Al finally dropped his paintbrush-fry. He stared at the dregs of his burger. "Guess I'm just not used to the idea of joining the world of single people again."
Arthur snorted. "Well, welcome to it, I’m sorry to say."
Al looked up at him then, and his eyes narrowed in that sly expression he had. "Strange, Arthur. It seems like you're the type to be all settled down."
"One might think," Arthur said, now trying to sound dismissive.
Al looked away and then bundled his trash onto the plastic tray. "Well, you make me feel a little better about being out there."
Arthur stared. "What, by being single? Being alone?" Then Arthur flushed as he realized he was talking to Al almost like Al talked to him. Almost like he might talk to Portia. Al's presence had chipped away at Arthur's customary veneer of professionalism.
Al looked at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. "No. I guess I just know there are okay people out there."
Dear God, Arthur's nether regions flashed with a sudden heat at that look, and at the insinuation in the words. He sipped at the last of his iced tea and scrabbled to find anything to say that would change that subject. "It might take time. But you'll find another nice lady, I'm sure."
Al shrugged and watched his crumpled paper wrappings as they unfurled on the tray. "Well, I wouldn't say Mariel was ... it's just that. Well, she was kind of special."
"I'm sure she is," Arthur said, and the warm churn in his belly froze. His ribcage seemed to tighten in the sudden chill.
Al's eyes widened as if Arthur had alarmed him with his response. "No. I mean... aw, never mind. I'm just being weird."
Arthur was glad to know he wasn't the only one who thought so. Al was being incomprehensible to him, because surely he wasn't--
Jones continued. "I kind of tell you things I don't mean to tell you. Stuff just comes out."
"Ah," Arthur said. He begged for his inner legal psychologist to help him out. The best that man came up with was "Well, as your attorney, I've already promised you that I'll be discreet. And I hear all sorts of things in my line of work--"
Jones waved, cutting Arthur off, and leaned back in his seat. "Yeah, you did. Thanks. I guess you lawyers do this sort of stuff all the time." He had a slight frown on his face, the one he got whenever Arthur scored a point. Arthur hadn't wanted that one, but he'd won it anyway, just by being himself.
"Yes," Arthur said, quietly.
Jones craned his neck to glance out into the mall, in the direction of the doors. "Looks like it's getting cloudy. I heard it's supposed to rain later or something. We oughta get going."
"Good idea," Arthur choked out.
Arthur gathered up his files while Al -- Jones, dammit -- dumped their trash. They donned their coats and left. In the mall, they stopped in front of the revolving door to the outside.
Jones made a strange hand gesture, like he'd been about to reach out for Arthur but stopped. Arthur told himself that it was because of his nervousness -- Jones was plainly nervous -- and the fact that they didn't need to shake hands to say goodbye.
"Well, call me if you hear anything," Jones said. He wasn't looking at Arthur, only in his general direction. Arthur missed Jones's smile and was glad of its absence at the same time.
"Please feel free to contact me if you have questions," Arthur said.
"Okay. Well, bye," Jones said. Arthur nodded and they parted.
Arthur walked briskly back to the office. The day was indeed turning grey. Arthur told himself that it was not at all the case that Jones was attracted to him in any way, because for a few moments it had seemed like he’d been … flirting. It couldn't possibly be, however, and that was all there was to it. It was good that they had parted as generally and professionally as possible.
Inside, Arthur gave the documents to Bella for her to copy. She would give them to Emil to run over to the clerk of court for filing. Arthur sat at his desk. His phone rang. It was Monaca.
Arthur sighed. "Thank you. Please put him through." There was a click. "Bonnefoy? I hope there aren't any changes, because the document is signed and headed for the clerk. Miss Sterling will scan you a copy."
Bonnefoy had a pout in his voice. "Arthur! No, that's not it. I tried to face-time you on your cell this morning and again a little while ago. You didn't answer."
"Oh." Arthur felt for his neglected smartphone in his jacket pocket. He thumbed up the menu. There were three missed calls and a text from Portia: Asshole canceled our blind date already and he hasn't even met me asshole says he has a job and cant get down here goddammit. Poor Portia. "I had it turned off."
"Whatever shall we do with you?"
Arthur gritted his teeth. "How may I help you?"
"Ah-- well, it is a bit of a delicate matter, shall we say?"
"H.F. ..."
"Yes, yes. Well, I wanted to chat with you about -- ah -- Alfred Jones."
Arthur's stupid heart tightened again. "What is it?"
"Hmm. Well, I just want you to know that he is a dear boy. He has a good heart."
"Aaaaand?" Arthur said. Bonnefoy was being even stranger than usual, and that could be pretty strange.
"I have known him for years and ..." Bonnefoy paused. It sounded like he swallowed. "I just want you to be cautious, however. He can be rather ... impetuous."
"You don't say?" Arthur said. He relaxed a little.
"I should have told you this earlier," Bonnefoy said, as if completely missing the irony in Arthur's voice. "But I didn't realize a need until Friday."
"What's that supposed to mean."
Bonnefoy aaaahed as if imparting a great secret. "Well, it seemed that there was maybe a ... shall we say, a sort of current between you two? He was sillier than usual. And you were a more lovely shade of pink than I've ever seen you, even when we had you over for our Fourth of July cookout--"
"Dear God," Arthur said, swiping a hand over his face. How humiliating, that even H.F. had noticed? He'd been trying so hard, too. Well, he was half-British. He could bluff more politely than anyone he knew in this country. "You ass. I don't know what you're talking about."
"You are an absolute dream, Arthur," Bonnefoy said, in the kind of voice with a silly grin attached to it. "But just know that our dear Al can be quite the bull-headed idiot when he wants something. I don't want you to be surprised, or hurt. Just prepared."
"I think I will be fine, Frannie," Arthur said, using that nickname for the first time. "Thank you for your concern."
"You have a lovely Monday as well, Arthur. Aufwiedersehen."
"Goodbye," Arthur said, and hung up.
Very well. He had to do something about this. Get out of town, his instinct told him, as it usually did when he needed an escape.
He swiveled in his chair and Googled "Weekend Destinations," and clicked "I'm feeling lucky." And there it was, the answer, like from a kind fate: California Wine Country. He copied a couple of links and e-mailed them to Portia. Then he e-mailed his staff and told them he would be out on Friday but that they could start their Casual Days without him.
Let me guess, the thing that Alfred loves is Arthur's accent? I'm completely with him on that, British accents can be sooo dreamy... Poor Alfie, he tried to be flirty and Arthur didn't catch the bait. Well, one needs to be patient with tsunderes.
but i must say that now i'm reaaaally curious about that divorce; like there's something fishy going on. Interesting.
I totally think that there is more going on than there seems. That we're not getting the totally picture. It's mysterious. It's intriguing. I love it. I want more!
And Arthur is going to get more than he bargained for with his little vacation, isn't he?
At the end of every update there is just enough left hanging to keep me craving more.
A/N: Oh, hey, it's more talking! I love talking! But there has to be legal stuff. I do eventually get to romancing, I promise. Sorry for no exciting vacation, but it's just Arthur's last relaxing fun-time. Thank you so much for sticking with me and I appreciate your comments.
All Right, Tonight (Part 25/?)
On Monday a week later, Arthur took four alarms to arise but was refreshed and primed to face the legal world once more. He'd had a lovely, relaxing weekend.
Neither he nor Portia had managed to get laid, but they'd both managed to get gigglingly drunk twice. Early on, Portia had felt the need, of course, to note that Arthur did a double-take at every tall, blond male they'd run across, and had done triple-takes if they'd been wearing glasses. Arthur had avenged his honor by pointing out that Portia glared at every Asian man they saw, and, it being California, there had been plenty of those.
So they'd consoled each other over loves that hadn't yet happened, and instead of men they'd both found several vintages they'd adored and had bought cases to be shipped home.
It had been sunny and mild and expensive and just what Arthur had needed. He carried a box with new crystal stemware into the office; two glasses for display and two as a gift for Andersen. He left wine-filled chocolate bottle bonbons in the breakroom for everyone else.
After he'd unloaded those he came back to his office to see Monaca inside, opening the blinds.
"Good morning, Mr. Kirkland," she said with a bright smile, and then "Oh my gosh! You're so tan."
"Am I?" Arthur craned his neck to see into the mirror behind his glass shelf; he hadn't noticed before, but he did have more color. Good. Perhaps it would cover his perpetual flush. "I suppose I am."
"Totally. I want to go somewhere sunny," she said as the blinds opened onto a grey day. "Maybe I can drag my girlfriends to Florida for a week."
"No, because I can't practice law without you," he teased.
Monaca whipped around to look at him. At his smile, she laughed. "Of course, Mr. Kirkland."
She returned to her desk. He heard her talk to someone just before she shut his door, saying "gosh, he's in such a good mood."
Arthur supposed he was. He had a busy week ahead but his Monday schedule was clear and just waiting for catch-up work. He had hardly thought about Alfred Jones all day Sunday, having been too happily exhausted to worry over something that might or might not have happened, or to let himself yearn for it. He powered up his computer.
He had a great many e-mails to go through; perhaps some day he should have Monaca or Bella program his phone to receive office e-mail and also show him how to access it. He was relieved that he hadn't had to deal with those over the weekend, but the technology-free honeymoon had to end sometime.
One e-mail was from Ludwig Schmidt, Mariel Jones's counsel. He was requesting a conference call with assembled counsel for the case. Arthur replied that two on Tuesday would suit him, and did Mr. Schmidt want talking points for a meeting agenda?
He chatted with Andersen and presented the stemware, and Lars was impressed and grateful. At ten-thirty Arthur went back to his desk and prepared to check his voice mail.
Before he could do so, his phone rang.
"Mr. Kirkland? Mr. Jones is calling," Monaca told him in a sing-song voice.
If Arthur's heart skipped, it was too brief to properly notice. "Put him through, please," he sighed.
There was the customary click. "Arthur? Oh, God," came Alfred Jones's voice, sounding breathless.
"Good morning. How can I--" Arthur began, then winced at himself, because he was already worried, and had already realized that he would show it. "Is something the matter?"
"Yes." Jones -- Al -- took an audibly deep breath. "Mariel is pregnant."
"Dear heavens," Arthur said, as his stomach plummeted and sat there.
Arthur took a deep breath of his own. This was not a situation he'd never encountered, legally. He knew what to do: verify the information, ask precise questions. "Did she tell you this herself?"
"Yeah. She called me this morning. She was crying."
Arthur was not surprised to hear that. He also suspected that she hadn't just found out; this explained a bit of her hurry to divorce. "Did she indicate that there were steps she wanted you to take?"
"No, just ... First time I've talked to her in weeks, and she hits me with this. I mean, of course I was nice to her, but ..." Arthur heard the sounds of traffic in the background of the call, and coupled with Al's breathlessness, it appeared he was walking down the street. "Are you free? Can I come to your office to find out what I need to-- to discuss this?"
Arthur closed his eyes. There was no question that it needed to be discussed. He didn't even bother pretending to check a schedule. "Yes. Are you-- when will you be available to meet?"
"God, right now. I'm just sort of -- I'm about five minutes from your office."
"Very well," Arthur said. He started brushing nonexistent dust from his desk. "I am here. And calm down. There are straightforward legal procedures to deal with this. I did tell you I've handled all sorts of issues, did I not?"
"Yeah, you did, haha," Al said. It seemed that he was more comforted than annoyed at Arthur's statement of this fact than he had been the previous week. "Okay. I won't go get drunk, then."
"A wise choice. I will see you soon," Arthur told him.
There was no bad outcome for Alfred Jones in this situation. Yet another difficulty with being a homosexual man; the inability to conceive one's own children. You still needed women for that, miracle creatures that they were, never mind that Arthur didn't want to sleep with them.
He'd kissed a girl once when he was a boy, just because he'd been told it was the thing to do. He hadn't hated it but he also hadn't seen what all the fuss was about.
A few minutes later, Monica buzzed him and Alfred Jones breezed in, his face nearly red from his brisk walk in the February wind. His tie, printed with tiny stars-and-stripes, was loosened and messy.
"Thanks for being he-- available," Al said as Arthur shook his cold hand. Had the idiot gone out without gloves? Whatever the case, the chill of his hand offset the vertigo Arthur experienced at being in his presence, touching him. A little.
"Of course. And you may have one glass of wine if you really need it," Arthur joked. Why, he felt almost big brotherly. It was odd, that this time Al had the stammer and Arthur was the one who could be direct and in control.
"Nah. At least not yet, depending on your -- whatever you have to say."
Arthur smiled and gestured Al into the chair. He noticed that Al's socks today were mismatched, one blue and one red. Or perhaps that had been on purpose; Al did seem to like being patriotic. "Indeed, you may change your mind, after you hear the questions I have for you."
"Personal question time again, huh? I'm ready for it this time, never fear." Al's chest-puffing looked out of place when he was sitting down.
"Very well. First, we have established that you have talked to her personally, and that your information is not hearsay. Now, I must ask: did she indicate that she thinks that you are the father?"
Al released his chest-filling breath. "I don't know. No," he said. "She said she's not sure. I think that's part of why she's so upset. She was with-- and was there someone else?"
Arthur waved him gently to silence. "Well, I will explain the legal questions you should have. You are still married to her, and thus you are the presumed father until shown otherwise. A judge will want to have the issue settled before the dissolution can proceed. Because even once you are not married to her, if you are the father, you will be responsible for support and will wish to be a part of the child's life. So the next question is: is it possible that you are the father?"
Arthur's no-nonsense statements seemed to have calmed Al down. His voice was much more composed as he answered. "Based on what she said, yes."
"And what did she say?"
"That her doctor thinks she is about four months' pregnant. That puts it..."
Al took off his glasses, which had fogged up in the warm air of Arthur's office. He enfolded them in his tie and wiped at them, and Arthur melted a little in his chair at Al's unfocused but lovely gaze. "I just realized. She's known about this for a while, hasn't she?"
"I'm afraid so."
Al replaced his glasses. "Phewie. Well, now I know what was up with. Hmm. What do I do?"
Arthur laced his fingers together and leaned forward. He realized he was looking at Al's ankles and remembering their first meeting, hearing about Al's sexual escapades. What would Al's ankles look like without socks? He lifted his gaze to Al's face and surprised himself with his own equanimity by continuing with nary a blush. "We will want to request a court-ordered paternity test. She will probably want that as well, to clarify or strengthen her own position. Results are usually available within two or three days of sampling. There are new tests that can be performed with no risk to the pregnancy."
Al's eyes widened, likely as he considered that there had been tests that were risky. "That's good."
Arthur gestured at his computer, out of habit. "I've had an e-mail from her attorney; I offered to meet with him tomorrow, but I can call him this morning to see if she is amenable to starting immediately. Would you like me to do that?"
"Yes."
"You will need to have your blood drawn by a disinterested and court-approved third party. Probably tomorrow at the latest, this afternoon by the earliest. Is that agreeable to you?"
"Needles! Maybe not agreeable, but I'll do it." Al shuddered a little. Then he uncrossed his legs and placed his feet flat on the floor. He looked straight at Arthur. "I gotta say, Arthur. You make me feel so much better about this. I mean, it's a huge thing. But I think with you on my side, I can handle it."
Arthur did feel a flush come on at that. He couldn't say he wasn't pleased to hear it, though he briefly wondered where Al's family and friends were; did he have no support system other than that provided by his lawyers? Even if his family and friends were unavailable, he had shareholders and business associates, not to mention legions of coworkers, employees, cooks ... Not for the first time, Arthur wondered about Al's private life, the parts of it he hadn't blurted out during legal conversations, anyway.
"I'm glad to be of assistance," Arthur said, eventually.
Al stood. He shook his hands at his sides, like the feeling had just returned to them. "Hey. You have a tan," he said, an eye-narrowed non-sequitur.
Arthur held out his hand and looked at it as if for the first time. "So I do. My efforts to avoid the sun this weekend appear to have been unsuccessful."
"Unsuccessful avoidance. Hah," Al said, again -- unconsciously?-- mimicking Arthur's accent. "Anyway, it looks good on you."
Lord, he made Arthur's insides all twisty and hot and left them begging for more. Arthur stood slowly, and blinked slowly, to keep his eyes or gestures from betraying a thing. "Thank you. I will e-mail you later with instructions. Shall I have Monaca call a cab for you?"
"Nah. I'll walk. Preemptively work off the booze I'm gonna have right after I get stuck with a needle. Whenever that happens." Jones was grinning, his smug flirting -- for that was what it indeed was, Arthur now knew -- unsuppressed by Arthur's measured responses. "Maybe I'll have to call you to hold my hand while it happens. The needle part, not the booze part. Or maybe both. Can I have your cell phone number, just in case?"
Arthur sighed. Al was rambling, and obviously unsettled and frightened. And he, Arthur, had withstood much sexual and romantic disappointment in his life; a little flirting wouldn't harm him in the long run, and seemed to make Al feel better. In a client-like way. Or even a brotherly way. Arthur remembered Bonnefoy's strange call, but shook that off. Bonnefoy was just nosy and Arthur could shoot Al down politely whenever it became necessary.
He dug his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and handed it over. "I confess I don't know my newest number. Use my phone to call yours; I've been told it's a perfectly rational method of exchanging numbers."
"God, you're funny," Al said. He took the phone and his long fingers went slide-plink-plink-plink-plink-slide. His pocket buzzed, and he handed back Arthur's phone with a boyish grin. "Got it."
"You will hear from me later, then," Arthur promised.
Though it had been established that it was not in the least necessary, Al stepped around the desk to shake Arthur's hand once more, giving it an extra, happy-feeling squeeze, and then he strode out. That time Arthur deliberately and unashamedly watched Al's ass as he did so.
Arthur pulled up Ludwig Schmidt's e-mail to get his phone number and dialed it. He was connected to him within a minute.
"Mr. Kirkland." Schmidt's voice was precise and civil.
"Good morning, Schmidt."
"How may I help you?"
Ass. Like he didn't know. Arthur wouldn't beat around the bush, then. "My client Mr. Jones has informed me that your client, Mrs. Jones, is pregnant."
"Hmm," Schmidt said. "She told him, I see."
That explained her hurry to divorce, anyway. "Well, it's necessary information, given that they've begun dissolution proceedings."
"I've only recently learnt this myself. I had planned to communicate this information for her." Schmidt's words were clipped; he was annoyed.
"What, were you planning to drop this particular bomb during our conference call?" Arthur said. It was unprofessionally done, but then he and Schmidt had History. There was representing the interests of your client, and then there was overreaching for your clients and doing it rudely. Schmidt's modus operandi often fell into the latter category, in Arthur's opinion.
If possible, Bonnefoy liked Schmidt even less, for reasons Arthur had not yet discovered.
Schmidt did not deny the accusation. The man was unsupportable. "I have advised my client to undergo immediate testing to establish paternity. I trust you will do the same. I think we can handle this without a court order. And. Erm. Kirkland, I also requested the conference because your client has offered surprisingly generous settlements."
"Yes, I am aware." Arthur couldn't help the dryness of his tone.
"My client is inclined to accept them."
"As she should be."
"If the child she carries is not your client's, of course."
"Of course."
"Though she is disappointed about terminating her management of 636 Grant Entertainment, LLC."
If it was a threat, it was a weak one. "It would seem your client has other worries, and I believe an unshakeable case can be made for my client on that matter," Arthur said with some satisfaction.
"Hmm. Yes." Schmidt cleared his throat. "I have directed my client to the university medical center. I can e-mail you the laboratory information, and trust that your client will have his blood drawn as soon as possible."
"He can be ready today," Arthur said.
"Very well. We should know by the end of this week how to proceed. I will contact you."
"Or I you," Arthur pointed out. Maybe he would request that Al get him the results the second they came out, so he could have the jump on Schmidt twice in one week. It was petty, but there it was.
"Yes. Goodbye." Click.
Arthur waited for Schmidt's e-mail, then forwarded it to Al, adding that Al should call the medical center as soon as possible to schedule a blood draw.
Heavens, what a mess. Arthur buried himself in his work to take his mind off what he had no control over.
***
He got a call from Al when he was driving home that evening, listening to some music loudly and cathartically. Love is all right, tonight!, sang Rick. No, it isn’t, Arthur thought: love is a terrible mistake and his work reinforced that belief every day. When he saw his cell light up he turned down the music and hit the button for speakerphone. “Hello?”
"Hey. Its done, my blood’s drained," Al said. He sounded resigned. Arthur heard the tapping of fingers on a computer keyboard in the background. "God, Arthur. I'm scared to death. I mean, if it's not my kid I won't be mad but if it is I won't be upset, either, because, you know, my flesh and blood and all that and Mariel and I were ... well, once we were. We always said we didn't want any kids, but things changed so much the last year and I just don't know her anymore ..."
"Hmm," Arthur said, sympathetically if not encouragingly. He didn't want to examine his own feelings about Mariel Jones's pregnancy; it was only his affair as far as it was his client's. "If it helps, I have further good news." He told Al about the probable acceptance of the terms of their cross-petition.
"That's great. Thanks," Al said. "Sorry to ramble. Shit, I have so much work to do. I had to put several deals on hold when this all started. Frannie and I had to get all hardcore on this one guy, thought he could tell me when I was going to buy his store ... I want it but not if he's gonna be an asshole. I gotta like people to work with them, I think I told you that."
"You did. And if things resolve themselves uncomplicatedly, you will soon be able to get back to rebuilding your business. You're young, and there's plenty of time to take over the world," Arthur teased, surprised at himself for it. Alfred Jones brought out some personality traits Arthur hadn't known he'd possessed.
"You talk like my dad used to. I turn thirty in a few weeks, you know."
"Yes, I know. I've been buried up to my ears in your CV."
Tap tap tap. "And I've seen yours. Is Medicare as awesome as they say?"
"Very funny," Arthur said. He pictured Al typing, leaning his head to the side, the phone caught between his chin and his shoulder. It was an intimate picture. What are you wearing, Arthur could have asked. Except he already knew: a navy-blue suit with red and blue socks and white shirt and a strip of skin just above a crooked tie... And hey, that person was driving the wrong way on a one-way street, and they were heading straight for him and no matter how he honked they just kept coming—Arthur swerved. “Motherfucker,” he cursed aloud.
“It wasn’t that bad a joke,” Al said. “Wait, you’re driving. Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Arthur said, then cleared his throat. "The lab will have instructions on how to register online to be notified when results are available, and how to access them. You can contact me after you hear. Very soon, if you like."
"Will do. I'll plan a celebration for either eventuality. Thanks again, Arthur. Cheerio."
"Goodbye," Arthur said, sounding much too fond, and plinked the button to hang up. He paid very close attention to his driving.
***
The next few days were a blur for Arthur. He worked all day but refused to take a single file home, preferring to spend his evenings trying to unwind.
Al called his cell a few times, just to fret or flirt, it seemed. Arthur took pride in the fact that during these calls he maintained a friendly and equable demeanor. He kept his fantasies confined to his brain and his home.
Once Al called him in the evening, on Thursday, when Portia was over. She had stopped by unexpectedly herself, buzzing Arthur from downstairs just as he'd decided to have a good wank on his living room sofa. He'd managed to zip up his jeans and throw on a tee-shirt and hide his towel – the one to keep the sofa clean, of course -- and magazines just in time to open the door for her.
"God, sorry I didn’t call first, Arthur. You looked so relaxed," she moaned when she opened the door and saw him. "I just need to be around someone besides myself for a few minutes."
"You're always welcome, you know," he told her, and stood back to let her in. He sent up a silent thank God that his erection had waned as he'd cleaned in a panic, and that he could thus stand before her with equanimity.
She was dressed casually as well, as he rarely saw her, in a track suit, a ponytail and no makeup.
"I went to the gym. You never go anymore."
"I go somewhere else. Somewhere more private. That place you like is nothing but a meat market."
"Yeah, well, the meat there is more up your alley than mine." She sat at his antique desk. "Hello there, my pretty," she told it, sliding her fingers across its uncluttered surfaces.
Arthur crossed his arms and leaned against the couch. "If you'd like to make love to my Louis Quinze, I can leave the room. Allow you some privacy."
"I'm not ashamed of our love," Portia said, making a mwah gesture at the desk. "So how are you ? I haven't heard from you in a couple of days."
Arthur took that opportunity to flop onto the couch. "Tired. No, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty for coming by. I've just had nonstop days and at night I can do little more than collapse. I haven't even been to the private gym since last Thursday." Speaking of, his trainer had called and Arthur hadn't answered ...
"Big new case?"
"No, the same old ones, catching up. I do have a couple of new clients, but their situations are routine. Support modification, that sort of thing. Would you like a glass of wine? I would."
Portia stood. "I'll get 'em. What do you have open?"
"The zin on the counter." Ah, a glass of wine and thou ... that was the way to relax.
Portia went the few steps into the kitchen, then called back. "Have you heard from Mister Americana?"
"Yes. More than is good for me."
"Aww. That much?"
"Wrinkle in the case. And I think ..." Arthur leaned back against the couch and laid his arm over his face, embarrassed to say it aloud, let alone to someone else. "I think he likes me."
He heard Portia's gasp. "Likes likes?"
"Yes. Like fancies."
"Told you so."
"You did," Arthur admitted.
"Rebounds are tough."
"Rebounds are excruciating."
There was the sound of a cork being re-pulled from a bottle. It was one of the best sounds in the world, as far as Arthur was concerned. Better than Rick Springfield, and he liked Rick Springfield a lot.
The next thing Arthur heard was the buzzing of his phone as it rang on vibrate. He scrabbled to grab it off the end table before it buzzed itself off and onto the floor.
It was -- speak of the devil. Arthur wondered if he should answer it. He realized that he was totally going to answer it.
"Hello?" He tried to make his voice sound distracted.
"Arthur? I'm sorry to call so late."
"No, no, I'm just fiddling about at home. What can I do for you?"
Portia yelled out from the kitchen again. "Arthur? Can I just bring the whole bottle?"
Arthur covered the mouthpiece on his phone, or at least what he thought was the mouthpiece. "Yes, bring it."
He heard Al chuckle. "Sounds like your friend from the restaurant. The cute one?"
Arthur sighed and shot Portia a significant look as she came back into the living room, carrying the bottle of zinfandel in one hand and two half-full glasses in the other. She handed one to Arthur.
"Yes, it's my friend Portia. Yes, the cute one."
Portia's eyes widened. She swung her hips in a rude gesture.
"I won't bug you for long. I was working late, don't have anything better to do, nobody to go home to, you know? I just ... tomorrow's the big day, I think. I'll know for sure. I'll call you right away. Just wanted you to know that."
"That's kind of you. I know it's tough either way," Arthur said.
"Yeah. I'll call you before I call my own brother, hah. I tried to talk to him tonight, but he didn't want to hear it." Arthur heard the sounds of tapping in the background again.
"Brother?" This was the first time Al had mentioned any of his family who were still alive.
"Yeah, my brother Matt. He's my fraternal twin. He lives in Canada on a maple-tree-farm-slash-weed commune or something. He says I stress him out."
Arthur could see that. He, however, found even Al's neuroses somewhat charming. He was so ... natural.
"Maybe I'll just e-mail him. Or give him a link to my website. Can you imagine that on my company website? A ticky box for yes or no ... God, I shouldn't update my website when I'm thinking about this stuff, should I?"
"You do that yourself?" Most businesses Arthur knew hired IT people or outside contractors to handle webby-computery things.
"Yeah. You know yet another one of my dark secrets, Arthur. I'm kind of a geek."
"How do you find time to do that and still beautify properties for the common good?"
"You've read my site! That's so sweet."
Arthur knew he must have a soppy expression, because Portia was making kissy-faces at him. He scowled and she only giggled.
Arthur sat up straight and cleared his throat. "Well, good luck with the web things. No ticky boxes."
"Not a single one, I promise. Good night, Arthur. Sweet dreams." Al's voice was like honey.
"Good night." Arthur wished he'd had the kiss that usually accompanied a phrase like that. He'd have no problem imagining it, however, especially after a couple glasses of wine. He was having no problem now. He clicked his phone and glared in the direction of his cock, willing it to stop being so interested when he had female company.
He looked at Portia. He wasn’t sure what was on his face that time, because she just raised her glass at him until he returned the gesture. Then they both took large gulps of wine, a waste of very good wine, really, but still satisfying.
***
again I promise the romancey stuff starts soon ... very soon.
So either Mariel doesn't want Al for her child's father, or she already has someone else in mind. Ugh, how awful to realize someone thinks so little of you that they want you out of their lives rather than be forced to share something forever. Is this Alfred really that bad?
To be honest, I hope the child isn't Alfred's. His wife's treatment of him (at least recently) wasn't very cool and this child would link them together forever... I wouldn't want that, if I were in his place...
I love Al and Arthur's casual banter; there's a bit of a friction and tension, but there are signs of friendship there as well. Arthur might not be aware of this, but it won't be easy to shoot Alfred down. He warned him himself, and Francis as weel. Can't wait for the fireworks. ;)
Holy God, this is amazing!! I saw the prompt and thought "GENIUS" - but I wasn't expecting to find the fill already so...FULL! I'm /delighted/ because as soon as I started reading I knew I'd need A LOT more. It was perfection and I just read the entire ting in one go, pretty much devouring it. And lucky me: I got 31 parts!! And you just updated so I feel hopeful that I can see more soon.
This story is brilliantly written, and I love the relationship between Al and Arthur. It's one of the best examples I've ever seen of their UST-filled, competitive, strong-willed dynamic. It's just...delicious. Like, I can TASTE this story it's so good. I cannot wait for more!!
I love the rapport that they have developed. Their interactions are delightful. Arthur got a tan...hehehehe. There were so many little bits in this update that made me giggle.
Except...Poor Alfred! That's some really heavy news to get, that Mariel is pregnant. I'm not sure which outcome I'd prefer for the paternity test. But I cannot wait to see what it is, and what happens next.
A/N: Okay, finally stop talking for a few minutes? That's a lie, there's talk talk talk all through it, let me warn you now. ^^ It's all done except for an epilogue, so I'll try and get it cleaned up to post some more later this week. Thank you so much for your comments, I mean it.
***
The "big day" was Friday. Arthur got to see his staff in casual action. True to Lili's promise, there was nothing unprofessional about anyone's attire. Even Andersen and wore crisp denims with his suit jacket, and the mood of the office was lighter, somehow, even for a Friday.
Arthur regretted that he'd not gotten in the spirit as well and had worn a suit as always, but as long as he hid in his office he could avoid being a party pooper.
He had a clear schedule, but there were the usual Friday calls and their attendant impromptu client counseling sessions to keep him busy all morning. He ate lunch at his desk. It was Burger King; someone had fetched it and he could hardly be choosy when he didn't have to acquire his own food. He was chewing away at a Whopper when his cell rang. It was Al.
Arthur swallowed his bite of burger. He crossed his fingers, for what he knew not, and answered.
"Hello?"
"Arthur." He heard Al take a deep breath. "It's not mine. It's Felix. He's the father."
"Oh." Arthur released the breath he'd taken. "How do you feel about that?"
"You sound like a shrink, ha ha," Al said, his conversational laugh sounding shaky. "Um, to be truthful, I don't really know."
"Ah."
"I guess ... I hear she and Felix are a thing, now, so it's probably best that it's his."
Tidy, Arthur thought.
"I checked on the website and was trying to call you and she called me and was all, 'I'm so sorry' and I was all 'I'm so sorry, too, but congratulations' and ... and she said, well, I guess I'll see you in court. And I said, yeah."
Arthur waited for more but it seemed Al was done with his nattering. "So that's that," he said.
"I guess it is."
Arthur cleared his throat. "Can you please scan me a copy of the results? There will be a certificate, eventually, and you'll need to sign an affidavit relinquishing your parental claim. But that can wait."
"Oh. Okay. Today I just want to ... do something else. Go out. Maybe later. I have work to do first, 'cause shoot, I haven't been able to do a thing all day."
"Do what you need to."
"I guess I could celebrate the fact that the baby's not mine for, uh, a lack of complications."
Arthur smiled, since nobody could see him. "Now you sound like me."
"Ha ha! I totally do. Celebrate backwards. Hey, you could come out with me. So I don't sit around and cry into my beer and ice cream."
"Er--" Arthur froze in panic.
"No, really. I need someone to hold my hand tonight. Figuratively. Please? Just for a couple of drinks. And maybe dancing. I know! Come with me to Evolve, since I'll be losing it soon."
Oh, lord. Arthur called upon all his training to help him. "Maybe it would be best if you don't have to see your attorney right now? You could spend time with your friends or family, those who can comfort you best."
Al's laugh sounded bitter. "Hah. My family is -- was-- Mariel. Except for Matt, and he's in Canada on the weed farm. And most of my friends here were our friends as a couple, you know? It would just be weird. My best buddy Ki -- my college roommate at UCLA -- is in Japan, and I just ... I'm telling you all of this, so now you have to come with me."
Arthur felt his chest tighten. It really was pathetic, that someone as rich and charming and gregarious as Al had to be so damned lonely that he'd latch on to someone like Arthur. Did he even realize that such fraternization could be seen as inappropriate? And if so, would he care? Arthur had a feeling he wouldn't.
The fact remained, however, that Arthur was a soft touch. "Perhaps ... for a glass of wine or two. I don't really dance--"
"You don't have to dance. My soon-to-be-ex-nightclub has a very nice bar. And I can promise you'll find a good wine."
"Great!" Al sounded actually thrilled, more fool he. Arthur could be a stick when he wished to be, and tonight he would have to wish it very hard. "I can be done by six. Wanna meet somewhere at, what, seven? It's early but then we can just have a drink or two before the crowds get there."
Arthur rubbed his forehead, regretting it already. "Seven is fine. At the bar is fine." We're all fine here. How are you? That was from a movie, Arthur would swear it.
"Cool. My day is looking better already. Ciao," Al chirped.
"Goodbye."
Arthur clicked to end the call, and right away felt his stomach tighten to match his ribcage. He jittered about the rest of the day, and was thankful he didn't have to meet other clients or -- oh, lord, what was he going to wear? He checked the bar's website, which told him the dress code was "casual chic." What in the hell was casual chic? Shouldn't a gay man know what casual chic was?
He texted Portia. Going out to club. Gay club. What is casual chic?
YAY, Portia texted back. better than jeans, less than suit. wear thsoe dark blue pants you have with the pipe down the side and a nice shirt. NOT a white shirt.
Thank you, you are a diamond Arthur texted back. Oh, lord, were those pants clean? Had he taken them to the cleaners? He hadn't been to the gym in a week. Would they still fit him?
Arthur wasn't going to get another thing done, was he? He finally just left at four-fifteen.
***
He dithered at home, stressed himself out some more, tried to eat and couldn't, dusted and rearranged things on his shelves. Then he realized it was six-fifteen and that he had to get ready.
He dressed in the thankfully clean trousers, short boots, and a long-sleeved crewneck shirt he'd bought last time he'd shopped the boutiques up on Clark. It was dark green silk with gold thread in a tasteful, Asian-style pattern. It was the gayest piece of clothing he owned, if only because of the gold and the way it fit, sort of clingy.
He took a cab and arrived at the club at six-fifty-five. The club didn't open until seven; there was no line this early, only a tall and very well-muscled and square-jawed man in a sleeveless shirt guarding the door. The temperature had to be in the twenties -- Farenheit still felt strange sometimes, that "twenties" should be so cold -- but the man didn't seem to notice it. He barely looked at Arthur.
"Pardon me, I'm meeting a fr-- a ... someone here," Arthur told him. "Perhaps you've seen him?"
The man raised his left eyebrow.
Arthur was too classy to say it's your boss, Mister Eyebrow. "Tallish, blond, wears glasses -- his name is Alfred Jo--"
"Oh, okay," the doorman said, and cracked a smile. "Come on in, hon"
The man shooed Arthur in the door and directed him to sit on a blood-red velvet sofa in a nook just inside the door. Arthur could hear thumping music that started, stopped, changed, and started again, as a dee-jay somewhere warmed up. Arthur recognized the beat of the new song: it sounded like Depeche Mode. He'd seen them once in concert, years ago in London.
After a couple of minutes he heard Al's voice at the door. "Hey, Vin! Hi. Have you seen a blond guy, about yay tall-- oh, he's here? Great."
Al breezed in, yanking off his coat as he did so. His face was flushed and his teeth were white and he was wearing those form-fitting black trousers and Arthur's heart sank, because Al looked utterly scrumptious.
"Hi Arthur! Thanks so much, man, you just don't even know. Here, gimme your coat and I'll check 'em--"
"Hello, Al," Arthur managed. He slid his arms out of his long, wool coat and handed it over. Al's eyes widened a little.
"Hey! Nice shirt."
Arthur was infinitely grateful for the darkness of the hallway. "Oh, thank you-- It's--"
He cut himself off when Al actually grabbed his arm by the elbow and dragged him along to the coat-check. "I half-thought you'd wear a suit, you know? Ha ha. I've never seen you in anything else."
“Normally I eat and sleep in them, but they were all at the cleaners, I’m afraid,” Arthur said. He was able to slide his elbow out of Al's warm fingers by pretending to reach for his wallet. He still tingled where Al had gripped him. "Here, let me get this."
Al waved him off. "I'll let you buy me a drink." He saw off their coats and led Arthur in another direction, this time without grabbing him. "We'll sit in the lounge. It'll be quieter. There's the dance floor, by the way."
Arthur peered around a corner into a cavernous room with warehouse-style ceilings and flashing colored lights. A long, shiny, steel-and-glass bar took up one wall of the room, and in the center was a hardwood dance floor with a polished wooden "fence" around it. There were more of those plush sofas scattered around the perimeter, dotted here and there with twisted-metal tables.
"Classic and modern. It's like space age meets suburban brick ranch," Arthur quipped, loudly to be heard over the music.
"You totally get it! What I was going for," Al beamed. "When I-- we-- designed this place."
"Are you a designer as well as a geek and entrepreneur?" Arthur joked.
"Nah. But I'm the vision man."
"So you've said."
Across the room in his-- no, her -- glass booth, a dee-jay with an afro hairdo and oversized headphones spun another track. It was more techno music, something Arthur thought he might know, given time to think about it.
"It's Eighties night," Al said. "It'll be packed in here later."
Eighties? Well, at least Arthur would recognize the music of his childhood. He followed Al around the corner into another room, the lounge. It was large as well, with the same design aesthetic, but quieter.
The bartender who greeted them was a tall, slender and very pretty young man. "Hi Al," he said in a sing-songy voice as they approached.
"Hi, Lance. This is my friend, Arthur. Get him a wine list, would ya?"
Arthur noticed that "friend," but decided that it was at least less awkward than "attorney." Lance gave him a book-bound list, and Arthur easily found a few things he could drink. He even found, by the glass, a sauvignon blanc from one of the wineries he and Portia had visited.
Arthur ordered and handed over his card for a tab. Lance looked at the card and then looked at Al, his eyes wide. Al laughed, sounding a little nervous.
"Gotta start paying sometime," he told Lance.
Lance shrugged but took Arthur's card with a small smile. "She's not coming in tonight."
"That's probably good."
"God, I wish you all weren't going through this."
"Me, too," Al said, with another nervous-looking grin. "Well, see you later."
Some people had trickled in behind them. Arthur thought about how he must appear to them, walking next to Al, dressed as he was. He looked like a man going out with his friend, maybe even a date. Perhaps he was, in a way. He was treading a thin line by doing so, given the way Al cranked his own knobs up to eleven, and the way he himself did ... something for Al, it was best not to know what.
He chose them a sofa tucked away in a darkened corner, more from wishing for quiet than for privacy. Arthur made sure there was a decent space of couch between them; that one touch had already set his insides to boiling. He sipped his wine and tried not to notice the way Al's shirt, another clingy button-down, hugged his torso as he sat. His stomach looked soft and enticing.
"I had to hold a management meeting this week," Al said. He sighed.
"Best to have gotten it over with," Arthur said. The cold wine was smooth and warmed him even further. Odd and wonderful, how wine did that.
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All Right, Tonight (Part 23/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-21 02:46 am (UTC)(link)Arthur snorted. "Well, welcome to it, I’m sorry to say."
Al looked up at him then, and his eyes narrowed in that sly expression he had. "Strange, Arthur. It seems like you're the type to be all settled down."
"One might think," Arthur said, now trying to sound dismissive.
Al looked away and then bundled his trash onto the plastic tray. "Well, you make me feel a little better about being out there."
Arthur stared. "What, by being single? Being alone?" Then Arthur flushed as he realized he was talking to Al almost like Al talked to him. Almost like he might talk to Portia. Al's presence had chipped away at Arthur's customary veneer of professionalism.
Al looked at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. "No. I guess I just know there are okay people out there."
Dear God, Arthur's nether regions flashed with a sudden heat at that look, and at the insinuation in the words. He sipped at the last of his iced tea and scrabbled to find anything to say that would change that subject. "It might take time. But you'll find another nice lady, I'm sure."
Al shrugged and watched his crumpled paper wrappings as they unfurled on the tray. "Well, I wouldn't say Mariel was ... it's just that. Well, she was kind of special."
"I'm sure she is," Arthur said, and the warm churn in his belly froze. His ribcage seemed to tighten in the sudden chill.
Al's eyes widened as if Arthur had alarmed him with his response. "No. I mean... aw, never mind. I'm just being weird."
Arthur was glad to know he wasn't the only one who thought so. Al was being incomprehensible to him, because surely he wasn't--
Jones continued. "I kind of tell you things I don't mean to tell you. Stuff just comes out."
"Ah," Arthur said. He begged for his inner legal psychologist to help him out. The best that man came up with was "Well, as your attorney, I've already promised you that I'll be discreet. And I hear all sorts of things in my line of work--"
Jones waved, cutting Arthur off, and leaned back in his seat. "Yeah, you did. Thanks. I guess you lawyers do this sort of stuff all the time." He had a slight frown on his face, the one he got whenever Arthur scored a point. Arthur hadn't wanted that one, but he'd won it anyway, just by being himself.
"Yes," Arthur said, quietly.
Jones craned his neck to glance out into the mall, in the direction of the doors. "Looks like it's getting cloudy. I heard it's supposed to rain later or something. We oughta get going."
"Good idea," Arthur choked out.
Arthur gathered up his files while Al -- Jones, dammit -- dumped their trash. They donned their coats and left. In the mall, they stopped in front of the revolving door to the outside.
Jones made a strange hand gesture, like he'd been about to reach out for Arthur but stopped. Arthur told himself that it was because of his nervousness -- Jones was plainly nervous -- and the fact that they didn't need to shake hands to say goodbye.
"Well, call me if you hear anything," Jones said. He wasn't looking at Arthur, only in his general direction. Arthur missed Jones's smile and was glad of its absence at the same time.
"Please feel free to contact me if you have questions," Arthur said.
"Okay. Well, bye," Jones said. Arthur nodded and they parted.
Arthur walked briskly back to the office. The day was indeed turning grey. Arthur told himself that it was not at all the case that Jones was attracted to him in any way, because for a few moments it had seemed like he’d been … flirting. It couldn't possibly be, however, and that was all there was to it. It was good that they had parted as generally and professionally as possible.
Inside, Arthur gave the documents to Bella for her to copy. She would give them to Emil to run over to the clerk of court for filing. Arthur sat at his desk. His phone rang. It was Monaca.
"Mr. Kirkland? Mr. Bonnefoy is calling."
All Right, Tonight (Part 24/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-21 02:47 am (UTC)(link)Bonnefoy had a pout in his voice. "Arthur! No, that's not it. I tried to face-time you on your cell this morning and again a little while ago. You didn't answer."
"Oh." Arthur felt for his neglected smartphone in his jacket pocket. He thumbed up the menu. There were three missed calls and a text from Portia: Asshole canceled our blind date already and he hasn't even met me asshole says he has a job and cant get down here goddammit. Poor Portia. "I had it turned off."
"Whatever shall we do with you?"
Arthur gritted his teeth. "How may I help you?"
"Ah-- well, it is a bit of a delicate matter, shall we say?"
"H.F. ..."
"Yes, yes. Well, I wanted to chat with you about -- ah -- Alfred Jones."
Arthur's stupid heart tightened again. "What is it?"
"Hmm. Well, I just want you to know that he is a dear boy. He has a good heart."
"Aaaaand?" Arthur said. Bonnefoy was being even stranger than usual, and that could be pretty strange.
"I have known him for years and ..." Bonnefoy paused. It sounded like he swallowed. "I just want you to be cautious, however. He can be rather ... impetuous."
"You don't say?" Arthur said. He relaxed a little.
"I should have told you this earlier," Bonnefoy said, as if completely missing the irony in Arthur's voice. "But I didn't realize a need until Friday."
"What's that supposed to mean."
Bonnefoy aaaahed as if imparting a great secret. "Well, it seemed that there was maybe a ... shall we say, a sort of current between you two? He was sillier than usual. And you were a more lovely shade of pink than I've ever seen you, even when we had you over for our Fourth of July cookout--"
"Dear God," Arthur said, swiping a hand over his face. How humiliating, that even H.F. had noticed? He'd been trying so hard, too. Well, he was half-British. He could bluff more politely than anyone he knew in this country. "You ass. I don't know what you're talking about."
"You are an absolute dream, Arthur," Bonnefoy said, in the kind of voice with a silly grin attached to it. "But just know that our dear Al can be quite the bull-headed idiot when he wants something. I don't want you to be surprised, or hurt. Just prepared."
"I think I will be fine, Frannie," Arthur said, using that nickname for the first time. "Thank you for your concern."
"You have a lovely Monday as well, Arthur. Aufwiedersehen."
"Goodbye," Arthur said, and hung up.
Very well. He had to do something about this. Get out of town, his instinct told him, as it usually did when he needed an escape.
He swiveled in his chair and Googled "Weekend Destinations," and clicked "I'm feeling lucky." And there it was, the answer, like from a kind fate: California Wine Country. He copied a couple of links and e-mailed them to Portia. Then he e-mailed his staff and told them he would be out on Friday but that they could start their Casual Days without him.
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 24/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-21 06:47 pm (UTC)(link)Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 24/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-21 07:38 pm (UTC)(link)but i must say that now i'm reaaaally curious about that divorce; like there's something fishy going on. Interesting.
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 24/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-22 02:34 am (UTC)(link)And Arthur is going to get more than he bargained for with his little vacation, isn't he?
At the end of every update there is just enough left hanging to keep me craving more.
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 24/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-23 08:12 pm (UTC)(link)Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 24/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-23 09:23 pm (UTC)(link)All the time? >_>
A!A
(Anonymous) 2013-04-24 02:13 pm (UTC)(link)All Right, Tonight (Part 25/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 03:07 am (UTC)(link)All Right, Tonight (Part 25/?)
On Monday a week later, Arthur took four alarms to arise but was refreshed and primed to face the legal world once more. He'd had a lovely, relaxing weekend.
Neither he nor Portia had managed to get laid, but they'd both managed to get gigglingly drunk twice. Early on, Portia had felt the need, of course, to note that Arthur did a double-take at every tall, blond male they'd run across, and had done triple-takes if they'd been wearing glasses. Arthur had avenged his honor by pointing out that Portia glared at every Asian man they saw, and, it being California, there had been plenty of those.
So they'd consoled each other over loves that hadn't yet happened, and instead of men they'd both found several vintages they'd adored and had bought cases to be shipped home.
It had been sunny and mild and expensive and just what Arthur had needed. He carried a box with new crystal stemware into the office; two glasses for display and two as a gift for Andersen. He left wine-filled chocolate bottle bonbons in the breakroom for everyone else.
After he'd unloaded those he came back to his office to see Monaca inside, opening the blinds.
"Good morning, Mr. Kirkland," she said with a bright smile, and then "Oh my gosh! You're so tan."
"Am I?" Arthur craned his neck to see into the mirror behind his glass shelf; he hadn't noticed before, but he did have more color. Good. Perhaps it would cover his perpetual flush. "I suppose I am."
"Totally. I want to go somewhere sunny," she said as the blinds opened onto a grey day. "Maybe I can drag my girlfriends to Florida for a week."
"No, because I can't practice law without you," he teased.
Monaca whipped around to look at him. At his smile, she laughed. "Of course, Mr. Kirkland."
She returned to her desk. He heard her talk to someone just before she shut his door, saying "gosh, he's in such a good mood."
Arthur supposed he was. He had a busy week ahead but his Monday schedule was clear and just waiting for catch-up work. He had hardly thought about Alfred Jones all day Sunday, having been too happily exhausted to worry over something that might or might not have happened, or to let himself yearn for it. He powered up his computer.
He had a great many e-mails to go through; perhaps some day he should have Monaca or Bella program his phone to receive office e-mail and also show him how to access it. He was relieved that he hadn't had to deal with those over the weekend, but the technology-free honeymoon had to end sometime.
One e-mail was from Ludwig Schmidt, Mariel Jones's counsel. He was requesting a conference call with assembled counsel for the case. Arthur replied that two on Tuesday would suit him, and did Mr. Schmidt want talking points for a meeting agenda?
He chatted with Andersen and presented the stemware, and Lars was impressed and grateful. At ten-thirty Arthur went back to his desk and prepared to check his voice mail.
Before he could do so, his phone rang.
"Mr. Kirkland? Mr. Jones is calling," Monaca told him in a sing-song voice.
If Arthur's heart skipped, it was too brief to properly notice. "Put him through, please," he sighed.
There was the customary click. "Arthur? Oh, God," came Alfred Jones's voice, sounding breathless.
"Good morning. How can I--" Arthur began, then winced at himself, because he was already worried, and had already realized that he would show it. "Is something the matter?"
"Yes." Jones -- Al -- took an audibly deep breath. "Mariel is pregnant."
"Dear heavens," Arthur said, as his stomach plummeted and sat there.
"Totally. I--" Al's reply hung there, uncompleted.
Arthur took a deep breath of his own. This was not a situation he'd never encountered, legally. He knew what to do: verify the information, ask precise questions. "Did she tell you this herself?"
"Yeah. She called me this morning. She was crying."
All Right, Tonight (Part 26/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 03:07 am (UTC)(link)"No, just ... First time I've talked to her in weeks, and she hits me with this. I mean, of course I was nice to her, but ..." Arthur heard the sounds of traffic in the background of the call, and coupled with Al's breathlessness, it appeared he was walking down the street. "Are you free? Can I come to your office to find out what I need to-- to discuss this?"
Arthur closed his eyes. There was no question that it needed to be discussed. He didn't even bother pretending to check a schedule. "Yes. Are you-- when will you be available to meet?"
"God, right now. I'm just sort of -- I'm about five minutes from your office."
"Very well," Arthur said. He started brushing nonexistent dust from his desk. "I am here. And calm down. There are straightforward legal procedures to deal with this. I did tell you I've handled all sorts of issues, did I not?"
"Yeah, you did, haha," Al said. It seemed that he was more comforted than annoyed at Arthur's statement of this fact than he had been the previous week. "Okay. I won't go get drunk, then."
"A wise choice. I will see you soon," Arthur told him.
There was no bad outcome for Alfred Jones in this situation. Yet another difficulty with being a homosexual man; the inability to conceive one's own children. You still needed women for that, miracle creatures that they were, never mind that Arthur didn't want to sleep with them.
He'd kissed a girl once when he was a boy, just because he'd been told it was the thing to do. He hadn't hated it but he also hadn't seen what all the fuss was about.
A few minutes later, Monica buzzed him and Alfred Jones breezed in, his face nearly red from his brisk walk in the February wind. His tie, printed with tiny stars-and-stripes, was loosened and messy.
"Thanks for being he-- available," Al said as Arthur shook his cold hand. Had the idiot gone out without gloves? Whatever the case, the chill of his hand offset the vertigo Arthur experienced at being in his presence, touching him. A little.
"Of course. And you may have one glass of wine if you really need it," Arthur joked. Why, he felt almost big brotherly. It was odd, that this time Al had the stammer and Arthur was the one who could be direct and in control.
"Nah. At least not yet, depending on your -- whatever you have to say."
Arthur smiled and gestured Al into the chair. He noticed that Al's socks today were mismatched, one blue and one red. Or perhaps that had been on purpose; Al did seem to like being patriotic. "Indeed, you may change your mind, after you hear the questions I have for you."
"Personal question time again, huh? I'm ready for it this time, never fear." Al's chest-puffing looked out of place when he was sitting down.
"Very well. First, we have established that you have talked to her personally, and that your information is not hearsay. Now, I must ask: did she indicate that she thinks that you are the father?"
Al released his chest-filling breath. "I don't know. No," he said. "She said she's not sure. I think that's part of why she's so upset. She was with-- and was there someone else?"
Arthur waved him gently to silence. "Well, I will explain the legal questions you should have. You are still married to her, and thus you are the presumed father until shown otherwise. A judge will want to have the issue settled before the dissolution can proceed. Because even once you are not married to her, if you are the father, you will be responsible for support and will wish to be a part of the child's life. So the next question is: is it possible that you are the father?"
Arthur's no-nonsense statements seemed to have calmed Al down. His voice was much more composed as he answered. "Based on what she said, yes."
"And what did she say?"
"That her doctor thinks she is about four months' pregnant. That puts it..."
"Very near to the time of your separation."
All Right, Tonight (Part 27/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 03:08 am (UTC)(link)"I'm afraid so."
Al replaced his glasses. "Phewie. Well, now I know what was up with. Hmm. What do I do?"
Arthur laced his fingers together and leaned forward. He realized he was looking at Al's ankles and remembering their first meeting, hearing about Al's sexual escapades. What would Al's ankles look like without socks? He lifted his gaze to Al's face and surprised himself with his own equanimity by continuing with nary a blush. "We will want to request a court-ordered paternity test. She will probably want that as well, to clarify or strengthen her own position. Results are usually available within two or three days of sampling. There are new tests that can be performed with no risk to the pregnancy."
Al's eyes widened, likely as he considered that there had been tests that were risky. "That's good."
Arthur gestured at his computer, out of habit. "I've had an e-mail from her attorney; I offered to meet with him tomorrow, but I can call him this morning to see if she is amenable to starting immediately. Would you like me to do that?"
"Yes."
"You will need to have your blood drawn by a disinterested and court-approved third party. Probably tomorrow at the latest, this afternoon by the earliest. Is that agreeable to you?"
"Needles! Maybe not agreeable, but I'll do it." Al shuddered a little. Then he uncrossed his legs and placed his feet flat on the floor. He looked straight at Arthur. "I gotta say, Arthur. You make me feel so much better about this. I mean, it's a huge thing. But I think with you on my side, I can handle it."
Arthur did feel a flush come on at that. He couldn't say he wasn't pleased to hear it, though he briefly wondered where Al's family and friends were; did he have no support system other than that provided by his lawyers? Even if his family and friends were unavailable, he had shareholders and business associates, not to mention legions of coworkers, employees, cooks ... Not for the first time, Arthur wondered about Al's private life, the parts of it he hadn't blurted out during legal conversations, anyway.
"I'm glad to be of assistance," Arthur said, eventually.
Al stood. He shook his hands at his sides, like the feeling had just returned to them. "Hey. You have a tan," he said, an eye-narrowed non-sequitur.
Arthur held out his hand and looked at it as if for the first time. "So I do. My efforts to avoid the sun this weekend appear to have been unsuccessful."
"Unsuccessful avoidance. Hah," Al said, again -- unconsciously?-- mimicking Arthur's accent. "Anyway, it looks good on you."
Lord, he made Arthur's insides all twisty and hot and left them begging for more. Arthur stood slowly, and blinked slowly, to keep his eyes or gestures from betraying a thing. "Thank you. I will e-mail you later with instructions. Shall I have Monaca call a cab for you?"
"Nah. I'll walk. Preemptively work off the booze I'm gonna have right after I get stuck with a needle. Whenever that happens." Jones was grinning, his smug flirting -- for that was what it indeed was, Arthur now knew -- unsuppressed by Arthur's measured responses. "Maybe I'll have to call you to hold my hand while it happens. The needle part, not the booze part. Or maybe both. Can I have your cell phone number, just in case?"
Arthur sighed. Al was rambling, and obviously unsettled and frightened. And he, Arthur, had withstood much sexual and romantic disappointment in his life; a little flirting wouldn't harm him in the long run, and seemed to make Al feel better. In a client-like way. Or even a brotherly way. Arthur remembered Bonnefoy's strange call, but shook that off. Bonnefoy was just nosy and Arthur could shoot Al down politely whenever it became necessary.
All Right, Tonight (Part 28/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 03:09 am (UTC)(link)"God, you're funny," Al said. He took the phone and his long fingers went slide-plink-plink-plink-plink-slide. His pocket buzzed, and he handed back Arthur's phone with a boyish grin. "Got it."
"You will hear from me later, then," Arthur promised.
Though it had been established that it was not in the least necessary, Al stepped around the desk to shake Arthur's hand once more, giving it an extra, happy-feeling squeeze, and then he strode out. That time Arthur deliberately and unashamedly watched Al's ass as he did so.
Arthur pulled up Ludwig Schmidt's e-mail to get his phone number and dialed it. He was connected to him within a minute.
"Mr. Kirkland." Schmidt's voice was precise and civil.
"Good morning, Schmidt."
"How may I help you?"
Ass. Like he didn't know. Arthur wouldn't beat around the bush, then. "My client Mr. Jones has informed me that your client, Mrs. Jones, is pregnant."
"Hmm," Schmidt said. "She told him, I see."
That explained her hurry to divorce, anyway. "Well, it's necessary information, given that they've begun dissolution proceedings."
"I've only recently learnt this myself. I had planned to communicate this information for her." Schmidt's words were clipped; he was annoyed.
"What, were you planning to drop this particular bomb during our conference call?" Arthur said. It was unprofessionally done, but then he and Schmidt had History. There was representing the interests of your client, and then there was overreaching for your clients and doing it rudely. Schmidt's modus operandi often fell into the latter category, in Arthur's opinion.
If possible, Bonnefoy liked Schmidt even less, for reasons Arthur had not yet discovered.
Schmidt did not deny the accusation. The man was unsupportable. "I have advised my client to undergo immediate testing to establish paternity. I trust you will do the same. I think we can handle this without a court order. And. Erm. Kirkland, I also requested the conference because your client has offered surprisingly generous settlements."
"Yes, I am aware." Arthur couldn't help the dryness of his tone.
"My client is inclined to accept them."
"As she should be."
"If the child she carries is not your client's, of course."
"Of course."
"Though she is disappointed about terminating her management of 636 Grant Entertainment, LLC."
If it was a threat, it was a weak one. "It would seem your client has other worries, and I believe an unshakeable case can be made for my client on that matter," Arthur said with some satisfaction.
"Hmm. Yes." Schmidt cleared his throat. "I have directed my client to the university medical center. I can e-mail you the laboratory information, and trust that your client will have his blood drawn as soon as possible."
"He can be ready today," Arthur said.
"Very well. We should know by the end of this week how to proceed. I will contact you."
"Or I you," Arthur pointed out. Maybe he would request that Al get him the results the second they came out, so he could have the jump on Schmidt twice in one week. It was petty, but there it was.
"Yes. Goodbye." Click.
Arthur waited for Schmidt's e-mail, then forwarded it to Al, adding that Al should call the medical center as soon as possible to schedule a blood draw.
Heavens, what a mess. Arthur buried himself in his work to take his mind off what he had no control over.
***
He got a call from Al when he was driving home that evening, listening to some music loudly and cathartically. Love is all right, tonight!, sang Rick. No, it isn’t, Arthur thought: love is a terrible mistake and his work reinforced that belief every day. When he saw his cell light up he turned down the music and hit the button for speakerphone. “Hello?”
All Right, Tonight (Part 29/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 03:10 am (UTC)(link)"Hmm," Arthur said, sympathetically if not encouragingly. He didn't want to examine his own feelings about Mariel Jones's pregnancy; it was only his affair as far as it was his client's. "If it helps, I have further good news." He told Al about the probable acceptance of the terms of their cross-petition.
"That's great. Thanks," Al said. "Sorry to ramble. Shit, I have so much work to do. I had to put several deals on hold when this all started. Frannie and I had to get all hardcore on this one guy, thought he could tell me when I was going to buy his store ... I want it but not if he's gonna be an asshole. I gotta like people to work with them, I think I told you that."
"You did. And if things resolve themselves uncomplicatedly, you will soon be able to get back to rebuilding your business. You're young, and there's plenty of time to take over the world," Arthur teased, surprised at himself for it. Alfred Jones brought out some personality traits Arthur hadn't known he'd possessed.
"You talk like my dad used to. I turn thirty in a few weeks, you know."
"Yes, I know. I've been buried up to my ears in your CV."
Tap tap tap. "And I've seen yours. Is Medicare as awesome as they say?"
"Very funny," Arthur said. He pictured Al typing, leaning his head to the side, the phone caught between his chin and his shoulder. It was an intimate picture. What are you wearing, Arthur could have asked. Except he already knew: a navy-blue suit with red and blue socks and white shirt and a strip of skin just above a crooked tie... And hey, that person was driving the wrong way on a one-way street, and they were heading straight for him and no matter how he honked they just kept coming—Arthur swerved. “Motherfucker,” he cursed aloud.
“It wasn’t that bad a joke,” Al said. “Wait, you’re driving. Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Arthur said, then cleared his throat. "The lab will have instructions on how to register online to be notified when results are available, and how to access them. You can contact me after you hear. Very soon, if you like."
"Will do. I'll plan a celebration for either eventuality. Thanks again, Arthur. Cheerio."
"Goodbye," Arthur said, sounding much too fond, and plinked the button to hang up. He paid very close attention to his driving.
***
The next few days were a blur for Arthur. He worked all day but refused to take a single file home, preferring to spend his evenings trying to unwind.
Al called his cell a few times, just to fret or flirt, it seemed. Arthur took pride in the fact that during these calls he maintained a friendly and equable demeanor. He kept his fantasies confined to his brain and his home.
Once Al called him in the evening, on Thursday, when Portia was over. She had stopped by unexpectedly herself, buzzing Arthur from downstairs just as he'd decided to have a good wank on his living room sofa. He'd managed to zip up his jeans and throw on a tee-shirt and hide his towel – the one to keep the sofa clean, of course -- and magazines just in time to open the door for her.
"God, sorry I didn’t call first, Arthur. You looked so relaxed," she moaned when she opened the door and saw him. "I just need to be around someone besides myself for a few minutes."
"You're always welcome, you know," he told her, and stood back to let her in. He sent up a silent thank God that his erection had waned as he'd cleaned in a panic, and that he could thus stand before her with equanimity.
All Right, Tonight (Part 30/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 03:11 am (UTC)(link)"I went to the gym. You never go anymore."
"I go somewhere else. Somewhere more private. That place you like is nothing but a meat market."
"Yeah, well, the meat there is more up your alley than mine." She sat at his antique desk. "Hello there, my pretty," she told it, sliding her fingers across its uncluttered surfaces.
Arthur crossed his arms and leaned against the couch. "If you'd like to make love to my Louis Quinze, I can leave the room. Allow you some privacy."
"I'm not ashamed of our love," Portia said, making a mwah gesture at the desk. "So how are you ? I haven't heard from you in a couple of days."
Arthur took that opportunity to flop onto the couch. "Tired. No, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty for coming by. I've just had nonstop days and at night I can do little more than collapse. I haven't even been to the private gym since last Thursday." Speaking of, his trainer had called and Arthur hadn't answered ...
"Big new case?"
"No, the same old ones, catching up. I do have a couple of new clients, but their situations are routine. Support modification, that sort of thing. Would you like a glass of wine? I would."
Portia stood. "I'll get 'em. What do you have open?"
"The zin on the counter." Ah, a glass of wine and thou ... that was the way to relax.
Portia went the few steps into the kitchen, then called back. "Have you heard from Mister Americana?"
"Yes. More than is good for me."
"Aww. That much?"
"Wrinkle in the case. And I think ..." Arthur leaned back against the couch and laid his arm over his face, embarrassed to say it aloud, let alone to someone else. "I think he likes me."
He heard Portia's gasp. "Likes likes?"
"Yes. Like fancies."
"Told you so."
"You did," Arthur admitted.
"Rebounds are tough."
"Rebounds are excruciating."
There was the sound of a cork being re-pulled from a bottle. It was one of the best sounds in the world, as far as Arthur was concerned. Better than Rick Springfield, and he liked Rick Springfield a lot.
The next thing Arthur heard was the buzzing of his phone as it rang on vibrate. He scrabbled to grab it off the end table before it buzzed itself off and onto the floor.
It was -- speak of the devil. Arthur wondered if he should answer it. He realized that he was totally going to answer it.
"Hello?" He tried to make his voice sound distracted.
"Arthur? I'm sorry to call so late."
"No, no, I'm just fiddling about at home. What can I do for you?"
Portia yelled out from the kitchen again. "Arthur? Can I just bring the whole bottle?"
Arthur covered the mouthpiece on his phone, or at least what he thought was the mouthpiece. "Yes, bring it."
He heard Al chuckle. "Sounds like your friend from the restaurant. The cute one?"
Arthur sighed and shot Portia a significant look as she came back into the living room, carrying the bottle of zinfandel in one hand and two half-full glasses in the other. She handed one to Arthur.
"Yes, it's my friend Portia. Yes, the cute one."
Portia's eyes widened. She swung her hips in a rude gesture.
"I won't bug you for long. I was working late, don't have anything better to do, nobody to go home to, you know? I just ... tomorrow's the big day, I think. I'll know for sure. I'll call you right away. Just wanted you to know that."
"That's kind of you. I know it's tough either way," Arthur said.
"Yeah. I'll call you before I call my own brother, hah. I tried to talk to him tonight, but he didn't want to hear it." Arthur heard the sounds of tapping in the background again.
"Brother?" This was the first time Al had mentioned any of his family who were still alive.
"Yeah, my brother Matt. He's my fraternal twin. He lives in Canada on a maple-tree-farm-slash-weed commune or something. He says I stress him out."
Arthur could see that. He, however, found even Al's neuroses somewhat charming. He was so ... natural.
All Right, Tonight (Part 31/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 03:12 am (UTC)(link)"Maybe I'll just e-mail him. Or give him a link to my website. Can you imagine that on my company website? A ticky box for yes or no ... God, I shouldn't update my website when I'm thinking about this stuff, should I?"
"You do that yourself?" Most businesses Arthur knew hired IT people or outside contractors to handle webby-computery things.
"Yeah. You know yet another one of my dark secrets, Arthur. I'm kind of a geek."
"How do you find time to do that and still beautify properties for the common good?"
"You've read my site! That's so sweet."
Arthur knew he must have a soppy expression, because Portia was making kissy-faces at him. He scowled and she only giggled.
Arthur sat up straight and cleared his throat. "Well, good luck with the web things. No ticky boxes."
"Not a single one, I promise. Good night, Arthur. Sweet dreams." Al's voice was like honey.
"Good night." Arthur wished he'd had the kiss that usually accompanied a phrase like that. He'd have no problem imagining it, however, especially after a couple glasses of wine. He was having no problem now. He clicked his phone and glared in the direction of his cock, willing it to stop being so interested when he had female company.
He looked at Portia. He wasn’t sure what was on his face that time, because she just raised her glass at him until he returned the gesture. Then they both took large gulps of wine, a waste of very good wine, really, but still satisfying.
***
again I promise the romancey stuff starts soon ... very soon.
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 31/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 06:45 am (UTC)(link)So either Mariel doesn't want Al for her child's father, or she already has someone else in mind. Ugh, how awful to realize someone thinks so little of you that they want you out of their lives rather than be forced to share something forever. Is this Alfred really that bad?
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 31/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 04:53 pm (UTC)(link)I love Al and Arthur's casual banter; there's a bit of a friction and tension, but there are signs of friendship there as well. Arthur might not be aware of this, but it won't be easy to shoot Alfred down. He warned him himself, and Francis as weel. Can't wait for the fireworks. ;)
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 31/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-25 05:19 pm (UTC)(link)Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 31/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-26 01:13 am (UTC)(link)now we play the waiting game for one of them to break
and "He lives in Canada on a maple-tree-farm-slash-weed commune or something"
0.0 I have so much to stay about that. Lol I hope we hear more from mathew in the future!
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 31/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-26 05:35 am (UTC)(link)I saw the prompt and thought "GENIUS" - but I wasn't expecting to find the fill already so...FULL! I'm /delighted/ because as soon as I started reading I knew I'd need A LOT more. It was perfection and I just read the entire ting in one go, pretty much devouring it. And lucky me: I got 31 parts!! And you just updated so I feel hopeful that I can see more soon.
This story is brilliantly written, and I love the relationship between Al and Arthur. It's one of the best examples I've ever seen of their UST-filled, competitive, strong-willed dynamic. It's just...delicious. Like, I can TASTE this story it's so good. I cannot wait for more!!
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 31/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-27 02:45 am (UTC)(link)Except...Poor Alfred! That's some really heavy news to get, that Mariel is pregnant. I'm not sure which outcome I'd prefer for the paternity test. But I cannot wait to see what it is, and what happens next.
Re: All Right, Tonight (Part 31/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-29 02:48 am (UTC)(link)I hope to update tomorrow night!
All Right, Tonight (Part 32/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-30 01:34 am (UTC)(link)A/N: Okay, finally stop talking for a few minutes? That's a lie, there's talk talk talk all through it, let me warn you now. ^^ It's all done except for an epilogue, so I'll try and get it cleaned up to post some more later this week. Thank you so much for your comments, I mean it.
***
The "big day" was Friday. Arthur got to see his staff in casual action. True to Lili's promise, there was nothing unprofessional about anyone's attire. Even Andersen and wore crisp denims with his suit jacket, and the mood of the office was lighter, somehow, even for a Friday.
Arthur regretted that he'd not gotten in the spirit as well and had worn a suit as always, but as long as he hid in his office he could avoid being a party pooper.
He had a clear schedule, but there were the usual Friday calls and their attendant impromptu client counseling sessions to keep him busy all morning. He ate lunch at his desk. It was Burger King; someone had fetched it and he could hardly be choosy when he didn't have to acquire his own food. He was chewing away at a Whopper when his cell rang. It was Al.
Arthur swallowed his bite of burger. He crossed his fingers, for what he knew not, and answered.
"Hello?"
"Arthur." He heard Al take a deep breath. "It's not mine. It's Felix. He's the father."
"Oh." Arthur released the breath he'd taken. "How do you feel about that?"
"You sound like a shrink, ha ha," Al said, his conversational laugh sounding shaky. "Um, to be truthful, I don't really know."
"Ah."
"I guess ... I hear she and Felix are a thing, now, so it's probably best that it's his."
Tidy, Arthur thought.
"I checked on the website and was trying to call you and she called me and was all, 'I'm so sorry' and I was all 'I'm so sorry, too, but congratulations' and ... and she said, well, I guess I'll see you in court. And I said, yeah."
Arthur waited for more but it seemed Al was done with his nattering. "So that's that," he said.
"I guess it is."
Arthur cleared his throat. "Can you please scan me a copy of the results? There will be a certificate, eventually, and you'll need to sign an affidavit relinquishing your parental claim. But that can wait."
"Oh. Okay. Today I just want to ... do something else. Go out. Maybe later. I have work to do first, 'cause shoot, I haven't been able to do a thing all day."
"Do what you need to."
"I guess I could celebrate the fact that the baby's not mine for, uh, a lack of complications."
Arthur smiled, since nobody could see him. "Now you sound like me."
"Ha ha! I totally do. Celebrate backwards. Hey, you could come out with me. So I don't sit around and cry into my beer and ice cream."
"Er--" Arthur froze in panic.
"No, really. I need someone to hold my hand tonight. Figuratively. Please? Just for a couple of drinks. And maybe dancing. I know! Come with me to Evolve, since I'll be losing it soon."
Oh, lord. Arthur called upon all his training to help him. "Maybe it would be best if you don't have to see your attorney right now? You could spend time with your friends or family, those who can comfort you best."
Al's laugh sounded bitter. "Hah. My family is -- was-- Mariel. Except for Matt, and he's in Canada on the weed farm. And most of my friends here were our friends as a couple, you know? It would just be weird. My best buddy Ki -- my college roommate at UCLA -- is in Japan, and I just ... I'm telling you all of this, so now you have to come with me."
Arthur felt his chest tighten. It really was pathetic, that someone as rich and charming and gregarious as Al had to be so damned lonely that he'd latch on to someone like Arthur. Did he even realize that such fraternization could be seen as inappropriate? And if so, would he care? Arthur had a feeling he wouldn't.
The fact remained, however, that Arthur was a soft touch. "Perhaps ... for a glass of wine or two. I don't really dance--"
"You don't have to dance. My soon-to-be-ex-nightclub has a very nice bar. And I can promise you'll find a good wine."
Arthur sighed. "Very well."
All Right, Tonight (Part 33/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-30 01:35 am (UTC)(link)Arthur rubbed his forehead, regretting it already. "Seven is fine. At the bar is fine." We're all fine here. How are you? That was from a movie, Arthur would swear it.
"Cool. My day is looking better already. Ciao," Al chirped.
"Goodbye."
Arthur clicked to end the call, and right away felt his stomach tighten to match his ribcage. He jittered about the rest of the day, and was thankful he didn't have to meet other clients or -- oh, lord, what was he going to wear? He checked the bar's website, which told him the dress code was "casual chic." What in the hell was casual chic? Shouldn't a gay man know what casual chic was?
He texted Portia. Going out to club. Gay club. What is casual chic?
YAY, Portia texted back. better than jeans, less than suit. wear thsoe dark blue pants you have with the pipe down the side and a nice shirt. NOT a white shirt.
Thank you, you are a diamond Arthur texted back. Oh, lord, were those pants clean? Had he taken them to the cleaners? He hadn't been to the gym in a week. Would they still fit him?
Arthur wasn't going to get another thing done, was he? He finally just left at four-fifteen.
***
He dithered at home, stressed himself out some more, tried to eat and couldn't, dusted and rearranged things on his shelves. Then he realized it was six-fifteen and that he had to get ready.
He dressed in the thankfully clean trousers, short boots, and a long-sleeved crewneck shirt he'd bought last time he'd shopped the boutiques up on Clark. It was dark green silk with gold thread in a tasteful, Asian-style pattern. It was the gayest piece of clothing he owned, if only because of the gold and the way it fit, sort of clingy.
He took a cab and arrived at the club at six-fifty-five. The club didn't open until seven; there was no line this early, only a tall and very well-muscled and square-jawed man in a sleeveless shirt guarding the door. The temperature had to be in the twenties -- Farenheit still felt strange sometimes, that "twenties" should be so cold -- but the man didn't seem to notice it. He barely looked at Arthur.
"Pardon me, I'm meeting a fr-- a ... someone here," Arthur told him. "Perhaps you've seen him?"
The man raised his left eyebrow.
Arthur was too classy to say it's your boss, Mister Eyebrow. "Tallish, blond, wears glasses -- his name is Alfred Jo--"
"Oh, okay," the doorman said, and cracked a smile. "Come on in, hon"
The man shooed Arthur in the door and directed him to sit on a blood-red velvet sofa in a nook just inside the door. Arthur could hear thumping music that started, stopped, changed, and started again, as a dee-jay somewhere warmed up. Arthur recognized the beat of the new song: it sounded like Depeche Mode. He'd seen them once in concert, years ago in London.
After a couple of minutes he heard Al's voice at the door. "Hey, Vin! Hi. Have you seen a blond guy, about yay tall-- oh, he's here? Great."
Al breezed in, yanking off his coat as he did so. His face was flushed and his teeth were white and he was wearing those form-fitting black trousers and Arthur's heart sank, because Al looked utterly scrumptious.
"Hi Arthur! Thanks so much, man, you just don't even know. Here, gimme your coat and I'll check 'em--"
"Hello, Al," Arthur managed. He slid his arms out of his long, wool coat and handed it over. Al's eyes widened a little.
"Hey! Nice shirt."
Arthur was infinitely grateful for the darkness of the hallway. "Oh, thank you-- It's--"
All Right, Tonight (Part 34/?)
(Anonymous) 2013-04-30 01:36 am (UTC)(link)“Normally I eat and sleep in them, but they were all at the cleaners, I’m afraid,” Arthur said. He was able to slide his elbow out of Al's warm fingers by pretending to reach for his wallet. He still tingled where Al had gripped him. "Here, let me get this."
Al waved him off. "I'll let you buy me a drink." He saw off their coats and led Arthur in another direction, this time without grabbing him. "We'll sit in the lounge. It'll be quieter. There's the dance floor, by the way."
Arthur peered around a corner into a cavernous room with warehouse-style ceilings and flashing colored lights. A long, shiny, steel-and-glass bar took up one wall of the room, and in the center was a hardwood dance floor with a polished wooden "fence" around it. There were more of those plush sofas scattered around the perimeter, dotted here and there with twisted-metal tables.
"Classic and modern. It's like space age meets suburban brick ranch," Arthur quipped, loudly to be heard over the music.
"You totally get it! What I was going for," Al beamed. "When I-- we-- designed this place."
"Are you a designer as well as a geek and entrepreneur?" Arthur joked.
"Nah. But I'm the vision man."
"So you've said."
Across the room in his-- no, her -- glass booth, a dee-jay with an afro hairdo and oversized headphones spun another track. It was more techno music, something Arthur thought he might know, given time to think about it.
"It's Eighties night," Al said. "It'll be packed in here later."
Eighties? Well, at least Arthur would recognize the music of his childhood. He followed Al around the corner into another room, the lounge. It was large as well, with the same design aesthetic, but quieter.
The bartender who greeted them was a tall, slender and very pretty young man. "Hi Al," he said in a sing-songy voice as they approached.
"Hi, Lance. This is my friend, Arthur. Get him a wine list, would ya?"
Arthur noticed that "friend," but decided that it was at least less awkward than "attorney." Lance gave him a book-bound list, and Arthur easily found a few things he could drink. He even found, by the glass, a sauvignon blanc from one of the wineries he and Portia had visited.
Arthur ordered and handed over his card for a tab. Lance looked at the card and then looked at Al, his eyes wide. Al laughed, sounding a little nervous.
"Gotta start paying sometime," he told Lance.
Lance shrugged but took Arthur's card with a small smile. "She's not coming in tonight."
"That's probably good."
"God, I wish you all weren't going through this."
"Me, too," Al said, with another nervous-looking grin. "Well, see you later."
Some people had trickled in behind them. Arthur thought about how he must appear to them, walking next to Al, dressed as he was. He looked like a man going out with his friend, maybe even a date. Perhaps he was, in a way. He was treading a thin line by doing so, given the way Al cranked his own knobs up to eleven, and the way he himself did ... something for Al, it was best not to know what.
He chose them a sofa tucked away in a darkened corner, more from wishing for quiet than for privacy. Arthur made sure there was a decent space of couch between them; that one touch had already set his insides to boiling. He sipped his wine and tried not to notice the way Al's shirt, another clingy button-down, hugged his torso as he sat. His stomach looked soft and enticing.
"I had to hold a management meeting this week," Al said. He sighed.
"Best to have gotten it over with," Arthur said. The cold wine was smooth and warmed him even further. Odd and wonderful, how wine did that.
All Right, Tonight (Part 35/?)
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(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 04:47 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 47/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 04:48 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 48/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 04:49 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 49/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 04:50 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 04:51 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 09:14 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 13:02 (UTC) - Expanda!a
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 13:33 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 13:14 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-05 14:40 (UTC) - Expanda!a
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-07 12:31 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 50/?)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-06 03:24 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 51/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:32 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 52/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:32 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 53/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:33 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 54/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:34 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 55/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:35 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 56/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:36 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 57/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:37 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 58/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:38 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 59/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:39 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 60/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:40 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 61/62) (Epilogue)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:41 (UTC) - ExpandAll Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 13:42 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 19:36 (UTC) - Expanda!a
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-09 20:21 (UTC) - ExpandRe: a!a
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-09 22:19 (UTC) - ExpandRe: a!a
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-10 02:05 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 19:46 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-09 21:52 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-10 14:40 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-19 01:30 (UTC) - ExpandRe: All Right, Tonight (Part 62/62)
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-21 15:38 (UTC) - Expand