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monaboyd Jun. 2nd, 2006 11:29 pm)
maverick0324.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Jun. 2nd, 2006 11:29 pm)Title: Champagne for One (1/?)
Rating:NC17; PG this chapter
Summary: Billy Boyd is a succesful genius who lends his brilliant mind to solving crimes for the good people of New York in the 1940's. Boyd is used to having clients come to him to solve their problem's, and he is used to being paid, but when his legman and friend, Dominic Monaghan get's himself landed in hot water Boyd has to gird himself to solving the hardest case he's ever been faced with along with the worst prospect ever-- a job with no fee.
Disclaimer: I do not own Billy Boyd or Dominic Monaghan, though I am in negotiations. Also, as neither Dom nor Billy was alive in the 1940's, this couldn't have happened. Ever. So don't believe it.
A/N: First of all, a huge thanks must go to the most unbelievably talented mystery writer, Rex Stout and his creation of this most wonderful world that I am going to play in. I also must thank him as alot of his words and prose lent itself to how I formed my own in this story. Second thanks goes to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
almaviva my most lovely beta who assured me that the story did not suck.
Billy Boyd is a creature of habit. Every morning, right at eight o’clock he descends from his lair to grace us with his presence at the breakfast table. It’s always the same breakfast that Viggo prepares for Boyd, eggs over easy, bacon, toast, sausage and scones. I tried, once, to suggest to Boyd that perhaps he change his breakfast fare just a bit, all my efforts garnered was a glare. And then once breakfast had concluded, Boyd spent his hours from nine until eleven, tending to his 10,000 orchids. And I, Dominic Monaghan, his confidential secretary and legman extraordinaire (among many other things in my own heated fantasies), tend to business. But since there wasn't any business to tend to, I was preparing for action, not exactly the kind I wanted either...if or when it ever came. I was hoping for something--anything-- which was why I was currently polishing the two Marley .38's. It was then that the phone rang, set my two guns down onto the desk and answered it. "Billy Boyd's office, Dominic Monaghan speaking."
"Hello there. This is Astin. Sean Astin."
"What? I’m sorry? Could you repeat?”
“Astin! Sean Astin!”
“Clear your throat or sneeze or something man, and try again." I couldn't really understand the man on the other end. I thought he said he was Sean Astin but he could have been a seal for all I could understand.
"That wouldn't help. My tubes are clogged. Tubes. Clogged. Understand? Sean Astin!"
The man spoke louder into the receiver, as if by force of volume he could make me understand him. It didn't work but I was reasonably sure it was Astin at any rate. "Oh, hello. I won't ask how you are, hearing how you sound. My sympathies." I picked the Marley back up off the desk and twirled it around on my fingers before aiming at a bust of Beethoven that Billy particularly enjoyed.
"I need it. I need more than sympathy, too. I need help. Will you do me a hell of a favor?"
"I might, leastways I will if I can do it sitting down and it doesn’t cost me my teeth.” I suspected Sean was faking the whole congested sound and was curious as to why, so I strung him along. I knew him from an old case and hoped this would lead to another one as we hadn’t had anything in a couple of months and the accounts were pathetically low. It might be a lark at the least..
"It won't cost you a thing, I swear. You know my Aunt? Phillipa Boyens?" That was the old case.
"Only professionally. Mr. Boyd recovered some jewelry for her. She didn't like paying the fee, though, and she really didn't like me." I propped my feet up onto the desk and settled in for a very long and weary conversation regarding the venerable old bat.
" Ah yes well. I suppose you know about the dinner party she gives every year for Lesnie House?"
"The charity her late first husband, Andrew Lesnie, set up for unwed mothers?" Only half listening by this point, I briefly wondered where the crossword had gotten off to. No doubt the scoundrel Boyd had stolen it earlier this morning as he went for his walk after breakfast and I was to never see it again.
"Yeah. Well, this is a social thing, to introduce four of the unwed mothers who have left the care of Lesnie house to the people who fund the house. High society type, you know. It's tonight, and I was supposed to be one of the four chevaliers, but I'm too sick to go. You'd be perfect to take my place. You'll know exactly how to treat the lady guests."
I snorted. "Now look here, your aunt didn't like me."
"She won't mind. She'd hate having only three chevaliers even more. Black tie, seven o'clock, you know the address. I'll guarantee nothing will be served that will break your teeth. How about it, Dom?" Sean was very whining over the phone. I was about to answer when the doors to the office banged and in strode the boss, in all his dapper glory. God, but the man was scrumptious. He set a vase holding an orchid onto the table and pulled the damned crossword out of his breast pocket before he settled down to complete it. Damn him. I tried to ignore him to focus back on Astin’s problem.
I kind of liked the idea of attending the bash and banging around with the well-heeled. I thought maybe it would increase my knowledge of human nature, at least the kind who secured at least ten thousand pounds annual and could afford to spread it around. It would be interesting to see how they handled me and how I handled myself around them. “Alright. I accept.”
Boyd didn’t even lift his head to see what I was agreeing to.
"I'll do the same for you one day."
"You can't. I haven't got a billionaire aunt." I hung up without saying good-bye. At the mention of money, Billy's eyebrows raised just bit, but he carefully kept his eyes trained on the crossword. I knew Billy had overheard the end of the conversation no matter how he pretended not to have. What was more, I knew the mention of a billion dollars had interested him even more than what I might have been up to. It took a lot of money to feed a greenhouse full of orchids, not to mention himself and his epicurean appetite. I wrote down the address and telephone number of Mrs. Phillippa Boyens, stood up and dropped it right on top of the mostly finished crossword puzzle.
"What is this?" Billy's voice was sharp and crisp, the tone it got when he wanted results. It sent shivers down my spine.
"Where you can reach me this evening from seven o'clock on." I gathered the Marley’s off of my desk, put them back into their holsters and then back into their drawer. It wasn't likely I would need them tonight at the dinner party, and even if I did it wasn't likely Phillippa would let me in with them.
"Mr. Holms is coming this evening to bring a Dendrobium and look at the Renanthera. You said you would be there." Billy gave me a look that was somewhere in between a stern glance and a pout. It was a difficult expression to pull off, but he managed.
"I know, but this is an emergency. I have to stand in for a sick friend at Mrs. Boyen's dinner party for the unwed mothers of Lesnie House. Do you know about the event?" I leaned my hip against the desk in a way I hoped was at least a little alluring and might put Billy in a better mood.
Boyd didn't even blink. "Yes. Buffoonery. A burlesque of hospitality. Do you mean you are abetting it?"
"I think it will give me a fresh outlook. Harden my nerves. Broaden my mind." Billy's eyes narrowed at me, no longer pouting to get his way. A frown had begun to appear on his slightly pixyish face
"Dominic."
It was inhuman what the man's voice could do with my name. Saying all three syllables as if making love to the word with his mouth even as it seemed to convey his disappointment that I would miss both the Dendrobium and Renanthera. I couldn’t help sounding a bit meek when I answered. "Yes, sir?"
"Do I ever intrude in your private affairs?"
"Yes, sir. Frequently. But as you think you don't, please. Go right ahead."
"You demean yourself. These creatures are invited for an obvious purpose. It is hoped that they will meet a man who will be moved to pursue their acquaintance and who will end by legitimating, if not the infant already in being, the future produce of the womb. Therefore your attendance will be an imposture and you know it. For you do not want a child, am I correct?" The look in Billy's eyes just then was something I had seen often but still hadn't quite worked out yet. He got it whenever he got his little hands on a rare species of orchid or solved a particular hard case, and even a few times with me. I hoped fervently that it was a good look.
"If that were the purpose, I would say a hoorah for Mrs. Boyen's, wish them all the luck in the world, but stay home. But it's not about match-making. The idea is that it will buck the girls up to spend an evening with the cream of the crop, have a taste of caviar, and sit on a chair made by Congreve, and—"
"Congreve didn't make chairs."
I knew that tone of voice. Boyd was sullen; that I might be the cause gave me a little jolt clear through. "I know he didn't, but I needed a name and that one popped in. I won't be perpetuating a fraud, but don't be too sure I won't meet the lady of my doom." I waggled my eyebrows and grinned as Billy just rolled his eyes at me. "But, if you'll excuse me, I need to go speak with Viggo and let him know I won't be here for dinner tonight. I should also go and see if my tuxedo need pressed." I turned and gave a damn good bow to Boyd before I headed towards the kitchen
"Pfui." I could hear Billy muttering before no doubt returning to his crossword puzzle.
Rating:NC17; PG this chapter
Summary: Billy Boyd is a succesful genius who lends his brilliant mind to solving crimes for the good people of New York in the 1940's. Boyd is used to having clients come to him to solve their problem's, and he is used to being paid, but when his legman and friend, Dominic Monaghan get's himself landed in hot water Boyd has to gird himself to solving the hardest case he's ever been faced with along with the worst prospect ever-- a job with no fee.
Disclaimer: I do not own Billy Boyd or Dominic Monaghan, though I am in negotiations. Also, as neither Dom nor Billy was alive in the 1940's, this couldn't have happened. Ever. So don't believe it.
A/N: First of all, a huge thanks must go to the most unbelievably talented mystery writer, Rex Stout and his creation of this most wonderful world that I am going to play in. I also must thank him as alot of his words and prose lent itself to how I formed my own in this story. Second thanks goes to
almaviva my most lovely beta who assured me that the story did not suck. Billy Boyd is a creature of habit. Every morning, right at eight o’clock he descends from his lair to grace us with his presence at the breakfast table. It’s always the same breakfast that Viggo prepares for Boyd, eggs over easy, bacon, toast, sausage and scones. I tried, once, to suggest to Boyd that perhaps he change his breakfast fare just a bit, all my efforts garnered was a glare. And then once breakfast had concluded, Boyd spent his hours from nine until eleven, tending to his 10,000 orchids. And I, Dominic Monaghan, his confidential secretary and legman extraordinaire (among many other things in my own heated fantasies), tend to business. But since there wasn't any business to tend to, I was preparing for action, not exactly the kind I wanted either...if or when it ever came. I was hoping for something--anything-- which was why I was currently polishing the two Marley .38's. It was then that the phone rang, set my two guns down onto the desk and answered it. "Billy Boyd's office, Dominic Monaghan speaking."
"Hello there. This is Astin. Sean Astin."
"What? I’m sorry? Could you repeat?”
“Astin! Sean Astin!”
“Clear your throat or sneeze or something man, and try again." I couldn't really understand the man on the other end. I thought he said he was Sean Astin but he could have been a seal for all I could understand.
"That wouldn't help. My tubes are clogged. Tubes. Clogged. Understand? Sean Astin!"
The man spoke louder into the receiver, as if by force of volume he could make me understand him. It didn't work but I was reasonably sure it was Astin at any rate. "Oh, hello. I won't ask how you are, hearing how you sound. My sympathies." I picked the Marley back up off the desk and twirled it around on my fingers before aiming at a bust of Beethoven that Billy particularly enjoyed.
"I need it. I need more than sympathy, too. I need help. Will you do me a hell of a favor?"
"I might, leastways I will if I can do it sitting down and it doesn’t cost me my teeth.” I suspected Sean was faking the whole congested sound and was curious as to why, so I strung him along. I knew him from an old case and hoped this would lead to another one as we hadn’t had anything in a couple of months and the accounts were pathetically low. It might be a lark at the least..
"It won't cost you a thing, I swear. You know my Aunt? Phillipa Boyens?" That was the old case.
"Only professionally. Mr. Boyd recovered some jewelry for her. She didn't like paying the fee, though, and she really didn't like me." I propped my feet up onto the desk and settled in for a very long and weary conversation regarding the venerable old bat.
" Ah yes well. I suppose you know about the dinner party she gives every year for Lesnie House?"
"The charity her late first husband, Andrew Lesnie, set up for unwed mothers?" Only half listening by this point, I briefly wondered where the crossword had gotten off to. No doubt the scoundrel Boyd had stolen it earlier this morning as he went for his walk after breakfast and I was to never see it again.
"Yeah. Well, this is a social thing, to introduce four of the unwed mothers who have left the care of Lesnie house to the people who fund the house. High society type, you know. It's tonight, and I was supposed to be one of the four chevaliers, but I'm too sick to go. You'd be perfect to take my place. You'll know exactly how to treat the lady guests."
I snorted. "Now look here, your aunt didn't like me."
"She won't mind. She'd hate having only three chevaliers even more. Black tie, seven o'clock, you know the address. I'll guarantee nothing will be served that will break your teeth. How about it, Dom?" Sean was very whining over the phone. I was about to answer when the doors to the office banged and in strode the boss, in all his dapper glory. God, but the man was scrumptious. He set a vase holding an orchid onto the table and pulled the damned crossword out of his breast pocket before he settled down to complete it. Damn him. I tried to ignore him to focus back on Astin’s problem.
I kind of liked the idea of attending the bash and banging around with the well-heeled. I thought maybe it would increase my knowledge of human nature, at least the kind who secured at least ten thousand pounds annual and could afford to spread it around. It would be interesting to see how they handled me and how I handled myself around them. “Alright. I accept.”
Boyd didn’t even lift his head to see what I was agreeing to.
"I'll do the same for you one day."
"You can't. I haven't got a billionaire aunt." I hung up without saying good-bye. At the mention of money, Billy's eyebrows raised just bit, but he carefully kept his eyes trained on the crossword. I knew Billy had overheard the end of the conversation no matter how he pretended not to have. What was more, I knew the mention of a billion dollars had interested him even more than what I might have been up to. It took a lot of money to feed a greenhouse full of orchids, not to mention himself and his epicurean appetite. I wrote down the address and telephone number of Mrs. Phillippa Boyens, stood up and dropped it right on top of the mostly finished crossword puzzle.
"What is this?" Billy's voice was sharp and crisp, the tone it got when he wanted results. It sent shivers down my spine.
"Where you can reach me this evening from seven o'clock on." I gathered the Marley’s off of my desk, put them back into their holsters and then back into their drawer. It wasn't likely I would need them tonight at the dinner party, and even if I did it wasn't likely Phillippa would let me in with them.
"Mr. Holms is coming this evening to bring a Dendrobium and look at the Renanthera. You said you would be there." Billy gave me a look that was somewhere in between a stern glance and a pout. It was a difficult expression to pull off, but he managed.
"I know, but this is an emergency. I have to stand in for a sick friend at Mrs. Boyen's dinner party for the unwed mothers of Lesnie House. Do you know about the event?" I leaned my hip against the desk in a way I hoped was at least a little alluring and might put Billy in a better mood.
Boyd didn't even blink. "Yes. Buffoonery. A burlesque of hospitality. Do you mean you are abetting it?"
"I think it will give me a fresh outlook. Harden my nerves. Broaden my mind." Billy's eyes narrowed at me, no longer pouting to get his way. A frown had begun to appear on his slightly pixyish face
"Dominic."
It was inhuman what the man's voice could do with my name. Saying all three syllables as if making love to the word with his mouth even as it seemed to convey his disappointment that I would miss both the Dendrobium and Renanthera. I couldn’t help sounding a bit meek when I answered. "Yes, sir?"
"Do I ever intrude in your private affairs?"
"Yes, sir. Frequently. But as you think you don't, please. Go right ahead."
"You demean yourself. These creatures are invited for an obvious purpose. It is hoped that they will meet a man who will be moved to pursue their acquaintance and who will end by legitimating, if not the infant already in being, the future produce of the womb. Therefore your attendance will be an imposture and you know it. For you do not want a child, am I correct?" The look in Billy's eyes just then was something I had seen often but still hadn't quite worked out yet. He got it whenever he got his little hands on a rare species of orchid or solved a particular hard case, and even a few times with me. I hoped fervently that it was a good look.
"If that were the purpose, I would say a hoorah for Mrs. Boyen's, wish them all the luck in the world, but stay home. But it's not about match-making. The idea is that it will buck the girls up to spend an evening with the cream of the crop, have a taste of caviar, and sit on a chair made by Congreve, and—"
"Congreve didn't make chairs."
I knew that tone of voice. Boyd was sullen; that I might be the cause gave me a little jolt clear through. "I know he didn't, but I needed a name and that one popped in. I won't be perpetuating a fraud, but don't be too sure I won't meet the lady of my doom." I waggled my eyebrows and grinned as Billy just rolled his eyes at me. "But, if you'll excuse me, I need to go speak with Viggo and let him know I won't be here for dinner tonight. I should also go and see if my tuxedo need pressed." I turned and gave a damn good bow to Boyd before I headed towards the kitchen
"Pfui." I could hear Billy muttering before no doubt returning to his crossword puzzle.
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Curious to see how it continues :)