah, you know, the…"

"Vicki, sweetheart," a man's voice drawled. "Whatcha doin' here still? Didn't I tell you to call it a night?"

Derek looked up at the new arrival. Klaus Coffin. If Derek had a dictionary, and that dictionary had pictures in it, you would find a picture of this guy next to the word 'seedy-club-owner-with-mobster-aspirations'. You know, if there was such a word.

His blond hair, occasionally seen in curly disarray in paparazzi photos – those that made it as far as the paper before getting chopped up into little bits. The pictures, not the paparazzi, of course. Those ended up in much bigger bits. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the hair. It was slicked back with some sort of Vaseline, making his serpent-like green eyes and slightly bumpy forehead all the more prominent.

Derek had once heard the remark that Klaus Coffin had 'cute dimples'. Whoever said that was swimming with the fishes these days.

He was wearing a white, double-breasted suit with a blood red carnation pinned on his lapel and a matching handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

Vicki was suddenly skittish and practically flew off the armrest. "I was just leaving, boss."

"That's my girl," he smiled. "We want you well-rested if you're gonna be singing tomorrow."

"Me? Singing?" she lit up. "Really?"

"I think you've earned it, kiddo. I'm making the Care Bears a trio."

"But… my hair," Vicki objected, suddenly fretting about not fitting in with the others.

"You're going blonde, kiddo," Klaus answered with a grin. "After all, blondes have more fun…"

"Oh, yes! Thank you, boss!" Vicki squealed.

"Well, run along now. Go see Carol at Original Beauty Salon before work tomorrow. Tell her I sent you and she'll take real good care of you."

"Thank you, thank you," Vicki repeated and scurried off.

"I don't believe we've met," Klaus said to Derek, who stood up to extend his hand.

"Derek Smythe, Mr. Coffin."

"Smythe…" he nibbled at a tooth pick while mulling the name over. "You're a P.I, aren't you?"

"I'm off duty at the moment," Derek shrugged.

"Glad to hear it," Klaus smiled. "Then I guess you won't need to be talking to my girls."

"Oh, you mean Vicki? What a doll. I'm new to this place, as you know, and I was just getting some tips on what drinks to order and alike."

"Sounded more like you were interested in what's going on back stage."

"With such lovely dames all around, one can't help but wonder what it's like in the dressing rooms," he smirked.

Klaus laughed, a hollow and fake laugh, and slapped Derek's shoulder. "One can wonder all one wants."

"I think we're good for today," Damon said and went to pour himself a drink.

"Ok," Elena said, gathering her things. "I really should get going, anyways."

"Hot date?"

Elena rolled her eyes. "None of your business."

"You have a boyfriend you need to get home to?" he joked.

"I… yes."

"Oh."

Was that disappointment?

"Been together long?" he said casually, sipping his drink.

"A couple of years now."

"I see. Has he popped the question yet?"

"He has."

"So you're engaged? I don't see a ring."

"We're getting engaged in a couple of weeks."

"Well, I won't keep you, then."

"Good. So… um… I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Good night."

"Good night."

* Original title "Jag är nyfiken – gul", which, for the record, I have not seen. Look it up on Wikipedia if you're curious…