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27 October 2013 @ 12:37 am
Fic Post: I'll Take Manhattan, Part 1/?  
Title: I’ll Take Manhattan
Author: Montiese
Category: AU/Drama/Friendship/Humor/Romance
Characters: Erin Strauss, Jason Gideon, David Rossi, OMC, Nora Bennett, Ensemble
Pairing: Rossi/Strauss
Rating: TEEN
Warning: Use of recreational drugs in this story.
Summary: “That’s a sex dress.”
Author’s Note: You guys know that I never post WIPs unless I'm pretty close to the end or have the whole idea in my head. This story will be the exception for one reason, I want this to be 1,100th Criminal Minds fic. Some may say that’s cheating but the truth is that the beginning of this story stands alone as long as you make sure to look at it as an AU. Anyway, I wrote my first Criminal Minds fic in the kitchen at my job on July 28, 2008 and now five years later I'm here. Many ships, many friends, some drama, a shit-ton of different universes and even one major character death in my head, and I'm still going. Sometimes I worry each fic will be my last but I would find a way for that to be OK because I've created such worlds, and you guys have given so much love, and it’s been magic for me. Thank you.


New Year's Eve, 1979
“OK sweetie,” Jason emptied the baggie onto a rectangular mirror sitting on the coffee table. He began to cut it up with his Visa card. “What are we drinking to?”

“We’re drinking to a new year.” Erin held up her flute of champagne. “We’re drinking to new adventures and getting laid as much as humanly possible. We’re drinking to Tonys and Oscars by the ton.”

“I haven’t gotten laid in ten years.” He made four lines of cocaine and handed Erin the rolled up $50 bill.

“What do you mean?” Erin leaned over, inhaling the substance into her nose.

“I mean I haven’t gotten laid in ten years.”

“What about that cute little skinny boy who follows you around?” Erin asked, handing him the $50 back and drinking her champagne. She grabbed the bottle from the end of the table, pouring more.

“You're talking about Spencer the nineteen year old college student. He was helping me organize my papers and other things in my life; he still is.”

“That’s what you told everyone.”

“That’s what he’s doing.” Jason did a line of cocaine. He sniffed loudly, running his finger under his nose for the excess powder and rubbing it on his gums.

“I thought that was a euphemism for hot sex.”

“He's young enough to be my son.” Jason reasoned.

“What's your point?” Erin did another line of cocaine, her smile euphoric as her head leaned back on the couch.

“Spencer really is an assistant. Sex is more complicated than I feel like dealing with at the moment.”

“Is it the coke?” Erin glanced over at him. “Jennifer Jareau told me she read in Time Magazine that it can make cocks permanently soft, which leads to this thing called coke rage.”

“Coke rage?” Jason gave her a skeptical look before doing the last line on the table. “Are you sure she didn’t make that up?”

“You read everything…didn’t you see it? Coke rage is this thing men get because the coke makes it difficult to get it up. So they get amazing blowjobs and nothing happens so they blame their partner and beat the shit out of them. Maybe it’s a disco thing.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Jason laughed.

“No sex for ten years? How is that even possible? What do you do when you get a hard on?”

“I don’t often get a hard on…its complicated love. I do jerk off though. I've loved jerking off since Abel Klein showed me what it was when we had Hebrew School together.”

“Please don’t tell me you jerked off some other kid in Hebrew School? I mean I’ll adore you more for it but still…”

“No, he just showed me the moves.”

“What the hell is the point of jerking off if you aren't turned on?” Erin asked.

“Hey!” Jordan Todd knocked and walked into the dimly lit library. “It'll be midnight in less than a half hour, Jason. Are you going to be anti-social for the rest of the night?”

“Is everyone having fun?” he asked, not even looking at her. He was making use of another small baggie.

“What do you think?”

“It’s because you're the second most amazing hostess I know.” He smiled.

“I'm the first.” Erin raised her hand. She poured Jason more champagne.

“Go, my little eaglet.” There were another four lines of cocaine on the table. “Keep those people on their toes.”

“And please play some more Bee Gees.” Erin said.

“People hiding in the library don’t get to make musical requests.” Jordan gave her a look and then disappeared. She closed the door behind her.

“Oh God, she's such a little Eve Harrington.” Erin rolled her eyes and took the $50 bill from Jason’s hand.

“Jealousy gives you wrinkles, love.”

“Fuck off.” She did her third line of cocaine. “Tell me what's the point of jerking off is if not the sexual thrill?”

“It’s a tension breaker.” Jason drank half his flute of champagne. “When I have writer’s block, I jerk off. When I have a headache, I jerk off. When I have insomnia, I jerk off. A hot shower and a personal hand job is like heaven. It’s the lazy Jew boy version of jogging.”

“I love you.” She laughed.

“I'm adorable.”

“Why don’t you just have sex, darling? Obviously all of your parts are in working order. One day they won't be…enjoy it while you can.”

“No one interests me.” Jason frowned as he did another line of coke. He loved sex, he always had. Not finding someone who made his cock twitch was a curse, not a blessing. His celibacy wasn’t entirely voluntary. He didn’t mind it so much though.

It wasn’t as if there wasn’t a plethora of skin and debauchery at his fingertips. Young starlings and wannabe writers threw themselves at him on the daily basis. Jason had just gotten use to his sexual solitude. “I need to focus on the writing. A new decade is coming, a new era. A lot of things are getting ready to change.”

“What to do you mean?” now Erin was frowning.

“Every decade has a theme when it comes to art.” Jason did his last line of cocaine. “By art I mean movies, plays, books, music, and painting. The seventies was fuck it all. I don’t know what the 80s will be. Whatever it is, I have to find it in my soul and make money from it.”

“You're an amazing fucking writer. Don’t you dare lower yourself to the standards of this damn system. You know what you need?”

“Oh God,” Jason rolled his eyes but laughed. “What do I need?”

“You need a muse…and don’t you dare say it’s Jordan Todd.”

“It’s not.” He shook his head.

“You need someone who brings out the best in you. Someone who connects to the voices in your head and brings them out to play. Your talent is fuckin immense; you're one of the best of your generation.”

“Don’t say that.” He pointed at her. “People said that to writers and it was like the kiss of death. Fitzgerald, Thomas, Capote, and surely some hump in the 70s that I can't think of right now. I don’t want to be that voice. I just want to find my own. Damn I'm hungry.”

“Snort your coke and we’ll find food. We probably should get out there and be with people. I want to celebrate at midnight.”

“What lucky bastard is going to get your lips on his tonight?” Jason put the $50 bill on the glass and ran it across the expensive powder.

“There are so many to choose from.” Erin stood, a little iffy on her three inch heels. She’d killed that bottle of Moet.

“That’s a sex dress.” He looked at her Halston blue sequin wrap dress.

She was shining like a sapphire. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed like one of those women in a shampoo commercial and her greenish blue eyes were both naughty and nice. It was no wonder she once again topped Playboy’s list of Babes to Bed, or whatever the hell it was called. Erin Strauss was striking. Men used other words but they were wrong. She was striking, plain and simple.

It was funny how much Jason loved her but never once felt sexually attracted to her. She was just another young ingénue, dying to make it, who showed up on his doorstep eight years before. He gave her acting lessons, worked on her voice, and gave her a small part in one of his off-Broadway plays. Though there was a 15 year age difference, the spark between the two of them was instantaneous and strong. She was becoming a star now, though some still referred to her as an ingénue. But Erin Strauss never forgot where she came from.

“I know…isn’t it fabulous.”

“You're fabulous.” Jason held out his hand and she pulled him from the couch. “The 80s will be lucky to have you.”

“Don’t act as if you're not going to be there.” She slipped her arm into his and walked to the library door. “1980s, here we come.”

***


Spencer opened the door and took her wet umbrella. Then he helped her out of her wool and fur cape.

“Hey Spencer, could you be a sweetheart and make me something smooth.”

“It’s a little early, Ms. Strauss. How does a mimosa sound?”

“Mmm,” Erin closed her eyes. “It sounds just perfect. Add a little extra champagne for fun.”

“I will.” He nodded.

She walked across the perfectly waxed hardwood floor heading into the living room. Her heel slipped and Erin nearly crumbled to the floor.

“Fuck Christ, Jason! I know you're all about your reflection in the damn floor but one day I'm going to kill myself.”

“It’s not even lunchtime.” He glanced up from the music he was writing as he sat at his Steinway baby grand.

“What's your point?”

“My point is that you shouldn’t be wearing your Studio 54 heels at this hour. Also, don’t take the lord’s name in vain. You'll burn in hell.”

“At least I’ll be warm. It’s more frigid than a virgin’s wedding bed out there.”

“There's someone I want you to meet.” Jason said. He played a few bars on the piano and wrote something down. “Since you're here and all.”

“I needed some peace and quiet. Thank you, Spencer.” She took the mimosa and sipped it. “I've got a ton of scripts to read.”

“You have your own place.”

“I live in Chelsea; it’s a fucking nightmare. Riverside Drive is much quieter. Also, that wannabe Carole King that I live with insists on playing guitar and whining into a tape recorder at 2 a.m. She says that’s when she's inspired. Give me a break. If she gets a record deal before I get an Oscar, I'm pushing her into the East River.”

“This is David Rossi.” Jason pointed to the guy sitting on the couch. “For some reasons we’re friends.”

“Hi, it’s good to…” Dave stood, turned, extended his hand, and froze. “Damn.”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Rossi?” Erin asked as she shook his hand.

“Its Agent Rossi, and I'm sorry. I've seen you on the stage and in magazines. I guess you can say I'm a fan. Those mediums do your beauty absolutely no justice. You're stunning, Ms. Strauss.”

“I like him already.” Erin smiled and pointed at Dave. Then she joined him on the couch. Her tote bag went by her feet while the mimosa went on the coffee table in front of her.

“Coaster.” Jason said without even looking up. “Be careful around Rossi. He’ll either make you the femme fatale or the victim in his next bestseller.”

“You're a writer?” she looked at him.

“That’s what they tell me.” Rossi smiled.

“The New York Times said he's the next Dashiell Hammett. When the Times speak, people listen. He won the Edgar Award for a short story.”

“You write mysteries?” Erin asked.

“Yes. Do you like Hammett?”

“I do.” She nodded. “Jason, I'm hungry.”

“I swear you're a vagabond.” He smirked when he said it. “I have some free time tomorrow…we’re going to the market.”

“Ugh,” Erin rolled her eyes. “I hate that place.”

“And yet you like to eat.” Jason said.

“Joni Mitchell usually goes to the market. It’s the only time I give her money.”

“She's clearly not using it on food.”

“Why are you friends with him?” Erin asked Rossi.

“We came up together.” Dave replied. “And even when you really want to, you never forget where you came from.”

“Are you from Chicago?”

“I was born and sometimes raised on Commack, Long Island.”

“There's shrimp and veggies left over from last night.” Jason played the piano. “Eat before you pass out.”

“Oh yay!” Erin jumped up from the couch. “I love you. If young Spencer wanders by let him know I need a refill.”

“I will.”

“Damn.” Rossi gave a low whistle when Erin was out of earshot. “She is beautiful.”

“That’s the general consensus.”

“I'm not entirely sure that she knows it.” Dave said.

“Oh she knows it for sure but she's not vain. OK, maybe she's a little vain.”

“Excuse me for a moment.” He got up from the couch.

“If you make a pass at her in my kitchen I’ll never speak to you again.” Jason said.

“I've heard that before.”

“This time I almost mean it.”

Dave grinned and headed for the kitchen. Erin was humming to herself as she raided Jason’s fridge. She was dancing a bit, her slim, curvy hips turning denim into a mortal sin. Dave did the sign of the cross.

“I would love to have dinner with you.” He said.

“Oh my God,” she jumped, turning to him with her hand over her heart. “You scared me.”

“That wasn’t my intent.”

“I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I said that I would love to have dinner with you. I just don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

“You actually look like the kind of guy who doesn’t give a damn about such things.”

“Normally I don’t, and I fear no one. But Kirk Douglas can make or break a career on a glance. I’d prefer he didn’t glance at me.”

“Why would Kirk glance at you?” Erin asked. She munched on a piece of celery.

“I hear he's your…benefactor.” Dave replied.

“You think I have sex with Kirk Douglas for benefits? What benefits; a full fridge perhaps? Overpriced shoes, furs, or a car that it’s no use driving in this congested city? Entrée into the finest restaurants and clubs Manhattan has to offer? Because with my looks, connections, and money I can't do that all on my own.”

“I don’t think anything like that.”

“You think something exactly like that or you’d just ask me out.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked.

“Not really.” Erin shook her head.

“Is that because Kirk Douglas is your boyfriend?”

“It’s because I'm not fond of men with facial hair. It’s much too Burt Reynolds for me…the 70s are over.”

“Jason has facial hair.”

“So you think I'm fucking him too? Wow, you might be a good writer but you're a lousy conversationalist.”

“I think this conversation took a wrong turn somewhere and I want to find my way back. I don’t think you're fucking Jason; his celibacy only being one part of the equation. I was concerned that Mr. Douglas was your boyfriend and didn’t want to incur his wrath. You’ve shown me the error of my ways. That’s the first and last time I get any information from Page Six.”

“Do you want some broccoli?” Erin held out her plate.

“No,” Dave shook his head. “I'm good.”

“I'm really not a fan of facial hair.” She said as she walked past him. “But I'm free on Thursday.”

Dave smiled and turned in time to see the sway of her hips as she walked away.

“Spencer refreshed your drink.” Jason said. He was still at the piano.

“And I love him for it.”

“You can relax for a couple of hours but I have guests coming at three.”

“Who?”

“Emily Prentiss.” He said.

“Ooh, if you're going to break you 3,562 day drought I can't think of anything better to do it with. She’s one of the most successful models in the world and she’s legal now.”

“She's not coming here to fuck. I know she doesn’t speak for a living but she has an amazing voice. Her tone, pitch, and diction are orgasmic. She’s going to speak for me. I’m helping some young actors lose their regional accents and Emily offered her services.”

“Don’t ruin my fantasy.” Erin said.

“You would fantasize about me having sex with Emily Prentiss, which isn’t going to happen?” Jason asked. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, bifocals precariously perched on the bridge of his nose.

“There are surely worse things to fantasize about. Ask Jennifer Jareau about her minotaur fantasy.”

“You're a strange bird who needs to stop hanging out with Jennifer Jareau.”

“I'm helping her with her lines for The Group. She's not that great of an actress but I like her.”

“Jason, I'm going to go.” Dave walked back into the living room. “We need to get together soon; actually talk. I love watching you create but do prefer not being ignored.”

“Spencer will see you out. We’ll meet for brunch on Sunday. I’ll have something worthwhile to contribute by then.”

“It was lovely to meet you, Erin.” Dave extended his hand.

“Definitely a pleasure, David Rossi.” She shook his hand, slipping her phone number into his palm.

“Are you going out with him?” Jason asked when Dave left.

“Why do you ask? Does he hit on all the pretty women who come here for food?”

“On the contrary. Despite his three trips to the altar, David Rossi is notoriously picky about everything.”

“Three trips; are you serious?” Erin made a face. “Does he have an enormous cock?”

“Yes.” Jason nodded.

“You're playing with me…right? God, maybe I should’ve let him believe that Kirk was my sugar daddy. Speaking of Kirk, he has a good line on a muse that will be exactly what you need.”

“What's in the tote bag?” Jason pointed to it on the floor. He finally got up from his piano and made his way to the couch. He spent the entire morning writing music, though it wasn’t going how he wanted. It was the perfect activity for a rainy New York winter’s day.

“They're scripts; everything from bit parts to starring roles. I have a Tony Award and they still want me to audition. I've made it on Broadway…I have nothing to prove to these people.”

“Hotch and Beth might be producing something for television in the next year or so. I think they’re going to get that ABC deal.” Jason ate some shrimp. “You know you're always foremost on his mind for projects.”

“That’s because I rocked his world in Positano, 1974. I had to do that Vogue shoot and he came along for shits and giggles. The sex was amazing. You’d never know he had it in him. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I've never told anyone. What's this about Kirk being your sugar daddy?”

“That’s what David Rossi thought. He said he saw it on Page Six. It’s what a lot of people think.”

“Well he is 55 and filthy rich and you're 30 and gorgeous. It’s a natural progression in most minds. That doesn’t make it right though.”

“I won't be 30 for another two weeks. Give 29 all of its time please.”

“I think you know what I'm saying. Calm down, Norma Desmond, I'm not trying to age you before you're ready.”

“Kirk and I aren't having an affair.” Erin said in a matter of fact tone. “Did you think we were?”

“I didn’t think anything.” Jason replied. “I wouldn’t judge you either way and you know that. He's quite taken with you; that’s obvious.”

“I'm taken with him too. My father died when I was eleven. That analyst I was seeing suggested that the lack of male attention right on the precipice of puberty means I most likely have an Electra Complex.”

“That analyst is a quack.”

“He treated Diane Keaton and Jill Clayburgh.” Erin said.

“He's still a quack. Electra Complexes present in women who are sexually attracted to their fathers and/or a father-like figure. If you truly had it you and Kirk would be fucking like bunnies.”

“I do love him though there's nothing sexual about it. The first and only time we kissed on the lips is when I won my Tony. Maybe that’s what I love about him…I can just be me. I put on no airs and give no illusions. We bake cookies, watch Hitchcock films in his movie room, and he's teaching me Italian so he can take me to Italy this summer. I just feel good with him. Kirk is a soft place to fall. It’s been four years…he's the longest almost-romantic relationship I've ever been in.”

“Do you think he might be in love with you?” Jason asked.

“I don’t think so.” Erin shook her head. “He’ll never love anyone but Marjorie. Losing her was just devastating to him. Fuck cancer, like seriously fuck cancer. I don’t have any explanation for my relationship with him but it’s good for both of us. We shouldn’t have to give that up because of what the masses think. Fuck the masses.”

“I feel the same.”

“Tell that to your celibacy.”

“Aren't you sharp as a tack?” he pinched her cheek.

“Can you read Richard for me?” Erin smiled that sweet girl grin as she handed him a script. “All of his lines are highlighted. This is a small part but I find I really like it. A nice back and forth will let me know for sure.”

“You do this to me on purpose.” Jason took the papers from her hand.

“You missed you calling, truly.”

“I have enough callings. One more brick and I’ll surely collapse under the weight of them.”

“That muse cannot come soon enough.” Erin said. “She's going to help bring order to your beautiful chaos.”

“Hey, my beautiful chaos is one of the most interesting things about me.” Jason said. “I don’t want to lose that too.”

***

 
 
Where am I?: the lair
Feelings: accomplishedaccomplished
Background Noise: silence
 
 
 
mnxparis on October 27th, 2013 08:43 pm (UTC)
This is amazing! Very different feel than your other stories. Very intriguing. I look forward to reading more as your muse allows. Thank you for continuing to share your gift. I know I don't always post to tell you but you do a wonderful job and I have enjoyed your stories.
SSA McGeek: Erin in Glassesmcgarrygirl78 on October 28th, 2013 11:28 pm (UTC)
I'm really glad you like it. It does have a bit of a different feel but I do love this Erin and I want to see where she can go in my head. I've written out two more scenes and have some more in my head but I'll spend tomorrow crafting out what kind of scenes I see so I can know where this writing is going. Still no specific plot yet, maybe a year in the life kinda thing, but AUs are always adventures.