Chapter Text
So that happened, Justin thought. His hands itched for pencils and a sketch pad as he watched Brian at the kitchen table feeding Gus. Gus seemed to enjoy the reprieve from the highchair as he sat in Daddy’s lap with the small dish of pureed green stuff just out of reach. Brian had shown up cursing and in a foul mood having not been able to get Lindsay on the phone after her hysterical voicemail. Lindsay had left her phone on the dining room table when Mel had taken her to the emergency room for an x-ray.
Thankfully by the time Brian arrived the police had cleared out. Or Justin would have been trying to remember the combination to the bail safe. Sep had taken Kal to go retrieve Lindsay’s car and pick up some dinner for the family. Leda startled as she came in the backdoor and said, “Hello,” with an inflection that asked ‘what are you doing here,’ without actually saying so.
“Lindz got mugged, Mel took her to the hospital to have her wrist checked out,” Brian said.
Leda asked, “Is she alright?”
“Just some scrapes, other than the wrist,” Justin said, “but she’s shaken up pretty badly. She’s never been assaulted before and this really threw her.”
Brian snorted, shaking his head but keeping quiet, probably due to Gus being right there. At least Gus was a good deterrent to the stream of profanity probably running though Brian’s mind. Still Justin was willing to give Lindsay a pass on her reaction; he knew how violence could fuck you up. Lord knew September hadn’t been very sympathetic; or sympathetic at all but Sep had mommy issues. In Sep’s mind Lindsay should have held it together in front of Gus, and Justin got the impression Brian thought Lindsay should have not even come home for Gus to see her until she got her shit together.
According to the cops Lindsay had refused treatment and not been able to give a coherent statement due to having to get home to her baby. The police were actually worried she had left her kid unattended so had brought her home. She just got worse when the house was empty, as Kal had taken Gus to the park. She’d made several phone calls, her call to Kal being no less hysterical than the call Justin had received. Getting first Mel and then Brian’s voicemails had set her off crying again. The cops should have taken her to the emergency room first thing. But he guessed they had protocols for child endangerment and had to check.
Kal arrived back with Lindsay’s car and took Gus upstairs to play. Sep arrived a bit later having stopped for food. She had two pizzas, one meat lovers and one with every vegetable they offered, a couple dozen wings and enough fried cheese, and a fried breaded vegetable medley that would block an artery. After dumping her offerings on the cooktop of the stove, Sep kissed Justin’s cheek and murmured, “I’m clearing out, this is hitting all my triggers and I might throw a punch. If she’s still a fucking mess, take that baby home with you.” She then added, “See you tomorrow Brian, it was nice meeting you Leda,” and left.
“Trigger?” Leda asked.
Justin wrinkled his nose at how unhealthy all the food was but plated a slice of meat lovers for Brian and handed a plate to Leda while saying, “Sep’s mom was mentally ill. Sep, being the kind of girl to cut you rather than cry, came pretty close to slapping Lindsay for drama-ing in front of Gus.”
Brian glared at the slice of pizza as if it had insulted him and then asked, “Why the hell am I seeing September tomorrow?”
“She’s using some of the equipment in the art department to do some editing,” Justin said.
Brian took a bite of pizza, chewed and asked, “Wouldn’t the university have better equipment, we’re not actually a film studio?”
“She’s not a student until fall semester, although I may pitch her to take a class in summer session like I am just to clear out a core class and have use their facilities,” Justin said.
Leda had taken a slice of each pizza and said, “Did Lindsay say what happened?”
“I wasn’t here when she was,” Brian offered and looked to Justin.
Justin sat between Leda and Brian and said, “She wasn’t real coherent, but once I got her calmed down and convinced her that she needed to hold it together she said she parked at First Side and took the T to Market, as she was coming up from the underground there was a pull on her handbag. It almost pulled her back down the stairs and she didn’t want to fall down the stairs onto the people behind her, so she grabbed onto the railing and braced herself. That satchel she carries is all leather, it’s pretty sturdy and she thought she had caught it on the railing or something. It didn’t occur to her to let go of it, she even braced the strap with her hand trying to keep the pressure off her shoulder and preventing it from pulling her over; I think that’s what happened to her wrist. When she turned to see what she’d caught it on there was a man pulling on it. She froze, he jerked it and pulled her over, wrenching her wrist and she fell into him sending both of them back down the stairs into the rest of the commuters. He got up and ran and she apparently stayed there on the ground until a cop or security guard came and radioed for help.”
“And why didn’t they take her to the ER?” Brian said.
Justin shook his head and said, “She was a wreck and just focused on getting home and making sure Gus was okay.”
“Gus had nothing to do with it,” Brian said, “He was fine. That’s why Kal is here to prevent disruption in Gus’ routine.”
“Maybe it’s a mom thing,” Leda offered, “like some instinct that makes you have to check your kid when you’re in pain or scared. Don’t look at me I may have a uterus but I’m as in the dark as you guys are.”
“It’s a fucking Lindsay thing,” Brian said.
Justin offered, “To be fair, she’s led a pretty sheltered life, this is probably the first violence directed at her she’s ever faced.” The shadow of both proms and both bashings were in Brian’s eyes when he met Justin’s and they shared a nod.
Kal wandered in and poked through the bags, selecting wings and meat lovers and fried cauliflower. He filled them in on his perspective. He and Gus were at the playground when Lindsay called. All he really got from the call was that she was home, crying a lot and really upset that he and Gus weren’t there. So he packed Gus back up into the stroller and they headed home only for him to see the police car parked out front. He was glad Justin had been there because he didn’t feel comfortable bossing Lindsay around the way Justin did.
Brian snorted and added that Justin was pretty comfortable bossing everyone around.
Leda leered at that, she had a way of making everything sexual and Justin was already regretting introducing her to September.
Mel and Lindsay came in the backdoor. Lindsay’s wrist was in a cast, it was her right one so her dominate hand would be out of commission. Brian deflated when he saw how bruised and battered she was and Justin figured she had no idea the bullet she’d just dodged as Brian let her throw herself into his arms. Over her shoulder Brian and Mel shared a speaking look and Leda stood and gave her chair to Mel and started plating some food for her.
“This stress isn’t good for you either,” Brian said to Mel.
Mel shrugged and said, “Things had mostly calmed down by the time I got home.” And then she added, “I can’t believe something like this happened in broad daylight.
“Best time to do it really,” Leda said. “People drop their guards; they feel safe in a crowd.”
Brian watched Justin slide into his burgundy leather pants and a light grey silky tee. Brian went with dark grey trousers and an untucked crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, over a dark tank top. There was an exhibit at The Mattress Factory in honor of Pride and tonight was the launch. It was invitation only and then the exhibit would run for the next month. Justin had been approached, less than a week before, since they had been putting together works by local LGBT artists. He hadn’t done anything new for them but had picked our four of his best pencil studies of Brian. Two face down, showing the plains of his back and swell of his ass and two face up, showing his other attributes. They were not for sale. The works were head and shoulders above his first show at the GLC so very long ago. The Mattress Factory was more than a few steps up from the GLC as well.
Brian had long ago resigned himself to the fact Justin couldn’t help but put him into his work. Even when Brian wasn’t the focus of a work, somehow he was always there, in a particular line or certain shading. If the rest of the work shone tonight was on par with Justin’s it should make rubbing shoulders with the seasonal gays that Pride brought out at the very least endurable. They headed out taking Brian’s jeep.
Brian and Justin entered, turning heads. At first glance, the two of them were more of a work of art than any of the pathetic ceramics and macramé cluttering up the space. This was obviously not an event Emmett had worked on; the booze alone was a dead giveaway. Emmett would have upgraded to a better quality and something more than cheese on a toothpick would have accompanied the bad wine. Brian sneered at the dubious Champaign being offered to him and murmured, “This is pathetic. PTA moms could put together a better bar than this.”
Kevin was there with Ted. Ted came over to talk with them while Kevin seemed to be dancing attendance on Garth Racine. The three of them wandered through the space, Brian and Ted talking shop in low voices that would leave others around them to think they were commenting on the art. Justin stopped so they stopped with him. When Ted realized there were four naked drawings of Brian hung on the wall he said nothing just stared with an open mouth.
“Problem?” Brian asked Justin.
Justin shook his head in frustration, “I fucking told them I wanted these mounted four square, not in a row like this. Buy the gallery for me and burn it down.”
“No, Justin,” Brian said, amused that artist Justin, the bane of New York gallery owners, was rearing his head. “I would never deprive you of the pleasure of yelling at some poor slob. While you’re at it complain about the wine and h’ordeuvres.”
“Brian, that’s you,” Ted said, Brian kept a straight face; this Ted hadn’t been exposed to years of Justin’s obsession.
Brian barely flicked a glance at Ted and said, “Yes, Theodore, I’m a work of art, try to keep up, someone botched the mounting.”
“You’re good,” Ted said to Justin.
Justin smiled and said, “I have another exhibit opening at the Heinz History Centre at the end of the month, you should like it; it’s a tribute to the music clubs of the Hill District and the performers.”
Kevin brought Garth over to smarmily introduce them to him. As if Brian hadn’t crossed paths with Garth countless times over the years.
Justin gave Garth the request polite attention before murmuring to Brian, “I’m going to go speak with someone.”
Brian translated that to mean ‘be prepared to help hide bodies’. He gave Justin a ten minute head start before peeling away from the group and going to find him. The event planner was some suburban breeder. How she had gotten involved with the art work Brian didn’t know, but from the set of his shoulders Justin was going to rip her a new one. Her idea of art was probably big eyed motel paintings. The venue normally functioned as a creative space for artists and their art work but it turned out that this little event and the show had been put together by the GLC. And it showed by the level of professionalism. With Lindsay busy and the babies on the way, the GLC had the freaking event planner putting out every piece that was sent and apparently anyone could show work. It was a good thing they were all tagged because she must have literally sorted them by name and then grouped them by size and hung them based upon where and how she needed to fill in space. She didn’t have any background in art, and had just pointed where she wanted stuff to the college interns who worked at the gallery. It wasn’t even property lit, unless shining the brightest light directly at the work was proper lighting.
Justin launched into her, regarding as he put it ‘playing pin the tail on the donkey’ with peoples’ art work. He said that she should have just told the venue that providing government cheese and generic booze had taxed her limited abilities because surely the venue had someone on staff with a modicum of taste and experience with how to handle art work. He had just gotten to the point where he was saying that no reputable artist would be willing to trust their work to The Mattress Factory when someone from the venue came bustling over.
“Mr. Taylor,” he said at his obsequious best, and Brian realized that here was someone who actually knew who Justin was. The events coordinator looked confused. It seemed as if she had pegged Justin as some bitchy drama queen who did macramé or something. Considering she had handled this like some elementary school art show and put his venue’s name on her ham-handed handling of one of the most famous local artist he had better give damn good grovel or Justin would end up pulling his work. He asked, “How can I make this problem go away.”
And that just nailed it, the guy must have read some book on verbal disarmament, Justin may have let it slide now that he was dealing with a professional, but Brian growled, “Open you’re fucking eyes. The message you’re sending to all these people, the reporters and the crowds you’re hoping to lure into this money pit is that gay and lesbian artists aren’t worth the same professional treatment as the straight ones. The only art this woman ever hung was on her refrigerator. She didn’t follow the artist’s instructions, it’s grouped all wrong and Laurel Caverns are lit better. Also, open your ears; she’s treating someone who did you a favor by letting you show his work as if he doesn’t have the right to pull it. Is she related to you? Because this is a fucking nightmare, she’s tanking your reputation. Do you think anyone realizes that Miss Jane here with the Kool-Aid and whatever the hell is on those toothpicks is the mind behind this fiasco? No, she’ll just go on to ruin other events. But you, everyone thinks you and your staff are responsible for this amateurish set up. Let me guess, you charge extra to have a professional do it, so the GLC decided to hire this housefrau to take care of the event. Well the GLC is going to come off as the victim here and you my friend are taking the hit to your reputation. ”
“Seriously, I want my work pulled, I only lent it with the understanding it would be hung and lit properly,” Justin said looking pretty fierce for a skinny twink in leather pants.
Brian said, “In the future just build the cost of a professional into the fee for leasing the space. You have no idea how much money it takes to buy back your rep. I do, because I buy reputations for people all the time and I charge a fortune.”
Justin badgered the man, who apparently was a fan until a workman, union and experienced came out onto the floor and moved the drawings and shifted the light and put in soft gels over the harsh white. Justin reluctantly agreed to leave the work for the duration of the show, but growled out that the rest of the disaster need to be fixed, now.
Since that little hissy fit had pretty much been the entertainment of the evening they cut out and headed to Babylon. Ted and Kevin ditched Garth and headed there as well. Babylon was still competing with other clubs but Pride gave it a boost. Sap still missed the mark occasionally and didn’t have the showman’s instinct that had let Brian pull strings from behind a curtain for over a decade. Case in point it was the middle of Pride week and Babylon was blasting 80’s music. Sure it appealed to the suburb dwellers. But the hot hip younger men were heading down the street to a competitor. So the older crowd that loved it remembers Babylon as a place without fresh meat and the younger crowd remembers it as a hangout for the older crowd. Now would be the time for a foam party or a contest with a decent prize designed to get the hottest guys up on stage strutting it for the crowd, or a celebrity like freaking Ru Paul.
“Stop making that face,” Justin said, putting his arms around his neck and kissing him.
Brian said, “What face?”
“The one that say you want to buy the place and start yelling at people,” Justin said.
Brian did not smile; in fact he put a skeptical look on his face and drawled; “Now you’re worried about people getting yelled at? Did you not just demand I buy you a building so you could burn it down?”
“That was a public service,” Justin said.
Brian said, “Its 80s night, again, every time they do this the age of the crowd goes up by ten years. Ten years is a long time.”
“Not long enough, not if it’s with you,” Justin smiled and plastered himself from hip to shoulder against him. And suddenly dancing seemed overrated.
Sep was waiting, saving a booth for them at Liberty Diner. She had coffee and was paging though the newspaper.
“Don’t you look grown up,” Justin said and slid in across from her and turned over his own cup to indicate he wanted coffee.
She made a face and said, “How’s the drama queen?”
“Her wrist is broken, she has bruised ribs and well you saw the scratches, I imagine she looks like a rainbow puked on her this morning now that all the bruises have come up,” Justin said because he got Sep’s low tolerance for certain things but Lindsay had really been hurt.
Debbie had stopped to fill his cup and said, “My God, who?”
“Lindsay, she was mugged. In broad daylight, coming up from the T station on Market,” Justin said.
“Jesus Christ, how will she take care of that baby?” Debbie asked, “I’m going to make her a casserole.”
“She’s has Mel, and Kal and Leda’s staying there. She knows Brian and I will take Gus for a while if she needs help,” Justin said, but he mentally made a note to call and see if they needed someone to take him for a while. “She’s not alone.”
Debbie took their order and went to take care of the rest of the late breakfast crowd.
“So what was so interesting about the paper,” Justin asked, almost inhaling the dark strong coffee.
“Look,” Sep said, and folded the paper and spun it toward him. “Daph and Mon; all red carpet glam.”
It was a good picture of both of them, two tiny girls in flapper wear holding a shiny award between them. It looked to be in the arts and leisure section of the Trib too not some LGBT periodical. It was from the Gatsby Party and the article detailed the event and what the money was raised for. Justin was sure it was their photo and not one of the other groups the LGC had honored because, they were both photogenic and because anything captioned St. James was running right now.
The caption listed them each by name saying that the current and former president of the St. James Gay Straight Alliance were accepting an award for the groups fundraising efforts on behalf of Liberty House. Vic had retroactively classified all their volunteer hours with the cookie sale under the group that hadn’t technically been formed until after the New Year so they were receiving a special award for service from the GLC. Vic was a genius.
Hunter and Vic came in and joined them and admired the photo. Deb brought them what she wanted them to eat when she brought Justin and September’s order. They ate and caught up with Vic’s plans for Pride and how Hunter was going to the parade with Monica and Brittney. Justin updated them on Brittney’s sexy secretary outfits at work.
As Vic and Hunter were leaving for a volunteer shift at Liberty House, Michael stopped in; he kissed his mother and took the seat Vic had just vacated next to Justin. As Vic was saying goodbye, Hunter muttered something about that the new guy working at Liberty House being a dick. Justin froze. Surely with all the publicity and news coverage they wouldn’t have that asswipe working at Liberty House again.
“Why’s he a dick?” Justin heard his own voice say in an amazingly calm tone and was kind of surprised he could articulate anything. He had that ringing in the ears, blood pounding to the brain; someone was walking on his grave feeling.
Hunter tried to shrug it off. He almost seemed surprised anyone listened to what he said. Finally when Justin just kept looking at him and waiting for a response he said, “He’s angry, mean… he gives me a bad vibe okay?”
“You have good instincts, Hunter,” Justin said. “It’s why you’re still alive.” Debbie turned a sharp look on Justin but held her tongue. “If this guy is giving you a bad feeling, stay away from him. Don’t be alone with him. What’s he doing there anyway?”
“Just sweeping up, laundry, general clean up, he’s not near the residence,” Vic said and turned his attention to Hunter, “has he spoken to you? He’s on work release; they’re not supposed to talk to any of the volunteers or residences.
“He’s some criminal?” September said. “And they let him around sick people? Around Godiva?”
“How do you know Godiva?” Michael asked.
September leveled one of her you’re a waste of flesh looks at Michael and said, “Godiva is Emmett’s family, Em is my family. I’m coming with you guys.”
“Sep?” Justin said and grabbed her wrist as she stood. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, wanted to warn her about but Debbie and Michael were right there and giving September a breakdown of the future as he knew it wouldn’t really help or stop anything. So he said, “If you need bail, you call me. Your dad’s out of town.”
“Marc -” she started
Justin cut in, “will make things worse and can’t get twenty thousand in cash – call Marc when you need to get rid of a body, call me to stay out of jail.”
“I remember; you’re the fag with lawyers on speed dial, big angry dyke lawyers,” Sep said.
Justin smiled and said, “Just one and she won’t be big for another couple months.”
Deb rolled her eyes and went to get Michael whatever she felt he needed to eat. Michael, now that the icky girl had left the other side of the booth got up and slid across from him. Justin was actually okay with that. Michael asked, “Where would you get twenty thousand dollars?”
“Same place Brian would, Mikey,” Justin said, because really he was not playing this game where Michael insinuated he was sponging off of Brian.
Michael said, “Don’t call me Mikey, only Brian calls me Mikey.”
Justin just smirked happy to drop the subject. Michael dropped it as well but he didn’t stay quiet. Justin picked the remains of his breakfast and was in the process of folding up Sep’s paper and putting it in his satchel to take into the office and show Brittney while Michael detailed how different his life was now that he had a kid. Debbie stopped to smile indulgently at him while he talked about Hank.
As Debbie was flagged down by another customer, Michael broke off pontificating on the joy of parenthood when realized his attentive audience had left. Turning to make sure she was far enough away Michael looked back and said, “So how did you do it?”
“How did I do what, Michael?” Justin asked.
He said, “Ma mentioned Brian stopped by and talked to her and Uncle Vic about Hunter attending that fancy school of yours.”
Since Michael seemed to be waiting for some response but hadn’t asked an actual question Justin said, “And?”
“And, what?” Michael asked.
“What exactly are you asking, or insinuating? My skills in the sack are fucking amazing but if you’re implying that any form of sex is enough to persuade Brian to do something he doesn’t want to you obviously don’t really know the man,” Justin said, one thing that he could do in his sleep after all this years was push all of Michael’s buttons, it was much easier now that Michael didn’t know him.
As evident by Michael’s going red and sputtering indignantly and huffing, “I’m his best friend! He would never-”
“Be generous? Show compassion? I get that the rest of the world might not see through the impenetrable façade Brian shows, but as his best friend you of all people should have an idea why it’s there and why Brian might be able to relate to Hunter and want to give him and opportunity he never had,” Justin said.
Michael really wasn’t moderating his volume and Justin saw Deb turn and start to come over as he replied, “I’ve known Brian for fifteen years, he has nothing in common with that little whore!”
If Debbie hadn’t had her hands full with a tray and a hot pot of coffee, she would probably have hit Michael hard enough to do damage to his brain. As it was she took a deep inhale to let him have it but Justin didn’t need volume so he hissed out low and dangerous, “You don’t think Brian has the same skills as Hunter, Mikey? Skills you and I never needed?”
Since Debbie seemed to be willing to let Justin speak before chastising Michael for calling Hunter a whore, Justin said, “Neither of us know what it’s like to be a kid, who stops outside their own home and listens; assesses the situation like going to battle. Can you imagine it? At seven? Ten? Thirteen? He’d stop outside to see if he heard shouting, and then as quietly as possible, opened the door. He’d slip inside. Scenting the air for fresh booze, listening for the creak of a particular floor board or any indication of who was home, where they were, and just how drunk they were. Jack at least had places to go, work, the club, bowling, but Joan, if she wasn’t at church, she could be lying in wait. She may not have been as physically dangerous but a mother who blames her children for not praying her life better can leave deeper scars. Even when she’d drag him to mass multiple times a week she kept up the grinding litany of blame. If he was a better son, a good boy instead of a sinner his father wouldn’t drink or have to hit him. He should pray to be a better person and stop ruining his family. What kid needs that?”
“I was talking about Hunter, not Brian,” Michael said.
Justin said, “They’re both survivors. Both were born to mothers who should never have had children, or if they did, had them taken away. And they both found a way to claw their way out that trap, even if it involved chewing off a leg. You know, James O’Barr wrote, ‘Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children’ there are a lot of different gods in the world, Mikey, some want virgins sacrificed and others want hearts ripped out and offered up to them.”
He continued, “Now I don’t know if Brian had a private conversation with your uncle and mother but I do know that if he did, he wouldn’t want you making his business the talk of the diner – or anywhere else. Normally I would say have this conversation with Brian but I am going to do you a good turn and say, don’t. It’s none of your business. And before you start bleating away about how Brian is your best friend, I would like to point out that you haven’t really been acting like it. He’s not one of your action figures Michael. He’s a real live adult, who is capable of making million dollar decisions. The fact you feel you can second-guess decisions he makes about his personal life, the people in it and his finances is frankly ludicrous.”
Justin tossed a twenty on the table and left. He checked his phone and actually thought about heading to Liberty House. But if Hobbes was pushing a broom there he would be the one who needed bail. He was certainly in no state to head to the office so he turned his car towards his studio. Surely Sep had had enough time to get in trouble if she was going to.
September swung into Kinnetik’s temporary offices like a leggy blonde hurricane. For once she wasn’t loaded down with camera bags and tripods. One thing that Brian wasn’t going to miss in their new offices was a desk that had a front seat to all the office drama. He was having his desk and most of his own office furniture moved tomorrow; and then he would have a fucking door to slam.
Now he watched his little secretarial Lolita minced up to September in overly high heels and hiss out, “OMG you cannot go full press drama here; this is a place of business!”
Porn business, Brian ruefully thought, from his seat as he turned away from a frankly revolting look up the back of her obscenely short skirt; just in time to see Ian trip into Ron because he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Cynthia actual smirked at that so Brian stood and murmured, “You cracked first.”
“And?” she said.
Brian said, “You explain to the teen queen of the beaver shots that the boss does not want to see her vagina.”
“What do you mean he’s not here?” September’s voice rose.
Brittney said, “Lower your voice,” and then she followed her own advice before saying, “he hasn’t been in; no car out front.”
Brian crossed over to them and said, “Problem?”
September looked at him and then Brittney and said, “Just and I had breakfast, Vic and Hunter joined us and when they were leaving Hunter mentioned some creepy guy who was working at Liberty House so I went in with them to check him out.”
“When did you become Nancy Drew?” Brian asked
Sep said, “I got family there, if Hunter gets a vibe from someone… Godiva isn’t doing well, either.”
“Creepy guy?” Brittney prompted.
Sep said, “Chris fucking Hobbes.”
Brian looked up at the ceiling, he wasn’t praying for anything, just trying to keep from burning the girls with his heat vision if he suddenly developed it. God, he remembered. Being kind of buzzed and the abrupt come down when Justin was shaking in his arms, having been confronted with his assailant in a place he had actually thought of as safe. He could hear Brittney being appropriately horrified. And offering to set off a phone tree of parents to start calling and howling about the injustice of sick and dying people being subjected to the presence of someone who hated them and wanted them dead. Because that came out, the little shit had said everyone there deserved to die.
When Brian lowered his head and could keep a calm voice he asked, “What did you do?”
“I called Monica’s uncle Carl and told him that Hobbes was making death threats against the residence and terrifying the underage ex-prostitute that volunteered there,” September said in a soprano version of her cousin’s growl, “and I said it was Pride and if cop did not removed him from the photo op that his parents arranged to make him look all reformed that *someone* just might run out crying onto the very festive streets right outside Liberty House and find some dykes with bikes to sob to that her dear dying relative was being subjected to the homophobic slurs of the man who took a baseball bat to the head of her prom date because gay just might be contagious.”
“Do you know any dykes with bikes?” Brittney asked.
At the same time Brian asked, “Did Carl take care of it?
“Yes,” September replied, apparently to both of them. And then she sighed and added, “Tell Just I appreciate the offer but I’m not going to get anything done today.” She flapped a hand in the general direction of the parking lot and added, “oh and thank him for the bail offer, weird how he knew I might need it.”
Brian sighed right back at her and said, “Why don’t you two go, have lunch or shop or do girl things. Brittney buy some longer skirts and you can have the rest of the day with pay.”
“You don’t like my legs?” she said.
Sep said, “well there not male.”
“They’re distracting the straight guys,” Brian said, realizing as soon as he said it that it was the wrong thing because she looked enormously pleased as she bent over to get her handbag from her desk drawer, flashing thong again.
September of all people gave him a commiserating look and said, “I’ll take her to buy underwear too.”
This is what he needed. The windows were open. HD had the studio scheduled for installation of whole house air next Tuesday. But today Justin wasn’t looking for a new project, wasn’t working on anything for anyone but himself. He had blocked out a large five by six canvas in cool hues, a background that would be transformed into linens in shadowed sunlight. He wanted to contrast the warmth of Brian’s skin tones against a deserving backdrop. He could already see the finished work emerging from the canvas. Brian spread out face down, his powerful thighs, the sensuous swell of his ass, defined calf muscles. He’d done hundreds of sketches of Brian since starting over but he wanted something on canvas something to remember Brian, now, in the flush of his youth.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been working and his conscious mind really didn’t register the soft clicks of the door opening and closing.
“Saw your car,” Brian said. “September stormed in looking more like her cousin than you could imagine; treated all of us to a rant.”
Justin said, “Thought I would try and keep the drama out of the office. Sorry, figured she’d call me.”
“Is that me again?” Brian asked. Standing close but well-schooled after all these years not to slide arms in a three thousand dollar suit around Justin when he’d been painting.
Justin said, “You should change; before I’m tempted to jump you.”
So Brian went to the bedroom and hung up his suit and Justin tossed his painting clothes before wandering in naked to join him before he did something silly, like get dressed. They ended up in the Murphy bed and Justin really didn’t feel like talking about Hobbes or Michael or anything so they didn’t.
They lay together tracing light and shadow as it played upon their bodies. The overhead light was off but it was a sunny June day, the scent of the honeysuckles planted under the open windows wafted in with every breeze. Even with the sound of passing cars and kids biking down the streets the place seemed timeless as if they were alone in some afterlife and sometimes Justin wondered if they were. Wondered, whether all the drama and all the people around them were memories, or fantasies or half of each; shadow players who gave a backdrop to their own personal heaven.
But before he could get too introspective Brian’s touch changed from lazy appreciation to a heated controlling grip that moved his body into position. Bending him nearly in half and pressing his weight in and pushing each of them to their limits. And that was heaven too; it always had been with them. They might have taken years to develop the kind of trust and cooperation that had them often operating like two seamless halves of a whole but this, this physical, instinctual almost animalistic coupling, this had always worked. It had just taken a long time for them to open their eyes and recognize it for what it was, that it wasn’t something that people found every day that it was something rare and worth holding on to.
Afterwards they did talk, about Hobbes and the trial. How they both might be called as witnesses. Or not, Paul and Mike were the first on the scene.
“About Hunter,” Brian said, out of the blue. “You said, Daphne wants to send him to St. James; do you think they’d let him in?”
Justin said, “Depending on his placement tests yeah, but only if he pays tuition. Not that they don’t give scholarships, but the kids who get them start working in kindergarten on their applications.”
“What if Kinnetik matched dollar for dollar the funds ‘Everybody’s Child contributed toward him, like a sponsorship?” Brian said, and this must be what Michael had been talking about.
Justin gaped openly. Sure they could afford it but that was a big outlay and while a potential tax right off also a pretty big commitment if it was though Hunter’s high school graduation. All he could say was, “Brian.” His tone must have conveyed more than just surprise.
“The little shit was one of us. He was Mikey’s kid, even if neither of them ever know it. That makes him family. Fuck the gay community – they never did anything for me. But this is family, that brassed-off little whore came through for Jason Kemp, all of them did their best for you and me even when we wanted to strangle them. So yeah, Kinnetik is in its infancy but we can match what you spend on him a least until he’s out of high school.” Brian said.
Justin said, “It’s not a complete surprise, Michael was saying something about it at the diner this morning. I’m for it; we could even split the cost between Kinnetik and Taylor Art. But I think we should get Hunter’s input. I know he’s close with the girls but he’s heard some horror stories about that place and he might not be exactly fashion conscious, but polyester blazers. It’s something he needs to have a say about, too much in his life has been out of his control.”