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Chapter Text

"You the shamus?"

I liked it that he didn't waste my time...pretty straightforward for a Hollywood pretty boy. And, make no mistake, Vincent Chase was pretty, with the kind of blue eyes that would cause young girls to wet seat covers in moviehouse balconies from here to Peoria. Suddenly, I wished I thought to refill the flask in my desk, but I had to pretend disinterest in Chase's fame. Not that I make it out to the pictures all that much these days; a guy like me hears enough hokum at work to last for a lifetime. But you'd have to be actually *in* the La Brea tar pits not to know that Vincent Chase, in addition to being mentioned in the same breath as Cary Grant, was considered to be the number-one choice to make an upcoming Green Lantern serial.

He didn't look like that; he just seemed young. I decided to be brisk and efficient.

"Eric Murphy," He had a solid handshake, strong, but not he-man enough to break my fingers for the hell of it. "My friends call me E."
"I'm..."

"Mr. Chase, I know who you are... Everyone knows who you are."

"Can I call you E?" Something about the way he asked pulled at my heart. It was as if he didn't have a friend in the world.

"Unless you know some reason why we can't be friends."I smiled, but not too much. You can't take too much for granted in my business and there was a reason this actor came to my office, with its dead ceiling fan and half-dead plants instead of sending one of his studio's bigger outfits after it, but I still liked Chase. As he moved closer, I had to revise my opinion of his age.We were probably within a few years of each other, but it was as if the war and the atomic age had bounced right off of him, instead of settling on my back and shoulders. It was all I could do not to ask how he managed that particular neat trick.

"I was glad to hear that you were from Queens...Shauna said that might help, that you know what it's like to be a regular guy...trying to chase a dream and all that."

"I'm pretty sure that when you see Shauna Roberts, you don't talk about me."

I had heard that he had dated Rita Hayworth, but at the merest hint of the madam's occupation, he blushed. I didn't think that was allowed."Well, not when I...when we... Afterwards."
"I'm a detective," I assured him. "I can put it together from here."

"She'll never forget the way you handled that blackmailer for her."

"I can assure you I didn't handle him like Shauna did."

He laughed, an unaccustomed sound in my sad rooms...I'd almost forgotten what it sounded like.

"Is that what brings you here? Pictures?"
His blue eyes widened as if I'd pulled a quarter from his ear. "How did you know?"
"I just figured as much."

Chapter Text

Chase's agent Gold looked at me as if I were something the dog dug up and said "Miss Gordon should make sure you have everything you need," and he flashed me a tight little smile, as if he hoped everything I needed was a blindfold and a cigarette for the firing squad.

"Of course, I'd be happy to, Mr. Gold," Miss Gordon said. Unless I missed my guess there was no great love lost between Miss Gordon and her boss. Although she tried to act liked the model employee(something I'd never been good at, and which sent me after the war straight into the gumshoe game. I hoped never to take orders again.) Miss Gordon's expensive French perfume reminded me that taking orders could be very lucrative.

"Hold my calls, Miss Gordon," he said, from halfway down the hallway.

"Of course, Chief," she said and winked at me, as she covered her typewriter with a snap.

"You know, if you're busy, I could come back later."

"Not at all...he always makes me do something like that to show off how important he is...please call me Dana. I don't feel like Miss Gordon."

"You don't look like Mr. Gordon either, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Well, at least you asked first..." Dana said. "Do you have a cigarette...I'm about to die and he won't allow them in his inner sanctum."

I lit one for her and there was a pause as smoky as Dana's tone."You're sure I'm not keeping you from something...more official?"
"Nah...everyone who's anyone is in Palm Springs for this whole month."

"And Gold isn't anyone?"

"Not yet, but he'd like to be...
"
I considered the opulent furniture, meant more to be photographed then sat upon, and Miss Gordon herself, chosen as carefully by Gold as she had been chosen more than a decade earlier to fill the Jewish quota at some Eastern women's college. "And all this?"

She blushed. "Family money. Mrs. Gold is definitely someone and she's summering in Palm Springs. Or as much of it as she can see from the bottom of a highball glass." She put her hand to her mouth. "I'm absolutely not supposed to tell anyone that."

"If it's not part of the investigation," I reassured her. "I won't say anything.What do you know about Vincent Chase?"

"Vinny? We all love Vinny...sweet guy, seems like a terrific talent."
I must have looked skeptical because she said "After a while, you get an eye, and can find the gold, no pun intended, among the schmucks He has something that makes everyone want to look at him all the time." Despite the chill in the room, I was suddenly flushed and felt that my tie was too tight. For it was true...I'd already spent more time than strictly neccessary eyeballing my famous client. I told myself that I had to think like him to protect him, but when Dana said that, I felt called out.
She narrowed her eyes at me. "Did Warners' send you? Because if they did, I don't think we have anything else to discuss."

"I'm not really supposed to say," I explained. "it's not official privilege, like with lawyers, but we still try to keep our clients confidential."
"Well, I guess I'll tend to my manicure," and she pulled out some Rich Girl red and began touching up her nails with it.

"C'mon, Dana...you can't just drop big hints about Warners and then not tell me anything..."
"Oh, yeah...watch me."
"okay, then, I'm breaking a rule too...Vinny hired me...pulled the wrinkled bills out of his wallet and everything."
"Jesus."
"So, what happened with Warners, Dana?"
"Mr. Gold had a confrontation with the president there about Vince's contract...they want to loan Vince out to make a Western...isn't that ridiculous? I mean, if it's notStickballs Along The Mohawk...if he belongs in a Western I'm Dale Evans. But they are probably going to have to do it."

Chapter Text

On a normal night, the shrill ringing of my phone at midnight might have upset me. There hadn't been that many normal nights since I'd picked up nightmares(and a small,I was lucky-to-be-here piece of shrapnel in the steaming jungles of Guadalcanal... the phone rang five times before I fully realized it was not the ship's distress call and that I was at home in my apartment, which, on nights like that, suddenly seemed too small, even though I knew that it was adequate to my needs since I was never home.I took a futile swipe at my sweating brow before fumbling for the handset.
"Hello?"

Chase sounded as lively as it were noon instead of midnight. I could even hear the distant notes of a piano somewhere. Some guys have the life, I thought, though I was hardly dressed for a party in my boxers.Somewhere in the background, a woman laughed, and she sounded like the type i had no chance with. "I'm sorry," Chase said. "Did I wake you?"

I fumbled last night's pants off the floor and lied and said I hadn't even been to bed yet, which brightened the actor's mood so much it was my favorite lie in a lifetime of small ones."The reason I was asking is..."
I told myself it bugged me when he hesitated, that any minute I was gonna tell him to get to the point or I was hanging up, but somehow I didn't. "Yes?" i asked finally, sounding more impatient than I felt.

"Can I come over? I don't want to be alone, E."

I had to laugh. "Alone? It sounds like Grand Central Station in there.Won't your guests be disappointed if you duck out?"
"They're not my guests...they're Ari's."

"Even the blonde by the piano?" I was joking, but Chase sounded serious when he replied "Especially her."

"Ok, I guess I can be your hideout for a while."

"Oh, and it is work, too. I got another set of...photos, today."

Chapter Text

I grabbed a paperback from my shelf and tried to read while I waited for Chase, but he took so long getting there, I must have fallen asleep again. Even a gentle knock startled me enough that I almost thought it was time for sentry duty again. My heart hammered in my chest, and no wonder. Over an hour had gone by since Chase's tragic abandonment by wine, women, and song, even with my careful directions. He knocked again and called my name. It was late, and I almost wished I'd made him call me Mr. Murphy.Maybe even Petty officer 3rd class Eric C. Murphy, though I'd done what I had to do back then, and thought little about titles or rank.

Instead, I went to my own door in my own apartment and almost felt self-conscious about being rumpled and having a crick in my neck. What was it about this guy? Was I just a sucker for money and fame like all the hopefuls hanging around Schwab's Drugstore? God, I hoped not, and not just because I couldn't fill out one of those tight sweaters."Hey, idiot," I said, finally, more Queens than I'd ever been in Queens. "In case you haven't noticed, I have neighbors." I admit it, in that instant my Irish temper got the better of me, but in the next moment I saw my sad little business going up in smoke after some movie-star temper tantrum. "and they're not exactly thrilled when my PI business comes home, "I add, as if it's happened more than twice.As if it was something more than this movie star and a crying wife after a divorce case. I still feel a little guilty that I slept with Kristin at such a time. Enough so, that I had just gotten disengaged from her after a year. I let her keep the ring. Like a fool, I'm still paying on it

He just stood there, looking at me. 'i know. I'm sorry." If he had an urge to go crying to Jack Warner, or Ari Gold, I didn't see it on his face. In fact, his face was as perfect as I'd ever seen it.Which probably should have made me hate him for being a pansy or something, but anyway, I was the one who noticed, right? And the one who'd broken it off with his fiancee for no special reason he could point to, although she really couldn't cook, even with lots of books around. And I really am neater than she is, both by training and inclination...that was a thought that could end nowhere good. It did give me to time to let some of the anger at Chase melt away.

"I got lost," he explained, like I gave a shit.

"Did I ask?" I said gruffly, not mad anymore, but sort of enjoying how he would stand there and take my punishment.

"No, I guess you didn't. I just wanted you to know I don't keep people waiting. Even on the set."
I nodded. "Come in, then."

"You sure? Like I said, I got lost driving here."

"Yes, I'm sure, Mr. Chase."

"Vinny--I told you. My business manager calls me Mr. Chase, and he hates me."

"I'll bet." Suddenly I felt a twinge of sympathy for the beleaguered accountant, and for Gold, prick that he was, and for all of the other people Chase sort of...descended on. But I let him in anyway, and got us both sweating bottles of beer.

"Vinny," I said, once he'd settled himself in my best, overstuffed chair without even thinking twice. "You drove yourself here?"

"Yes, I didn't want anybody to know...what with-everything." Finally we were getting to something I understood. The early shot at pornography, some rich married woman who didn't just want to say thanks for the memories, whatever. All better than wondering why I just didn't tell this pretty boy to come back another day, but something in the way he said it brought another question to mind. "Vinny, do you even have a driver's license?"

"Kind of."

"That's like being a little pregnant, Mr. Chase."

"I have a learner's permit."
"Christ, Vinny." Suddenly, I felt unbelievably exhausted again.

"I made it here, didn't I? Like Roosevelt said, the only thing to fear is fear itself."

Damn it. I could just imagine what my mother would say if I didn't help this blue-eyed boy all full of Roosevelt quotations. She probably still had the President's picture in her kitchen. I wished I had a cloth for my forehead, but when you have to do it yourself, the whole thing loses its magic.
"All right," I said, taking refuge in being Man of Business again. "Let's see the new batch of pictures."

He looked amazed, like I'm Merlin. "How did you know about that?"

"You told me." I looked at my wall clock twice, because I couldn't believe the ungodly hour on it. I would usually be getting up in a few hours now."Last night when you called." With relief instead of my usual frustration, I considered that it would just be paperwork that would bring me to my office. It could wait. I took a long drink of my beer, though it was the last thing I needed and watched as Vinny toyed with a cheap white envelope. He took his time handing it over, but he didn't seem embarrassed. One of those lucky beings born without shame. Out of habit, I looked at the envelope, but I didn't know what I was expecting. For this to be a Sherlock Holmes story and this cheap Woolworth envelope to have the royal seal of Bohemia on it? Of course, it didn't. Plain block letters on an envelope that everyone has. Inside, though, a different story. Vinny having drinks and laughing with Terry "The Tongue" Tataglia, a mobster as up and coming in his "career" as Vincent Chase was in his.

"You never told me you knew Terry the Tongue,Vinny," I whispered, even though it was just the two of us in there and the shades were drawn.

"You never asked me, did you?" Vinny said. "I go to his bar sometimes. I guess we're friends."

I looked at the photo again, and wondered why I'd never noticed the resemblance between me and Terry. Both middleweights with sandy hair and freckles. Of course, I'd never been accused of extortion so maybe there wasn't that much of a similarity. "I suppose you could say he wanted to talk about making a movie with you," I said, doubtfully, though even I was starting to feel uncomfortable as the pictures started to show the gangster moving in close to Vinny-- with his hand on his knee. I felt flushed and squirmed with embarrassment.

Chapter Text

I almost didn’t want to look at the photos, but couldn’t stop myself, even as the scene began to resemble a fleshy car crash.I expected to feel waves of revulsion as I glimpsed a grainy image of Chase’s dark head totally at home touching some crime boss…taking time to consider it made the revulsion easier to summon, and in a way, I was glad about that. Finally, I reached the end, wishing I had something more than warm beer to draw the taste from my mouth. Chase, meanwhile, read a magazine as he watched out of the corner of his eye.

“I suppose you do…that, with all your friends.” I said, tapping the photo and reminding myself of my father so much I wanted to go and lie down. I was too young to be so serious...wasn't I? On the other hand, somebody had to act like the grown-up, right? Wouldn't we all just like to stick everything everywhere without consequences? On the other hand, Murphy, I told myself, you can't get more consequential than that chip of diamond you bought your girl and in the end the coastline wasn't wide enough for the both of us. It was too late at night to think of all that.

Chase shrugged. Despite everything, he had a twinkle in his eye and didn’t look like a man whose life and career were about to implode in a sex scandal. “Just the lucky ones.”

“You could go to jail, Vinny. Or worse.”

“If people are watching me all the time, maybe I already am.”

“Jesus, save it for the silver screen, why don’t you? Maybe you could do some good work instead of all this crap. Like the Western.”

“I could make the western. Couldn’t I? I’m playing a half-breed Apache and there’s supposed to be, an accent guy on the set. Ari promised. And as for my serving time, Terry said he’d never let that happen and I believe that.”
“A guy nicknamed “The Tongue” would never let you down, huh?” I laughed bitterly.

“He never has before. He’d have much more to lose than I would, right?”

“Just some of the anatomy you’re fondling might end up down his throat, that’s all.”

I really didn’t have to say it like that, and I felt like a hard-on afterward for pretending to have more of an inside track than the pulp magazines I read at the barber shop. Still, I’d gotten through and that gave me no little satisfaction, as did watching him turn pale and nervous. I might not have been queer, but I felt that I had the makings of a first-rate sadist. “I’m sorry,” I said. “And I think the word you’re looking for is ‘dialect coach’.”

“really?”

“Well, I have lived out here for a while—the terminology kind of rubs off.” I hoped that was all that was rubbing off.

Chapter Text

"Look, I'm exhausted." I finally admitted, once the adrenaline of picturing how Terry the mobster had gotten his nickname had worn off. "It's late...why don't you take the couch?"

Again, it kind of burned me that through it all, Chase looked perfect, as though the whole world was a show put on for his benefit. Still, he did show some concern when he asked "You don't think I was followed, do you?
"
I sighed. The movie star was making me work too hard. "Honestly, I bet even the underworld's asleep by now. But I'll check everything out before I go back to bed."
This last was kind of a hint, as Chase was flipping curiously through my magazines and gave no hint of the ten-hour workday he'd just put in. If he was on dope, I should probably get some, but my instinct was that he was just high on his own youth and perfection, things it would take more than a quick drive to Mexico to acquire, damn the luck. I didn't find any goons hiding in my rubber plants or elephant ears so I gratefully turned back in, only to discover the horrible dream and the sinking ship waiting as if they were painted behind my eyeballs.
I thrashed and cried out, and who knew how long later, I felt an arm around me, and heard a voice telling me it was all right. By then, I had awakened, at least partially, and knew it was Chase, instead of whatever two-dimensional starlet people expected lonely American detectives to call out for in our sleep(Although, his mouth was full and soft, compared to Charlie, my PI partner in Queens, with none of the stubble.)

It made it easier to believe I was still dreaming, that I wasn't sliding back into the same excess of feelings that made me cross the country in shame. I always wondered if Kristin suspected. She never liked Charlie, I knew that, but she always claimed that he was always trying to make a move on her,which was the one thing I could have defended him from, but only at great personal cost. Charlie and I only spent one weekend together before he made noises about opening a one-man shop and "avoiding complications" Finally, after a year, our roles reversed, I understood why. Somehow, he wouldn't appreciate that telegram.

The strange thing was, though, I'd felt better than I had in months, as though everything would be okay. Maybe because it was finally quiet, although I didn't dare move around too much, because that meant having to admit that there really was a handsome, and deeply confused, movie star curled up like a cat on my bed, and that I kind of wanted him to stay(Yes, Hollywood Confidential, sorry to disappoint you, but when I first slept with Vincent Chase, slept was really the operative word, not that there weren't a lot of other feeling churning around besides that. I brushed him roughly with my foot. "Get up," I said, roughly, though I was hurting my own feelings just as much as his.

Chapter Text

"Good morning." Chase said. Did nothing rattle him?

I grunted a response that was barely polite, and said "You can't do that anymore, ever."

Chase picked up his shirt from the floor, sniffed it, and put it back on. I tried not to watch."Is this about Terry? Because you weren't worried about that yesterday."

I drew myself up to my full height, wishing not for the first time that it might be a little fuller and said "No, it's not just about your sick and unsavory companions...although that is a good way to end up a former degenerate. I'm just not the kind of man who rolls around in bed with other men and I need you to respect that."

It seemed that the more worked up I got the more focused Vince became. I could even see him struggling to hold back that famous smile as he said "You first. Look, I thought we were getting along, but if this is such a problem to you, maybe I should just pay and get out of your life."

"What about the pictures? I'd feel really bad if I let a...misunderstanding keep you from finding out what's what."

He shrugged, and I hated him, just a little. "I've got to be in New Mexico next week anyway." He reached in his cheap wallet and pulled out twenty dollars like I might toss a coin.

"You're making the Western?"

"Sure--what do you care?"

"It's crap, that's why I care. "

"You're gonna give me career advice? You? The detective that can't even tell if his plants are dead?"

"I notice that they're dead...I just never cared until..." I stopped talking, cause even in my lunkhead brain that was trying to be my most normal and try to fuck Betty Grable and all the rest of it, that the end of that sentence was "until you saw them." I turned away, before he could see me flushing, or worse, before I spilled my guts. "Fine. Make garbage. Waste your opportunities."

He tilted his head quizzically as he studied me. "You really hate it that much?"

"Yeah...you left part of it in my office, so I started to read it, but I kept falling asleep."

"Maybe you should keep it--you have so much trouble sleeping."
Despite myself, I smiled. "Yeah."

"Look, I'll give you another ten for your trouble if you'll do one thing for me."

"Anything." I said, though the money was beside the point.

"Are you sure that's something you want to say to a degenerate?"
"I'm sorry about that...it was rude"

"That's why you're going to make it up to me."

Wary again, I laughed nervously. "Ok, but I'm keeping one foot on the floor at all times. Like in the movies."

"If you can kiss me again and then look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't feel anything, then I will leave you to find an aproned wife and the house in the suburbs, I promise."

"You have to be at work in fifteen minutes. You probably won't make it."

"You can learn a lot in fifteen minutes."If Betty Grable had shown up then, I doubt I'd even recognize her, but I still felt hesitant and nervous as a kid playing Spin The Bottle at a birthday party as my lips brushed his cheek. Even then, I wished I'd pulled the shutters closed--why had I wanted to live somewhere where it was so damn sunny, ever? I'd never given enveloping gloom enough credit, but then, I'd never had quite so much to hide.

For once, Vince seemed to get why my eyes darted toward the windows and he pulled the shutters closed. It still wasn't dark enough, but any worry I had about it got swallowed by those famous lips. They were all over my body that day and suffice it to say neither of us started our day on time.

However, after the best sleep, I'd had since the war, I woke up alone, a piece of notebook paper by my head and an unacknowledged ache in my heart. It wasn't like two men could ride off into the sunset, but I still hated to read:
E.
I've decided to go to New Mexico--we all can't fit in in the suburbs. Don't take any wooden nickels.

__Vince.

I didn't see him again for a year and a half.

Chapter Text

1950

Instead of optimism, the arrival of a new decade brought me drunken fumbling in bars and a new emphasis on work. One was more useful than the other, as I was able to rent a better office and hire a secretary to send out my bills and answer my phone.The Western, which I still thought of as "Stickballs Along The Mohawk" thanks to Dana Gordon's sharp tongue was every bit as awful as I might have imagined, but it was also a big hit.People loved Vince's tragic half-breed character, and I understood every screenwriter in town was frantically trying to bring him back, despite the obvious handicap of his heart-tugging death scene at the end.

I hated it, but saw it twice.Vince was everywhere I looked now, and it was strange to know that I had seen another side of that arresting all-American face.(I also wondered if Warner's or Terry the Tongue's connections had more to do with the country's latest outbreak of Vincent Chase fever, but from where I sat it all looked pretty much the same.) Then, one night in the spring, I was about to go to sleep and my phone rang."E," his voice said, as if it had been eighteen minutes, instead of eighteen months"I need to talk to you. Meet me."

For a minute, I wanted to tell him to piss off, that he'd gotten what he'd wanted in the end, probably, and nothing he could say would make up for leaving me to wake up alone that night, especially to run off in the desert to play cowboys and Indians. I wanted to say that. Instead, I said "Well, talk."

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and I wondered if he was about to cry.I tried on and rejected a few insults for the kinds of men that cried, but then I figured there had to be some for men who held the cocks of men that cried and put them in their mouths, especially if they enjoyed it, and remembered it fondly while waiting at long traffic lights. It was almost miraculous that I hadn't been killed yet.
"Jesus," Vince said. "I wanted to say goodbye in person...it's too hard over the phone."

I listened to the background noise on the other end of the phone, and I felt that I could hear a pin drop. Vince sounded alone, and he didn't manage alone well. Shit."Chase, when you say 'say goodbye', you didn't, I don't know, take anything, did you? Because you shouldn't, right, you have everything to live for. Plenty of guys would give their left nut to be you, right this second."

The actor laughed, and if I hadn't considered it the most beautiful sound I ever heard, I might have reached through the phone and strangled him myself. "You do know that was a movie, right? I'm not Navajo, either. But I have had a little of my brother's reefer. He knows a guy at MGM that gets the best."

"So, you called me to tell me you're going a trip, then. Good for you. And the guy in the movie is Apache."

"Thought it was crap." Vince teased. "Please, come have a drink with me."

"That doesn't mean I didn't see it. And I'm not going to your hotel."

"I'll be a perfect gentleman. I should, anyway, I'm engaged now."

"Engaged? How, I mean, who?"

"I'm marrying Dana Gordon."

"Congratulations...now I need a drink."
"Told you."

Chapter Text

He offered to drive, but confusing as my life had become recently, I still valued it too much to let that happen. It occurred to me that I hadn't been to too many parties since reaching the Golden State, especially not with people with summer places. I suddenly felt as if there were oil under my fingernails that I couldn't even see, but that Vince's crowd would unerringly spot.
"So, Dana, huh? She's great--congratulations." I thought I meant it, but saying it felt really forced.

"We're friends," Vince said, "and we both..." he swallowed hard and looked uncomfortable for the first time since I met him. I felt guilty for longing for it. "need an out."

"I'm not the best judge in the romance department." I said. "But that sounds really cold-blooded."

"Ari suggested it. I'm getting to the point where I should get married, Dana doesn't want be a secretary anymore...of course, we're getting some attention because it's a mixed marriage, but who knows, I'm Heinz 57 enough there could be a Jew in there, somewhere."

"You are clearly someone's chosen person, Vince. I hope this all makes you very happy." Of course, Vince had played an Indian in the movies, but that didn't make him a tracker, so the party in the Hills was in full swing when we arrived. At first, that seemed that it worked out for the best, sparing me some embarrassing introductions and giving me a chance to hang back, observe, and possibly drown a little sorrow. It was lonely knowing how many friends Vince had. The house itself, despite being billed as a "summer cottage" was the biggest place I'd ever seen that didn't have ropes separating people and attractions. It was hard not to gape.

I didn't get to indulge my self-pity for very long, once I'd caught the attention of a pretty brunette in a low-cut white dress who waved me over frantically. "Terry, you came. I thought you might be mad at me."

Puzzled, but playing along I asked "How could I stay mad at you?"

Soon, i could see I might as well be talking to the drink she held in her hand. "you know, about the pictures..." she slurred. "It was just a joke...you were mean and hurt my feelings."
"I know. " I said. "I can be a real prick."
Suddenly, she started laughing and shushing me. "You told me never to mention that!"

Just then, I saw Ari Gold, tie slightly askew, rush forward and take the woman's arm. "There you are, Melissa. There is someone in the bedroom you simply must meet."

She frowned and seemed determined to stay where she was, but then, it was as if a switch turned on and she allowed him to lead her there, beaming her perfect smile all the way.
After he did that, he looked at me with no recognition and said "Please excuse my wife...she has horrible migraines and her medication..."
"Mr. Gold, it's me. Eric Murphy, the PI. Are you sure you want to stick with that story?"

Chapter Text

To my great surprise, the agent seemed almost to deflate. “Jesus,” he said.You look just like…” His cheek even turned a little pale.\

“Why am I only worth your attention because I look like one of your criminal buddies?” I asked, savoring his discomfort. Until the awkward pause got too long to be funny, that is.

“He’s not my *buddy*…he’s a very occasional investor and associate. Handles things with the unions…we can’t afford too many more strikes, right?”

“I’ll bet.” Pretending to be unruffled sent Gold into an excess of nervous pacing tension. A new unwelcome sympathy rose within me though I wanted to toy with him some more.

Gold watched me and I could see that he thought he was putting all of the pieces together. “Wait a minute,” he said. “This isn’t some red class thing, is it? This is about me and Dana and how little Mr. Night School doesn’t approve.” He took a sip from his chilled martini glass. Gold, unlike his wife was not a drinker. At the astringent taste of the gin met his mouth , his hazel eyes watered, and he seemed not to notice that half the overly-prepared concoction went down the front of his expensive shirt.

“You and Dana? So that’s why *Vince* and Dana.”

He laughed. “The Mick proves himself a smart boy after all.”

“But doesn’t it bother you? To almost sell her off to someone else?”

He almost looked stricken. “Take that back…I’m not selling Dana. I love her. She’s my heart. Maybe I’m putting her in safekeeping, that’s all. Just for a few years. We both know Vinny will barely mess her hair up. When he does like women, he tends to prefer more of the rougher sort. And these days..." He let the pause hang between us.

“But if you love her enough to, you know, save her.. how does Melissa fit in?”

He laughed then seemed to wait for me to clap him on the shoulder and repeat the punch line. “Oh, my God. You’re really waiting for me to tell you that mommies and daddies don’t always love each other very much. That’s just precious. Never grow up, Murphy.”
He looked at me, old swagger back. I felt like I shrank under his gaze. “Guess I don’t have to worry about that. But you want to know about the pictures, don’t you?”

Chapter Text

Feeling at a loss for words after my misreading of Gold’s relationship, I accepted a glass of champagne from a supercilious waiter. It was so much better than what I could afford that the pleasure was almost painful. “Nice, huh?” Gold asked. “You see why I can’t leave.”
“Yeah, it’s a good week.” I replied. “But I’m sure you could pull something together. Being a top agent is not like being on a breadline…”
“By the time Melissa’s father’s finished with me, it might as well be. Never mind all the cures I paid for…the sanatoriums to dry her out….” He waved a hand, suddenly helpless, and made me miss the cocky prick that looked down on me. “As you can tell, *that worked out great. The good news is, I can tell the maid how to get vomit out of sequins. But I almost like it better when she’s not the woman I married…it’s easier. Makes me feel less wrong. You know?"
I did and I didn't. Mostly, I found myself not wanting to talk about that, besides which my detective instincts, long working at half-strength, suddenly made me feel like a hunting dog finding a felled duck. It was all I could do not to get on the floor and point myself, and I'm sure Pierre the snooty waiter would have never forgiven that lapse in etiquette.
“ Can we talk about the pictures now?” I asked. “Unless you’d rather have a moment to sob into your pillow.”
“I think you should know…” he said, all business again. “I had them taken. But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it and say you’re a souse like your father
I could feel my neck getting hot under my tight collar. “How the hell did you know that? And why would you want pictures of Vinny?"
“First, you just told me…I had a hunch. All that striving, the little storefront that you live upstairs from…it’s a fairly classic pattern.” Wasn't I the one that was supposed to do the deducting here? In my next life, maybe I could pick the movie stars and drink the champagne. Not that it seemed to make Gold happy much
I drew myself up to full height and wished it was fuller. “I don’t live upstairs. I live next door.”
“You’re right.” He smiled a wolfish smile. “totally different. Keep up, Einstein. I didn’t want pictures of Vinny. I wanted pictures of Terry and Melissa. Vinny was just collateral damage. Man, was I surprised. I thought I was getting...insurance."
“You thought Melissa and Terry…”
“Did more than tango at Mogambo, yeah. Between you and me and Dr. Schwartzman, Melissa likes other things in her mouth besides French champagne. Melissa is, clinically speaking, a nymphomaniac. Do you know how many gardeners I’ve lost in the past six years? Fifty, Eric. I’ve written last paychecks for fifty Latin studs…making it go away, just like her father. I feel like I am her father. Jesus, if Terry wasn’t queer, I’d be dead right now. But he’d want this to go away, too.”
The combination of not enough food, too much drink, and a really close call made laughter bubble up in my throat. I thought I contained it, but Gold’s eyebrows drew together. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny. You creating your own public relations problem.”
“It’s a little funny.” Gold admitted, but his tone was sour.

Chapter Text

protect Gold, but I couldn’t risk anything getting out and harming Vinny. Thinking of his body excited me even as I prepared to see him marry Dana Gordon, and presumably stay out of my life. It wasn’t like the world would look the other way while he bought me a house or set me up in a hotel like Gold might do for Dana.He called me at night, sometimes from locations, and I picked up, even when I knew it meant waking up the next day as if my head was unattached from my body. “We’re going to go to New York next year for a movie… he named the forgettable title and few points about the premise, but I barely listened because I was so tempted. “You should come.”

“Sure…with you and your wife. As what…Chico the houseboy? I don’t think so, Vin.”I tried to laugh to keep from crying.

“I’m gonna rent a place in the Village…it’s not gonna be like where we grew up, Probably nobody would blink an eye. If they do, you’re my head of security.” I wasn’t sure what sounded better, the title or the “we” from that perfect mouth.

“Maybe, okay, but I’d have to do some real work. I’ve been working since I was sixteen and don’t plan to stop. I’m not your pet.”

“I’ll have to take the leash back, then. I know…you could be my manager…maybe get me some better scripts."

“What about Dana?”

“Well, we’ll act the part for a year or two, and then I think she and Ari…well, I think things will be less complicated on that front for them…she wants a baby, though. Maybe I’ll take one for the team, help the old man out.”

Jealousy ate at me, even though I liked Dana(even though she lied to me, now that I knew why I understood it. “He’s not that much older than we are…” Sensing that Vince turned from me, I said “ He acts like it, though.” I loved it when he laughed. We made fun of Ari for a few more minutes, then I said “Shouldn’t you be with your fiancée tonight?”

“She says it’s bad luck.”

“Vinny, your marriage is a sham…how could you be any less lucky than that?”

“Just telling you what she told me…I think she thinks this may be her one shot at being all bridal.”

“We’re both in love with somebody else…I’d say that’s worse. But even that is better than my mother and my father which…you know…Jesus, don’t ask.”

“Love? I thought you and Shauna were just good friends..”

“I’m not talking about that…I’m talking about you, genius. My heart's on my sleeve here."

"Shut up!" I was blushing hotter than my radiator.

"Did you just shush me? Photoplay just said I have the intensity of Orson Welles...I think that makes me illegal to shush. Except by Johnny, because he's so envious."

“You could have anybody, Vin. From what I’ve heard, you have, too! What’s with all the sweet-talk all of a sudden about two nights?” Two nights that made me get hard in my sad little room all alone, but only a sucker would admit that to a guy beloved of nearly everyone. I didn't have wine, or grand pianos, but I did have my Murphy pride.

“Having it be two nights wasn’t my idea…you were the one who wanted to be all respectable.” He spat it out like a kind of insult. Considering my date for the wedding itself was a pretty brunette waitress from my favorite luncheonette whose name I still confused, maybe it was ,too.

“You don’t understand…” I said, but whether it was from the lateness of the hour or because my earlier arguments were based on nameless fear, I couldn’t say anything else.

“You’re right…I don’t. Help me.” He pleaded just enough that it was all I could do not to run off with him that minute. I didn’t, because I am my mother’s dependable son.

I showed up at the wedding looking like a cut-rate magician, but at least my date, Sloan(Maybe I couldn’t remember her name because it seemed so unlikely) was entranced with the people-watching possibilities so bringing her and being ignored for an hour seemed like a sort of public service. I was about to leave when Ari and his Mrs. Arrived. Mrs. Gold looked lovely and bore testimony to phenomenal recuperative skills. Ari greeted me, clapped me on the back.
“I have the distinct feeling we’ve met before,” Melissa Gold said. “The symphony benefit?”

“I don’t think so.” I said, “I’m a private investigator.”

“Really? What do you fellows actually do?”

“The right thing, right, Eric?” Gold said, casually handing over a monogrammed, expensive envelope that read “ARG”

“I’ll certainly try.”

“Do better than that, Eric.”
The whole assemblage held its breath for the vows and cheered when Vin broke the glass on the first try. It wasn’t just my heightened emotions that led me toward a bathroom stall with my lighter and that envelope of photographic evidence, although I did worry that my heightened sensibilities might set the whole hotel ablaze. I got through it by pretending I was nine and burning ants with a magnifying glass.

Underneath everything(And I couldn’t even pretend the satisfaction I felt watching the image of Vince and Terry meeting flame was professional) was a card for one of Manhattan’s biggest security firms. “Look Him Up!” was underlined in the agent’s chicken-scratch. It was like a sign. I would see Vince in New York. On my own terms.
THE END