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the_water_clockAuthor: Clio
Title: Keep Your Enemies Closer, Chapter 4: A Few Red Herrings
Pairing: American Idol: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen; established Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Simon Cowell, manager of pop star hopefuls and owner of the hot downtown Club Idol, has been framed for a crime he didn't commit. Can new kid Kris Allen convince rival divas David Cook and Adam Lambert to work together to clear Simon's name? And what will happen when Simon asks Adam and Kris to "take care" of his boyfriend Ryan for him?
This chapter: Club kid detectives Adam and David have some more suspects to question. Then Simon asks Adam and Kris to take on a different kind of special assignment.
Chapter Length: 7400 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Keep Your Enemies Closer is an mystery AU set in the New York club scene of the mid-90s, when a rapidly gentrifying East Village contained chain stores and after hours clubs, hungry young artists and heroin dealers. As usual, there will be plenty of music to set the scene and bring you back to a time not long ago. This story is entirely written, but being posted in chapters once per week.
Thank you toali_wildgoose, who as usual went well beyond the call of beta-duty on this one, dreamerren, who encouraged me to keep going when I'd hit an impasse, and honestys_easy, who helped me give it that final polish. This chapter from Five Red Herrings by Dorothy L. Sayers.
The Unpleasantness at Club Idol | Whose Heroin? | Crowds of Witness
a few red herrings
This is how it happened:
Kris and Katy had gone to have dinner with some college friends who had recently gotten engaged. With all of seven months under their belts, Kris and Katy were the old marrieds of their friends and so were often asked for advice. This night was no exception, though Kris wasn't sure what kind of advice he could really give to anyone else, as his success was mostly "marry the pretty girl you met at 15 because she's damn near perfect and seems willing to put up with your sorry ass and call you on your shit when necessary." But it had been a little weird because the other couple were so all over each other, and then the woman asked if it stopped when you were married, and Kris and Katy just looked at each other, because they'd never been like that.
And even that wouldn't have been a big deal, except that the week before Katy had found Kris's stash, and had freaked out when she saw that most of the mags were male. Kris didn't see what the issue was, because he was happily committed to Katy, and didn't think it really mattered who he was fantasizing about in his non-Katy time, because all of them were equally inaccessible, and reminded her of the time she had a little too much to drink at a frat party and kissed a sorority sister of hers. Which was fine, because she'd told him about it at the time, and it was just a kiss so whatever—Kris had mostly been annoyed that other men got to see Katy kiss a girl and he hadn't—but he hadn't so much as touched a guy.
So the ride home from that particular dinner was pretty damned awkward. Finally Kris said, "You know, your parents aren't all over each other all the time."
"Yours are," she said.
"Yeah, well, my parents are different. Most people's daddies don't cry at the drop of a hat, either."
"Yeah," she said.
"And we touch plenty. I mean, we're always touching, you know, holding hands and such."
"Yeah," she said.
"I just don't think we should put too much stock into—"
"Do you ever think about me when you masturbate, Kris?" she asked.
"What?" he said, and almost ran the car off the road. "What? Of course I do. I always have. I mean, those mags are just for sometimes—"
"Do you ever feel like you just can't wait to get home to have sex with me?"
"I, well, sure," he said, though he wasn't sure when, but he had to have, at some point. And there were those days when he was just really horny, so that had to count.
"Because I don't," she said. "I don't feel like that about you, about us."
"Oh," Kris said, and his first thought was that he couldn't believe this was happening in their car and couldn't she have waited until they got home?
"I'm sorry," she said, softly.
"No, I mean, don't be sorry," he replied. He leaned his elbow against the window and propped his head up with his hand. "I want you to tell me the truth about things. Just, um …"
"What?"
"How do you know? Like, that you don't feel that way? How do you know?"
Katy smiled a little and cocked her head. "Because I've felt that way about other people," she said. "Other men."
Kris kept his eyes on the road, trying to keep breathing. The stereo in the car was playing: it may be unwise, you may be right, but I don't mind
"They were just crushes," she said. "Nothing like how I feel about you. You've had them too, I know you have because you told me."
And he had. One of his fellow travelers on the mission to South Africa, this fella from South Dakota, who was just so cool that he couldn't stop writing to Katy about him, wanted to be around him all the time, and okay, so he'd thought about what it would be like to kiss him, but he never even thought about doing anything because, Katy. And he figured since Katy was still in his head, even when that guy was there, that Katy really was more important.
"Okay, so I have," Kris said, "but I never stopped thinking about you."
"I know," she said. "And—look, I meant all the things I've ever said. You're my best friend; I want to have your children; I want to grow old with you. But what if—what if we can have this and that?"
"But with someone else," Kris said.
"Yeah," Katy said, sadly. "With someone else."
They didn't say anything more that night, just lay in bed holding each other, clinging really. They made love at some point, but it was just part of the hugging, like it always was, satisfying on some deep level that was more about connection than passion. Katy made tea and they watched the sunrise together, wrapped in a blanket, then showered and ate and went to church like always.
The next few weeks were a blur of prayer and tears, as they talked to their pastor, to each other, and finally to their families. They might have gotten an annulment—Katy could have claimed that Kris didn't tell her he was attracted to men—except that wasn't really true; Katy had always known everything. And Katy was firm that whatever Kris's sexuality was, it wasn't why they were separating. "I don't care," she said, "I'm not going to let you take that bullet."
But outside the immediate family, the story was that they were too young, that they had doubts. They'd been working hard, putting money away so they could move to New York or Los Angeles, for Kris's music and Katy's acting, and the exchanged wedding gifts (so many of them still in boxes) added to that fund. At Thanksgiving they went up to New York to find a place for Kris; Katy was headed for LA and a shared apartment with a sorority sister. But in a last spurt of wifeliness, she wanted to see Kris settled in personally.
So they spent their last New Year's Eve in the now-empty apartment, eating barbeque and drinking beer and toasting to 1996. In the morning, they got in the car for one last road trip, leaving Arkansas, and their marriage, behind.
Ramiele Malubuy was an adorable little bundle of energy in a hat. She was also incredibly efficient, leading some to wonder if Simon would give her up as an assistant in order to help her singing career. Her predecessor Kristy Lee Cook would probably say no, but Kelly Clarkson was on the radio now, and she'd been one of his first assistants-turned-proteges. Ramiele mostly worked out of Simon's office at Club Idol, so David and Adam met up with her there. Chris and Blake were there, too, Chris in the office with Ramiele while Blake stood in the booth playing some Luscious Jackson track Adam vaguely recognized: I will call him supersolid.
"I've made you boys appointments with Paula and Councilman Gokey," she said. "Is there anyone else?"
"I don't think so," Adam replied. "But thanks."
"Anything to help," she said.
"Did you notice anything strange that day?" he asked. "You were here in the afternoon weren't you?"
"I was. Pretty normal day, mostly. Helped him with some paperwork for the accountant, then I headed over to AGT after dinner."
David nodded. "Chris, did you?" he asked.
"Well," he said, "after you left Simon realized he only had one pack of cigs left and turned into a real bear."
"Oh, that's why he was so pissy?" Adam asked.
"Yeah. Ryan ended up bringing him a whole carton when he came down to the club that night."
"But that doesn't make any sense," Ramiele said. "I filled that drawer Tuesday, before we all went over to AGT."
David nodded; Tuesday night Club Idol was dark. "Could he have gone through them or given them away?" he asked.
"Five cartons?" she asked.
"How does the drawer work, anyway?" Adam asked.
"Here, I'll show you," Ramiele said, walking over to the desk. It was a large, heavy wooden desk with drawers on both sides and a full panel in the front. Ramiele opened the second drawer on the right side, then felt along the inside top of the drawer. "There's a latch on the underside, right here."
Adam reached in and felt where she had said, and the drawer in the middle—which merely looked like part of the desk's very solid top—sprung open. It was a shallow drawer, about ten inches wide, and not much more than a foot long.
"Wow," David said, walking over to inspect the drawer. "That drug package barely fit." Chris stood on the other side of the desk, looking on.
"Just deep enough for cigarettes," Adam said.
"So whoever tipped off the cops told them how to open the drawer," Adam said.
"Well, obviously," David said, "since we watched them open it."
Adam rolled his eyes but held his tongue. "Thanks, Ramiele," he said. "So, Chris who was here that day?"
"Well," Chris said, thinking, "it was mostly just the folks who were working. I opened up around noon because there was a delivery coming in, but Simon came in a little after that with Ramiele here, and we all worked until around seven, when we broke for staff dinner and Ramiele left for AGT. Simon made some phone calls before joining us, and that's when he mentioned that he was running out of Kools. You were at dinner, Adam, so you know as well as I do who was here."
"Who other than you has keys?" David asked.
"Simon—well, Ryan has those now—Matt, and the landlord," he replied. "Why?"
David shrugged. "Just seems like the kind of question we should be asking," he said, then turned to Adam. "We should probably go now."
"Yeah," Adam replied, picking up his jacket. "Thanks, guys."
"I tell you," he said, finally sitting down after offering them coffee, tea, a soft drink, hard candy, a sandwich, and some chocolate, all of which they declined, "you coulda knocked me right over when I heard about Mr. Cowell. I know we've had our differences, but he was always so firm about keeping drugs out of his club, which I appreciated. I never dreamed he had a friend who actually dealt those drugs, nor that he did them himself."
Adam balled his hands into fists, to keep from rolling his eyes. "About those differences, Councilman—" Adam said.
"Please," he said, smiling again, "call me Danny."
"Uh, Danny—the way I understand it, you had put forth a bill for tighter noise restrictions?"
Gokey's mouth flattened into a firm line. "I feel it's important for the good working people of this city, no matter what neighborhood they live in, to be able to go to sleep at a decent hour, without worrying about loud music, or folks out on the streets hollering under their windows. So I wanted to keep the current law but move it forward just a few hours."
"From three am to midnight," Adam said.
"Yes, because good working people are asleep by then," Gokey replied.
"Except the ones who work in restaurants and night clubs," David said.
"Yes, well," Gokey said, "after I introduced that bill, and got a good bit of support from my friends representing Staten Island and Astoria and the like, a few folks explained to me the importance of the cabaret business to both tourism and the overall economics of the city."
"And Simon Cowell gave you the use of Club Idol," Adam said.
"Well," Gokey said, smiling again, "Mr. Cowell was one of those people doing the explaining. And in those discussions we got to talking about how to do good for this city, all the volunteer work that gets done, and I mentioned my own charity, and he was very receptive."
"I'm sure he was," David said.
Gokey turned and picked up a framed photograph from the credenza behind his desk. "My wife Sophia. She died a few years ago."
"I'm very sorry," Adam said, though he, and anyone else who'd ever heard of Gokey, had heard this story before.
"Nearly wrecked my life," Gokey said. "But then a friend suggested that I take all that pain and use it for good, you know, keep moving forward? And I'd been working on local projects in Bay Ridge, through my church and all, so running for city council was the next logical step, and here I am." He put the photo back. "Mr. Cowell was very responsive to my story—he's a good man, deep down, I think—and when he heard that I'd created this charity in her name, Sophia's Heart, he was more than happy to oblige with his lovely space and staff for a fundraising event."
Adam remembered that night—he'd ditched the platforms and the makeup, refusing to be on display for a bunch of bridge-and-tunnel fat cats wanting to check out the club kid freak show who otherwise never went below 14th street. Jewel floated out of the little clock radio on Gokey's desk—who will save your souls if you won't save your own—and Adam figured that the night of the benefit was the first time Gokey had ever been in a club. "So you let the bill die," he said.
"As I said, the arguments against it were persuasive," Gokey said, shrugging. "But God works in mysterious ways, because while I still miss Sophia, that very night her spirit guided me to the wonderful young lady that I'm lucky enough to still be seeing."
"Really?" Adam asked.
"Yes, I think she knows both of you," Gokey replied. "Kristy Lee Cook?"
"Huh," David said.
"And I heard you left," David said. "What happened?"
Kristy Lee scowled as she poured coffee for the two men. "What happened? Nothing happened! We can't all be Simon's favorites like you two are."
"Come on, now, Simon always liked you, or he wouldn't have had you working for him," David said.
"Liked how I looked, you mean," she replied. "Not so much how I sounded, or the kinds of songs I wanted to sing. We all know he hates country."
"He did great things for Carrie," Adam pointed out.
"Yeah, well, Carrie was better at using him than I am," Kristy Lee said. "And he was always comparing me to her, and I couldn't measure up. I'm not a good Carrie, but I'm a damned good Kristy Lee."
"Of course you are," David said.
Kristy Lee frowned again. "So when I met Danny at that party, I just—I realized what it was like to have someone value you, instead of belittle you." She bit her lip. "He's not a very nice man."
"Who, Gokey?" Adam asked.
"No, Simon Cowell," she said, shaking her head. "Danny Gokey is a very good man who's doing amazing things for this city, and he's only getting started. You'll see."
"The benefit was in September," Adam said, "and you've been seeing him ever since?"
"Yeah," she said, smiling now. "He's just been wonderful, really wonderful. He gave me the strength to get myself out from under Simon's thumb, and now I've been doing all of this work with his charity, and I feel so free now."
David smiled at her, and put his hand over hers. "I'm glad," he said, "but are you singing?"
She looked away. "No, I haven't been. Not lately."
They were silent for a moment, then Adam said, "So, what are your thoughts on this mess Simon's in now?"
She looked up, quick, her eyes flashing. "I think if you lay down with dogs you're gonna get up with fleas, is what I think."
"You think the drugs were his?" David asked.
"Actually, no," she replied. "He never did drugs while I worked for him, don't know why he'd start now, and he was serious about the no drugs in the club. But that Nigel—I'm just sorry someone who's supposed to be his old friend would do him such a bad turn."
"Do you know what it is that Simon has on Nigel?" Adam asked.
"No," she replied. "I don't think anyone does, except maybe Ryan. It isn't something he tells his assistants or managers, if that's what you're asking."
David cocked his head. "Didn't you date Anoop for a while?"
"Yeah, but that was a big mistake," she said, smiling ruefully. "He was flashy, and funny, and I fell for it. Lots of girls do. Not many stick around, though."
David leaned in close, and asked, low, "Did he ever tell you anything about Nigel's organization?"
Kristy Lee shrugged. "Not really. Took me to get the stuff once—what was that, some zombie box or something?"
"Dead drop," David said. "He took you to his dead drop?"
"Yeah," she said. "I'd heard a woman leave a message on his machine and I got jealous, so he took me there to prove that nothing was going on."
"Jesus," Adam said, shaking his head. "It's like he thinks he's in a movie or something."
"What do you mean?" Kristy Lee asked.
"If Nigel ever found out?" Adam said. "Anoop would be in the kind of trouble I don't think he can handle."
"Wow," she said. "I never thought about it."
"Have you seen him lately?" David asked.
"Of course not," Kristy Lee said. "I can't date a councilman and be hanging around with dealers."
"True." David looked down at his watch. "Okay, we need to go, but look, just, think about coming back to Idol? Maybe? I know Simon left you an open door, and he could use the friends right now."
Kristy Lee sighed. "I'll think about it."
"How many do you have up on Broadway right now?" Adam asked.
"One now, one just closed, one coming in April—and I'm very excited about a new project I can't talk about quite yet." She squealed.
"You're quite the in-demand choreographer, Paula," David said.
"Well, it never rains but it pours!" she said. "And by the way, if either of you ever want me to put in a good word—"
They shook their heads. "I'm doing the rocker thing right now," David said.
"Me too," Adam replied.
Paula shrugged. "Musical theater's loss, then," she said, settling them in her living room, which was decorated in shades of brown, with a few Cherokee red pillows here and there. Mariah Carey was playing on a Bose radio in the corner. "So," she said, "I guess you're here about Simon?"
"Yeah," David said.
"Well, I for one just can't believe it," she said. "I can't believe that Nigel, I don't know what he's thinking."
"How well do you know Nigel?" Adam asked.
"We would see him from time to time," she said. "When I was with Simon, Nigel wasn't as big time as he is now. He was still working his way up. So things were a little more dangerous."
"That was back in the eighties?"
"Simon and I finally split up in '89," she said, "but really, we led separate lives from about '85 on, and we were never that romantic to begin with. But I also knew Nigel because when he first got here he was still a choreographer."
"Did you dance for him?" Adam asked.
"A lot of people danced for him," she said. "Oh, of course you don't know. He came over to the US with Cats, and worked with all the replacement dancers."
"So why did he start dealing drugs?" David asked.
"I don't know," Paula said. "Simon said something once that implied that he'd been selling them back in London, but Simon was always very close-mouthed where Nigel was concerned so I never got anything more out of him."
"But that's why he uses all those dancers, in his organization," David said.
Paula shook her head. "He thinks it's a good thing," she said. "Dancers have such a short time to really dance, and he is very stern about not allowing any of his people to use anything he's selling. I don't know how he does that, given how much of it is around all the time, but there it is. He thinks he's giving them some money, a flexible job for when they aren't getting parts. But there must be something better. And some choreographers, if they know a dancer has worked with Nigel they won't hire them."
"Really?" Adam said. "Does that include you?"
"No, actually," Paula replied. "But I know Nigel, so that's different. And he's training a lot of good choreographers now, and that plus all the people who'd worked with him on Cats will probably mean that this particular prejudice will go away." She smiled. "That is, if he doesn't end up in jail, and bring the rest of them down with him."
"Think Simon will turn over on Nigel?" David asked.
"Not a chance," Paula said. "He's a stubborn old bastard, but he's also loyal."
"Know anyone who'd have it in for him" Adam asked.
"Not really. Not me anyway—my alimony would stop!" She laughed, slapping her knee. "But seriously, I can't think of anyone. Business rivals maybe, but I don't think any of them know about the lease. Maybe the landlord?"
"The lease?" David asked.
"Oh, I would have thought Hernandez would have told you about that," she said. "The lease on the Idol space is why I got such a big settlement, because Simon couldn't let me tell the truth in court. Not just about Ryan, but whatever else was going on."
"Paula, what do you mean?" Adam asked.
"Sorry! I never can tell a story from the beginning," she said. "There's an ethics clause in the lease. Del Toro is a real stickler, so Simon can't be up to any kind of funny business and keep the space. I'm not sure of the extent of it, but I know he couldn't let me accuse him of adultery in the divorce."
"Wow," David said. "Well, clearly just being arrested isn't enough, or something already would have happened."
Paula shrugged. "You'd have to ask Hernandez." Her phone rang. "Excuse me, won't you?" she said, and walked into a smaller room off the living room.
"Jeez," Adam whispered to David.
"Wonder why Hernandez didn't tell us," David replied.
Paula stepped into the room. "Adam, it's for you."
Adam walked over to her—the small room was actually an office, the desk covered with photos of Paula with various people, including one of her, Simon, Ryan, and Randy Jackson. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Kris. I've been looking all over for you. You need to come down to the club."
"Why?" he asked, picking up a photo of Paula with a pretty brunette he could have sworn he'd seen before. "I don't have to be at work for another couple of hours."
"Yeah, but Chris Richardson called," Kris said, "and they need you and me to do something else? I don't know, he wasn't very clear on the phone about it."
"Where are you right now?" Adam asked.
"I'm driving down the West Side Highway," Kris replied. "I was giving a lesson on the Upper West Side."
"If I give you directions to Paula's can you pick us up?" Adam asked.
"I can do that," Kris said.
Adam did so. When he hung up, he saw that Paula was in the doorway. "Who is this?" he asked, indicating the photo.
"Oh, an old friend of mine," she said, putting the photo back quickly. "We roomed together briefly after my divorce, when she was in law school."
"You've got friends all over the place, don't you?" Adam asked, smiling.
"That I do," Paula said.
"Thanks," Kris said.
"Hey, see that girl?" Adam asked, pointing to a blonde woman in a red dress standing across the street.
"Yeah?" David asked.
"I swear, I thought I saw her when we were at City Hall," he said.
"Well, we're not far from there now," David replied. "So it's possible."
"What did you guys find out today?" Kris asked.
"A lot? Nothing? I don't know," Adam said.
"There's something funny about the lease, that's one thing."
"Yeah, if you can drop me off at the A train up here," David said. "I called Hernandez from Paula's and he said he'd talk to me tonight if I go right up there."
"Cool," Kris said.
"Rich didn't say what he wanted?" Adam asked.
Kris looked up in the rear view mirror, where he could see Adam folded up in the back seat. "Nope," he replied. "Just to come to the club."
They dropped David off, who promised to check in as soon as he could, and then went to Idol. Inside, they found Chris sitting with Giuliana Rancic, who co-hosted MTV News with Ryan. Kris had seen her in the club a few times, but had never met her. She was pretty, with brown hair and big eyes and a heart-shaped face.
"Adam!" she said, giving him a hug. "And you must be Kris Allen?"
"Yes ma'am," he said.
"Ma'am! I'm not that old!" she said, slapping him on the shoulder. "You sound like Ryan!"
"I didn't mean it like that!" Kris protested.
"Sure," Giuliana said, but she didn't sound like she believed him. "Anyway, I'm here because Simon called me today, and he's worried about Ryan."
"Oh?" Adam asked.
"Surprise surprise, he's not taking care of himself," she said. "He can hide it at work, but—"
"But you can't hide anything from Simon," Adam finished.
"At least, Ryan can't, and he visited Simon this morning and kinda freaked him out," she said. "So he asked that you two get over there as soon as you can."
"Um, I think we're both on shift tonight," Kris said.
"Don't worry about that," Chris Richardson said. "We've got people covering for both of you."
"The door?" Adam asked.
"Actually, we got an old friend of the club," he said, nodding to the front door which was just opening then.
"Hey guys," said Kristy Lee Cook.
"Welcome back," Chris said.
"Thanks," she said, smiling shyly.
Giuliana turned to the boys. "Plan on staying at least through Monday," she said. "It'll probably take the whole weekend to get him back on track. Here's some money for groceries, and his extra keys," she said, handing them to Kris. "He'll be at MTV until about eight, so you need to be settled in before then."
"And then we ambush him or something?" Adam asked. "I mean, this is kinda weird."
"Just make sure he's eating right," she said. "And working out, and shaving, and keeping the place clean, and all of that. You know how he gets, and I don't like it when he's alone too much. He starts texting everyone all the time."
"Well, I'll have to go to Brooklyn to get my things," Kris said. He turned to Adam. "Wanna take a ride?"
Adam smiled. "Love to."
Kris's apartment was as small, tidy, and empty as his car. He shrugged off the guitar strapped to his back and indicated that Adam sit on the stool in front of the electronic keyboard. Kris then bent over to reach under his futon.
Adam stared at Kris's ass—what did Kris care, he was looking the other way—and then as he pulled out a backpack turned quickly to the large CD rack next to him. "Guess you like singer-songwriters," he said.
"Well, that's what I am, ideally," Kris said, opening his closet.
"Lots of ladies, too."
Kris shoved a pair of jeans into his backpack, hesitated, then followed with some army green twill pants. "I like singing songs by girls."
"Hmm, k.d.lang, Melissa Etheridge, Indigo Girls. I hate to say it, but you're not a gay man."
"No?" Kris asked, folding long-sleeved plaid shirts and putting them in the bag.
"No, Kris Allen, you are a lesbian. You even have the plaid shirts!"
He snickered. "Shut up!" he said.
Adam looked at the photo on top of the case. "This your sister?" he asked, indicating the pretty blonde girl.
Kris turned from the dresser, t-shirts in hand. "No, that's, um, Katy," he said. "My ex-wife."
"Oh," Adam said. "Right. So you're still … close?"
"Yeah, I mean, she's my best friend," Kris replied. "Only now I guess she's my what, my fag hag?"
"She's not sore about the whole gay thing?" Adam asked.
Kris was shoving boxers and socks into his bag atop the t-shirts. "That isn't really why we split up," he said, "so no, she's not."
"Huh," Adam said, not sure what Kris could possibly mean by that. "She's back in Arkansas?"
"No, she went to LA after she helped me move here," he said, pulling sweaters out of the bottom drawer. "She's an actress. She just got a Crest commercial, actually."
"Wow, great," Adam replied, and wondered how to change the subject. "Oh, is this your lyric notebook?" he asked, seeing the open spiral bound book.
"Yeah. I mean, you can go ahead and look at it. I don't care." Kris wandered into the bathroom.
Adam's eyes widened. There were very few he'd let just look through his lyric notebook—Allison maybe, and his own brother just because he would ignore Adam telling him not to read it—so he felt kind of honored by the trust Kris was showing him. Which meant, of course, that he'd have to make light of it. "Okay, you're definitely a lesbian," he called out, "because you're writing about a tortured female poet who killed herself. You might as well move to Park Slope and get a big dog."
Kris poked his head out the door. "I like her poems," he said. "But it's not really about her anyway."
Adam nodded. "I hope you play it for me sometime," he said.
Kris came back out of the bathroom with a handful of toiletries, and smiled at Adam. "Maybe I will," he said. "Speaking of which, we should pack up this keyboard."
Adam helped him fasten the cover and collapse the stand, and Kris grabbed the headphones and the small speaker.
Kris closed the backpack and looked around. "Okay, that's it," he said.
"Everything you need for four days fits in one backpack?" Adam asked.
"Yeah. What, like dating guys means I have to use more hair products?"
"Hey man," Adam said, "I saw that thing of Bed Head you packed."
Kris rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
"Sure," Adam said with a shrug.
"Sure?" Kris asked.
"U2 isn't really my thing."
Kris sat back against the door. "I thought you were a rocker."
"Yeah, but like, David Bowie, or the Stones, or harder stuff."
"REM?" he asked.
"Um …"
"Okay, if I have to be a lesbian?" Kris said, "I'm taking away your Gen X membership card."
"Hey! I like Madonna and Michael Jackson!"
Kris shook his head. "Fine, I have Off the Wall."
"Yay!" Adam said. "See, we can meet in the middle."
As they came over the bridge, the sun was beginning to set, giant and orange over the still snow-covered city. Michael sang: keep on with the force don't stop and Kris and Adam swayed in their seats, dancing to the music.
"God, that city is gorgeous," Adam said.
"It sure is," Kris said, sighing.
Adam's packing took much less time than Kris thought it would. Not that he didn't have far, far more to pack in terms of clothing and toiletries, but he was meticulous enough to have planned his outfits several days in advance so no decision making was necessary. Kris sat on the couch with Allison, watching as Adam filled a suitcase with military precision. "Oh, before I forget," Kris said, reaching into his messenger bag, "here's a song I found for you, for the showcase." He handed Allison a tape. "It's a classic, pretty straight forward; I'm sure Carly's band could learn it."
"Seriously?" she asked. "Thanks, man!"
Kris shrugged. "I heard it and it sounded like you."
"All right," Adam said, emerging from his bedroom with a large garment bag, a smaller hard-sided cosmetics case, and a rolling suitcase almost as tall as Kris.
"Jesus, Adam," Kris said, shaking his head.
"What?" Adam asked.
"Never mind."
After getting Adam's things packed in the car (good thing no one was riding in the back seat) they headed over to Ryan Seacrest's townhouse on west 24th street. They grabbed some things from the car and let themselves in.
"Oh," Kris said.
"Damn," Adam said.
The kitchen and living room were strewn with junk food wrappers and empty boxes of cookies. A pizza box sat atop the trash can. Upstairs there were clothes all over the bedroom, as if several outfits had been selected and discarded. A pile of VHS tapes had slumped over in front of the entertainment unit.
"How did he do this in less than forty-eight hours?" Adam asked, shaking his head.
Kris glanced at his watch. "What should we do first?"
Adam looked around. "Get rid of all this junk food, then go to Whole Foods and get some vegetables into this house."
As they went back downstairs, Kris asked, "I dunno, what's wrong with a little comfort food?"
Adam turned to him, bewildered, and then said, "Oh, of course, you don't know." He led Kris into the small office and pulled a photo album from the bookshelf, which he opened, pointing to a picture of a round-faced kid, no more than twelve, with glasses and braces.
"Recognize him?" Adam asked.
"Who?" Kris replied, taking a closer look. "Oh my god, that's Ryan."
"Yep. He was a fat little kid. So was I, actually, kind of."
Kris looked up at Adam, but Adam neither looked back nor stopped talking.
"But when he gets upset he binges on crap, and then doesn't eat all day because he freaks out about getting fat again."
"Like last night at sushi."
"Exactly. So we need to fill his fridge and freezer with the good stuff."
Two hours later, Kris wondered if he'd ever chopped so much in his life. Adam had every pan in the place on the stove and was making two different stews, a meatloaf that had no meat in it, a pasta sauce with ground turkey, and eggplant chili, and that was just for the freezer; for that night Adam planned some kind of Thai noodle and tofu dish. Kris was cursing his ability to chop onions without crying as he sliced through the seventh or eighth one of the day when they heard the key in the lock.
Adam grinned at Kris. "Let's meet him at the door."
So they walked around the corner to the entryway, still in their aprons. Ryan looked up and Adam smiled, saying "Hi honey, how was work today? Dinner's almost ready. Can I fix you a drink?"
Ryan stared in surprise and barked out a laugh. "What—how did you—"
Seeing Ryan stammering, Kris walked over to him and gave him a big hug. He felt Ryan tense, then relax into his arms. Ryan shifted his head to look up at Adam, then said, simply, "Thanks."
"You call this warm?" Michael said, rubbing his hand together.
David smiled. It was a bit of a hike from the subway to Ryan's house, by Manhattan standards, but David's midwestern blood refused to see 30º as a cold winter night. Michael, though, was proving very uninterested in going out into a snowy New York winter all that often, except to the TV network or to look at more apartments. Do him good to get out just for fun.
"This isn't gonna be another snipe-fest with Miss Lambert, is it?" Michael said.
David shrugged as he rang the buzzer. "That's up to her," he replied. "I just want to see how they're settling in with Ryan, see if they need anything."
"Sure you do, Dave," Michael said.
Kris answered the door, wearing a big apron. "Oh, hey guys! Come on in, we were just about to sit down to dinner."
"Oh, we don't want to interrupt anything," David said.
"No, no, let me just check real quick but I'm sure there's plenty." He disappeared down the hall, and David could just hear him and Adam muttering, then Kris ran back. "Dudes, take off your coats. We're having pad thai and some other stuff, hope that's okay."
"You know," Mike said, "we'll run down to the corner and get some beer to go with that, shall we? Can't come to dinner empty handed!"
So they grabbed a few six packs of Singha, and by the time they got back there were spring rolls and pad thai and salad to go with it. Ryan presided from the head of the table, cheerful probably thanks to the company, and Adam was pleasant enough. Not so difficult, David felt, when they stuck to Simon's case.
"So Hernandez said that the ethics clause in the lease kicks in when there's an actual judgment made against him in court," David said. "That's why Simon couldn't afford to have Paula prove that he'd been an adulterer. Uh, sorry, Ryan."
"No, please," Ryan said. "I was the other woman for a while, I admit it. It was a long time ago."
"Anyway," David continued, "Simon would have to be convicted. So even if they made it some kind of misdemeanor and let him off with time served, he still could lose the lease. What's more, I know you guys have been living there but coming back after a few months, it's shocking what's been happening to that neighborhood. I mean, three Gaps in walking distance from Club Idol? Does that even make any sense? And that big paperback bookstore gone, and some Barnes & Noble moving in?"
"So Mr. Del Toro would jump all over an opportunity to break the lease," Adam said.
"Financially it would make sense," David said. "I can't imagine Simon is paying for that space what some mall store would pay."
"But we have no proof that Del Toro is connected to Lythgoe," Kris pointed out.
"Yeah, and that's the gap," David said. "But leases are a matter of public record, so anyone could look it up and see the clause."
"So if someone is trying to fuck Simon," Adam said, "they wouldn't have to have the big charges stick in order to do it."
"Exactly."
"Well, I'd rather be the only one trying to fuck Simon," Ryan said, "thank you very much."
"I'll drink to that," Michael said, and four other beer bottles clinked with his.
Ryan took a big drink, then said, "So, Cook, I hear the guys in your band will be here soon?"
David nodded. "Monday morning," he said. "I can't wait."
"Where are they staying?" Kris asked. "Carly said you guys are pretty full up."
"My hotel room," Michael said, "until I find a place. Then they'll just take over Dave and Carls's lease."
"Wait, Carly is moving in with you two?" Adam asked.
"Well, she is my wife," David said.
Adam shook his head. "You guys are seriously weird."
David shrugged. "As long as Immigration buys it, I don't care how it looks."
Adam didn't seem to have a good answer to that, as he turned to Kris. "Hey, what was that song you gave Allison?"
"Oh," he said, "this old song by Shocking Blue, 'Send Me a Postcard.'"
"Really?" David said, surprised. "I love that song! Such a classic!"
"Yeah?" Kris asked. "Your band ever play it? I mean, do you guys know it?"
"Absolutely," David said. "I love singing girl songs."
Adam rolled his eyes at that, but David ignored him, focussing instead on Kris's answering grin.
"Would you guys play it behind Allie, if she decides to sing it at the showcase?" Kris asked.
"God, of course," David replied. "Absolutely, be glad to."
Adam cocked his head. "Really, you'd do that?"
"Why not?" David said.
"I dunno, Kris, didn't you say something about Simon wanting it to be some weird competition, between Allie and David's guy?"
"Archie," Michael said.
"Archie, yeah, between Allie and Archie?" Adam asked.
"Let me tell you something about Simon," Ryan said. "I love him, obviously I love him a lot. But his whole weird thing about catty girls and bitchy boys fighting for his amusement, well, I wouldn't take it too seriously. His bewilderment by people who are kind and genuine is his own problem. I mean, I can be nice, and he seems to like me. I don't think that's a side of him to be emulated." He looked up as the doorbell chimed. "God, it's like Grand Central Station around here all of a sudden," he said.
"Stay put, I'll go," David said.
At the door was a blonde in a red dress—the same girl Adam had pointed out earlier—only upon closer look, that was no girl. "And you are?" he asked.
"I'm Danielle." She grinned and handed him a small package. "Compliments of Nigel Lythgoe," she said, curtseying.
"This isn't a bomb or anything, is it?" David asked, shaking the box.
"No, no," she said, "it's very pleasant. Ta!" She waved her fingers and skipped down the stairs and away.
David shut the door, still a bit confused, and returned to the table. "Well, now we know who was following us today—some drag queen working for Nigel."
"Kinda creepy," Kris said.
David shrugged. "He said he'd know where we were, so I'm not surprised."
"At least he's kind of a friend?" Adam said.
"Anyway, she gave me this box, said it was for Ryan." He took a knife from the table to cut through the paper tape, and opened the box. "Well," he said, raising his eyebrows and taking a plastic bag out of the box, "what do we have here?"
Michael took the bag and smelled it. "What we have here, gentlemen," he said, "is a very nice supply of premium grade marijuana."
They all looked to Ryan, who shrugged and said, "Well, we can't smoke it in the living room. I'll never get the smell out of the upholstery."
Have His Caretakers
Title: Keep Your Enemies Closer, Chapter 4: A Few Red Herrings
Pairing: American Idol: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen; established Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Simon Cowell, manager of pop star hopefuls and owner of the hot downtown Club Idol, has been framed for a crime he didn't commit. Can new kid Kris Allen convince rival divas David Cook and Adam Lambert to work together to clear Simon's name? And what will happen when Simon asks Adam and Kris to "take care" of his boyfriend Ryan for him?
This chapter: Club kid detectives Adam and David have some more suspects to question. Then Simon asks Adam and Kris to take on a different kind of special assignment.
Chapter Length: 7400 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Keep Your Enemies Closer is an mystery AU set in the New York club scene of the mid-90s, when a rapidly gentrifying East Village contained chain stores and after hours clubs, hungry young artists and heroin dealers. As usual, there will be plenty of music to set the scene and bring you back to a time not long ago. This story is entirely written, but being posted in chapters once per week.
Thank you to
ali_wildgoose, who as usual went well beyond the call of beta-duty on this one, dreamerren, who encouraged me to keep going when I'd hit an impasse, and honestys_easy, who helped me give it that final polish. This chapter from Five Red Herrings by Dorothy L. Sayers.The Unpleasantness at Club Idol | Whose Heroin? | Crowds of Witness
a few red herrings
This is how it happened:
Kris and Katy had gone to have dinner with some college friends who had recently gotten engaged. With all of seven months under their belts, Kris and Katy were the old marrieds of their friends and so were often asked for advice. This night was no exception, though Kris wasn't sure what kind of advice he could really give to anyone else, as his success was mostly "marry the pretty girl you met at 15 because she's damn near perfect and seems willing to put up with your sorry ass and call you on your shit when necessary." But it had been a little weird because the other couple were so all over each other, and then the woman asked if it stopped when you were married, and Kris and Katy just looked at each other, because they'd never been like that.
And even that wouldn't have been a big deal, except that the week before Katy had found Kris's stash, and had freaked out when she saw that most of the mags were male. Kris didn't see what the issue was, because he was happily committed to Katy, and didn't think it really mattered who he was fantasizing about in his non-Katy time, because all of them were equally inaccessible, and reminded her of the time she had a little too much to drink at a frat party and kissed a sorority sister of hers. Which was fine, because she'd told him about it at the time, and it was just a kiss so whatever—Kris had mostly been annoyed that other men got to see Katy kiss a girl and he hadn't—but he hadn't so much as touched a guy.
So the ride home from that particular dinner was pretty damned awkward. Finally Kris said, "You know, your parents aren't all over each other all the time."
"Yours are," she said.
"Yeah, well, my parents are different. Most people's daddies don't cry at the drop of a hat, either."
"Yeah," she said.
"And we touch plenty. I mean, we're always touching, you know, holding hands and such."
"Yeah," she said.
"I just don't think we should put too much stock into—"
"Do you ever think about me when you masturbate, Kris?" she asked.
"What?" he said, and almost ran the car off the road. "What? Of course I do. I always have. I mean, those mags are just for sometimes—"
"Do you ever feel like you just can't wait to get home to have sex with me?"
"I, well, sure," he said, though he wasn't sure when, but he had to have, at some point. And there were those days when he was just really horny, so that had to count.
"Because I don't," she said. "I don't feel like that about you, about us."
"Oh," Kris said, and his first thought was that he couldn't believe this was happening in their car and couldn't she have waited until they got home?
"I'm sorry," she said, softly.
"No, I mean, don't be sorry," he replied. He leaned his elbow against the window and propped his head up with his hand. "I want you to tell me the truth about things. Just, um …"
"What?"
"How do you know? Like, that you don't feel that way? How do you know?"
Katy smiled a little and cocked her head. "Because I've felt that way about other people," she said. "Other men."
Kris kept his eyes on the road, trying to keep breathing. The stereo in the car was playing: it may be unwise, you may be right, but I don't mind
"They were just crushes," she said. "Nothing like how I feel about you. You've had them too, I know you have because you told me."
And he had. One of his fellow travelers on the mission to South Africa, this fella from South Dakota, who was just so cool that he couldn't stop writing to Katy about him, wanted to be around him all the time, and okay, so he'd thought about what it would be like to kiss him, but he never even thought about doing anything because, Katy. And he figured since Katy was still in his head, even when that guy was there, that Katy really was more important.
"Okay, so I have," Kris said, "but I never stopped thinking about you."
"I know," she said. "And—look, I meant all the things I've ever said. You're my best friend; I want to have your children; I want to grow old with you. But what if—what if we can have this and that?"
"But with someone else," Kris said.
"Yeah," Katy said, sadly. "With someone else."
They didn't say anything more that night, just lay in bed holding each other, clinging really. They made love at some point, but it was just part of the hugging, like it always was, satisfying on some deep level that was more about connection than passion. Katy made tea and they watched the sunrise together, wrapped in a blanket, then showered and ate and went to church like always.
The next few weeks were a blur of prayer and tears, as they talked to their pastor, to each other, and finally to their families. They might have gotten an annulment—Katy could have claimed that Kris didn't tell her he was attracted to men—except that wasn't really true; Katy had always known everything. And Katy was firm that whatever Kris's sexuality was, it wasn't why they were separating. "I don't care," she said, "I'm not going to let you take that bullet."
But outside the immediate family, the story was that they were too young, that they had doubts. They'd been working hard, putting money away so they could move to New York or Los Angeles, for Kris's music and Katy's acting, and the exchanged wedding gifts (so many of them still in boxes) added to that fund. At Thanksgiving they went up to New York to find a place for Kris; Katy was headed for LA and a shared apartment with a sorority sister. But in a last spurt of wifeliness, she wanted to see Kris settled in personally.
So they spent their last New Year's Eve in the now-empty apartment, eating barbeque and drinking beer and toasting to 1996. In the morning, they got in the car for one last road trip, leaving Arkansas, and their marriage, behind.
Ramiele Malubuy was an adorable little bundle of energy in a hat. She was also incredibly efficient, leading some to wonder if Simon would give her up as an assistant in order to help her singing career. Her predecessor Kristy Lee Cook would probably say no, but Kelly Clarkson was on the radio now, and she'd been one of his first assistants-turned-proteges. Ramiele mostly worked out of Simon's office at Club Idol, so David and Adam met up with her there. Chris and Blake were there, too, Chris in the office with Ramiele while Blake stood in the booth playing some Luscious Jackson track Adam vaguely recognized: I will call him supersolid.
"I've made you boys appointments with Paula and Councilman Gokey," she said. "Is there anyone else?"
"I don't think so," Adam replied. "But thanks."
"Anything to help," she said.
"Did you notice anything strange that day?" he asked. "You were here in the afternoon weren't you?"
"I was. Pretty normal day, mostly. Helped him with some paperwork for the accountant, then I headed over to AGT after dinner."
David nodded. "Chris, did you?" he asked.
"Well," he said, "after you left Simon realized he only had one pack of cigs left and turned into a real bear."
"Oh, that's why he was so pissy?" Adam asked.
"Yeah. Ryan ended up bringing him a whole carton when he came down to the club that night."
"But that doesn't make any sense," Ramiele said. "I filled that drawer Tuesday, before we all went over to AGT."
David nodded; Tuesday night Club Idol was dark. "Could he have gone through them or given them away?" he asked.
"Five cartons?" she asked.
"How does the drawer work, anyway?" Adam asked.
"Here, I'll show you," Ramiele said, walking over to the desk. It was a large, heavy wooden desk with drawers on both sides and a full panel in the front. Ramiele opened the second drawer on the right side, then felt along the inside top of the drawer. "There's a latch on the underside, right here."
Adam reached in and felt where she had said, and the drawer in the middle—which merely looked like part of the desk's very solid top—sprung open. It was a shallow drawer, about ten inches wide, and not much more than a foot long.
"Wow," David said, walking over to inspect the drawer. "That drug package barely fit." Chris stood on the other side of the desk, looking on.
"Just deep enough for cigarettes," Adam said.
"So whoever tipped off the cops told them how to open the drawer," Adam said.
"Well, obviously," David said, "since we watched them open it."
Adam rolled his eyes but held his tongue. "Thanks, Ramiele," he said. "So, Chris who was here that day?"
"Well," Chris said, thinking, "it was mostly just the folks who were working. I opened up around noon because there was a delivery coming in, but Simon came in a little after that with Ramiele here, and we all worked until around seven, when we broke for staff dinner and Ramiele left for AGT. Simon made some phone calls before joining us, and that's when he mentioned that he was running out of Kools. You were at dinner, Adam, so you know as well as I do who was here."
"Who other than you has keys?" David asked.
"Simon—well, Ryan has those now—Matt, and the landlord," he replied. "Why?"
David shrugged. "Just seems like the kind of question we should be asking," he said, then turned to Adam. "We should probably go now."
"Yeah," Adam replied, picking up his jacket. "Thanks, guys."
"I tell you," he said, finally sitting down after offering them coffee, tea, a soft drink, hard candy, a sandwich, and some chocolate, all of which they declined, "you coulda knocked me right over when I heard about Mr. Cowell. I know we've had our differences, but he was always so firm about keeping drugs out of his club, which I appreciated. I never dreamed he had a friend who actually dealt those drugs, nor that he did them himself."
Adam balled his hands into fists, to keep from rolling his eyes. "About those differences, Councilman—" Adam said.
"Please," he said, smiling again, "call me Danny."
"Uh, Danny—the way I understand it, you had put forth a bill for tighter noise restrictions?"
Gokey's mouth flattened into a firm line. "I feel it's important for the good working people of this city, no matter what neighborhood they live in, to be able to go to sleep at a decent hour, without worrying about loud music, or folks out on the streets hollering under their windows. So I wanted to keep the current law but move it forward just a few hours."
"From three am to midnight," Adam said.
"Yes, because good working people are asleep by then," Gokey replied.
"Except the ones who work in restaurants and night clubs," David said.
"Yes, well," Gokey said, "after I introduced that bill, and got a good bit of support from my friends representing Staten Island and Astoria and the like, a few folks explained to me the importance of the cabaret business to both tourism and the overall economics of the city."
"And Simon Cowell gave you the use of Club Idol," Adam said.
"Well," Gokey said, smiling again, "Mr. Cowell was one of those people doing the explaining. And in those discussions we got to talking about how to do good for this city, all the volunteer work that gets done, and I mentioned my own charity, and he was very receptive."
"I'm sure he was," David said.
Gokey turned and picked up a framed photograph from the credenza behind his desk. "My wife Sophia. She died a few years ago."
"I'm very sorry," Adam said, though he, and anyone else who'd ever heard of Gokey, had heard this story before.
"Nearly wrecked my life," Gokey said. "But then a friend suggested that I take all that pain and use it for good, you know, keep moving forward? And I'd been working on local projects in Bay Ridge, through my church and all, so running for city council was the next logical step, and here I am." He put the photo back. "Mr. Cowell was very responsive to my story—he's a good man, deep down, I think—and when he heard that I'd created this charity in her name, Sophia's Heart, he was more than happy to oblige with his lovely space and staff for a fundraising event."
Adam remembered that night—he'd ditched the platforms and the makeup, refusing to be on display for a bunch of bridge-and-tunnel fat cats wanting to check out the club kid freak show who otherwise never went below 14th street. Jewel floated out of the little clock radio on Gokey's desk—who will save your souls if you won't save your own—and Adam figured that the night of the benefit was the first time Gokey had ever been in a club. "So you let the bill die," he said.
"As I said, the arguments against it were persuasive," Gokey said, shrugging. "But God works in mysterious ways, because while I still miss Sophia, that very night her spirit guided me to the wonderful young lady that I'm lucky enough to still be seeing."
"Really?" Adam asked.
"Yes, I think she knows both of you," Gokey replied. "Kristy Lee Cook?"
"Huh," David said.
"And I heard you left," David said. "What happened?"
Kristy Lee scowled as she poured coffee for the two men. "What happened? Nothing happened! We can't all be Simon's favorites like you two are."
"Come on, now, Simon always liked you, or he wouldn't have had you working for him," David said.
"Liked how I looked, you mean," she replied. "Not so much how I sounded, or the kinds of songs I wanted to sing. We all know he hates country."
"He did great things for Carrie," Adam pointed out.
"Yeah, well, Carrie was better at using him than I am," Kristy Lee said. "And he was always comparing me to her, and I couldn't measure up. I'm not a good Carrie, but I'm a damned good Kristy Lee."
"Of course you are," David said.
Kristy Lee frowned again. "So when I met Danny at that party, I just—I realized what it was like to have someone value you, instead of belittle you." She bit her lip. "He's not a very nice man."
"Who, Gokey?" Adam asked.
"No, Simon Cowell," she said, shaking her head. "Danny Gokey is a very good man who's doing amazing things for this city, and he's only getting started. You'll see."
"The benefit was in September," Adam said, "and you've been seeing him ever since?"
"Yeah," she said, smiling now. "He's just been wonderful, really wonderful. He gave me the strength to get myself out from under Simon's thumb, and now I've been doing all of this work with his charity, and I feel so free now."
David smiled at her, and put his hand over hers. "I'm glad," he said, "but are you singing?"
She looked away. "No, I haven't been. Not lately."
They were silent for a moment, then Adam said, "So, what are your thoughts on this mess Simon's in now?"
She looked up, quick, her eyes flashing. "I think if you lay down with dogs you're gonna get up with fleas, is what I think."
"You think the drugs were his?" David asked.
"Actually, no," she replied. "He never did drugs while I worked for him, don't know why he'd start now, and he was serious about the no drugs in the club. But that Nigel—I'm just sorry someone who's supposed to be his old friend would do him such a bad turn."
"Do you know what it is that Simon has on Nigel?" Adam asked.
"No," she replied. "I don't think anyone does, except maybe Ryan. It isn't something he tells his assistants or managers, if that's what you're asking."
David cocked his head. "Didn't you date Anoop for a while?"
"Yeah, but that was a big mistake," she said, smiling ruefully. "He was flashy, and funny, and I fell for it. Lots of girls do. Not many stick around, though."
David leaned in close, and asked, low, "Did he ever tell you anything about Nigel's organization?"
Kristy Lee shrugged. "Not really. Took me to get the stuff once—what was that, some zombie box or something?"
"Dead drop," David said. "He took you to his dead drop?"
"Yeah," she said. "I'd heard a woman leave a message on his machine and I got jealous, so he took me there to prove that nothing was going on."
"Jesus," Adam said, shaking his head. "It's like he thinks he's in a movie or something."
"What do you mean?" Kristy Lee asked.
"If Nigel ever found out?" Adam said. "Anoop would be in the kind of trouble I don't think he can handle."
"Wow," she said. "I never thought about it."
"Have you seen him lately?" David asked.
"Of course not," Kristy Lee said. "I can't date a councilman and be hanging around with dealers."
"True." David looked down at his watch. "Okay, we need to go, but look, just, think about coming back to Idol? Maybe? I know Simon left you an open door, and he could use the friends right now."
Kristy Lee sighed. "I'll think about it."
"How many do you have up on Broadway right now?" Adam asked.
"One now, one just closed, one coming in April—and I'm very excited about a new project I can't talk about quite yet." She squealed.
"You're quite the in-demand choreographer, Paula," David said.
"Well, it never rains but it pours!" she said. "And by the way, if either of you ever want me to put in a good word—"
They shook their heads. "I'm doing the rocker thing right now," David said.
"Me too," Adam replied.
Paula shrugged. "Musical theater's loss, then," she said, settling them in her living room, which was decorated in shades of brown, with a few Cherokee red pillows here and there. Mariah Carey was playing on a Bose radio in the corner. "So," she said, "I guess you're here about Simon?"
"Yeah," David said.
"Well, I for one just can't believe it," she said. "I can't believe that Nigel, I don't know what he's thinking."
"How well do you know Nigel?" Adam asked.
"We would see him from time to time," she said. "When I was with Simon, Nigel wasn't as big time as he is now. He was still working his way up. So things were a little more dangerous."
"That was back in the eighties?"
"Simon and I finally split up in '89," she said, "but really, we led separate lives from about '85 on, and we were never that romantic to begin with. But I also knew Nigel because when he first got here he was still a choreographer."
"Did you dance for him?" Adam asked.
"A lot of people danced for him," she said. "Oh, of course you don't know. He came over to the US with Cats, and worked with all the replacement dancers."
"So why did he start dealing drugs?" David asked.
"I don't know," Paula said. "Simon said something once that implied that he'd been selling them back in London, but Simon was always very close-mouthed where Nigel was concerned so I never got anything more out of him."
"But that's why he uses all those dancers, in his organization," David said.
Paula shook her head. "He thinks it's a good thing," she said. "Dancers have such a short time to really dance, and he is very stern about not allowing any of his people to use anything he's selling. I don't know how he does that, given how much of it is around all the time, but there it is. He thinks he's giving them some money, a flexible job for when they aren't getting parts. But there must be something better. And some choreographers, if they know a dancer has worked with Nigel they won't hire them."
"Really?" Adam said. "Does that include you?"
"No, actually," Paula replied. "But I know Nigel, so that's different. And he's training a lot of good choreographers now, and that plus all the people who'd worked with him on Cats will probably mean that this particular prejudice will go away." She smiled. "That is, if he doesn't end up in jail, and bring the rest of them down with him."
"Think Simon will turn over on Nigel?" David asked.
"Not a chance," Paula said. "He's a stubborn old bastard, but he's also loyal."
"Know anyone who'd have it in for him" Adam asked.
"Not really. Not me anyway—my alimony would stop!" She laughed, slapping her knee. "But seriously, I can't think of anyone. Business rivals maybe, but I don't think any of them know about the lease. Maybe the landlord?"
"The lease?" David asked.
"Oh, I would have thought Hernandez would have told you about that," she said. "The lease on the Idol space is why I got such a big settlement, because Simon couldn't let me tell the truth in court. Not just about Ryan, but whatever else was going on."
"Paula, what do you mean?" Adam asked.
"Sorry! I never can tell a story from the beginning," she said. "There's an ethics clause in the lease. Del Toro is a real stickler, so Simon can't be up to any kind of funny business and keep the space. I'm not sure of the extent of it, but I know he couldn't let me accuse him of adultery in the divorce."
"Wow," David said. "Well, clearly just being arrested isn't enough, or something already would have happened."
Paula shrugged. "You'd have to ask Hernandez." Her phone rang. "Excuse me, won't you?" she said, and walked into a smaller room off the living room.
"Jeez," Adam whispered to David.
"Wonder why Hernandez didn't tell us," David replied.
Paula stepped into the room. "Adam, it's for you."
Adam walked over to her—the small room was actually an office, the desk covered with photos of Paula with various people, including one of her, Simon, Ryan, and Randy Jackson. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Kris. I've been looking all over for you. You need to come down to the club."
"Why?" he asked, picking up a photo of Paula with a pretty brunette he could have sworn he'd seen before. "I don't have to be at work for another couple of hours."
"Yeah, but Chris Richardson called," Kris said, "and they need you and me to do something else? I don't know, he wasn't very clear on the phone about it."
"Where are you right now?" Adam asked.
"I'm driving down the West Side Highway," Kris replied. "I was giving a lesson on the Upper West Side."
"If I give you directions to Paula's can you pick us up?" Adam asked.
"I can do that," Kris said.
Adam did so. When he hung up, he saw that Paula was in the doorway. "Who is this?" he asked, indicating the photo.
"Oh, an old friend of mine," she said, putting the photo back quickly. "We roomed together briefly after my divorce, when she was in law school."
"You've got friends all over the place, don't you?" Adam asked, smiling.
"That I do," Paula said.
"Thanks," Kris said.
"Hey, see that girl?" Adam asked, pointing to a blonde woman in a red dress standing across the street.
"Yeah?" David asked.
"I swear, I thought I saw her when we were at City Hall," he said.
"Well, we're not far from there now," David replied. "So it's possible."
"What did you guys find out today?" Kris asked.
"A lot? Nothing? I don't know," Adam said.
"There's something funny about the lease, that's one thing."
"Yeah, if you can drop me off at the A train up here," David said. "I called Hernandez from Paula's and he said he'd talk to me tonight if I go right up there."
"Cool," Kris said.
"Rich didn't say what he wanted?" Adam asked.
Kris looked up in the rear view mirror, where he could see Adam folded up in the back seat. "Nope," he replied. "Just to come to the club."
They dropped David off, who promised to check in as soon as he could, and then went to Idol. Inside, they found Chris sitting with Giuliana Rancic, who co-hosted MTV News with Ryan. Kris had seen her in the club a few times, but had never met her. She was pretty, with brown hair and big eyes and a heart-shaped face.
"Adam!" she said, giving him a hug. "And you must be Kris Allen?"
"Yes ma'am," he said.
"Ma'am! I'm not that old!" she said, slapping him on the shoulder. "You sound like Ryan!"
"I didn't mean it like that!" Kris protested.
"Sure," Giuliana said, but she didn't sound like she believed him. "Anyway, I'm here because Simon called me today, and he's worried about Ryan."
"Oh?" Adam asked.
"Surprise surprise, he's not taking care of himself," she said. "He can hide it at work, but—"
"But you can't hide anything from Simon," Adam finished.
"At least, Ryan can't, and he visited Simon this morning and kinda freaked him out," she said. "So he asked that you two get over there as soon as you can."
"Um, I think we're both on shift tonight," Kris said.
"Don't worry about that," Chris Richardson said. "We've got people covering for both of you."
"The door?" Adam asked.
"Actually, we got an old friend of the club," he said, nodding to the front door which was just opening then.
"Hey guys," said Kristy Lee Cook.
"Welcome back," Chris said.
"Thanks," she said, smiling shyly.
Giuliana turned to the boys. "Plan on staying at least through Monday," she said. "It'll probably take the whole weekend to get him back on track. Here's some money for groceries, and his extra keys," she said, handing them to Kris. "He'll be at MTV until about eight, so you need to be settled in before then."
"And then we ambush him or something?" Adam asked. "I mean, this is kinda weird."
"Just make sure he's eating right," she said. "And working out, and shaving, and keeping the place clean, and all of that. You know how he gets, and I don't like it when he's alone too much. He starts texting everyone all the time."
"Well, I'll have to go to Brooklyn to get my things," Kris said. He turned to Adam. "Wanna take a ride?"
Adam smiled. "Love to."
Kris's apartment was as small, tidy, and empty as his car. He shrugged off the guitar strapped to his back and indicated that Adam sit on the stool in front of the electronic keyboard. Kris then bent over to reach under his futon.
Adam stared at Kris's ass—what did Kris care, he was looking the other way—and then as he pulled out a backpack turned quickly to the large CD rack next to him. "Guess you like singer-songwriters," he said.
"Well, that's what I am, ideally," Kris said, opening his closet.
"Lots of ladies, too."
Kris shoved a pair of jeans into his backpack, hesitated, then followed with some army green twill pants. "I like singing songs by girls."
"Hmm, k.d.lang, Melissa Etheridge, Indigo Girls. I hate to say it, but you're not a gay man."
"No?" Kris asked, folding long-sleeved plaid shirts and putting them in the bag.
"No, Kris Allen, you are a lesbian. You even have the plaid shirts!"
He snickered. "Shut up!" he said.
Adam looked at the photo on top of the case. "This your sister?" he asked, indicating the pretty blonde girl.
Kris turned from the dresser, t-shirts in hand. "No, that's, um, Katy," he said. "My ex-wife."
"Oh," Adam said. "Right. So you're still … close?"
"Yeah, I mean, she's my best friend," Kris replied. "Only now I guess she's my what, my fag hag?"
"She's not sore about the whole gay thing?" Adam asked.
Kris was shoving boxers and socks into his bag atop the t-shirts. "That isn't really why we split up," he said, "so no, she's not."
"Huh," Adam said, not sure what Kris could possibly mean by that. "She's back in Arkansas?"
"No, she went to LA after she helped me move here," he said, pulling sweaters out of the bottom drawer. "She's an actress. She just got a Crest commercial, actually."
"Wow, great," Adam replied, and wondered how to change the subject. "Oh, is this your lyric notebook?" he asked, seeing the open spiral bound book.
"Yeah. I mean, you can go ahead and look at it. I don't care." Kris wandered into the bathroom.
Adam's eyes widened. There were very few he'd let just look through his lyric notebook—Allison maybe, and his own brother just because he would ignore Adam telling him not to read it—so he felt kind of honored by the trust Kris was showing him. Which meant, of course, that he'd have to make light of it. "Okay, you're definitely a lesbian," he called out, "because you're writing about a tortured female poet who killed herself. You might as well move to Park Slope and get a big dog."
Kris poked his head out the door. "I like her poems," he said. "But it's not really about her anyway."
Adam nodded. "I hope you play it for me sometime," he said.
Kris came back out of the bathroom with a handful of toiletries, and smiled at Adam. "Maybe I will," he said. "Speaking of which, we should pack up this keyboard."
Adam helped him fasten the cover and collapse the stand, and Kris grabbed the headphones and the small speaker.
Kris closed the backpack and looked around. "Okay, that's it," he said.
"Everything you need for four days fits in one backpack?" Adam asked.
"Yeah. What, like dating guys means I have to use more hair products?"
"Hey man," Adam said, "I saw that thing of Bed Head you packed."
Kris rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
"Sure," Adam said with a shrug.
"Sure?" Kris asked.
"U2 isn't really my thing."
Kris sat back against the door. "I thought you were a rocker."
"Yeah, but like, David Bowie, or the Stones, or harder stuff."
"REM?" he asked.
"Um …"
"Okay, if I have to be a lesbian?" Kris said, "I'm taking away your Gen X membership card."
"Hey! I like Madonna and Michael Jackson!"
Kris shook his head. "Fine, I have Off the Wall."
"Yay!" Adam said. "See, we can meet in the middle."
As they came over the bridge, the sun was beginning to set, giant and orange over the still snow-covered city. Michael sang: keep on with the force don't stop and Kris and Adam swayed in their seats, dancing to the music.
"God, that city is gorgeous," Adam said.
"It sure is," Kris said, sighing.
Adam's packing took much less time than Kris thought it would. Not that he didn't have far, far more to pack in terms of clothing and toiletries, but he was meticulous enough to have planned his outfits several days in advance so no decision making was necessary. Kris sat on the couch with Allison, watching as Adam filled a suitcase with military precision. "Oh, before I forget," Kris said, reaching into his messenger bag, "here's a song I found for you, for the showcase." He handed Allison a tape. "It's a classic, pretty straight forward; I'm sure Carly's band could learn it."
"Seriously?" she asked. "Thanks, man!"
Kris shrugged. "I heard it and it sounded like you."
"All right," Adam said, emerging from his bedroom with a large garment bag, a smaller hard-sided cosmetics case, and a rolling suitcase almost as tall as Kris.
"Jesus, Adam," Kris said, shaking his head.
"What?" Adam asked.
"Never mind."
After getting Adam's things packed in the car (good thing no one was riding in the back seat) they headed over to Ryan Seacrest's townhouse on west 24th street. They grabbed some things from the car and let themselves in.
"Oh," Kris said.
"Damn," Adam said.
The kitchen and living room were strewn with junk food wrappers and empty boxes of cookies. A pizza box sat atop the trash can. Upstairs there were clothes all over the bedroom, as if several outfits had been selected and discarded. A pile of VHS tapes had slumped over in front of the entertainment unit.
"How did he do this in less than forty-eight hours?" Adam asked, shaking his head.
Kris glanced at his watch. "What should we do first?"
Adam looked around. "Get rid of all this junk food, then go to Whole Foods and get some vegetables into this house."
As they went back downstairs, Kris asked, "I dunno, what's wrong with a little comfort food?"
Adam turned to him, bewildered, and then said, "Oh, of course, you don't know." He led Kris into the small office and pulled a photo album from the bookshelf, which he opened, pointing to a picture of a round-faced kid, no more than twelve, with glasses and braces.
"Recognize him?" Adam asked.
"Who?" Kris replied, taking a closer look. "Oh my god, that's Ryan."
"Yep. He was a fat little kid. So was I, actually, kind of."
Kris looked up at Adam, but Adam neither looked back nor stopped talking.
"But when he gets upset he binges on crap, and then doesn't eat all day because he freaks out about getting fat again."
"Like last night at sushi."
"Exactly. So we need to fill his fridge and freezer with the good stuff."
Two hours later, Kris wondered if he'd ever chopped so much in his life. Adam had every pan in the place on the stove and was making two different stews, a meatloaf that had no meat in it, a pasta sauce with ground turkey, and eggplant chili, and that was just for the freezer; for that night Adam planned some kind of Thai noodle and tofu dish. Kris was cursing his ability to chop onions without crying as he sliced through the seventh or eighth one of the day when they heard the key in the lock.
Adam grinned at Kris. "Let's meet him at the door."
So they walked around the corner to the entryway, still in their aprons. Ryan looked up and Adam smiled, saying "Hi honey, how was work today? Dinner's almost ready. Can I fix you a drink?"
Ryan stared in surprise and barked out a laugh. "What—how did you—"
Seeing Ryan stammering, Kris walked over to him and gave him a big hug. He felt Ryan tense, then relax into his arms. Ryan shifted his head to look up at Adam, then said, simply, "Thanks."
"You call this warm?" Michael said, rubbing his hand together.
David smiled. It was a bit of a hike from the subway to Ryan's house, by Manhattan standards, but David's midwestern blood refused to see 30º as a cold winter night. Michael, though, was proving very uninterested in going out into a snowy New York winter all that often, except to the TV network or to look at more apartments. Do him good to get out just for fun.
"This isn't gonna be another snipe-fest with Miss Lambert, is it?" Michael said.
David shrugged as he rang the buzzer. "That's up to her," he replied. "I just want to see how they're settling in with Ryan, see if they need anything."
"Sure you do, Dave," Michael said.
Kris answered the door, wearing a big apron. "Oh, hey guys! Come on in, we were just about to sit down to dinner."
"Oh, we don't want to interrupt anything," David said.
"No, no, let me just check real quick but I'm sure there's plenty." He disappeared down the hall, and David could just hear him and Adam muttering, then Kris ran back. "Dudes, take off your coats. We're having pad thai and some other stuff, hope that's okay."
"You know," Mike said, "we'll run down to the corner and get some beer to go with that, shall we? Can't come to dinner empty handed!"
So they grabbed a few six packs of Singha, and by the time they got back there were spring rolls and pad thai and salad to go with it. Ryan presided from the head of the table, cheerful probably thanks to the company, and Adam was pleasant enough. Not so difficult, David felt, when they stuck to Simon's case.
"So Hernandez said that the ethics clause in the lease kicks in when there's an actual judgment made against him in court," David said. "That's why Simon couldn't afford to have Paula prove that he'd been an adulterer. Uh, sorry, Ryan."
"No, please," Ryan said. "I was the other woman for a while, I admit it. It was a long time ago."
"Anyway," David continued, "Simon would have to be convicted. So even if they made it some kind of misdemeanor and let him off with time served, he still could lose the lease. What's more, I know you guys have been living there but coming back after a few months, it's shocking what's been happening to that neighborhood. I mean, three Gaps in walking distance from Club Idol? Does that even make any sense? And that big paperback bookstore gone, and some Barnes & Noble moving in?"
"So Mr. Del Toro would jump all over an opportunity to break the lease," Adam said.
"Financially it would make sense," David said. "I can't imagine Simon is paying for that space what some mall store would pay."
"But we have no proof that Del Toro is connected to Lythgoe," Kris pointed out.
"Yeah, and that's the gap," David said. "But leases are a matter of public record, so anyone could look it up and see the clause."
"So if someone is trying to fuck Simon," Adam said, "they wouldn't have to have the big charges stick in order to do it."
"Exactly."
"Well, I'd rather be the only one trying to fuck Simon," Ryan said, "thank you very much."
"I'll drink to that," Michael said, and four other beer bottles clinked with his.
Ryan took a big drink, then said, "So, Cook, I hear the guys in your band will be here soon?"
David nodded. "Monday morning," he said. "I can't wait."
"Where are they staying?" Kris asked. "Carly said you guys are pretty full up."
"My hotel room," Michael said, "until I find a place. Then they'll just take over Dave and Carls's lease."
"Wait, Carly is moving in with you two?" Adam asked.
"Well, she is my wife," David said.
Adam shook his head. "You guys are seriously weird."
David shrugged. "As long as Immigration buys it, I don't care how it looks."
Adam didn't seem to have a good answer to that, as he turned to Kris. "Hey, what was that song you gave Allison?"
"Oh," he said, "this old song by Shocking Blue, 'Send Me a Postcard.'"
"Really?" David said, surprised. "I love that song! Such a classic!"
"Yeah?" Kris asked. "Your band ever play it? I mean, do you guys know it?"
"Absolutely," David said. "I love singing girl songs."
Adam rolled his eyes at that, but David ignored him, focussing instead on Kris's answering grin.
"Would you guys play it behind Allie, if she decides to sing it at the showcase?" Kris asked.
"God, of course," David replied. "Absolutely, be glad to."
Adam cocked his head. "Really, you'd do that?"
"Why not?" David said.
"I dunno, Kris, didn't you say something about Simon wanting it to be some weird competition, between Allie and David's guy?"
"Archie," Michael said.
"Archie, yeah, between Allie and Archie?" Adam asked.
"Let me tell you something about Simon," Ryan said. "I love him, obviously I love him a lot. But his whole weird thing about catty girls and bitchy boys fighting for his amusement, well, I wouldn't take it too seriously. His bewilderment by people who are kind and genuine is his own problem. I mean, I can be nice, and he seems to like me. I don't think that's a side of him to be emulated." He looked up as the doorbell chimed. "God, it's like Grand Central Station around here all of a sudden," he said.
"Stay put, I'll go," David said.
At the door was a blonde in a red dress—the same girl Adam had pointed out earlier—only upon closer look, that was no girl. "And you are?" he asked.
"I'm Danielle." She grinned and handed him a small package. "Compliments of Nigel Lythgoe," she said, curtseying.
"This isn't a bomb or anything, is it?" David asked, shaking the box.
"No, no," she said, "it's very pleasant. Ta!" She waved her fingers and skipped down the stairs and away.
David shut the door, still a bit confused, and returned to the table. "Well, now we know who was following us today—some drag queen working for Nigel."
"Kinda creepy," Kris said.
David shrugged. "He said he'd know where we were, so I'm not surprised."
"At least he's kind of a friend?" Adam said.
"Anyway, she gave me this box, said it was for Ryan." He took a knife from the table to cut through the paper tape, and opened the box. "Well," he said, raising his eyebrows and taking a plastic bag out of the box, "what do we have here?"
Michael took the bag and smelled it. "What we have here, gentlemen," he said, "is a very nice supply of premium grade marijuana."
They all looked to Ryan, who shrugged and said, "Well, we can't smoke it in the living room. I'll never get the smell out of the upholstery."
Have His Caretakers
