PILLOW Tlk
by Soledad
A "Pathways in the Dark" story
Part 05 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "First Steps".
For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.
Rating: Adult, for this part.
Author's note: the Blunt sisters, although genuine White Wolf characters, were modelled in their looks after Alice and Ellen Kessler, the famous German twin dancers of the 1950s.
Summary: Brian is shaken after his unexpected run-in with Justin and calls his best friend. Also, the contracts are signed and further steps to flesh out the campaign are taken.
Brian was uncommonly quiet on their was back to the D'Oblique, but Emmett's flirtatious chatter with Diego covered it very efficiently. For the first time in his life, he was actually thankful for Emmett's inability to shut up. It saved him from being asked questions he wasn't willing – or able – to answer.
Upon their arrival, Catherine DuBois came to see them. She asked what type of rental car would they like to have, and caught up by the moment, Brian asked for a bright red corvette. She also told them that lunch had been ordered for them in the nearby restaurant.
"Monsieur Girard will cover for your costs of living for the first three months," she explained. "After that, you're on your own."
"If we get the permanent job, you mean," Emmett said.
"Oh, I'm quite sure you will," she smiled. "Alain called a few moments ago… he sounded happy with the temporary results."
"I'm glad to hear that," Brian replied without the slightest trace of enthusiasm. Being a discreet person, Mme DuBois ignored his tone.
"Monsieur Navital will come over with your contracts at five pm," she added. "He wants to take you out for dinner, Mr. Kinney, to introduce you to the Blount sisters. They are twin dancers and do modelling jobs occasionally, maybe you can use them for one of the campaigns."
"And what about me?" Emmett asked, feeling left out and affronted like a true diva.
"I've organized a visit in the Blue Parrot Café for you," Mme DuBois smiled. "I think you'll love it… and as Monsieur Girard doesn't need Claude tonight, the garcon can fetch you later. Trust me, you'll have a lot of fun."
"All right," Emmett mellowed considerably. It definitely sounded like his idea of a good time… and Claude Bellamy had turned out way less of the cold fish he seemed to be.
That settled, they went to have lunch, after which Emmett disappeared in a beauty salon for men he'd discovered the night before. Brian didn't have the nerve for such things, so he returned to his room… and made a long-distance call to Pittsburgh.
"Red Cape comic shop," Michael's achingly familiar voice answered his call in that distracted manner that meant his best friend was reading a comic at the same time. No customers at the moment, then. Good.
"It's me, Mikey."
"Brian?" Michael's voice took on that strange mix of concern and wariness that had been so characteristic for their talks lately, but it didn't entirely lack the old warmth Brian had feared would be gone for good. "Are you okay? What's the new job like? How's Emmett doing?"
"I'm fine, Mikey," he said, but even he could hear the exhaustion in his own voice. "The job seems promising; we'll be signing our temporary contracts this afternoon. If the first campaign proves successful, we'll get hired permanently."
"You mean Emmett, too?"
"Yeah, he charmed the big bosses out of their Armani suits, seduced two guys already, at least as far as I know, got a promise to be introduced to the most fabulous drag queen of LA, and is generally having the time of his life."
"Good for Emmett," Michael said; then, after a beat. "What about you?"
"Oh, I'm having fun," Brian replied, not even convincing himself. "I'll be driving a corvette, I live in a guest room that would put a five-star-hotel to shame, and I was so thoroughly fucked last night I could barely walk this morning."
"Sounds like your idea of fun," Michael agreed, mild disapproval colouring his gentle voice. "So, what's wrong then?"
"Nothing," Brian said, annoyed. "What the fuck should be wrong?"
"I don't know, Bri," Michael's voice was warm now, like in old times. "You tell me. If you're having so much fun, why are you calling me all across the country, just to lie to me?"
"I'm not lying!" Brian protested, and could almost see Mikey rolling those beautiful, dark eyes of his.
"Brian, please! I know that 'my-heart-is-braking-but-I'm-too-damn-stubborn-to-admit-I-have-one voice all too well. So, spill. What happened?"
"I…" Brian struggled to be able to answer, "I've run into Justin. It was… ugly."
"I can imagine," Michael was all support and love at once, like always when Brian got in trouble, no matter what had happened before. "That little shit! First he can't be shaken off, then he turns your entire life upside down, and then he dumps you. What did he want this time?"
"He thought I had followed him to LA to get him back," Brian explained with a snort. "As if… He was nasty and snotty and hostile, but that wasn't the worst part. Mikey, he almost got killed because of me again!"
"Killed?" Michael repeated in shock. "How on Earth…"
"Apparently, his art teacher, a French painter with a particularly foul temper, doesn't like when one has a filthy mouth in his atelier," Brian said dryly. "He nearly choked Justin in front of everyone in a fit of rage."
"Jesus Christ!" Michael sounded near to panic. "What sort of sick shit have you gotten yourself again, Bri?"
"It's not like that," Brian soothed him. "The others are pretty normal and friendly. Almost everyone I have to deal with here is French, though, and disgustingly wealthy. It's very different from my usual playground. It seems I'm playing in the upper league now."
"Just be careful," Michael warned. "Just because they are rich, they can still be sick fucks. What about that guy you had last night? Is he one of them?"
"Yeah, he's their lawyer," Brian said. "An elegant, over-educated, extremely skilled French lawyer. Handsome, too. A little older than I am, but not much, I think. Seems I've developed a taste for people of my own age, after all. Who'd have thought?"
"Who indeed. You'll be seeing him again?" Michael asked, clearly worried. Brian laughed.
"Well I hope so; he's the one to bring my contract, after all. And we're going out tonight to meet a few models who could be good choices for the women's collection."
"Are you going to fuck him again?" Was that jealousy in Mikey's voice? "You never do seconds…"
"Technically, he was the one who fucked me, but yeah, I might let him again," Brian's voice softened. "He's good for me, Mikey… for the time being, anyway. I don't have to… to prove anything with him, and I never thought I'd enjoy being spoiled, but… I do. It's nice. Even if…"
"Even if what?" Michael insisted, but Brian was not going there. He had no right. Mikey had a husband now and was happy. He wouldn't endanger that. Mikey deserved to be happy, more than anyone.
"Nothing," he said. "It was good to hear your voice, Mikey. I miss you."
"Same here," Michael replied, somewhat mollified. "Call me again?"
"Sure Mikey. But not at home. I don't want to annoy the Nutty Professor. Is this a good time?"
"Yeah. Dead zone in the shop. I only keep it open at lunchtime because I'm too lazy to leave and actually have lunch."
"Okay, I'll call you in a few days at this time, then. Take care, Mikey."
"You, too," and with that, Michael hung up.
Brian shed his clothes and hopped onto the bed. He felt slightly better, now that he had heard Michael's voice, and that their friendship seemed to be on the mend, once again. Maybe distance was really good sometimes. His sores from the previous night were gone, too. Whatever was in that salve, it definitely worked. He might be up to another night with Phillipe – if the lawyer was still interested.
Brian had no illusions about the nature of their encounter. He knew how these things worked. But he hoped he'd been good enough last night for Phillipe to be interested in a repeat performance. Phillipe was a known quality, and Brian didn't feel like experimenting just yet.
Flopping onto his back, he reached out for his half-emptied glass of Scotch. Maybe he'd be able to sleep a little now.
He had been able to sleep indeed. Mikey never failed when it came to calm him down, to keep his demons at bay. Emmett shook him awake at half past six, he barely had the time to take a shower and order a coffee in the D'Oblique before Phillipe arrived, in the company of a dark-haired young man whom he introduced as David Geduld. David worked for the CSI as some lead lab rat and was apparently Emmett's intended date for tonight.
"We met through work," Phillipe explained, which sounded logical, but Brian still couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there was more.
Right now, however, he had to focus on the contracts, moreso since Emmett had neither the right mindset, nor the necessary knowledge to find any hidden traps. Brian was willing to trust his new clients – to a certain extent anyway – but he'd made it his first rule in business to be very thorough with checking his contracts. That could spare a lot of trouble afterwards.
He found everything in order this time, and both he and Emmett signed their respective documents. These already wore the signatures of Victor Girard, Mei-ji and someone by the name of Henry Waters.
"He's my business partner," Phillipe explained, signing the documents as well. "We own a law firm together; it has been in the possession of our families for more than a century."
"I told you," Emmett commented cheerfully. "Everyone here is French and blue-blooded. It's so exciting! I haven't moved in such elated circles since George died, that poor dear."
"Not everyone," David corrected, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Me, I'm your friendly, hard-working neighbourhood guy, and proud of it. I barely know who my grandparents were."
"Lucky for you," Phillipe replied dryly. "At least your clients don't threaten to sue you afterwards, if they are unhappy with your work. Besides, my partner isn't French, either." He gave David a credit card. "Off with you two. Have a good time. You can give the card Catherine when you're back. And see that it still has some money on it when you return it."
"I'll try to restrain myself," David laughed and left, with Emmett in tow.
Phillipe rolled his eyes. "May all higher powers be praised for small favours. David is a good guy, but he has no style, and forgive me, but neither has your buddy."
"Oh, he does have style," Brian grinned. "A rather shrill and unique one; one that will earn you guys the big bucks you seem to yearn for so much."
"Perhaps," Phillipe admitted. "Still, his is not the style I'd want around me privately."
"I know the feeling," Brian said. "So, where are we going tonight?"
"To the Maison d'Or," Phillipe replied. "It's an upper middle class cabaret, nothing too fancy, but the drinks aren't watered, the food is tolerable, and the Blount sisters have there an hour-long performance. You can watch their bodies and how they move around, and you can decide whether you want them for any part of the campaign or not."
"Sounds reasonable," Brian nodded. "Shall we?"
"Wait," Phillipe touched his chin to lift his face and see him in the eyes. "Are you all right? I got carried away a bit last night, and I have the impression you haven't been on the receiving end for some time."
"No, I haven't," Brian admitted, "but I really enjoyed our time together. It was… nice."
"Nice enough to do it again?" Phillipe asked, kissing him softly on the mouth. Brian gave an incoherent mmmpf of agreement and opened up for the searching tongue, inviting it in.
Back home, on his familiar playground, he was the one who did the kissing. The thought to let himself be kissed passively would never occur to him. But he could let go here, relax in Phillipe's arms and simply accept the kiss. It felt so good, better than he would ever admit. He was tired of being the aggressor all the time – and besides, Phillipe was a very good kisser.
All too soon, though, the lawyer broke the kiss and patted him on the arm.
"Keep that thought for later. Business first. We have a table reservation for 20:30."
"Do I need to change?" Brian asked.
"You could wear less," Phillipe suggested with a sultry smile, "but there isn't any clothing order if that's what you mean."
He wore black jeans and a dark red satin shirt with a black tie, proper for both a business meeting and a night out. He removed the tie now, however, and opened the top three buttons of his shirt.
"So," he said, satisfied, "I'm a civilian again."
Brian laughed and followed him to his car. This time, Phillipe hadn't come with the corvette. He was driving a metallic blue, two-seat sports car instead.
"The corvette is to impress my clients," he explained. "Personally, I prefer this one. It's sleek and fast, and it needs much less space in a parking lot."
The car didn't have tinted windows, but they darkened gradually when the sunlight hit them, just like those modern glasses for light-sensitive patients.
"Are you suffering from some mysterious skin condition, too?" Brian asked in suspicion.
"No," Phillipe laughed, "I just don't like being cooked behind the steering wheel; and my eyes are a bit sensitive. Too many hours in the office, I guess. You better find some sunglasses, yourself, and use a high light factor sunblocker, though. Despite what the ads would like to make us believe, direct sunlight can be really dangerous in LA sometimes. Even if our President denies the fact of global warming."
Which was true, of course. Everything Phillipe said was completely logical. And yet, once again, Brian had the feeling that the lawyer was hiding something.
The Maison d'Or cabaret was a moderately elegant place, with just a hint too much of false glamour about it to be really classy. But the drinks were indeed okay, the Caesar salad that Brian chose for dinner edible – Phillipe said he wasn't hungry and just sipped some red wine instead – and they had an excellent view at the stage. Which was the very reason for their presence.
The Blount sisters, Edith and Enyd, were identical twins in their mid-thirties perhaps – it was hard to tell – with smooth, ageless oval faces, shoulder-length, natural blonde hair (an absolute rarity in these days), large, azure-blue eyes, and legs so endless and perfect that they seemed more a work of art than actual body parts. The sisters were tall, and they were wearing high-heel pumps that made them look even taller and their legs even longer, and they moved with a grace only those with classical ballet training possessed. Tonight, however, they performed some modern, acrobatic dance number that demanded stamina and limberness at the same time, and Brian understood at once why he had been brought here to see the performance. When it was over, he knew exactly what the sisters were capable of and how they would look on posters or in video clips.
"I think we should use them for the more conservative collection," he judged. "They are certainly very pretty, but in a classical way that won't attract young people. On the other hand, no Californian Summer collection would be whole without sun-tanned blondes, of course. Maybe we could do a series with the one-piece bathing suits; those will bring out their legs perfectly. And add one of Emmett's fancy hats, perhaps."
"I'm afraid their sort of white skin won't tan well," Phillipe said pessimistically. Brian shrugged.
"That's what make-up is for. Those legs are pure gold. Imagine this: them sitting on red sands, legs pulled up in a way that they would cover the G-string, so as if they'd be naked but for huge hats and designer sunglasses… well, maybe some fancy ankle chains, too. Every hetero man above thirty will come into his pants from the mere sight of it."
"You certainly have a way to put things," Phillipe laughed, but he liked the idea, and he knew the Blount sisters would like it, too. They were Toreadors, after all.
"Or," Brian continued, warming up for the idea, "we could put them together with a black male model, complete with big muscles and dreadlocks. Him in a gold string tanga, them in fancy hats, arranged in a way that people would think that all three were naked. The colour contrast would be gorgeous. People would spontaneously combust from the hotness of it."
"I'm sure they would," Phillipe smiled. He liked to see the young mortal so excited, that dead look gone from his eyes. If anything, Brian certainly liked his work.
"Or we could have them kissing," Brian went on, "touching lips only, in a position that people would have to guess whether we had twin models or were using mirrors. Or…"
"Enough, enough," Phillipe laughed. "Make sure to write down all your ideas for later; every single one of them sounds hot like hell. I'll call Oliver, their agent, and see whether they are interested or not. If yes, you can shoot he whole thing in the Vignes Studios."
"The Vignes Studios?" Brian repeated, stunned. "As in the studios of Edward and Vera Vignes, a couple of the most talented people in Hollywood? The same Vignes Studios where the Raven series was produced?"
Phillipe nodded. "The very same. Edward Blount, the producer of the series and co-owner of the Studios, is a second grade cousin of Edith and Enyd. My partner, Henry, is the lawyer of the Studios, by the way."
For a moment, Brian was absolutely speechless.
"This whole… thing is even bigger than I've thought, isn't it?" he finally asked. "You guys really have a long arm, don't you?"
"Longer than you could imagine," Phillipe admitted. "You must understand that our families have been in this business for a very long time. Some of them are older than the States themselves. There's a considerable amount of money and influence at stake – we can't afford to lose territory to a little upstart like Rebecca Lowell. The problem is, we've grown too comfortable in the recent two or three decades. We've lost our touch… that's why we wanted you to work for us."
"Does it mean that I can actually hope for a permanent job?" Brian asked carefully. Phillipe smiled and patted his hand.
"Unless you screw up the temporary one, which I very much doubt. If you bring Victor and Mei-ji the success they need, you'll get offers from a number of other business branches as well. Kinnetic will have the chance to become an official partner in this particular group of mutual interests. You do understand what such a chance would mean for a small, relatively new agency like yours, don't you?"
"Of course," Brian nodded slowly. "A whole new level of existence."
"Exactly," Phillipe agreed. "This… circle is wider than you can imagine. You haven't met everyone yet… but you will, in due time. We have lands in South America, banks in France and Italy, wineries in Spain and Germany… and much, much more."
"And you picked me?" Brian shook his head in disbelief. "Based on one successful campaign I did for Brown Athletics?"
"Not exactly," Phillipe said. "It wasn't such a sudden decision. We've been watching you for quite some time; ever since that snotty little ex of yours has mentioned you a few times. We waited to see how you can bring Kinnetic to its feet. The campaign for Brown Athletics was just the acknowledgement of what we've known already. That you were our man."
Brian blinked a few times. "Well… I don't know what to say… and that's a first, trust me."
"I do," Phillipe leaned over to kiss him. "Are you finished?"
Brian looked at his empty plate. "It seems so."
"Good, let's go then. The rest of the program is crap. We can have more fun with each other. In bed. Naked."
"No argument from here," Brian laughed, and Phillipe gave the waiter a sign that he intended to pay.
Under normal circumstances Brian simply rolled over after sex and fell asleep… well, after he'd kicked the trick of the night out of his loft, that is. Basking in the afterglow was not exactly his thing. There usually wasn't any afterglow at all. Mindless fucking just didn't bring those sorts of feelings.
But in this evening, no matter how much Phillipe had worn him out, he had trouble to fall asleep. He was too wired to succumb to his exhaustion.
"Tell me something about this Alain DeLaigle," he murmured, resting his head on Phillipe's shoulder and drawing lazy circles around the man's nipples with his fingertips.
Phillipe laughed. "Has he opened the hunting season already?"
"It surely looks so," Brian shuddered involuntarily, "and I don't know what to do about him. The guy is gorgeous, but he gives me the creeps."
"You're not the only one," Phillipe said. "Alain isn't an easy one. But believe the voice of experience here, he's not as bad as he seems, either."
Brian gave him an unbelieving look. "You've had a thing with him?"
"For a short time," Phillipe smiled; in Kindred terms, six years were a short time. "It didn't work with us."
"Why not? Has he tried to break your neck, too?"
"We kept fighting for dominance all the time," that was, of course, and understatement. They had fought as only a Ventrue and a Toreador could within a stormy relationship. "It became ugly sometimes. So we decided that being friends would be better for both of us, and sought out other love interests."
"Did that work out?" Brian asked doubtfully. Phillipe nodded.
"Oh, yes. We are both reasonable people. We just both like to be in charge."
"In that case, I don't think I should start anything with the guy," Brian said with a pang of regret. "It wouldn't work with us, either. I don't do bottom."
"You just have," Phillipe pointed out. "Repeatedly."
"That was different," Brian squirmed a little under Phillipe's hand on his bare ass… it was creeping suspiciously close to his most intimate parts. "This time, I needed it. Needed to let go for a change."
"I think there's more behind that than you might know," Phillipe said. "It has been my experience, that for everyone, there is one person to whom he'd be willing to submit. Not just switch on occasion, as you've done with me, but really, completely submit. Most people aren't lucky enough to find that special person, though. To find one whom they could entrust their body and soul."
"Have you found yours?" Brian asked quietly.
"I have," Phillipe nodded, thinking back of his Sire and their wonderful time together, cut short too soon by the cursed Sabbat. "But he's died long ago... and I turned to women, because nobody would ever mean the same for me."
"It'd be nice if you could be that person for me," Brian murmured, surprised by his own musings; he'd never been one for relationships, "but you can't, can you?"
"No, I don't think so," the regret in Phillipe's voice was obvious. "I do like you, Brian, but if we tried this, it wouldn't work. You see, a relationship like that has to be mutual. The one who submits has to bring out the protective streak from the dominant one. This is not about power and humiliation. This is about devotion and protection, giving and receiving, yin and yang, regardless of age, gender or preference. Two people either have it, or they haven't. It can't be forced."
"And we don't have it, right?" Brian asked, knowing the answer already. He also knew that there had been one person with whom he could have played the part of the protector – had he not pushed that person away once too often.
"No," Phillipe said. "I'm sorry, but we just don't. I don't have the possessive streak that is required from a dominant partner. It's not in my nature. But having fun isn't a bad thing, either."
"But what makes you think this DeLaigle guy could be the one for me?" Brian asked doubtfully.
"I don't know that," Phillipe corrected. "That's something you'll have to find out for yourself. But Alain would be a better candidate for the role than I am. He does have a kinder, gentler side somewhere, hidden deeply behind his tempers and kinks and sometimes volatile reactions. He just never found anyone who could bring out that site of his. I can't tell you whether you're the one who could make it surface or not… you'll have to try."
"And if you're wrong, I could end up in IC. Jesus, the man nearly killed Justin today! The last thing I need is to have another abusive bastard in my life!"
"Alain's not like your father, Brian," Phillipe said. "He's never mistreated a lover."
"He just throttles a snotty kid for his filthy mouth in front of a dozen witnesses," Brian rolled his eyes. "Guy's a psychopath."
Phillipe laughed. "Brian, for a man as smart as you are, you can certainly be blind sometimes. Alain would never attack someone who's weaker than him… unless one of those he consider his is hurt."
"You spoke with him," Brian realized.
"Two minutes after you left his house," Phillipe admitted. "He was quite upset… and worried about you."
"Well, that's too bad," Brian shook his head. "I'm not interested."
"Not yet anyway," Phillipe grinned. "The pursuit has already begun. You think he's bad when he's violent? He's ten times worse when he's charming and set his mind to seduction. You won't stand a chance against him."
"We'll see," Brian said darkly.
"We will," Phillipe agreed, "and it'll be extremely entertaining. Now stop brooding and kiss me. The night is still young."
Brian – what else could he do – shrugged and did as he'd been told.
The End - for now