Work Text:
June 27, 1969
New York, New York
The heat in Manhattan clung to Stede Bonnet in a way that it never did in Southern California. The humidity had something to do with it, obviously, but it wasn't just that. New York was no more humid than Chicago, where Stede spent so much of his early life. It wasn't hotter than Rome, where Stede and Ed spent every other June while Stede taught his summer intensive course. And the sun was no more relentless in New York City than it had been in Reno, Nevada, that fateful summer ten years ago.
No, the heat in Manhattan had something to do with the closeness of it all. The crowding. Even alone in his hotel room, freshly showered, Stede could sense the teeming masses around him.
Stede woke up alone that morning- naturally, since Ed was back home in California. He never slept well without the grounding weight of Ed's arm flung over his chest, and the lack of sleep was getting to him.
It was already approaching four in the afternoon. The day had flown by: Stede went uptown to visit the Cloisters, stopped in a few boutiques on the way back down to the Village, and before he knew it, it was time to head up to his room to shower and get ready for the show.
Given his choice, Stede wouldn't pick a sticky, sweltering June for his visit to New York. He certainly wouldn't choose a weekend when Ed was otherwise engaged. But some things were out of a man's control. A new play, Fellow Feeling, was opening in a chic little Off-Broadway theater, and Stede wouldn't miss it for the world. After all, the playwright used to be Stede's own assistant.
As Stede styled his hair in the expansive bathroom mirror, he thought about the brash young man he met at a library counter in 1959. Even then, barely out of high school, Lucius Springs was more worldly and self-assured than Stede, by a mile.
And he never let Stede forget it, either.
As an assistant, Lucius was a godsend. His shorthand and his typing were fine, his organizational skills were mediocre at best, and he was about as punctual as a broken wristwatch. But there was nobody better at cutting through Stede's high-strung moods. There was nobody better at keeping him level.
Even so, their professional relationship only lasted two school years. Quietly, Stede always knew that Lucius was destined for grander things than being an academic assistant. Lucius knew it too, and much less quietly. It was only after Lucius quit (in a big dramatic flare, the cause of which was long forgotten) that their friendship truly blossomed.
And just look at Lucius now! He was the talk of Greenwich Village, a playwright and cartoonist with a wit that put Dorothy Parker to shame. He might even start making some money one of these days. Wouldn't that be something?
Stede hummed with satisfaction as he assessed himself in the mirror. He wanted to look hip, he wanted to fit in with Lucius's set, but god forbid he looked like he was clinging desperately to his youth. Continental was the look he was chasing, and it was fair to say that he had caught it.
His silk shirt was a swirl of greens and blues and it fit him perfectly. The sleeves belled out but not too much, his pants flared out but not too far. And to pull it all together, he wore a luxurious silk cravat at his throat.
Before he put on his boots, he sat to write out a quick note to Ed on a postcard he had picked up that morning. He smirked at the caption- “See the U.S.A. in a Chevrolet”- and added a cheeky post-script that only his long-time lover would fully understand.
The hotel concierge was a haughty-looking queen, maybe ten years older than Stede. He gave Stede a knowing once-over as he approached the front desk, which Stede returned in kind.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Just a stamp, if you don't mind,” Stede said. “You can charge it to room 1718.” When the concierge opened the drawer in front of him, Stede saw a newspaper, carefully folded to preserve the front-page headline and photo. JUDY GARLAND, 47, FOUND DEAD.
Stede sighed heavily. “I can't believe she's gone,” he said.
The concierge's eyes fluttered closed. “I was there at Carnegie Hall in ‘61. Best night of my life. She was… magnificent.”
“I saw her in ‘61, too. The Hollywood Bowl. What a talent.”
They let their grief hang between them for a moment, the weight of it lighter because it was shared. Then the concierge handed him the stamp. “Plans tonight?” he asked innocuously while rearranging papers.
Stede wasn't entirely sure if he was asking or asking, so he kept his answer brisk. “My dear friend has a play opening tonight,” he boasted. “Theatre Four. Then I suppose there'll be a party.”
The concierge nodded, non-committal and professional once more, and took the postcard from Stede. “I'll put this in our dropbox. We've got one more pickup today. You have a good night- enjoy the play.”
The play was tremendous, as far as Stede was concerned. Sly, provocative and more than a little risqué, just like its playwright.
Lucius Springs perched on the arm of a velvet sofa, red-cheeked and grinning in victory. A crowd of actors, artists and eccentrics surrounded him, all young and beautiful, and all of them hanging on his every word. Stede smiled to himself as he observed from the kitchen, satisfied to people-watch for the time being.
A tall drag queen with an even taller bouffant stood behind Lucius with one long arm slung over his shoulder. A cigarette dangled between her fingers, and occasionally she brought the cigarette to Lucius’s lips. It made Stede imagine a magnificent concubine feeding grapes to a Roman Emperor. Lucius Aurelius Verus, he thought to himself.
“Stede Bonnet, get your tight pants over here!” Lucius’s voice cut through the din of the party, and Stede realized with a little embarrassment that he was staring. Dutifully, he navigated through the crowd until he was standing at Lucius's side.
The queen with the bouffant paid no attention to his arrival, but a gorgeous young man with close-cropped curly hair gave Stede an appraising look. “Who's this Mary, then?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.
“You all need to meet Stede,” Lucius announced with a grand gesture, “my oldest and dearest. He flew in from California just for me, didn't you, Stede?”
“Just for you,” Stede repeated. “Well. You and the tea service at Bergdorf Goodman. But you most of all.”
Lucius's eyes sparkled and he addressed the crowd again. “I used to work for him, back west.”
“You're in television?” the gorgeous young man asked, suddenly very interested.
“No, I'm afraid not. This was before all of that- I'm a professor. Classics.” The light in the young man's eyes dimmed, but Lucius continued.
“I’ll tell you what- Stede deserved his own writing credit for Days of Our Lives. I used to ring him up from the studio all the time to ask him questions about how stuffy rich people live. ”
Stede chuckled, conscious of all the eyes on him. “It's true. When I met Lucius, she was a little small-town yokel who didn't know a champagne coupe from a chicken coop.”
The assembled crowd laughed, but Lucius was as game as ever. He slid his arm around Stede's shoulder as he said, “And when I met Stede, she was a closet queen who didn't know her asshole from a hole in the wall. But look at us now!”
“Oh, hush.” Stede bumped Lucius with his hip in reproach, but he let him have the last word. It was his big night, after all.
Lucius made more introductions- a parade of faces and names that Stede already knew he was going to forget. Some faces were already familiar, friends of Lucius that Stede met on previous visits. One of them turned his attention to Stede. “Where's your man? With the black hair and the Bambi eyes- what was his name again?”
“Ed,” Stede supplied with a smile, still besotted after all these years. “His name is Ed. He feels just sick to miss opening night, but he's got a concert. He's photographing a concert, that is- for Crawdaddy Magazine.”
Lucius jumped in. “Mmm, and does he still look like a mop these days?”
“His hair looks incredible long. And you think so, too, so I don't want to hear it.” Stede was right, of course, but Lucius would never admit it.
“I just never would have guessed that Nevada’s own Edward Teach would go hippie, that's all.”
Stede shrugged, trying to keep his next words casual. “Well. He's got a beard now, too.”
But as usual, Lucius clocked the sentiment that Stede was trying to hide. “Look at him, he's blushing,” he teased to the crowd. “Ten years he's been living with this guy, and he's blushing over a beard.”
“I think it's sweet,” the tall queen with the cigarette declared, and Stede stood up a little straighter, gratified.
Lucius stepped away to make his rounds through the party, and without the man of the hour, the crowd in the living room thinned out. Somebody produced a joint, and Stede gamely joined in, but before long somebody put on a new record in the dining room, and somebody else cleared the dining table away to make room for a dance floor, and then Stede found himself alone, sinking into a big armchair.
Well, not entirely alone. Whoever owned the apartment evidently had a cat, and to Stede's delight, it took very little coaxing for the black-and-white darling to hop into Stede's lap.
“You're overdressed for the theater,” Stede murmured to the cat. “These days, nobody even wears a tuxedo to the opera.” The cat had nothing to say in his defense. They sat in companionable silence as Stede sipped unidentified red wine out of a ceramic mug, and idly wondered when it would be appropriate to say his goodbyes.
He was trying not to be a pill, but he couldn't help yearning for home. If not home, at least his hotel, where a good book and a Seconal were waiting for him on his bedside table. He sighed and adjusted the cat- even with the windows open, the sticky summer heat was setting into the party.
The cat tensed and launched himself away, using Stede's thighs as a springboard. Stede was so distracted by the sharp departure that he was caught off-guard when another warm creature flopped down his lap.
“Sweet old Stede,” Lucius sighed as he settled in. “I miss you.”
All thoughts of going home left Stede's head. He wrapped his arms around Lucius’s waist and squeezed. “Well, don't do that,” he said. “You're too busy and important now to miss anybody.”
“Oh, please.” Lucius fussed with the silk cravat at Stede's neck. There was nothing suggestive about it. Even if Stede wasn't devoted to Ed, he and Lucius were close like sisters. They were far too similar to ever see each other that way. “You know what I miss the most? Gabbing all night in that backyard of yours in Claremont. Especially after Pete built you that gazebo.” Wine-drunk, Lucius rested his cheek on the top of Stede's head.
Stede patted him gently, wherever he could reach. “I still see Pete,” he said. “Well- Ed sees him more. At the magazine, you know.”
“We have a call every Monday,” Lucius admitted. “I miss him like crazy. He's coming up for a week in September.”
“That will be nice.”
Lucius hummed in agreement. Maybe he would have said something else, but they were interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.
“You two look far out.” A cloud of patchouli rolled in, and at the center of it, a black-haired man with a silk headscarf leered. “Don't tell me you're exclusive, it will break my heart.”
By the time Stede processed the words, Lucius was already giggling. “We're definitely not exclusive,” he said, and he only giggled harder when Stede poked him in the ribs.
The man stroked his beard, completely oblivious. “Nice. This party's played out, man- I live upstairs and I've got a better view if you want to check it out.” He lowered his body into the sofa next to them. “We could smoke some grass, listen to music, see where the night takes us?”
Stede shook his head, trying for a polite dismissal. But as usual, Lucius was more direct. “Tempting, but my friend here isn't into free love right now, sorry.”
“I dig it!” the man answered immediately. “How much is it for the two of you?”
Stede shrieked, mortified, and buried his face in Lucius’s side. He could feel the laughter shaking Lucius’s chest as he answered “No, we don't- Stede isn't-”
“Mm, he only likes to watch, or-?”
It was all too much for Stede. He couldn't contain his laughter any more. Soon he and Lucius were both shaking, unable to even gasp out an answer. Offended, it seemed, the man lurched to his feet. “We could have made magic,” he simpered, and then he stalked away, leaving a cloud of patchouli in his wake.
The first thing Stede could say when his laughter subsided was, “Do I really look like a hustler?”
“Not a terribly successful one,” Lucius teased, just like Stede knew he would. “He was right about one thing, though- this party is played out. My friend Mirage said that she and some of the gals were heading over to a bar on Christopher Street.” Lucius stood and offered Stede a hand. “Shall we?”
Stede groaned. “I can't.”
“Of course you can.”
“No, it's impossible! It's one hundred degrees and I'm exhausted. You go ahead. I'll go back to my hotel.”
Lucius watched with a pout as Stede stood and straightened out his outfit. “When did you become such an old housewife? I swear-”
“Go ahead, call me old. Laugh it up while you can, I know you're two months shy of turning-”
“Stede Bonnet, don't you dare-”
“Thirty.” Stede finished in an exaggerated stage whisper. He saw Lucius's face contort with horror, and he gentled it with a soft pat to the cheek. “You'll always be a baby to me, don't worry.”
But Lucius wasn't giving up that easily. “You may be old, but the night is young! Full of adventure, probably. You'll regret missing it.”
Stede sniffed. “Adventure, right. You're going to sing along with the jukebox and dazzle tight little chorus boys by telling them that you're staying up until dawn to see your play’s review in tomorrow’s New York Times.” Stede raised an eyebrow as Lucius sputtered in indignation. “Go ahead- which part is wrong?”
“You know, I liked you better when you were straight.”
“Liar.”
They giggled again, then Lucius gave up at last. He was persuasive, but they both knew that Stede was more stubborn. “You're not too stoned to get back to your hotel, are you? I can walk you.”
“I'm a big girl, darling. I can take care of myself.”
A soft look came over Lucius. He cocked his head and took in the man standing in front of him. “You're right. You can take care of yourself. I forget sometimes.”
Stede decided to take that as a compliment. “Should I come over to yours tomorrow morning? I can scare away whoever you take home tonight and then you can tell me all about the great big adventure I missed.”
With great solemnity, Lucius cradled Stede’s face between his hands and placed a kiss on his forehead. “It's a plan. Bring me coffee in the morning?”
“I'll bring it to you like you brought it to me every day for two years- late and cold.”
“You're a dream, Stede. See you tomorrow.”
June 28, 1969
Stede's instructions were very clear- the front desk should ring his room at 9 am sharp to make sure he was awake. So why, he wondered, did it feel like barely past dawn when the phone started blaring?
He answered the phone with one hand while groping for his wristwatch with the other. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Mister Bonnet.” The voice on the phone was crisp.
Stede held his watch away from his face and squinted. “My god, man, it's six in the morning.”
“Yes, sir. We have a message for you at the front desk. The call couldn't be transferred. It- I can read you the message, or if you prefer to come downstairs-”
“What? No, I-” Stede sat up and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly frightened. Was it an emergency? A call from Ed, and this early- was it the house? Or Herb? “Just read it, can you?”
A short pause seemed endless. Then the man on the phone cleared his throat.
“Change of plans, baby doll. Meet me at the diner on Christopher and Sixth. Across the street from the House of Detention.” the reader cleared his throat again, and continued. “Bring all the cash you have. I'll be waiting. Kisses. Lucius.”
The back of Stede's head hit the headboard with an audible dunk . He rubbed his eyes.
“Thank you for that.”
“My pleasure, sir,” the voice said, not even trying to make the lie sound convincing. Stede couldn't blame him, really. He made a mental note to give an extra tip specifically to the hotel switchboard.
As usual, Stede was powerless against the pull of Lucius's schemes. He barely took any time to fix his hair before he unzipped the hidden side pocket of his suitcase and pulled out his money belt. After a final look in the mirror, and a fast, furtive walk past the hotel's front desk, he was on his way.
Lucius was hunched over a cup of coffee, still wearing last night’s outfit. That was nothing new. Stede couldn’t count the number of times over the last decade that he’d gone to meet Lucius at some diner or other, only to find his friend wearing last night’s clothes.
But instead of looking rumpled, relaxed and far too pleased with himself, today Lucius looked- well, almost haggard. Not that Stede would ever use that word, of course.
“What took you so long?”
Stede wasn’t exactly at his most well-rested, either, and it showed. “I haven’t even had any tea yet, thank you very much. I came straightaway. And did you really have to lay it on so thick in your message, baby doll? ” He scanned the diner, hoping to flag the waitress down, but she was already approaching, a steaming mug in her hand.
“All we have is teabags, but it’s Typhoo, at least,” she said as she planted the mug in front of Stede. “Your friend says you take it ‘hotter than I think’, so blame him if you get scalded.” With that, she turned on her heel and retreated back to the counter to read her magazine.
Stede’s face softened. “Lucius. What happened last night? And why do you need money?”
“It’s not me who needs it,” Lucius said. “Things got a little out of hand at the bar last night.”
“A little?” Stede raised his eyebrow, but he didn’t push. He knew that Lucius would give him all the salacious details soon enough. He always did.
“I’ll be honest, I think I missed the best part,” Lucius began. “By the time I got there, the cops were already barricaded in the bar.”
As Stede’s tea seeped, Lucius filled him in on everything- at least everything he knew for sure, plus a jumble of half-understood anecdotes from people who were there earlier. The long and short of it was this: the Stonewall Inn was raided by the NYPD Public Morals Squad. For whatever reason- the heat, maybe- the patrons didn’t play nice and disperse. There was a scuffle, then a fracas, and then (to hear Lucius tell it), a ‘terrific stone butch’ got cracked in the head by a cop with a baton, and all hell broke loose.
“I swear to God, Stede, there was a kickline. With singing and everything. I helped pull out a parking meter- well, I supervised, anyway- and then when they used it as a battering ram-”
Stede’s hand fluttered to his chest. “My God, Lucius! A battering ram!?”
The haggard look on Lucius’s face was gone, replaced with exhilaration. “I told you to come out with us, didn’t I? I can’t believe you missed it! But don’t worry, I’ve got a role for you yet.”
There were hundreds of people there, but only thirteen people were arrested in all. At least, as far as anybody knew. There was already a fund pooling to bail the people in the men's jail out, Lucius said, but there were a few locked up in the Women’s House of Detention who could use the bail money.
Normally, Stede would grumble about Lucius using him as his personal checkbook, but in this case he was happy to make an exception.
“Give me ten minutes to finish my tea,” he said. “It only just finished steeping. Then we’ll head right over.”
“Stede Bonnet, I swear-”
“Fine, fine,” Stede threw up his hands in supplication. “Five minutes.”
Lucius agreed, rolling his eyes. Then a thought struck Stede. “One thing I don’t understand,” he admitted, “gay bars get raided all the time. What changed this time? Why stay and fight back?”
“I don’t know,” Lucius said thoughtfully. “I think maybe it’s been a long time coming."
Stede nodded, remembering the stories he’d heard from Ed about the busts on Benji’s Barroom, back in Reno. He thought about Benji himself, who only got out of prison a few years ago, after running a bar not too unlike Stonewall. Resistance never seemed possible then- not real resistance. But now-
“I think you’re probably right,” Stede said. Then, after a sip of tea, he added, “Gosh! I wonder if it will make the papers.”