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
~ Dinner and a Show ~
"I think she's going to double-cross him," Elena said, determined, as she was prepping the chicken in the small kitchen. She noticed Damon had tidied up the place, done the dishes and put them away, giving her enough counter space to work.
"Oh? What makes you say that?" Damon said, lounging against the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed and an amused look on his face.
"She's not?"
"I don't know yet."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"Well, the characters basically tell the story themselves at this point. If Kitty double-crosses Derek, it's because she has her reasons for doing it."
"I don't get it. Aren't you in control of your own story?"
"My job is to breathe life into my characters. What they choose to do with that life is up to them."
"Huh…" Elena mulled this over.
"So… you cook for your boyfriend, too?" Damon said, observing her as she turned the fillets in a mixture of eggs and milk, covering them with breadcrumbs and spices.
"Who?" Elena said, absentmindedly.
"Your boy-friend," Damon enunciated. "The guy you're getting engaged to?"
"Oh… right. Um… no, not really."
"So I'm special?" Damon cocked an eyebrow.
"Don't flatter yourself," Elena rolled her eyes and put the fillets in a pan, browning them before putting them into a baking dish. She sliced up the mozzarella and placed the slices on top of the chicken breasts, poured a jar of spaghetti sauce over it and sprinkled parmesan cheese on top.
Damon's gaze lingered on the curve of her derriere as Elena bent down to put the dish in the oven. He quickly looked away, though, as she straightened and turned towards him.
"It's gonna be another 30 minutes or so. Do you want to keep working?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Derek walked into Club Mystique around ten. The club was already buzzing and cigar smoke lay thickly in the air. He was going to give Kitty the signal tonight, letting her know what needed to be done. He would rather not ponder what distracting Coffin entailed.
He strolled up to the bar and ordered a bourbon neat. Matt wasn't working, but that was to be expected. Apparently, after Vicki's demise, he had taken off. Who could blame the guy?
Derek found a seat close to the stage and waited for the main act to begin. However, the announcer came on to introduce a different act.
"Gentlemen, for your viewing and listening pleasure, here are the Care Bears…" he made a sweeping gesture and disappeared off the stage as three blondes took their places.
Derek's gaze wandered along their stocking-clad stems, up to the spot just below their short skirts where the garters were showing. Clearly, the group was going for the pin-up experience, with their bustiers and Victory Rolls.
Derek's jaw dropped when his gaze reached the face of the third member of the Care Bears. What the…?
"So who was it?" Elena asked when Damon suddenly rose from his seat and walked over to the kitchen.
"I think the chicken's ready," he said, opening the oven door.
"Damon!"
"What? It smells delicious."
"I want to know what happens next."
"Well, then I guess I've succeeded, haven't I?"
"What do you mean?" she said, her eyes narrowed.
"You're hooked."
"I'm not hooked. I'm just… curious."
"And I'm hungry. Grab the plates, will you?"
Elena sighed and went over to take the plates from him to set them on the living room table.
"Did you ever consider getting a proper table?" she said as she flopped down on the couch with her plate.
"I never saw the point, I suppose," Damon shrugged and sat down in the arm chair opposite her.
"What about having friends over? Or dates?"
"Who says I date? Or have friends?" he said with a mischievous grin.
Elena rolled her eyes.
"I haven't lived here for too long," Damon shrugged and dug into his pasta and chicken. "This is good."
"Thank you," Elena said. "So… where did you live before?"
"Elsewhere," Damon said and sipped his wine.
"Ok…" Elena said. Clearly not something he wanted to talk about.
"Did you always want to be a writer?" Elena said after a moment's silence.
"When I was little, I wanted to be a detective," Damon smiled.
"Really?" Elena raised her eyebrows, feeling a giggle coming on.
"Yeah. I would have my brother be the victim, and then I would question the staff where they were when he was murdered."
Elena laughed, then caught herself. "Wait – staff?" His apartment didn't exactly scream 'old money' – or any kind of money, to be exact.
"Yeah, my dad's this hotshot attorney. He doesn't approve of my 'lifestyle' as he calls it," Damon rolled his eyes at the air quotes.
"You mean the 'starving author' life?"
"Hey, I'm not exactly starving, now am I?" he winked and gestured to the food in front of them.
"So… you wanted to be a detective when you were a kid, and you have a strained relationship with your father… is that where you're getting Derek Smythe's character from?"
"Every writer draws something from experience," Damon shrugged.
"So… is there a Kitty?" Elena asked casually, picking at her plate.
"You mean is there a night club singer involved with a mobster who's asked me to save her? No. She's an amalgam – a compilation of women I've come across in my life."
"You've met a lot of women like Kitty Kat?" Elena raised her eyebrows.
"I've met a lot of women, Elena," Damon wiggled his eyebrows and laughed at her annoyed expression.
Derek's jaw dropped. Up there on stage, singing her little heart out, was his mousy secretary, dressed in very little and wearing what must be a blonde wig.
"Damn it, Emma," he muttered under his breath. He didn't wait for Kitty to come on stage before taking off. He drove his car over to his secretary's apartment and parked a block away from her building. He was not taking any chances this time. Someone might have seen him drop Vicki off… Derek shuddered, and not just because of the cold.
He walked over to the building and into the small foyer. The front door wasn't locked and there was no doorman on watch. If someone wanted to hurt her…. He sat down on the rickety stairs with his elbows on his knees and waited.
He had just about dozed off when the front door creaked open and his head flew up at the sound.
Emma let out a yelp of surprise at his haggard form slumped on her staircase. "Derek!" she gasped. "You scared me."
"What on earth do you think you're doing, Emma?" Derek said and rose from his uncomfortable position, feeling his bones pop back into place as his legs and back straightened.
"What I do on my personal time is none of your business, Derek," she said and brushed past him, heading up the old staircase, her gloved hand tracing the tarnished banister.
Derek stood and watched her tread up the stairs for a moment before stomping after her.
Emma did not appear surprised, merely annoyed, at the intrusion. She walked over to her door and unlocked it, glancing over her shoulder to glare at him. "It's late," she said in a low, disapproving voice.
"So you would not wish to wake your neighbors by arguing with me in the hallway," he said simply.
Emma sighed and held open the door, gesturing for him to come inside before she changed her mind. She sat down her purse, from which a golden lock was protruding, on a table by the door and shrugged out of her coat.
"You're a brunette again," Derek noted as she removed her hat and let her long chocolate hair fall down around her shoulders.
"Disappointed?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Not at all. Blonde is a horrible look on you."
"You're quite the charmer, Mr. Smythe," she mocked and walked into her kitchen. "Coffee?"
Derek felt how tired he was and realized he would probably fall asleep on his way home if he didn't get some sort of stimulant in his system. "Yes, please."
"Did you enjoy the show?" she asked casually.
"Emma!"
"What?"
"Why would you start working for Coffin of all people?"
"I'm not," she sighed. "I'm working for you."
"For me?"
"And for my brother. I figure the sooner we get the dirt on Coffin, the sooner my brother's girl will be free of him, and the sooner he'll be out of debt."
"I was handling it," Derek growled.
"You were putting your faith in a woman called Kitty Kat. Forgive me if I have my doubts about her competence," Emma rolled her eyes.
"I was going to break in there tonight. This was all going to be over by tomorrow."
"And what if it wasn't? What if she sold you out? What if this was all some ploy to get rid of you?"
"Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for that. If Coffin wanted me gone, I'd be swimming with the fishes now."
"Maybe she just likes playing with you. Like a kitten plays with a ball of yarn. Or a mouse," she added pensively. "Either way, you'd end up shredded and Coffin would be an ever bigger fish in an already overcrowded pond."
"So what's your plan?"
"I hear Coffin has a soft spot for blondes," she shrugged. "And with access to his office…"
"No. Out of the question. You're not putting yourself in danger like that."
"You don't get a say in this, Derek. Like I said, this is my private time."
"I'll… I'll fire you," he blurted.
"Go ahead. It's not like I won't make more money working at the club," she shrugged.
"You must be the most infuriating woman I've ever come across," he huffed.
"Clearly you've been missing out," she said cheekily and poured him a cup of coffee.
He shook his head and ran a hand through his increasingly messy hair. "I guess so," he said and sighed deeply.
"So I still have a job?" she said and held out the cup, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.
"As long as I still have a business, yes," he nodded and took the cup from her.