Chapter Text
A tawny hand brushed away deep chestnut hair which flopped to the side obscuring sharp brown eyes that took in their surroundings cautiously. The California sun plucked out the burgundy undertones of curls that came together like the arpeggio of piano keys. Slim fingers adjusted the round glass of spectacles that had slipped down the low bridge of an upturned nose. The lenses brought into focus the tall transmitter tower looming over the studio Alastor just entered. He loathed television. It was quickly siphoning off radio listeners, drawing people in with an almost hypnotic beam. Seducing audiences with bright lights and moving pictures all horribly packaged into a noisy box, which they made the center of their home. Due to this disdain Alastor was perturbed to find himself in the sprawling lot of Vox Broadcasting System, better known as VBS.
The lot was filled with concrete, devoid of charm. It was cold and lifeless but somehow bustling and hot as the heat wafted off the cement with no trees to offer shade to the many workers scurrying by. It was nothing like the colorful historical buildings of New Orleans.The integrated history blending with the ever encroaching modernity of the nineteen fifties. This was all modern, all efficient, and ready to produce fantasies for suburbia. A fantasy that didn’t reflect the reality of upheaval and the fight for equality currently bubbling to the surface of society. Surely people would believe that Alastor didn’t deserve a spot on prime time, and he was inclined to agree with them. But with the success of actors like Sidney Poiter and Dorothy Dandridge and his friends' sudden rise to the top, Alastor wasn’t surprised he’d been asked to come visit. Vincent Whittman was a man that would never overlook an opportunity for ingenuity. Always wanting to be the first, the best, the brightest. It was exhausting, and Alastor wasn’t looking forward to reconnecting with the man. He adamantly was not looking forward to reconnecting with someone who had worked alongside him during the war, Alastor told himself. Denying any excited nostalgia that fluttered in his cold uncaring heart. Alastor was not looking forward to seeing his old friend. A man that had stuck his neck out to cross the color barrier to entertain troops with broadcasts from the home front that included jazz, news updates and propaganda to keep up morale. If Vincent was going to put on a show, it was going to be a top notch production with the best talent regardless of color. Anyone who disagreed be damned.
Despite the demands for respect shouted by various people of color after the war, segregation still ran rampant. But so many people had sacrificed so much and they were tired of the status quo. Vincent hated the status quo, just like Alastor. Perhaps not for the most righteous of reasons, but because it hindered him from being the best, having the best and recruiting the best. Vincent was colorblind, not from some deep moral standing, but because he wanted profit. An untapped market was lucrative regardless of color, and if he could be the first to bring something to network television, he was going to do it. Faces of varying shades had started to pop up on the silver screen, but were still relegated to side characters and one time variety acts on the small screen. Alastor didn’t want a steady gig, but he knew Vincent would push for it. At the middling age of forty one Alastor was tired. It was exhausting to constantly fight for respect, for acknowledgement, and his hands bore the calluses of a knife hilt he held on to tightly while trying to carve out a spot of civility. On top of his color, having a white woman as an agent didn’t garner Alastor much more respect. Even if she was a hellhound with negotiations. Despite what little name recognition Alastor had, Rosie was still only able to get him into a hotel thirty minutes outside of Hollywood. No hotel close by would take in a negro, famous radio personality or not. Alastor didn’t blame Rosie for the trek, but he did blame her for the whole trip. The brunet did not, under any circumstance, want to end up in front of a camera. Rosie had insisted he go and talk to Vincent. Had raved about how so many talented radio hosts and radio actors had made the transition to television. How Alastor having an in with a very influential executive gave him the perfect opportunity to expand his career. How a variety show would be a great way for Alastor to showcase his musical skill and make the shift from the ‘dying’ medium of radio to the burgeoning field of television.
A transition Alastor had no interest in making. Jazz and music programs were still doing well. Sure dramas had shifted but Alastor had always been all about the music, the history, the curation of sound like a fine wine for the ears. But Rosie had spotted the letter from an old pal on his desk and she insisted that Alastor at least go and see what it could bring him. Considering he had to prerecord two month’s worth of weekly segments just to make time for this pointless trip, he didn’t see what television could bring him that radio hadn’t already. Alastor was happy behind the mic and the muffling safety of a sound booth. Protected from the outside world and prying eyes. To just be a mysterious voice that wafted through the airwaves. He didn’t need to be seen.
He didn’t want to be seen.
Tan hands smoothed over the red pinstriped vest Alastor was wearing, feeling self continuous about the flare of his hips. Alastor did not want scrutiny to fall on him, not after years of flying under the radar. A life on television meant millions of probing eyes staring at him every evening. It meant reconnecting with a man that had looked at him with eyes that made Alastor itch, and wonder if perhaps Vincent had figured him out. It meant uprooting his life in New Orleans and moving out to the Hollywood hills. It meant finding another doctor who would prescribe him his shots no questions asked. The brunet took precise measured steps towards the studio executive’s office, hoping his hips wouldn't sway in the way they always did. He hated being here, and Alastor should have just thrown that letter in the trash. Instead of holding on to it and the disgusting nostalgia connected to the man who had mailed it to him.
The building was quiet and there was an empty desk that presumably a secretary would be seated at. But considering it was one in the afternoon it was likely that whoever manned the desk had taken lunch. Alastor walked past the desk and confidently knocked on the door with Vincent's name on it.
“What!?” The familiar annoyed voice of his old friend echoed through the door. Alastor smiled loving the man’s annoyance, it had always been so easy to rile him up.
The brunet opened the door and leaned against the frame. “I can leave if you are too busy. But considering the groveling letter you sent me, I assume you want to talk to me.”
“Al! Long time no see!” Vincent popped up eagerly from his chair arms wide in an offered hug. Alastor took a step back and hummed in warning. His friend lowered his arms and instead opted to clasp Alastor’s hand and shake it enthusiastically. Vincent had always been a tidal wave of charisma and energy, easily adapting to the flow of his surroundings. Aware of the best approach and action to take in order to charm his way into anyone's good graces. His smile was bright and almost perfect with just one canine a little too sharp. Though it nestled up to fill a gap in his bottom row nicely. Alastor stared at that smile, bright white like the crest of a wave. A smile that he could drown in. The brunet had always appreciated Vincent’s smile. Though he would not call his smile pleasant, as it held too much edge, it was striking all the same. Not allowing himself to get distracted, brown eyes glanced to the side to glare at a pale hand resting on his shoulder with a familiarity that should have faded after seven years. Alastor shrugged his shoulders, dislodging the hand, only to have it move to his midback. A grumble left the brunet’s throat, not that Vincent seemed to care. “Thanks for flying up here and seeing me. It’s been years! Come take a seat!”
“Yes, years and now here I am.” Alastor threw up some jazz hands with false excitement as his old pal ushered him towards a gaudy modern chair that looked uncomfortably square.
“I guess you want me to cut to the chase, don’t you? I thought you liked pleasantries. Southern hospitality and all that bullshit.” Alastor clenched his teeth but held his tongue, having forgotten how much Vincent grated on his nerves. Yet another reason he wanted to strangle Rosie for sending him here. Alastor held his polite smile firmly in place as he glowered into mismatched eyes. It was subtle, the difference between them. One more green than the other. An odd mixing of blue and sage swirled in one eye making it appear aqua like the ocean. The other eye was striking blue like a cloudless sky. Alastor narrowed his own eyes just now coming to realize that Vincent wasn’t wearing his glasses. He studied those eyes and saw a thin line encircling irises just a few millimeters out. It shouldn’t be surprising that the head of a studio would be able to afford contact lenses, but still Alastor had never seen them before. Brown eyes trailed up assessing Vincent wholly. To see what had changed since they'd last seen each other seven years ago. His hair was gray, aging him. It reminded Alastor of the eleven year gap between them. Vincent’s hair was now the embodiment of the black and white television he’d become obsessed with. It was slicked back, forming little rivers of contrasting colors. His shoulders were broad which Alastor had always envied. In fact he envied the effortless masculinity Vincent embodied. Even at the age of fifty two Vincent seemed energetic, grabbing at power and climbing the metaphorical ladder that Alastor could never hope to reach. Vincent was secure in his position as a respected white man, while Alastor scrounged for decency and hoped no one would discover his secrets. Exhausted and embittered by prejudice. Between the two of them Alastor had always seemed older and more mature.
“Let me at least pour you a drink so we can talk business like real men.” Vincent offered walking towards a crystal decanter holding a golden liquid. “Rye, just for you.”
Vincent flashed him a smile and brought Alastor his glass before sitting down behind his desk with his own. “So are you asking for my help again, Vincent? Can’t put on a show without me? You’ve always had to lean on other’s talents.”
Alastor smiled as he took a sip of his drink. The rich dry flavor of the whiskey danced on his tongue and he knew Vincent had spent a pretty penny on it. Alastor’s smile relaxed as the liquor warmed his stomach and Vincent’s pout amused his mind. “Investing in others is show biz, baby. Do you want to die alone with that dusty old radio gig?”
“There are still plenty of people that tune in to my show and enjoy the sophistication of jazz.”
“But people want to see the music! Not just listen to it. You were basically putting on a variety show before and during the war and now you're what? A glorified disc jockey. The heyday of radio has passed and I am offering you a chance at revival!” Vincent made a grand gesture with his arms preaching the gospel of television, that Alastor had no intention of converting to. “Times are changing. Look around you, Al! There are marches in the street and opportunities knocking at your door. Are you just going to let it pass you by? You’re not getting any younger.”
“You’re one to talk you grizzled old mule.” Alastor hummed, taking a delicate sip of his drink before setting it down on Vincent’s desk. “I came to see you as a courtesy, old pal. It’s the least I could do. Like you said it’s been years, but I have no interest in parading myself on national television.”
“Well you’d be parading others. The co-host of Al and Val variety hour!” Vincent made a sweeping gesture as if plastering a flashing sign into the air.
“Who?”
“Valentino, the heartthrob of daytime soap operas.”
“Well he must not be any good at acting, since I’ve never heard of him.” Alastor shrugged, granted he hadn’t really heard of any TV actors.
“He’s great, a real charmer. A little airheaded but that will play nicely with your sharp wit.” Vincent said with a giddy little smile. “It’ll be the first show of its kind. A colored man and a Puerto Rican at the helm. Desilu productions can suck my dick!”
“Mmmm.” Alstor hummed with annoyance as his eyelids lowered. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, dear.”
“Come on, Al! You’ll be making more with this gig than you’d ever make on the radio. Trust me!”
“I really am not too keen on being in front of the camera. This face is made for radio.” Alastor pushed up from his chair and Vincent shot up in panic.
“Wait, Al.” A pale hand reached out for a tan one, a nervous laugh escaping thin lips. “You obviously need time to think. Why not join me for dinner? No pressure. Meet Valentino and then give it a couple of days to simmer in that noggin of yours. I’d like to catch up anyway, it’s been seven years.”
“It would be a pleasure to meet the man, I’m sure.” Alastor smiled wide, not at all covering up his disdain for the idea. “And it would be novel to catch back up with you, old pal. But you see my hotel is thirty minutes out and I just can’t afford to be taxiing back and forth.”
“Shit what hotel are you staying at?”
“One that allows for colored people, dear.” Alastor said in a deadpan voice.
Vincent sighed and turned to a wooden dictograph phone, picking up a sleek black receiver. “Ethan, pull my car around. I need you to escort, Mr. Hartfelt to my residence. And tell Nifty to get the guest room ready.”
“What are you doing?” Alastor asked, lifting up on his toes as agitated energy coursed through him.
“You’re staying with me. I’m only ten minutes out. Ethan will drive you back to your hotel, you’ll grab your shit and make yourself comfortable in the guest room.” Vincent explained. Alastor clenched his teeth, hands clasped tight behind his back. He didn’t need Vincent’s pity and he most definitely didn’t appreciate the man making decisions for him.
“This really isn’t necessary—“
“Don’t mention it. Just grace me with your presence at dinner and we’re even.” Vincent sat back down in his chair and grinned up at Alastor knowing he would be getting his way. “Feel free to use the pool.”
“I don’t have any swim clothes.” Alastor said bluntly.
“Just borrow some of mine. You’ll have a swell time. It’s got to be better than whatever ‘separate but equal’,” Vincent made air quotes with his fingers, “dump your staying at.”
Alastor’s eyebrow twitched and he let out a groaning hum as he glared at his friend who had already started busying himself with paperwork. The brunet was about to speak up when the office door opened.
“There you are, Ethan, took you long enough.” Vincent didn’t even look up. He gestured his hand at Alastor. “ This is my good friend Mr. Hartfelt.”
Alastor smiled at the young assistant who seemed a bit nervous and very sweaty. The brunet’s nose wrinkled a bit. He could practically smell the fear wafting off this man. He would have made a fun plaything but Vincent surely wouldn’t appreciate having to hire a new assistant. Besides, it would be too risky to get up to any misbehavior while Alastor was in California. Not enough time to scope out hunting grounds.
“You’ll be addressing him as Mr. Hartfelt and sir. Give him all due respect.” Vincent looked up from his papers with a menacing grin. “Right, Ethan?”
The young man nodded, swallowing hard.
“And you’ll drive him to whatever hotel he’s staying at and help him with his bags. I find out you so much as breathed in Alastor’s direction and didn’t apologize for the audacity of sharing air with him I’ll fucking end you!”
“Of course Mr. Whittman, sir.”
“Greeeat! Tell Nifty not to worry about dinner tonight and make a reservation for three at the place I like.” Vincent smiled menacingly at his assistant. “Now get the fuck out of my office!”
The young man jumped into action. Any possible bigoted views were promptly pushed aside as the young man held the door open for Alastor. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Hartfelt.”
**
Alastor had been treated with utmost care and respect which got some turned heads when he and the assistant went back to his hotel. It must have been a sight to see as the young white man carrying Alastor’s bags to the car. The brunet had chuckled to himself enjoying the treatment. The car door was even opened for him and he was chauffeured back to Vox’s home. Which unsurprisingly was a modern monstrosity in the middle of West Hollywood.
The car pulled in through a gate and into a bright white garage at the bottom of the small slop the residence was perched on. The house could be summed up as a square box surrounded by small patches of green grass interrupted by concrete walkways. There was no old world charm, no wrought iron pillars bent into elaborate decorative shapes. No flowers or victory garden left over from a time of scarcity and unease. Most of all there was no porch with well worn wooden rocking chairs that creaked with the breeze. Alastor almost frowned at the cold display of wealth devoid of personality.
“Right this way, Mr. Hartfelt!” Ethan said cheerfully as he fumbled to unlock the teal front door while holding Alastor’s two suitcases. The brunet stepped up and was promptly greeted by the sound of barking as the key clicked into place. He scooted back and behind the assistant. Childhood memories of dogs lunging at him and white faces laughing or yelling. Alastor never had an encounter with a dog he liked, not when colored folks were still treated like animals that could be rounded up or herded into the segregated boxes society wanted them to occupy. Eathan gave a sympathetic smile over his shoulder as he slowly pushed the door open, the barking became low and aggressive with growls of warning that Alastor was inclined to heed. “Don’t worry, sir, he’s really rather friendly. Shockwave! It’s me and I have a guest that Mr. Whittman will probably even get mad at you about, if you’re not on your best behavior!”
The barking took on a lighter note as Ethan stepped in and started to coo at the dog. There was the sound of nails scraping against wood floors and Alastor’s smile clenched tight as he inched towards the door.
Shockwave was an absolutely enormous Doberman. His fur was a dark gray and tan rather than the traditional black and tan. He was currently dropped down on his forelegs wagging his stub of a tail trying to get the young assistant to play with him. He’d even brought a piece of knotted rope as an offering. Of course Ethan had his hands full and could not play which earned him a whine as he made his way further into what must be the livingroom. Which was vast and spotless with a large teal couch and two matching armchairs. These furnishings were just as modern and aggressively square as the chair in Vincent’s office. What broke up all the straight lines was a singular rounded television that looked like a space helmet attached to a wooden side table with dials embedded into it. It too was teal though much darker than the sofa. It was nestled next to a large fireplace whose white painted bricks stretched far beyond its hearth. Bringing the television into its fold to make a cohesive cove for cozy entertainment. If you enjoyed listening to the ramblings of an idiot box, that is. Which surely Vincent did. There was a dark wood shelf attached to the fireplace that held an assortment of nick nacks. All of which where shark themed. A large jaw was the center piece with two silver shark statues flanking it. Large windows stretched across the back of the sofas giving full view of the narrow inground pool nestled into a small patch of grass.
The moment Alastor stepped further into the house taking a peek at the large gaudy shark painting next to the front door, Shockwave snapped his head towards him. The dog immediately concluded that Alastor was a friend who had empty hands, which meant he could play. The dog bounded towards him happily and seemed unaware of the brunet’s discomfort. Tan hands raised up in surrender as Alastor scooted back towards the wood bar cabinet under the horrid shark painting. He bumped into it, rattling some of the crystal and bottles of cognac stored on top.
“Shocky let him in.” Ethan sighed as he set down Alastor’s bags.
“Yes! Don’t be a bad boy!” A high pitched voice scolded from somewhere inside the house. The sound of rapid excited footsteps echoed through the spacious home. “I’m sure he’ll play with you later, but we gotta show him to the guest room first. I cleaned it up just like Mr. Whittman asked! Spotless!"
The statement came with a delighted little giggle and Alastor decided whoever this energetic lady was, he liked her. The woman soon revealed herself as she came to a skidding halt in front of the entrance, having come from down a hall by the kitchen. The kitchen was rather modest in size. Enclosed in an alcove with a peninsula attached so that whoever sat in the yellow barstools at the counter could comfortably watch the cooking being done on the white stove. The bright blue cabinets and checkered floor seemed to continue the modern colorful theme of the home. The young woman who had skittered to a halt sported a bob cut that curled up at the end. Her hair was jet black and her skin a pale beige. Her eyes were a deep brown that sparkled with youthful excitement though it was hard to tell her actual age. She was very petite and wore a lovely red a-line dress with a white apron. She was obviously of Asian descent and Alastor's smile held a bit of sympathy as he wondered if she had been swept up in the panic after pearl harbor. If she had been then she, much like Alastor, was an expert at smiling in the face of adversity. Which only endeared her more to the brunet.
“I’m Nifty!” The little lady’s smile was bright and held a contagious sort of enthusiasm. Alastor took her offered hand and planted a soft kiss on the back like a gentleman. This earned him a giggle.
“Pleasure to meet you, dear.”
“You’ll be staying here with Mr. Whittman? Usually when he has guests he doesn’t ask for the guest room to be cleaned up. You must be special, because Mr. Whitman has TONS of guests all the time, at all hours of the day. Sometimes I come in the morning and there’s just some fella in a robe or a lady in one of Mr. Whittman’s pajama tops. Then I have to cook extra breakfast! Which is fine but it would be nice to know ahead of time.”
Ethan cleared his throat, a subtle hint for Nifty to stop talking about what was presumably Vincent’s private life, though she seemed unaware of the implications.“I guess I’ll be cooking for you too! I really don’t mind when I know there is an extra person. I usually leave dinner for Mr. Whittman to re-heat when he comes home. I’ll make a plate for you too!”
Nifty seemed to really pride herself as a daily woman. Looking around the spotless house and polished floors, Alastor could agree that her pride was not unwarranted. Ethan shuffled forward, taking out a small ledger from his pocket. “Mr. Whitman said not to worry about dinner tonight and to go ahead and leave early for the weekend, Nifty. He’s eating out tonight. Which I still have to make a reservation for, if you’ll excuse me.”
The assistant made his way into the kitchen and Alastor spotted him picking up a bright blue phone that was mounted onto the wall.
“Oh ok!” Nifty nodded enthusiastically but still insisted on showing off her hard work in the guest room. Alastor decided not to pick up his own bags and Nifty guided them both to his room. Ethan could bring them in once he was done on the phone. The brunet wanted the full pampered treatment if Vincent was going to offer up his home and staff.
“Ta-da!” Nifty gestured through the door of the guest room. Alastor loved her energy and he smiled as he walked into the room he would be staying in. It was a simple room that was painted a light blue. Two paintings hung above the queen sized bed. They looked abstract but brown eyes narrowed suspiciously as they plucked out the jagged shape of a shark body among the haphazard brush strokes. The sheets on the bed were a pristine white, pressed and tucked neatly.
“Thank you Nifty. I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable here, dear.” It was at that time that Ethan came in with Alastor’s bags.
“Nifty will help you get settled and Mr. Whittman will come pick you up for dinner. I have the reservation in place and I should be heading back to the office…” Ethan looked nervous as if he would get yelled at if he was gone too long. “Have a pleasant rest of your day, Mr. Hartfelt.”
**
The rest of Alastor’s day was far from pleasant. It was filled with dodging the attention of a very enthusiastic mutt and humoring the fantasies of stardom from that mutt's very enthusiastic owner. It was true that pets reflected their owners. As it stood Alastor smiled at his old friend as he took a sip of his wine. Vincent was wining and dining Alastor, obviously seeing it as an investment if his incessant blabbering was any indication.
“Variety shows should showcase just that! Variety!” Vincent paused in his grand gesture taking a sip of his own wine to moisten his silver tongue. “Diversity, that’s what I’m getting at. Television should reflect the American people. It’s a picture box and everyone should be able to tune in and see their life reflected in that picture! I want to do that, to be the first to bring color into programming. The radio programs we put on during the war were all encompassing. It was a good start, but the world is changing and it’s changing fast. I want to keep up. I want us to keep up and be part of this transition, together.”
“That seems exploitative, dear. You want me to dance and sing on TV why? Because I’m colored?” Alastor set down his wine, giving Vincent a tense smile.
“…Yes?” Vincent said cautiously. Alastor responded with an annoyed hum. Vincent put up his hands in surrender. “I don’t mean any harm. There are literally people demanding to be heard, seen and treated with decency. I’m just in the position to help.”
“Help?” Alastor laughed. “How altruistic! I’m sure none of your little plans will line your pockets with thousands of dollars.”
“Sure it will! And I’m not going to hide the fact that I like money and my position. You could rise up with me, Al, step into television and leave radio. It’s dying and I’m offering you fame, baby!” Before Alastor could express his disdain for fame that included plastering his face all over the television sets of American families, Vincent's eyes lit up. “There he is. Took him long enough. Once you meet Val you’ll really see my vision!”
Valentino was a very young man who was very tall and did not at all make Alastor feel self conscious. Despite the young man’s willowy frame he was still masculine in the ways Alastor envied. Small narrow hips that swayed in a way that signaled flamboyance rather than femininity. The man was very secure even if he was indecently dressed with his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a circle of necklace resting against beige skin. Val was white in the way that segregation cared about. Ethnic in his appearance but light enough in complexion that society was willing to overlook those features and fetishize him as a heartthrob. A head of thick blond hair, which was surely bleached, was cut short and curled to a point in the middle of Val’s forehead. His eyes were a dark brown that gleamed with sultry confidence as he approached the table.
“Val!” Vincent stood up and the two men embraced. Alastor hummed in displeasure at the display of public affection. “This is my good friend Alastor. Al, meant Valentino, one of the most swoon worthy actors on daytime television.”
“A pleasure, I’m sure.” Alastor said with a forced smile, ignoring the hand that was outstretched in greeting. Instead Alastor just turned to take another sip of his wine.
“Fiesty, little fella! I see Vincent has a type.” Valentino laughed with a flip of his limp wrist making his way around the table with that slinky little walk.
Vincent coughed and sputtered, as he sat back down in his chair. Val grinned at him as he leaned his elbow on the table. Sitting awfully close to the older man. “Heh, a type of personality that would do well on television, for sure… That’s what Valentino means, what I’m keeping an eye out for! And I think you and Alastor would be just the type to put on a great show, maybe even get some laughs with your contrasting personalities!”
“Mmmm, I’m not one for comedy, dear.” Alastor groaned out.
“Al, you’re absolutely hilarious when you have someone to pick on and Val would be great to play off!” Vincent gestured towards the other man.
“I do enjoy a bit of tit for tat.” Somehow the young man was able to make the phrase sound like something that would be said in the bedroom. Alastor felt uncomfortably on edge around Valentino and he sincerely doubted he would enjoy putting himself in the position of being on television with the man. It all felt horrid. Eyes looking at him every evening as he put on a show standing next to a tall, supposedly attractive, man. Alastor couldn’t tell what was so attractive about the blond but whatever it was it seemed to infatuate the masses of idiots glued to their television set and one gray haired imbecile.
Vincent was barely subtle with his glances and his smile held a familiar infatuation that had been directed Alastor’s way on more than one occasion. Brown eyes looked down at the menu so they didn’t have to witness whatever game of footsie the two were playing at. It wasn’t that Alastor was jealous just preoccupied. Alastor’s smile became wider with amusement the more he observed the gray haired man. The knowledge that his old friend was indiscriminate with his company was strangely reassuring. Which was surprising. The idiot had looked at Alastor with love sick eyes on more than one occasion. There was a strange feeling of joy that came along with knowing Vincent was queer. It settled a long held fear that the older man had seen right through him. That there was something innately off about Alastor’s masculinity that he would never be able to cover up. That Alastor would only be seen as desirable when he was in proximity to womanhood. Dames had treated him as a butch. Stripped of his identity and manhood for the comfort of his female partners. It was one of the reasons he and Mimzy hadn’t worked out. Though Alastor still considered her a good friend, she was the only one who had genuinely tried to make him feel like a man, but in the end it was all a bust. On the other hand fellas made assumptions about what he would put up with in the bedroom and Alastor had never found much pleasure in the ways people assumed he should use his body. He never found much pleasure in another person’s body either. That was a different kind of queerness that lingered like a shadow over him, and that he had hoped would disappear once he felt more comfortable in his own skin. But that still hadn’t lifted. Either way Alastor didn’t have the drive to pursue relationships and when he had stumbled into one he ended up never feeling man enough to continue the romantic liaison. It just made him feel even more isolated from his body. Which is why he ignored Vincent’s love sick stares while Alastor recorded programs during the war. Why he assumed that Vincent's interest must mean he saw something womanly about Alastor and so found him desirable in the way past lovers had. As a strange inbetween. A titillating oddity they could use to gratify their own pleasure. Rather than see Alastor as a human being…as a man. This self conscious fear is what made Alastor keep his friend at arms length and always shrugged those grabby little hands off his shoulders. Shoulders he felt were too narrow to bear the weight of potential romance. It was easy really. Alastor didn’t crave physical intimacy. Sex was a thought that never really crossed his mind. Bad experience and kills in self defense had made his lack of interest even worse. It was a lot more thrilling to lure an unsuspecting person to their death bed rather than have them in bed.
“What would you like to order?” The waiter came by and pointedly looked at Vincent who gave his order of filet mignon and a bottle of wine for the table. Alastor noticed the gray hair man’s glass was already empty. The waiter turned towards Valentino who ordered a salad, and then the waiter turned a contemptuous sneer towards Alastor.
“For you?” His voice no longer held politeness as if it were a chore for him to act kindly to someone like Alastor. Of course the brunet held on to his smile.
“The venison, my dear man.” He said with a chipper voice and moved to hand his menu over before dropping it on the floor. “Oh how clumsy of me!”
“The menus can be slippery.” Vincent agreed while Val hid a smirk behind his hand. Alastor wanted to do so much more than just cause a mild inconvenience to the uppity waiter, but he couldn’t very well wait in the back alley for the man’s shift to be over and slit his throat. He was on vacation after all! Besides, it wouldn't make for good house guest behavior to rope your host into hiding a body.
When the waiter made a move to pick up the dropped menu Vincent shifted his foot and kicked the paper out of the man’s reach. “Oh sorry, I just needed to get up for the restroom.”
The waiter left grumbling after he had collected all the menus. Brown eyes looked in to heterochromatic and there was a short spark of comradery between him and Vincent. Partners in a small inconveniencing crime of harassing the wait staff. It made Alastor’s smile spread a little wider and reminded him why he had put up with his old friend for so many years. Why he had been compelled to hold on to that cursed handwritten letter.
Vincent did in fact need to use the restroom but not before he waved enthusiastically between Val and Alastor. “Go on! Chat, get to know each other. You are prospective costars after all! The wine should be coming soon. I’ll be right back!”
“So, like you’re in radio right? I think Vinny mentioned that. Jazz music? Dullsville, no wonder you want to move over to television.”
Alastor’s eyebrow twitched with irritation though his smile was kept neatly in place. “I don’t actually. I rather enjoy the fine art of jazz and classic entertainment. When listening to radio you have to use your imagination.” Alastor tapped belittling at the side of Val’s head. “You have to use your brain to conjure up images rather than rely on some device to do it for you.”
Val pouted. “But how will anyone know I’m extremely attractive if they can’t see me?”
Alastor sighed and picked up his wine glass. “Do they need to know what you look like?” The brunet never understood other’s fascination with looks. How the sight of someone, somehow translated into desire and the want to touch and engage in intercourse. Alastor had never been plagued with that affliction, even if he was able to recognize someone as beautiful or handsome. He could look into Vincent’s unique eyes and want nothing more than to sigh and tell the man to shut up and stop spewing nonsense. There was nothing distracting about how someone looked, nothing exciting about flesh and bones. Alastor would rather hear screams of terror than ecstasy any day.
“Of course they need to know!” Val gasped with indignation, just as the ordered bottle of wine was set on the table. “I don’t put this much effort into my looks for nothing.”
“Hollywood is plagued with the sin of pride and vanity. I personally do not wish to make a spectacle of myself.”
Valentino poured himself a glass with a breathy chuckle. His deep brown eyes held a discomforting hunger as they assessed Alastor. A long elegant finger traced the rim of Val’s wine glass as a hedonistic smile graced his full lips. “Why not? You’re very handsome. Vinny said he knows you from the war? You don’t look a day over thirty.”
“I’m a decade over that estimate, dear.”
“Still, you must have been in your twenties during that time. Did you see combat? Is that why you’re so wound up tight?”
“I was medically exempt." Alastor said coolly, which wasn’t a lie. He was not eligible for the draft due to the fact that any medical examination would disqualify him. Legally he could not sign up for it. As far as the government was concerned Alastor did not exist, not as a man. Brown eyes glanced away and spotted Vincent heading back their way. The brunet was surprisingly relieved to see the older man, he couldn’t bear anymore conversation.
“So how is the banter coming? Seeing my vision yet?”
“Mmmm.” Alastor hummed noncommittally as everyone’s plates were set down. Vincent took Alastor’s plate from the waiter’s hand before any possible retaliation for the menu incident could be enacted.
“Come on, Al.” Vincent set the plate in front of Alastor before he reached up to grab his shoulder and give an encouraging squeeze that the brunet absolutely hated. “Television is the new frontier and you've always had a big personality. You’re basically made to be a star!”
“I already am, dear.” Alastor smiled at his friend with a prideful tilt of his head. He picked up his fork.
“And I can help you keep that stardom burning bright! Don’t let stubbornness make you fade into the night sky.”
“Really? Must you be so poetic?" Alastor sighed. “You’re laying it on thick, Vincent. I know you are used to getting your way.” Alastor leaned in close, resting his chin on the back of his hand as he fluttered his eyelashes at him. “But I’ve always been one of the few people who’s told you no.”
Val chuckled. “I didn’t even know you could say no to Vinny.”
“Oh!” Alastor perked up dramatically. “You absolutely can, you just have to tell him about twenty times before he’ll leave you be. This is what?” Alastor tapped his finger against his chin with a mischievous air of thoughtfulness. “The third time I’m saying no? Two times in his office and another here. I have a ways to go!”
Vincent glared daggers at Alastor who only smiled charmingly back. Valentino took a bite of his salad with an amused glint in his eye.
“Oh he hates being told no in his office.” Vincent’s steely eyes flashed at Valentino now and there was a sharp kick that rattled the silverware on the table. Val hissed and grabbed his shin. “It’s true!”
“Saying no to me is usually a mistake.” Vincent said calmly picking up his fork and knife. He stabbed into his steak with a level of aggression the already dead flesh didn’t warrant. “One way or another I end up getting what I want.”
The angry display delighted Alastor and he watched eagerly as Vincent cut savagely into his dinner. “Oh don’t throw a tantrum dear.” Alastor cooed.
“I’m not!”
“You know how much I despise pouting.” Alastor went on and poked at the edge of Vincent’s frown with his own knife.
The gray haired man waved him away with a grumble. “I swear, Al, you’ll change your mind!”
“You are such a child, always wanting my attention and for me to play your games. You’re still need me.”
Vincent’s cheeks reddened. “I just know talent when I see it.”
“Well I might humor you and give you the chance to convince me.”
Instantly Vincent glowed with excitement, his smile flashing bright. “In that case Val would you like to come over for a night cap? We can keep talking.”
“Sure.” Val dragged the word out with a wave of his hand, before giving Vincent a wink. “I would love some after dinner entertainment.”