Work Text:
Pretty
by Mr. Denny Crane's Ghostwriter
"Denny."
"Mm?"
"I've been wondering about something."
"What's that?"
"Earlier, you told Tara that Crane, Poole and Schmidt only hired pretty people."
"It's true."
"And while that doesn't explain Paul Lewiston, it certainly explains everyone else."
"Lewiston doesn't count. I didn't want him here."
"It still begs the question."
"What question is that?"
Alan took a puff on his cigar and exhaled the smoke before speaking. "Did you hire me because I'm...pretty?"
Denny looked at him with amusement. "You think you're pretty?"
"I didn't say that. I asked you if you hired me because I'm pretty. After all, if you didn't, then you lied to Tara."
"I lied to Tara."
Alan looked up at the night sky, stars barely visible above the gathering clouds. "Denny, you are many things, but a liar is not one of them."
"You really think that?"
"You don't lie to me."
"Wrong. I just did."
"Ah, so you did hire me because I'm pretty." Alan smiled in satisfaction.
"No, I hired you because you're ethical, a...powerful speaker...creative...and..."
"Pretty?"
Denny eyed him. "I was going to say, a damn good lawyer."
"I would've preferred pretty."
"All right," Denny nodded in resignation. "I hired you because you're pretty."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
They sat silently puffing at their cigars and sipping their drinks.
"I think you're pretty, too."
Denny looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me."
"That was uncalled for."
"What?"
"I am not pretty, Alan."
"That, sir, is a matter of opinion," Alan said, rising to his feet and crushing the end of his cigar out in the ashtray between them. "I'm going out."
"Where?"
Alan shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like prowling."
"Care for company?"
Alan watched as Denny stood and placed his emptied glass on the table. "Sorry, Denny. I only go out with pretty people." His face was a mask of stone.
"Fine, fine. For you, I'll be pretty. Okay?"
"Deal."
As one they headed down the hall toward the elevators. Alan pushed the down button and they waited. Denny shifted uncomfortably, then said quietly to Alan, "Don't you dare tell anyone I let you call me pretty."
"I won't if you won't."
"Deal."
The doors opened and the men stepped in. As they closed, Alan said, "Pretty people going down." Denny's laughter echoed as the elevator descended.
Tara peeked around the corner into the elevator foyer. "Oh, Alan," she said, shaking her head. "And you wonder why you can't let yourself love me."