BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

CHAPTER 9-ASSOCIATIONS

DANIEL CARTWRIGHT’S POV
to resume old acquaintances

“You know, I’ve asked him forty times not to flick his cigarettes in my garden,” you mumbled into the phone as you tried to stand inconspicuously to the right of your front door.

“Oh please, it’s not a garden, it’s a rosebush,” Jonathon said, adding that the crickets were chirping so loud that he could hear them over the phone. You told him to be quiet. “Why? Can you hear what they’re saying?” he wanted to know.

“No, of course not. I just see better when you’re quiet.”

…..

“Whatever. You called me.” Jonathon was at some sort of psycho-pharmaceutical conference in Toronto that you knew he was only attending because he had an almost mystical attraction to drug reps. “Look, if you’re going to keep me on the phone, at least give me the play-by-play. Don’t make me work so hard.”

Jonathon had given you so much shit about putting virtually-sheer curtains on the windows on either side of the front door when you bought this place, but tonight you were patting yourself on the back for your brilliant window treatment decision. You resumed your description of what was unfolding in front of you, “Everything on this guy is long.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Not that, you perv. His fingers, his hair--sort of. Hell, his legs are so long he could kick my door down without even getting out of his long limousine.”

“He’s in a limo?” Jonathon was listening now.

“Well, he was in it, but now he’s not...holy… fucking… shit.”

“What? What? Holy fucking shit, what?”

“The man is oozing sex all over my sidewalk.”

“Get the fuck out.”

Jonathon continued to ramble and you continued to watch.

The man who’d emerged from the limousine had to be close to your age. You couldn’t decide if you’d prefer him a little younger or a little older, or if you’d just prefer him, period. Justin certainly did. It wasn’t anything overt that made you think that, just more of a familiarity between them that made you almost ashamed for not looking away. You mumbled something to Jonathon who responded,

“What? I can’t understand you. Speak up.”

“I said, his shoes are as expensive as yours. His clothes, more so.” Jonathon was a man who preferred to classify things by comparison.

“I hope you have the light off. I hope you’re not standing there in plain-hidden sight.” You’d never appreciated the dimmer on your foyer light more than at that very moment. Your hesitancy gave you away, “That light’s not the only thing that’s dim.” He can’t go half a minute without drawing an analogy, a comparison, or just getting on your nerves.

“And there’s product in his hair.”

Jonathon mocked you, “Product. Christ, you’re so sterile, sometimes.”

“Well, there has to be because the wind is blowing and his hair isn’t.” Jonathon laughed, and kept firing questions at you. He wanted to know every little detail. God, he’s so nosy, you thought.

You quit listening to him, too busy recording the details on your mental legal pad. This man, you thought, didn’t even look like Justin’s type; he was obviously steeped in wealth. He wore it like underwear, like an afterthought. He moved with ease even though he was obviously a little nervous.

And you wondered why.

The juxtaposition of the two of them standing there on your sidewalk gave you pause. Justin was doing that thing that he’d done the night you met him. He was giving off that air of confidence, of certainty, even though he stood there in almost unraveling jeans that fell too long on his sneakers. Why Justin would want this man--that you could understand. Why he’d want Justin, though, became more of a puzzle as you lurked in the shadows. You told Jonathon as much, and he seemed incredulous, “You can’t understand why an older, wealthy man would be interested in someone like Justin? Is that what you just said?” Over the years, there’d been times in your conversations with Jonathon that you became aware that he was suddenly on the clock with you. That was precisely one of those moments. “Do we really need to have this conversation? I hope you have insurance.” You sighed into the phone. “Been a long time since you looked in the mirror, Dan?

Yeah, but this guy’s really tall, you thought.

“You should start charging yourself. You’d be a gazillionaire.”

Had Jonathon been one of those strip-mall shrinks who needed a slogan in the Yellow Pages to attract the herd, it would’ve read: Dr. Jonathon Massey, Psycho-analytic Psychiatry……..Adding insult to injury for fifteen years….and counting.

Were you really like this guy? Did the air move out of your way when you took a step forward? Was your self-confidence that ubiquitous? Were you just as addicted to comparisons as Jonathon?

Was Jonathon still on the phone?

Apparently.

You watched Justin until he disappeared inside the limo. The windows were tinted. The curtain went down on your peep show.

****************
JUSTIN’S POV
when you walked into the room
there was voo doo in the vibes

The cool air of that New York City evening transformed into a warmth that you were almost leery of when you slipped inside the limousine. You glanced down at the clothes you had on and felt distinctly like there must be cameras somewhere filming the Candid Camera version of Cinderfella. When you looked back up, Brian was smiling at you, his hand moving to rest on your thigh. You watched his fingers drape over your leg and thought they felt heavy. But not as heavy as the cloak of false pretense that Brian was wearing. There’d never been a moment in Brian’s life, you were certain, when his presence somewhere didn’t have an underlying meaning or motivation. When you smiled back, he squeezed your leg. You wrapped your fingers over his hand in an attempt to hold on to something.

Before you lost it.

It was never in Brian’s nature to be vague, and you felt more comfortable as he began to give a destination to the driver. You didn’t know why he was really here, but watching him boss someone around made you feel safer than you thought you should; yet you couldn’t remember where he’d just asked to be taken. When the limousine stopped in front of a nice, expensive hotel, your mind tried to stay one step ahead of him and failed, “You want to fuck?” you asked him, your face turning red immediately afterwards when you realized that you’d actually said those words to the chauffeur as he was opening the door for you and not to Brian. The chauffeur was kind enough to ignore the offer.

Once you were both on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, Brian touched the small of your back just as he had the last time you stood on a New York City sidewalk with him, “It’s not outside the realm of possibility, but I thought we’d have dinner first.” His eyebrow barely went up.

“Oh,” and Brian was holding the door open for you. The realization hit you so fast as you stepped into the bright lobby, that you stopped on a dime and Brian stopped himself from running into you, “But wait, look at me……look at you,” you gestured from yourself to him. “I mean, I’m not dressed.”

Brian’s arm found its way around your shoulders as he leant down and spoke to the top of your head, “Let me tell you a secret.”

“What?”

“There are two tiers of social acceptance when you have money.”

You looked up at him like he was high, “Huh?”

“The first tier is when you want people to know you have money, so you dress for where you want to be and not where you are.”

“Okay,” you said, not really understanding what the fuck he was talking about as he propelled you towards a nice restaurant in the hotel.

“The second is when you dress for where you are because where you are is where people want to be.”

“So, I take it The Gap is where people want to be?” you asked, wondering if you were wearing Gap jeans or not. You couldn’t recall at the moment.

Brian took the opportunity to feign a gaze at your ass, “I think you mean Abercrombie and Fitch.

“Right.”

Brian pulled your chair out for you, and you felt, well, weird, like maybe this was a dream. Only it couldn’t be because the wine was too good. You made small talk about what you were going to order, and when the waiter returned, Brian took your menu out of your hand and ordered for you before you could even open your mouth, “He’ll have the twelve ounce filet, medium, baked potato, butter, no sour cream, House Vinaigrette on the salad. I’ll have the same only steamed vegetables instead of a baked potato, and I’d like my filet very medium rare.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Whoa, that was efficient,” you remarked.

He ignored your comment, “You look good.”

……

“Thanks. So do you.”

……

……

“So tell me what you’re up to.”

……

“Are you staying in town tonight?” It was like you were playing tennis with each other but on different courts.

“I can.”

……

……

And in a ten-second delay that coincided with the delivery of your salad and the loss of your appetite, you suddenly felt the smile, the kindness, in his voice.

“Justin, I didn’t come here to fuck.”

And then dread.

The dread of knowing you’d been right since the moment he called forty-five minutes ago and told you he was in town. The dread of realizing that you were about to be, well, dumped.

You tried to stuff the feeling somewhere inconspicuous but it seemed to begin residing in the pitch of your voice, “You didn’t?” You thought about everything you’d done for yourself, everything you’d accomplished since you set foot in New York, how you were a fool to think you could have both Brian and a life, to have ever walked away from what you had, what you could’ve had with him. How the trepidation you’d felt the times you’d broken it off with him never felt like this. You’d never been dumped before, never felt like he didn’t want you. Never.

“You’re making me nervous as hell,” you said, the words finally emerging from the mosh pit in your brain and tumbling out of your mouth.

The waiter picked that moment to come refill your wine glasses. You watched the dark liquid rise in your glass, and then in Brian’s. Brian was staring at you as if to say, ‘Just a second.’ Whatever it was, was so bad that he couldn’t say it in front of the—

“Justin, I came because I wanted to see you.”

****************
I’ve got a girl in Paris,
I’ve got a girl in Rome,
I’ve even got a girl in the Vatican Dome

“Could you pass me the bread?” you asked, pressing your napkin into your lap. You realized you hadn’t eaten all day.

“Sure.”

You buttered your roll a little too deliberately, and half of it fell on your plate as you asked, “You have business here tomorrow or something?”

“Or something.”

……

……

You wished your wine glass felt more substantial in your hand. “Awfully tan for November.”

He smiled, “Cabo.”

“Cabo? Working or fucking?”

His expression on his face seemed to open a little, like he was glad you were interested, “A lot of the former, a little of the latter.” Your steak arrived and the waiter went to take your salad away and you stopped him. You weren’t done with it. “Kinnetik is working on a print and website campaign for Centauro. It’s a Destination Management Company.” He spoke of Kinnetik, the name you’d given his company, almost as if it wasn’t his.

Destination Management.

“More wine, sir?” the waiter asked him before leaving.

“Please,” Brian replied.

“May I please have some water?” you asked.

“Certainly, sir.”

“The wine isn’t to your liking?” Brian asked as the waiter walked away. “I can order something else.”

“No, it’s delicious. It’s perfect. I just want some water.”

Brian nodded, and then continued the conversation, “So what about you?”

He confused you for a second, “What about me?”

“What are you doing more of? The former or the latter?”

The waiter sat ice water down in front of both of you. “Anything else right now, gentlemen?”

“No. No, thank you.” Your server walked away and you looked up. Brian’s hands were clasped in front of his face. He was waiting for your answer. You weren’t sure if you were being seduced or interviewed, or worse, maybe neither.

You swallowed your potato, “The former, I suppose.” You made him smile. “And a little of the latter.”

……

“The man in the window?”

“Huh?”

“The man in the window. Is he the latter?”

You’d stood outside Daniel’s place for ten minutes waiting for Brian; you had no idea Daniel had been in the window.

“No.”

“Hmm. I’d pictured you living in more of a hovel.”

“That’s where I work. That’s my studio.” Brian looked like if he wasn’t being so polite, he might not believe you. “It has a skylight so it has really good light and lots of space.”

“Sounds nice.”

“And it’s on the second floor.”

You had no idea why you said that.

****************
you're thinkin' maybe if you said goodbye
you'll understand the reason why

The conversation stalled, which in retrospect you know was because you were both eating. It gave you time to chew your food and notice things about Brian. He’d just had a manicure, you could tell. And you thought that he must have shaved in the middle of the day because his face looked so smooth. You were running out of food to occupy yourself with, and you were so hungry, you could have eaten another steak. His leg brushed yours under the table.

“Sorry,” you said, tucking your feet under your chair.

“That was my fault.”

But what struck you more than anything was that he seemed relaxed. Happy? Satisfied? “Are you dumping me?”

“What?”

“Don’t be Captain Cryptic, just tell me. Are you moving on?” The speed with which the words were coming out of your mouth shocked you, and they were your words. “I mean, you know, just rip off the band-aid.”

He seemed to study you before he answered, like you were a new species on Animal Planet or something, “There’s no band-aid.”

It was your turn not to believe him, “There’s not?”

He almost laughed, “No. No band-aid.”

“Oh.”

“But there is dessert. If you want it,” he said, handing you the dessert menu.

Since when did being nervous make you ravenous? “No, I’m fine……But if you want to—"

“I’m fine.”

You were both fine.

****************
speculate who had been damaged the most

A chill cut through your clothes as you stood outside the hotel with Brian, trying to warm yourself with the smoke of your cigarette. You were buzzing a little, the two of you having finished off almost two bottles of an Alexander Valley Merlot. Brian sucked on his cigarette the way he always did when there was something on his mind.

You wondered what he’d come here not to tell you.

You wondered why he didn’t take you upstairs and fuck you senseless.

You wondered if you should make the first move, but there was something about the look on his face that seemed to indicate otherwise. And if Brian came here in a limo, dressed to kill, bought you an absurdly expensive dinner, and didn’t even show any interest having you for dessert that could only mean one thing, “Are you dying? I mean, the cancer’s not back, is it?” You didn’t mean for your concern to sound like an accusation.

“Why the fuck does everyone always think I’m dying?”

“Sorry…so, you’re not? Sick, I mean?”

Brian sighed as he stared across the street, “No, I’m not dying. And I’ve been trying to figure out all day how to tell you this, and I don’t have a clue—"

“Tell me what?” Another chill, and your cigarette was still a piece of shit.

Brian leaned against the stone wall of the hotel and looked at you, “Hobbs is dead. He was killed this morning.”

Your eyebrows went up farther than you thought possible, “What? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Construction accident. He fell out of a lift,” Brian waved his hand in the air as if acting out the next part of his sentence, “It was really windy, I guess.”

“He died—"

“Instantly.”

“Whoa.”

For some reason, you found comfort in staring at your sneakers.

“I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone but me,” Brian said, putting his hand on your shoulder like he barely knew you, “And I didn’t want you to be alone.” You felt horrible and not because Chris was dead, but because Brian had been lugging this news around with him all day. You’d seen what things like this did to him, and you immediately wanted to take his discomfort away. Seeing Brian uncomfortable in his own skin was an unbearable sight, and you’d only witnessed it a few times in your life. Both of your cigarettes had been discarded sometime during that exchange, and you stepped forward to shorten the distance between you. It was the first time that night that you felt like you belonged that close to him.

Your hand rested on his upper arm, “It’s okay. It’s all right.” Brian looked at you like your concern for him was a sticky film he needed to peel off. “It’s just hard to believe.”

“Never in a million years did I think that someday I’d be standing on a street in New York City having this conversation with you.”

“Me neither.”

Brian glanced up at the hotel, “I can stay. We can get a room…or you can home with me for a few days. I’ve got tickets on a flight back tonight.”

He wasn’t going to leave; that old feeling of being almost vigilantly guarded by him was one you hadn’t felt in years. And after all that time and way too much wine, it felt really good.

“Can we take the limo to the airport?” you asked him.

“Nah, I thought we’d take a Greyhound.”

****************
BRIAN’S POV
no I would not give you false hope
on this strange and mournful day

Back in the limo, you hit the intercom for your driver as he was heading for the airport, “Don’t. Just keep going.”

“Keep going, sir?”

“To Pittsburgh.” You looked at Justin, although his body was revealing more to you at that moment, slumped hard against you, his eyes haunted with a quiet stillness that seemed so foreign and yet so familiar at the same time. “Take us home.” For the first time since you’d told him, you saw his body relax a little. You gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Through the years, so many of Justin’s demons had been brimming on the surface that you often took it for granted that you could see them, touch them, give them advice they weren’t going to take. You shook your head, lost in your thoughts about candy-pink shirts and concealed weapons.

Looking at him now, you weren’t sure if he’d matured or the demons had just gotten smarter.

“When’s the funeral again?” he asked as the driver pulled onto the interstate.

“Friday morning.”

It was Wednesday night, November 12, 2008. You took your plane tickets out of your jacket pocket and dropped them into your briefcase lodged beside you. Justin watched you as they disappeared from his view and then went back to staring out the window, ‘I didn’t say we couldn’t fly back.”

“Better this way.”

You couldn’t imagine dragging him out of the warmth of the limo to go through security, to have to suffer through obnoxious airline passengers. The tickets were bought at the last minute and your seats weren’t even together. It’d been the best you could do at the time.

He yawned a few times and you told him, “If you’re tired, lie down.” He glanced up at you for a few seconds, and you brought your face to his, holding the back of his head as you kissed him. You felt weightless when your mouths touched, all of the blood in your limbs racing to get back to your heart. There was an implicit need for the moment to be more than it was, but you both ignored it, content to let the tenuous connection between you strengthen on its own.

His eyes opened briefly when he felt your hand slide underneath his shirt and then closed again as if his body remembered the path your palm always took. When he felt your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants, he lifted his hips, rising into your hand. The inside of the car was so quiet that you could enjoy the sound of his body rustling against yours.

“Please,” he whispered into your mouth, moaning softly as you opened his pants, his damp underwear making you smile. You thanked the inventor of tinted windows and chauffeurs as you pushed them halfway down his thighs. He pressed his cock into your hand, “God, get me off.”

You took your time; it was going to be a long ride home.

He held onto you like the lovesick teenager he no longer was, his fingers twisting in your hair as your hand passed over the head of his cock. You squeezed, and he said your name like he was feeding you each letter one by one. He ran his hand down your arm, covering your hand with his, and pressed it down the length of his dick. Your other hand clasped the back of his head to keep him falling as he showed you what he wanted.

As if you needed to be told.

Eventually, he came in your hand, folding himself into your lap as you covered him with your recently purchased, almost black jacket from the 2008 Prada Fall Collection, whose theme that year had been Shrouded Success. Your right hand snugged back between his warm legs.

Talk about the lap of luxury.

****************
’cause it’s only in your heart
this thing that makes you want to
start it all again

The night that Justin got hurt, you sat on a bench in the hospital corridor unable to stop the tears from streaming down your face. That night, as you rode with him back to Pittsburgh, his body eventually curled on the seat, his head in your lap, you thought about how grateful you were that tonight you could be with him, that you could touch him, and then it struck you that seven years after that incident, he still looked like a boy when he closed his eyes. Your hand brushed lightly through his hair, your fingers skimming over his scar.

Jennifer called your cell phone after not getting an answer on Justin's and you spoke to her in a hushed voice, "Hey. He's asleep. I couldn't reach his phone."

"Is he okay?"

"I guess so; he hasn't really said much since I told him."

"I thought you'd be back here by now."

"We opted not to fly. We're driving back." You glanced down to be sure you weren’t disturbing him. He’d had enough wine, apparently. Jennifer wasn’t saying anything in that way that she sometimes does. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed, “I did something stupid.”

“What?”

“Only because-- I just felt like I should.”

“I’m lost. Help me out.”

“I called Craig. You know, to tell him. I thought, like an idiot, that he’d want to know… that Chris Hobbs is dead.”

“And?”

…..

“He said, ‘Who?’”

“I suppose you set him straight, so to speak.”

“The conversation just went downhill from there.”

“Jennifer, I meant what I said before. I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

“I don’t want you to have to.”

“Sever your ties with him. You might as well do it now. It’s only going to be harder later.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any reason not to. Molly’s old enough to make her own decisions now.”

“Just do it. And when you’re all done, let me know, and I’ll take you bowling.”

“No way. You’ll kill me. You’re probably really, really good.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had lots of practice.”

****************
he wore his passion for his woman like a thorny crown

You woke Justin up about when you were about thirty minutes from the loft, amazed that he’d slept for so long. He was disoriented, almost forgetting where he was.

The only light on in the loft when you got inside was the low one over the sink, and he glanced around, commenting on the look of the place and then walked over to your table where you had mock-ups strewn about, “You’re working out of the loft?”

“Sometimes. I can concentrate here. I often work at Kinnetik in the morning, and then finish out my afternoon here.”

Justin glanced in the direction of the bedroom, “It seems so much emptier than I remember it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not here very much.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t sure if he’d want to go to bed after sleeping for so long, but then he walked toward the bedroom, so you followed him. He stood in front of your closet as if analyzing what was inside as you hung up your jacket and loosened your tie. “You okay?” you asked him, your voice quiet as if he was still asleep. He almost seemed like he was.

“Yeah.”

You turned back toward him and reached for him, feeling that if you didn’t, he might fall. Pulling him toward you gently, your fingers toyed with the hem of one of his five thousand cotton shirts, “You sure?”

“I wanna get in bed,” he said, almost to your chest.

You leaned over and tossed the covers back, and he sat down, lying back and watching you as you shed the rest of your clothes. He moved over a little as you slid under the covers, and you stared at him for a few seconds before you started undressing him. He bent his knees so you could untie his shoes, his hand rubbing your upper back. His clothes off, he joined you under the covers, pressing himself against you. You’d wanted to make love to him for the last six or so hours, that and fucking seeming like two things that suddenly couldn’t be more different. You wrapped him in your arms, and he hooked his leg over yours, your hand eventually skimming up and down it as the soft moans coming from both of you filled the room.

The only two things that sell, sex and death, and you had front row center for both that night.

His skin was soft and warm like it always was, and the look on his face was one you’d seen before. You closed your eyes as you kissed him and tried to ignore the flashes of blue skating behind your eyelids. And you weren’t a fool. Sometimes sex is lust and desire and sometimes its familiarity and comfort. For some reason, your mind told you to fight this notion, but your body wouldn’t listen. It felt familiar enough to know that it was a calm before an unknown storm. You whispered into his ear, “Open your eyes,” and looked to see if he knew what was coming.

He told you he loved you and closed them again, a small, peaceful smile on his face, a hint of nothing.

And in some other place far away from you, you could see him standing, surrounded as always by the brightest light, so bright now that it was blinding him.

“I love you, too,” you told him, your right hand cupping his ass as you inched inside him, incapable of picking up the pace. The last time you’d fucked him, you wouldn’t let him cling to you like he was now, his legs wound tightly around your waist.

You filled him over and over again trying to fuck away the emptiness.

****************
easy time will determine
if these consolations
will be their reward

Jennifer came over that next morning to see Justin, and you dressed as if you were going to the office.

“You’re going to work?” he asked you.

“Just for a little bit. Got a couple things to do. Give you some time with your mom. I’ll call you when I’m done and see if you’re ready for lunch.”

He glanced down the black trash bag in your hand, “Why are you taking out the trash? There’s nothing in it.”

You thought fast on your feet, “Documents in here. Financial. They have to be shredded. It’s the law.”

Justin looked at you like you were an idiot, “So buy a shredder.”

The kiss you were trying to give him turned into a hug, although Jennifer had already turned away, “I won’t be gone long.”

****************
I’m too sexy for Milan,
too sexy for Milan,
New York and Japan

"Good morning, Mr. Kinney. Today is Thursday, November 13, 2008. The time is eleven-o-eight a.m. The current temperature is fifty-two degrees under partly cloudy skies. You may enter your destination now.”

“TAYLOR ELECTRONICS.”

"Thank you. Taylor Electronics is entered as your destination. Have a safe trip.”

“MESSAGES.”

At this time, there are two new messages available. Press--"

“ONE.”

"Today, three fifty-three a.m. Brian, it’s Rube. Listen, um, there was sort of an incident here at the club tonight, but don’t panic or—"

Shit.

“--it’s no big deal…..it’s just that somehow a girl got into the backroom last night before anybody realized—"

Dumb asses. Tits might have been a clue.

“—I mean, it was really kind of funny because she was actually sucking some guy off-"

Christ.

“—see she had a baseball cap on, and the guy had his hand on her head while she was, you know, blowing him and he sort of pushed her hat off, and then all this long, brown hair came flowing down, and then there was sort of this mass exodus from the backroom. Brian, you have never seen so many screaming queens in your life—"

I’ll bet.

“—um okay, but the thing is, that wasn’t really the incident. It was sort of what happened afterward. Okay, well anyway, I’ve attached the files from your security camera so you can see for yourself. It’s really late, gotta go.”

“SAVE. TWO.”

”Thank you. Today, three fifty-nine a.m. Brian, it’s Rube, again. Listen, um, please don’t fire me. I love my job.”

“SAVE. UPLOAD ATTACHMENTS.”

“Uploading attachments. Thank you.

“Files have been cleaned and uploaded.”

“PLAY ATTACHMENTS.”

“Playing. Thank you.”

……

……

Oh my god, that son of a bitch.

“STOP. RE-CUE. ENHANCE AUDIO.”

“Thank you. File is re-cued. Audio is enhanced.”

“PLAY ATTACHMENTS.”

“Playing. Thank you.”

“……Come on in, babe.”

“Is this your office? It’s really nice.”

“Nah, this is Boss Man’s office.”

“Oh.”

“…but he let’s me use it whenever I want. Come over here, where it’s comfortable….What’s your name again?”

“Julie.”

“Julie. Pretty name. And what exactly were you doing in the backroom?”

“I think you saw what I was doing.” Christ, stop giggling. And stop touching him.

“Hmmm, yeah, that feels good. Just wondering why you’d even go back there in the first place.”

“Curious, I guess. Always wondered what goes on.”

“Boss Man doesn’t like broads in the back. Against the rules.”

“Maybe your ‘Boss Man’ needs to loosen up a little.” I hate to tell you this bitch, I think you’re about to be loosened up. “Sounds like he’s a little uptight.”

“His club. His rules.”

“What’re your rules?”

……

……

“Can’t say I have any rules.” That’s the understatement of the century.

“So, I’m not in trouble with you, just with your boss, who’s not here?” Bat those eyelashes any harder and they’ll fall off.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not in trouble with me.”

“Not yet….God, I love these pillows. They’re so soft.” Get her license or get a lawyer, Lover Boy. “Ooh, you’re heavy…..and a good kisser.”

“I’ll show you what else I’m good—”

“STOP. ARCHIVE IN.”

“Archiving. Please specify location.”

“ZEEK. PERSONNEL FILE.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t locate that file—”

“CREATE FILE. ZEEK. PERSONNEL.”

“Thank you. File created and archived. Mr. Kinney, you are one mile from your destination. Have a productive--.”

“DIAL. ZEEK. CELL.”

“Thank you. Dialing. Zeek. Cell.”

****************
there’s a new kid in town
……

…..

“Yo, Boss Man, you must have a crystal ball or somethin’; I was just about to call you.”

“Imagine that.”

“I’m at your house, man, and I can’t remember where you put the key.”

“I left all of those instructions with Cynthia. Did you go by Kinnetik first, like I told you to?”

“Yeah, man, but I can’t hear nothin’ when she’s talkin’ to me. She’s too damn pretty. Too. Damn. Pretty.”

“The key is behind the loose brick on the side of the front steps.”

“Loose brick. Loose brick…Found it, man. Hey, you want me to fix that loose brick for you?”

“So now you lay bricks at my house and chicks in my office?”

…..

…..

“Aw, man, I knew Rube wouldn’t keep his big mouth shut. It wasn’t like that, man. She was all talkin’ about ‘discrimination’ and shit, so I had to--”

“Show her that you don’t discriminate?”

……

“Well, yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“I saw where you put it, Zeek. When I asked you to bounce for me last night, I assure you that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Aw, man, and that girl could bounce, too. Damn, she was hot. And I mean HOT. And no panties, man. Not even a thong, man. Nothin’.”

“Zeek, listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Yeah, I’m listening, Boss Man. What’s wrong with your lock?”

“It sticks. Lift up a little.”

“That’s what she said, man. That’s what she said.”

“Zeek—"

“Want me to fix this lock for you?”

”Mr. Kinney, you have arrived at your destin—”

Shut the fuck up.

“No, I don’t want you to fix my lock. I want you and your mojo to stay the hell out of my office.”

“You need to update your lingo, man. Now where are those paintings?”

“Go to the top of the stairs, make a left, third door down is a guest room. They’re in that closet.”

“And you want which one where?”

“The larger one at Zeal and the small one where you were laying pipe last night. And don’t forget that my new refrigerator is coming today—"

“Dude’s pulling up right now…Gotta go, man…………….Damn, he’s hot.”

“Zeek!”

****************
but today the way I play the game is not the same

The bell on the door of Taylor Electronics rang obnoxiously as you walked inside where you were immediately greeted by someone you assumed was the manager. He was wearing an actual dress shirt as opposed to the other employees who were in uniform. It was white, but dingy, with tiny holes from the million different places he’d pinned his name tag, Rob

“Good morning, sir? What can I do for you?”

“Well, Rob, I’m in the market for several wide screen plasma televisions. I own several clubs and restaurants and need something impressive for my bar areas.”

“I think we can help you.”

“Well, I hope so because I really make a point of supporting local owned businesses, so I’d like to do that business here.”

“We certainly appreciate that.” Rob masked his excitement about as well as a Cocker Spaniel can.

“But you know, this is going to be a rather substantial purchase. I’d prefer to deal directly with the owner. Is he or she around?”

“Oh, absolutely. Mr. Taylor’s here. I’ll get him for you.”

“Thank you very much.” You wandered over to the plasma television display and waited, jingling your keys in the pocket of your dark gray suit pants.

You didn’t have to wait long.

****************
every man's got his patience
and here's where mine ends

The smile on Craig’s face faded the instant you turned around. “Craig, good to see you again.” You extended your hand. He ignored it.

“What do you want?”

“I came to refresh your memory. Rob, could you excuse us? Perhaps we could talk in your office.” Craig’s office was as unattractive as he was. The obvious sheen on your suit only made him look shabbier. He stood behind his desk and didn’t offer you a seat. You pulled that morning’s newspaper clipping out of your jacket pocket, “Had a conversation with Jennifer yesterday. She informed me that you don’t remember this man.” You tried to hand him the article with Hobbs’s picture, but he wouldn’t take it, so you held it up in front of his face instead. “Amnesia acting up again?”

“Get that out of my face.”

“Look familiar, now?”

“I know who that is. And I know he’s dead.”

“That he is.” You laid the clipping on his desk and continued, “Died a rather sudden, violent death. Similar to the one Justin almost had seven years ago.”

“I don’t need you to remind me what happened to my son because of you.”

“Now, see that’s where you wrong.” Ordinarily, you’d begin an authoritative pace at this point, but Craig’s office was woefully inadequate for that. “You do need me to remind you because I’m the one that watched over him until he got out of the hospital, took care of him, even listened to him wake up screaming almost every night for more than two years.”

“You ‘took care of him’ because you wanted him to ‘take care of you,’ you mother fucker.”

“That’s certainly not very Christian of you.” You sat down, finally, and got comfortable, “And you know, Craig, I have a son. And I can assure you, father to father, that if anyone ever threatened my son and attempted to kill him, there’d be hell to pay. And that, quite frankly, is what I’ve never understood about you. It’s a visceral instinct to protect your children, and yet you don’t have it. You choose to blame him for who he is and the circumstances that have befallen him. Parents make sacrifices for their children, Craig, every day. And sometimes one of those sacrifices is learning to love them despite the fact that they’re nothing you wanted them to be.”

“I want you to leave. Get out of my store.”

You ignored him. “There’s one more thing I want to talk to you about, and then I’ll be going back home to be with your son, or, as you call him, ‘the abomination.’”

Craig stood at those words and said, “Get. Out.”

“Sit down.”

“I’ll call the police.”

“Go right ahead. The chief of police is practically my immediate family. Knock yourself out.” He sat down. “Jennifer tells me that you’re restricting where Molly can go to school.”

“There are plenty of excellent Christian universities for her to choose from, and that’s none of your fucking business.”

You sighed, “See, the thing is, Craig, where Molly goes to school is going to be up to Molly. Not you and your tight purse strings. I’ve already set up a trust to pay for her education. She won’t need a dime of your money.”

“You—"

“You can thank me later. So, now that that’s done, there’s really no need for you to have any contact with Jennifer, Molly, or Justin, unless you’re interested in being a positive father figure for them. If not, then I expect you to stay the hell away from all three of them. They have no need for anything but your affection, which, from what I’ve been told, is in rather short supply.” You stood when you were finished; you’d concluded your business with Craig Taylor for today.

“Don’t threaten me.”

“It’s not a threat, Craig. It’s a challenge, one that I seriously doubt you’re man enough to meet. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go spend time with Justin. He’s in town…for the funeral. Amazing to me how much class he has when he clearly got so little from you.”

You swung open Craig’s office door and stepped back onto the showroom floor. Craig was right behind you, “Rob, make sure that man never comes in here again.”

“Yes, Mr. Taylor.”

“Have a productive day, Craig,” you told him as the bell squawked over your head. You drove your car behind Taylor Electronics, got out, and threw the black trash bag in their dumpster.

You had no use for that tux or that scarf anymore.

****************
DAPHNE’S POV

however do you need me

The night of your prom seven years ago should have been a happy one. Your memories of getting ready, doing your hair, wiggling into your peach dress, waiting not-very-patiently for Justin to arrive should make you feel good. They shouldn’t be followed by images of white and black soiled with red, of Brian in tears and hoarse from screaming. And you should’ve done something when you were waiting outside the girl’s bathroom in the hotel hallway, when Chris and his friend told you what a pretty fag hag you made. Had you known what kind of violence he would be capable of less than an hour later, you would’ve done something, would’ve told someone, would’ve kept your eyes open and warned Justin to be careful.

But you thought you’d lost your brand new lip gloss and besides, you’d heard it all before.

You received two phone calls yesterday, but only one that you knew of—from Brian, letting you know that he’d send you a ticket if you could come home. The second came after you were on your way to the airport. That one you’d find out about in about an hour after setting foot back in Pittsburgh.

When you arrived at the loft, Justin was there, alone with his mother. He seemed surprised to see you. When you hugged him, he held on for longer than usual. Med school kept you busy; you should’ve made more time for him instead of hearing about his life through Maya, once removed. But he seemed happy, and you figured if he wasn’t, he’d let you know. Anytime you’d assumed anything about Justin, the world had a way of auto-correcting you. Someday, you’d learn that lesson.

Jennifer departed and left the two of you alone, and you immediately looked for signs that Justin wasn’t okay, but you came up empty. Or rather, he seemed empty. Or blank. Or something.

But yet he responded when you sat down beside him and reached for his hand and let him know that you were there for him. “Thanks, Daph. It means a lot to me that you came all this way.”

“Anytime.”

Without being pressed, he told you what he knew, reciting details like they came from a police report. And then, “He’s survived by his wife and their son. Ryan. He’s not even a year old.” He looked around the loft, “I had the paper, the obituary. I don’t know where I put it.”

“Are you surviving?”

“I’m going to the funeral tomorrow. Emmett showed up with a suit for me this morning. I don’t have anything here to wear.”

“I suppose Brian put him up to that?”

“I’m sure. But if I change my mind, he won’t care. It seems like every time I see him, he’s twice as rich as before.”

“Must be nice.”

Justin’s eyes glanced around the loft and then landed back on your face, ”Yeah, it is.”

“Hmm.”

“I just have to see them put him in the ground. I don’t know why. I just feel like I have to.”

“I’d like to go with you. I don’t suppose it would hurt me to see that either.”

You listened to the second call you’d received yesterday when Brian came home with lunch and a case of cold beer. It was a reporter asking for your reaction to Hobbs's death. You hung up the phone, forgetting to delete the message.

You told Brian about it a few hours later. It took him by surprise.

****************
baby, gonna get my soul free

The cemetery was packed. The dead leaves along the narrow road blew onto the grass as Brian’s driver came to a stop. The funeral procession had been much longer than you’d anticipated, although you weren’t a part of it, and was sprinkled with more police than you were expecting to see along the way. When you remarked that the place seemed overrun, Justin replied,

“Hobbs’s dad was a bigwig in the construction industry. These people are probably out here for him, not Chris. It’s just a weird show of support.”

As you turned a corner on the cemetery’s property, you noticed that the car that had been behind you since the three of you left the loft turned as well. You leaned forward and told him, “Brian, I think we’re being followed.”

“What?”

“There’s a gray Honda Prelude that’s been behind us since we left the loft. It just stopped when we did.”

Brian’s hand moved from Justin’s shoulder to the back of the seat as he turned around, “Fuck.” Before you could stop him, he was opening the door.

Justin tried to stop him, “Brian, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Back in a minute,” and he slammed the door.

Watching Brian’s body tense as he spoke to the occupants of the mysterious car made you nervous, but you smiled through it. Justin didn’t turn around. When Brian’s arm started waving and pointing, as if he was directing traffic, you told Justin, “He’s coming back.”

“Good.”

“It’s the press,” Brian said, getting back into the car.

“What does the press want with us?” you asked Brian.

“They wouldn’t tell me. I told them to get the fuck off our tail.” You gave Brian a look that he knew was a question, Have you told Justin about the phone call I got? Brian looked back with ‘no’ as his answer and then, “Justin, I think it’s better if you stay in the car.”

“Why?”

“Don’t trust those people.”

Justin seemed almost relieved, “That’s fine. Just have him pull over there and we’ll just watch from the limo.” The driver made his way to a parking space several hundred feet away from Chris’s plot. Justin turned in his seat and stared out the window.

From what you could see from your vantage point, there were plenty of Pittsburgh’s finest on hand and definitely Chris’s wife standing closest to the casket with a baby in her arms. He was crying. You stared down at your black dress and your black shoes and then fiddled with the rings on your fingers.

When the casket had been lowered, mourners began to make their way back to their cars, with the exception of Chris’s immediately family. Once they finally started walking away, Justin told Brian he wanted to get out.

“What for?”

“Just move. I’m getting out.” Brian opened his door and indicated that he was going with him, and Justin told him ‘no,’ that he wanted to do this by himself. You rolled down your window and looked at Brian, who was leaning against the limo. The two of you watched in silence as Justin walked towards Chris’s resting place.

“God, I want to smoke,” he told you.

“Me, too.”

“A med student who wants to smoke? How ironic.” You both laughed.

A glance at Justin and he just seemed to be standing there over Chris’s grave with a determined look on his face. Brian startled you when he tapped your arm, pointing to someone walking toward Justin, “Fuck.”

“Shit, Brian, that’s his wife.”

The baby, no longer crying, was in her arms.

****************
BRIAN’S POV

and the course of a lifetime runs
over and over again

Chris’s wife was as tall as Justin with almost the exact same hair color. She took purposeful steps toward her husband’s grave and toward Justin and so did you.

And again, just like seven years ago, a Hobbs beat you to him.

You didn’t even realize how fast you were running as you approached them, when Justin stopped you by holding out his hand. You held yourself back and watched as she stood firm in front of him, the dirt you’d kicked up running clinging to the hem of your pants.

The mysterious gray car, one row over, drove away.

****************
JUSTIN’S POV

I want a shot at redemption

Chris Hobbs wasn’t being buried alone; he was being buried alongside an eighteen year old kid who could barely even remember knowing him at all. And it should have been that kid’s decision when he’d go down; it should have been something he’d had time to prepare for. But as you stood there over his grave, you couldn’t remember ever being prepared for anything, not for meeting Brian, not for being shunned by your father or pitied by your mother, not for losing so much of your connection to those years when things were supposed to be simpler. You fought not to have that hopeful, determined kid buried alive, an identity that you didn’t even recognize being taken away from you.

This kid, it seemed, was known to everyone but you. And you were torn between wanting to know him and wanting to let him go. Maybe if you stood there long enough, staring at the fresh dirt, this decision would be made for you. And if something inside of you could push you one way or another, you’d have been glad to go, but there was nothing but the roar of a still silence.

And it was temporarily broken by the approach of two opposing forces.

You thought you recognized her, Mary or Millie or something, the young woman coming toward you. She’d gone to school with you? As she came closer, you held your hand up to hold Brian back. The silence was paying attention.

“I know who you are,” she said to you, stopping a few feet in front of you with her son on her hip. “You’re Justin Taylor.”

“You’re Chris’ wife?”

“Meredith. You don’t remember me?”

“I’m not sure. I think I do.” The grass began to feel firm under your feet.

“I suppose you’re here for a reason?”

“Look, I don’t mean to intrude. I just want to put this behind me—"

“To keep harassing us. You and your friend—"

“I’m sorry, I should’ve waited until tomorrow or -- Keep harassing you?”

“There’s no need for it anymore, okay? He’s dead. I’m sorry about what happened to you, but I had nothing to do with it. It was his idea. He can—could—be very single-minded when his temper flared.”

“I never thought you had anything to do with it.”

“Then why not leave us alone? It’s no wonder this happened to Chris; he was exhausted having to chaperone me everywhere I went, worrying about Ryan. I was going to quit my job and just stay home with him, but that just made us sitting ducks.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—"

“Bullshit, you and your psycho friend, Cody, have been stalking Chris since that night you shoved a pistol in his mouth. Don’t think I don’t know about—"

You glanced over at Brian who looked away, fighting to keep his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t done anything. I don’t even live—" you tried to tell her.

“Just so you know, I’m taking out a restraining order against you—" Brian stepped forward a little as Meredith closed the space between the two of you. “I’m not afraid of you. My husband’s dead. I’m not going to end up like him.”

“Meredith, I haven’t done anything. I swear.” She looked at you like she didn’t believe you. The reins that were holding Brian back had finally broken, and he was standing beside you. He put his hand on your shoulder as you told her, “I’m sorry if Cody’s been bothering you. I made my peace with Chris; I was just here trying to make it with myself.”

“Justin, let’s go,” Brian said, pulling you with an arm around your shoulder.

You looked back over your shoulder as you let him lead you away, “I’m sorry for your loss, Meredith, whether you believe me or not. I truly am.”

****************
then it came
that I was put to blame
for every story told about me

After the funeral, your lunch with Daphne, Brian, and your mother at the country club was winding down as you asked Brian for a cigarette.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked.

You told him ‘no,’ but it came out as more of a warning. You stood outside kicking dead leaves around on the sidewalk in your shiny shoes, welcoming the hard brick of the club’s main building underneath your back. Minutes passed and the door opened, revealing Daphne and your mother laughing with each other as they stepped outside.

“Where are you going?” you asked them.

Your mother was happy to answer you, “Brian said the limo could take us to the mall.” She practically cooed at the chauffeur as he held the door for her, “Ooh, you’re so polite.”

“It’s his job, mother.”

Daphne kissed you on the cheek, “Call me later.”

“Yeah, have fun at the mall.” You stepped on your cigarette and walked back inside.

Brian raised his eyebrows as you sat back down at the table, “All right?”

“Would you stop asking me that?” You sat down and finished your water before you asked, “You sent them away, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“How are we supposed to get home?”

“Walk?”

“Walk? That far in my new shoes?”

Brian shrugged, “I sense your need to punish yourself.”

****************
don’t want to end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard

The light wind seemed to be blowing the two of you down the street, propelling your bodies forward, if not the conversation. It was overcast, and you wondered if it was going to rain. Occasionally, Brian would turn his head in your direction and smile at you, but mostly, he was just quiet, jealous you were sure of whatever was up your ass.

You stopped at an intersection to wait for a WALK signal, and Brian finally spoke, “Million and a half for your thoughts.”

“Jesus, you’re such a dork.”

“If I’m paying for these thoughts, they need to be a little more substantial.” You shook your head at him as the two of you crossed the street.

“I just don’t understand, I guess.”

“Understand what?” he asked, sounding grateful that you were talking to him.

“I don’t understand how I can feel so defined by something I can barely remember.”

Brian thought about that for a second and said, “We’re all defined by things we can barely remember.”

“But what if remembering it would change how I define myself? Maybe I’m not who I’m supposed to be.”

……

“You’re exactly who you’re supposed to be. We all are.”

“That’s a romantic notion that can never be proven.”

“How can you prove existence if existence in itself is the proof?” he asked, rhetorically, poking his tongue in his cheek. “You should’ve stayed in college and gotten this out of your system in Philosophy 101.”

You abandoned the abstract, “He’s dead, and I should feel free, but I don’t. I feel more trapped than ever.” Brian put his arm around you and you pushed it off, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you that you’re wrong? You are free. You’ve always been free. You’re the freest fucking person I know.”

“Don’t pity me—" You stopped in front of a storefront. “The bookstore. It’s gone.”

“Been gone for almost two years.”

“Shit, I didn’t even know.” Brian tried to keep going, but your feet wouldn’t move. “And don’t fuck me like you feel sorry for me, like you’re worried sick about me. I’m not—"

“—a tight, little virgin anymore?” he asked you.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Brian threw up his hands in defense, “Nothing. Christ, I was trying to make you laugh, so you’d stop torturing yourself with existential melodrama.”

“How come when you’re emphatic about something, you’re just right, and when I am, it’s melodrama?”

“Because I’m Brian Kinney, for fuck’s sake?”

****************
BRIAN’S POV

well, I left her to just roam the city
thinkin’ it would ease the pain

As the two of you began walking again, you wondered if he remembered when he couldn’t walk down this street, when just getting him from point A to point B occupied entire weekends of your lives, when your absence from the loft for more than a few hours sent him into a tailspin. But to be fair, his progress had always surprised you, even when you had to fight him to want to progress at all.

You turned a corner, and he asked you, “Did I ever tell you what Cody’s father does? What their family business is?”

“No.”

“His father refurbishes construction equipment.”

……

……

Some of this angst was starting to make sense to you now, “Justin, I think you’re reaching.”

“I don’t. You didn’t know him like I did.”

“Obviously.”

“You didn’t know how much he got off on violence. What the fuck was I thinking?”

“Look—"

“I’m such an idiot, Brian, such a fucking idiot, thinking that all of that retribution crap he was spewing was for me. It had nothing to do with me; he was just using me to scratch his violent itch.” When it came to Justin, you almost always found yourself fighting the wrong enemy. You held the door to your building open for him. “God, I have to get these fucking shoes off.”

He took the stairs two at a time, impatient as he waited for you to unlock the door. You watched from the kitchen as he went into the bedroom, stripped off his suit and then walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Out of habit, you turned to glance at your answering machine before you followed him.

You had seventeen new messages.

****************
so please, believe in me
when I say I’m spinning round, round, round, round

You heard the shower start as you removed the drive from the machine, swapping it for a new one. You reset the machine and tucked the old drive in your briefcase. You knocked on the bathroom door and when he didn’t answer, you opened it. You watched him soaping himself with fury until he turned and saw you.

“Will you let me do that for you?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, tossing the soap on the shower floor in frustration. “Fuck it.”

You undressed and returned, your suit thrown on the bed in a heap with his. He leaned against the wall, staring up at you as you stood under the water, “Justin, this is my fault, okay? We should’ve stayed in New York or I shouldn’t have come up—"

“Do not start that martyr bullshit with me, Brian. Everything shitty that happens to me is not your fucking fault.” His voice cracked, “Ninety-nine percent of it is my fault.”

“No fair. I want more than one percent. You totally gypped me.”

He laughed, even though he didn’t want to, “Don’t try to make me feel better. I don’t want to.”

“Feet don’t hurt enough?” you teased him, kicking his ankle.

“I thought you were gonna wash me.”

“Nope.”

“No?”

You shook your head as you turned him around to face the wall, “First, I’m gonna fuck some sense into you. Then, I’m going to wash you.”

“Does that really work?” he asked, his fingers spread wide on the tile.

“It’s gotten you this far.”

That night you watched him sleep, thoroughly fucked out, his small body somehow taking up almost the entire bed. You barely slept, expecting him to wake up screaming any minute.

****************
paranoia strikes deep in the heartland

When you woke Saturday morning, you slid out from underneath him and into a pair of jeans. He felt you leave the bed and mumbled, “Where you going?”

You sat down beside him, running your hand through his crazy-looking hair, “You smoked all my goddamn cigarettes yesterday.”

“Sorry,” he yawned into his pillow.

“You want breakfast? I’ll pick something up. There’s nothing to eat here.”

“Waffles,” he said, pulling the covers over his head, “And hurry up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My ass is sore.”

“I have no idea what that has to do with waffles.”

“Me neither.”

The air was heavy with the prospect of impending rain as you walked to your car.

"Good morning, Mr. Kinney. Today is Saturday, November 15, 2008. The time is nine twelve a.m. The current temperature is fifty-one degrees under mostly cloudy skies. You may enter your destination now.”

“DINER.”

"Thank you. Diner is entered as your destination. Have a safe trip.”

“DIAL. DINER.”

“Thank you. Dialing. Diner.”

“Liberty Diner.”

“Deb, it’s me.”

“Hey, you doing okay? I feel terrible after that thing in your office—"

“Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, could you box up breakfast for Justin? Eggs, bacon, waffles instead of pancakes. I’ll be by in a few minutes.”

“Sure. Anything for Sunshine. You want the usual? Orange juice and dry, whole wheat toast?”

“That’s fine. Is Carl up yet this morning?”

“Is he ever.”

“I didn’t need that, Deb.” You could hear her cackling in the background. “I’ll call him.”

“Gotta go. Betty just dropped a case of tumblers. Shit.”

You swapped the flash drive in your car with the one from the answering machine in the loft and let it play:

“SCAN MESSAGES.”

”At this time, there are seventeen new messages available. Press or say—"

“ONE.”

”Yesterday, eleven twelve a.m. Justin, hey. I knew you’d be there. I knew you'd needed to finish this –"

“TWO.”

”Yesterday, eleven fifteen a.m. Justin, now that you’re back in town, whaddya say we make a real statement—"

“THREE.”

”Yesterday, eleven twenty three a.m. Justin –"

“FOUR.”

”Yesterday, eleven forty-seven a.m. Justin, must be nice to eat at that country club. That place is crawling with the enemy—"

“FIVE.”

”Yesterday, eleven fifty-four a.m.. Justin –"

“SIX.”

”Yesterday, twelve twelve p.m. Justin, I hope your boyfriend understands--"

“STOP.”

You called Carl and asked him to meet you at the diner immediately. He was standing outside when you arrived.

“What’s the problem?”

You handed him the drive, “Plug this into a USB port and listen to it. It’s that guy Cody what’s-his-name leaving message after message for Justin during and after Hobbs’s funeral yesterday. And I’m pretty sure he called Daphne, too, the day Hobbs was killed. She saved the message. I’ll get it for you.”

“Should I know this ‘Cody?’”

“He fancies himself the head of this gay vigilante group. They used to call it ‘The Pink Posse.’”

“Are those the kids that terrorized straight people a few years ago?”

You nodded, “Yeah. This guy’s a fucking whack job. He’s got a ton of firearms, too. Justin suspects, and I don’t know if he’s right, but he suspects that Cody might have had something to do with Chris’s death.”

“You’re kidding?”

“I wish I was. Look, I’ve got to run.” Suddenly, the thought of Justin alone at the loft didn’t sit well with you. You called Justin as you rode home with his breakfast and kept him talking until you walked in the door.

****************
JUSTIN’S POV
on the last leg of the journey
they started a long time ago

For some reason, Brian didn’t object when you ate your breakfast in bed, pushing the syrupy waffles all over the white Styrofoam container. When you offered him a forkful of eggs and a strip of bacon, he took it.

That did it.

“All right, what’s wrong with you?” you asked him, the last half of the bacon strip still in his hand.

He spoke to the bacon and not to you, “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You never eat cholesterol unless something’s bothering you.”

……

“You have to go back.”

You stared at him, “I know. I wasn’t planning on staying here forever.”

“No, I mean, you have to go back tonight.”

“Why?” you asked, ignoring the syrup dripping off your fork. Was this going to be the one hundred sixty-seventh time he kicked you out?

Brian turned his head and looked at you, a gravity on his face you hadn’t seen in years, “Because I’m worried about you.” You felt the frustration rising inside you, but you pushed it down, years of being with Brian having taught you that that was the wrong way to approach him when he was like this. “Cody left seventeen messages on the machine here yesterday while we were at the funeral and the country club.”

“What?”

“And every one of them is fucked.”

“Shit.” And then Brian asked you if you were happy in New York. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s an adventure, and I’ve made some really good friends,” you answered, unable to think about Harper and Amelia and everyone else at the moment, your mind still trying to figure out this Cody bullshit. “Look, I know why he’s doing this. He thinks I didn’t finish something I started.”

Brian’s jaw was setting firm, “Hobbs is dead, Justin. I think that oughta finish it, not start it.”

“You’re pissed at me,” you said, sitting your empty breakfast container on the nightstand.

“No, I’m scared. Scared that something is going to happen to you. Again. And if that happened—"

“That’s not gonna happen. I’m almost twenty-six years old, Brian.”

“You think he cares how fucking old you are? He followed us yesterday, Justin. He knew everything we did, every place we went.”

Perhaps if we hadn’t driven around town in a limo, you thought. “Well, I’m not afraid anymore. And not because Hobbs is dead, but because I’m not.”

“Well, it sure isn’t for lack of trying,” Brian snarked and you slapped him on the back. “And see, you’re still violent.”

……

The curtains in Brian’s bedroom were still closed, allowing only glimpses of sunshine to come through now and then, and at that moment one of them cast a brightened streak down his long back. You followed it with your hand, “Don’t you think if I can survive Hobbs and a fucking bomb that I can take care of myself?”

“Justin, I have more faith in you than I do in me or the rest of the world, but I can’t control the violent inclinations of a nut case.”

You weren’t sure you’d ever heard Brian admit that he couldn’t control something. It freaked you out. “You’re really afraid.”

“There is something working under all that blond hair.” He made a fist and knocked on your head. “Sometimes I think you have Obstinate Personality Disorder.”

“Well, if I do, I caught it from you.”

Brian smiled, “And you’re quite welcome. Don’t say I never gave you—"

“Shut up.”

You kissed him, your hand resting on the side of his face, and it seemed to surprise him for a minute before you felt him relax and enjoy it. He rolled onto his back and sat up, “Come here.” You crawled into his lap, and he pulled your hips to his, whispering in your ear, “Thought your ass was sore.”

“My ass has been sore since the night I met you. I’m used to it.”

“Then have at,” he told you, handing you the condom. You put it on for him, slicking his cock. He moaned as you took him, his hands tightening around your hips. “No longer a virgin, but just as tight.”

“Don’t talk dirty to me; I’ll come.”

You rode Brian slowly, and he pulled your face to his, kissing you as he bemoaned, “Little tease.”

“Shh.”

“Fuck, this is nice.” Your fingers stretched out along the back of his neck and he tilted his head back, resting on them as you fucked. You ran your lips down his neck, eventually lying against him, watching the sun striping the dark sheets as it tried to reach you. Brian’s nipple was hard beneath your fingers and you covered it with your hand, pressing against his chest. He kissed the top of your head and held you tighter, his left hand wandering down to your ass. “If I knew waffles would make you this amorous, I’d have taken a cooking class.”

“It’s not the waffles, you dumb ass.”

“It’s not?” he asked, and you could feel him smile.

“It’s you.”

“Oh.”

……

……

You pressed down hard on Brian when he came, smiling as his nails dug into your skin, as you came all over his chest. Brian reached to pull the sheet up around you as you sagged back against him, combing your hair with his fingers as you dozed off for a few minutes while he was still inside you. Your eyes fluttered open now and then, running your hand over his bicep as he held you.

……

……

“You know, I’m so proud of you, Sunshine. Making it on your own in the big city.”

“You are?”

He lifted your right hand off his chest and wrapped your fingers into a fist and then opened them again, mimicking one of the exercises he used to help you with so many years ago. His thumb ran over the palm of your hand, “Takes a lot of guts to follow your dream.”

“Brian, I love it there. I absolutely love it.” An excitement began to creep back into your body as you spoke of your life in New York, “Everything there seems so true, so gritty, so fiercely alive. It sounds stupid, but that’s a part of me.”

“That’s not stupid.”

“But then, when I see you, I don’t understand why I love it so much… because I love you.”

“It’s okay to love more than one thing. From what I’ve read, love shouldn’t limit you; it should help you grow. Or at least that’s what lesbians say.”

You laughed, “Well, then it must be true.”

“Must be.”

……

The sun moved through the sky as you made love the rest of the day, and when it was finally in your eyes, you knew it was almost five o’clock, almost time to go. If you were going to go back tonight, it was time to figure something out, time to manage your destination.

Two hours later, you were standing at the Pittsburgh bus station with Brian with nothing on you but a new sketch pad you stopped to get and two mechanical pencils. He kissed you good-bye and you waved to him from the window as the bus pulled away. You opened your sketch pad when you couldn’t see him anymore, smiling at the young woman sitting beside you as you tried to get comfortable.

The first thing you drew was Brian lying on his bed on his stomach, his fingers digging into the sheets as you fucked him a few hours ago.

The second thing you drew made you famous.

And when you set foot back in your studio the next day, your paintbrush hit the ground running.


Lyrics taken from Paul Simon’s Hearts and Bones, the Atlantic Rhythm Section’s So Into You, Lou Bega’s I Got A Girl, Pablo Cruise’s Love Will Find a Way, Paul Simon’s Hearts and Bones and Mother and Child Reunion, America’s Only in Your Heart, Paul Simon’s Slip Slidin’ Away and Hearts and Bones, Right Said Fred’s I’m Too Sexy, The Eagles’s New Kid in Town, George Michael’s Freedom ‘90 and I Want Your Sex, Sol II Sol’s Back to Life, George Michael’s Soul Free, Paul Simon’s Mother and Child Reunion and You Can Call Me Al, America’s I Need You, Paul Simon’s You Can Call Me Al, America’s Daisy Jane, America’s Tin Man, Paul Simon’s Have a Good Time and Hearts and Bones.