Brian

It’s been four days since Justin moved back to his mom’s and the quiet in the loft still surprises me. I wake up to a silence that used to be so welcome, so peaceful, a blessing really for someone with a perpetual morning-after hangover. Though I haven’t yet gotten the knack of dosing myself properly. After months of teetotaling, it’s hard to get the hang of heavy drinking again and I don’t seem to enjoy it like I used to. Maybe I’ll do like Justin suggested and give my liver a break.

I’ve seen him only once since he left, last night when I made my first venture to the diner since the accident. Michael picked me up, driving’s uncomfortable though I manage to get myself to and from work okay. My days are still limited – six hours maxes me out, and Justin enlisted Cynthia to be henchman in getting me out of the office before I collapse with fatigue. Vance has been surprisingly - ‘considerate’ is not the right word, it implies kindness or compassion and Vance has neither. But he’s stayed off my back, doubtless because I’ve still managed to produce more business than any three or four of the other execs put together.

The crutches are gone – I wanted a symbolic bonfire but Justin spirited them away before I could set fire to them. I’m walking with a slight limp but the hospital PT promises that’s temporary. I’ve been religiously adhering to my tailored workout schedule with her twice weekly and Trevor still comes to the loft three times a week and we follow my prescribed regimen of stretching and strength training. In a couple weeks, I’ll probably be able to return to the gym and get back into that routine finally.

“Bet you’re glad to have the place back to yourself again,” Michael commented after he’d let himself into the loft and perched on a barstool while I finished getting dressed. I have to sit down to pull on my jeans. If I believed in God, I’d think he broke my leg just to humble me, make me appreciate the health and strength I used to take for granted. Luckily I don’t believe in God, or not very often, so I can be pissed at fate instead.

Ignoring Michael’s comment, I slipped on my boots and zipped them, then limped to the closet to get my jacket. Justin and I agreed to keep our arrangement private – neither of us needs to have other people poking into our business. If this thing is going to work – if Justin is going to have a chance to open himself up to new experiences - he doesn’t need to have anybody hassling him. About anything.

Justin wasn’t supposed to be at the diner, or anyway, it wasn’t a time he was scheduled to work, so when we entered and set off the little bell above the door, Michael stopped in his tracks and I bumped into his back then grabbed his shoulders to steady myself. “Oh shit,” he mumbled, “What’s he doing here?”

I glanced around the diner and quickly located Justin, he was leaning on the counter talking to Deb. They both looked up at the same time, Deb’s mouth widening into a grin of welcome, Justin’s doing the same but only briefly; a half-second later the smile slipped off his mouth and he looked away. That twisted my gut. After the merest pause I limped over to greet them, Michael trailing behind.

“Hey,” I said to either or both of them and Deb went off on an ear-piercing cackle of welcome and high spirits though I didn’t hear a word she said as, unable to stop myself, I reached out a hand and squeezed Justin’s shoulder. That wasn’t really my fault, it’s almost impossible to keep my hands off him and he’d been in touching range for the past three months, I’m out of practice. It didn’t mean anything much and I know Justin understands that, but at least it brought the smile back to his face.

Turning to look at Deb, I tried to focus on what she was saying, but it must not have been important because she wasn’t waiting for an answer, then I felt Michael tugging on my jacket.

“Let’s get the corner booth, it’s empty now.”

Nodding, I followed after Michael and we settled on the vinyl seats, I raised my leg and rested my foot on the opposite side, taking the pressure off. I really don’t have much pain now unless I’m on my feet too long or unless I’m pushed by the sadistic PT, but it feels good to elevate it when I can. By the time Deb moseyed over to take our order my peripheral vision had shown me that Justin went out the front door of the diner. I purposely did not wonder where he was going.

“Sunshine dropped by to pick up his check,” Deb cheerfully informed us, though we hadn’t asked. “What can I get you, boys?”

“Just coffee for me,” I told her and set my teeth to endure the subsequent machinations of the North American champion mother-son nagging team. If I was fucking hungry, I’d order some fucking dinner, wouldn’t I? I was aided in my attempt to ignore them by the ringing of my cell phone. Justin’s number blinked at me and I quickly answered.

“Hey.”

“Brian? I’m sorry – I didn’t know you’d be at the diner tonight.”

“Why should you be sorry about that?”

Deb stood poised with her order pad, both she and Michael shamelessly eavesdropping.

Justin said anxiously, “Well, you said we can’t see each other for a while.”

“Don’t be so literal,” I told him, wanting to be exasperated but giving nothing away to the interested bystanders at the booth.

“Well,” Justin hesitated, then hurried on, “Well then, we’re bound to run into each other.” When I said nothing, he added, “Oh Brian – did you order dinner yet?”

“No – “

“You should try the special tonight, salmon brochette, it’s really good.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“You’d like it.” Justin’s always earnest about dinner. “By the way,” he added, “You look good, you’re walking easier. Is your leg feeling better?”

“It’s peachy.”

“Oh, is Michael listening? Do you want me to hang up now?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” I said blandly.

“Okay, well then, goodbye.”

I closed the phone and glanced at Deb, who was still holding her pencil poised above the order pad. She cracked her gum and demanded impatiently, “Are you gonna eat dinner or not?”

“Oh all right,” I sighed, “I’ll have the salmon brochette.”


Justin

I still don’t feel right about the car; Mom won’t stop giving me grief about it, she says it’s too much and what can I say when I agree with her? I tried to tell Brian it made me feel like he was paying me off or something, just for helping him like all the billion times he’s helped me, but as usual Brian doesn’t hear what he doesn’t want to hear.

It was our last night in the loft before I moved back home and I was feeling almost sick like maybe I was getting the flu. I wanted to cook a special dinner but Brian wouldn’t let me, he was just incredibly grouchy all day and when I said I was going to fix dinner he growled at me, “Don’t make it a fucking special occasion,” which almost pushed me over the edge. I went into the bathroom for a while to calm down, I never expected Brian to come after me.

I washed my face and turned my back to the mirror so I wouldn’t have to look until I knew my face was normal, I’d only been there a few minutes when Brian pushed open the door. He stood there a minute, we just looked at each other not saying anything, then he said quietly, “Justin, I couldn’t eat anything tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Come here for a minute,” he said before turning away, limping over to his desk and sitting in the chair. Standing too long is hard for him so I dragged a chair over and sat beside him.

“I’ve arranged something and I don’t want to hear any bullshit about it.”

“What?”

Brian leaned forward and toyed with the computer mouse; he can’t ever be still, his hands are always touching something, picking things up, putting them down.

“When you took me to pick up my new jeep today and I told you to follow me home in the Accord instead of dropping it off at the Honda dealer, the reason for that was, I’m loaning you the car.”

“Loaning me the car? The Accord?”

Brian nodded and I asked, “What for?”

“For a year.”

“I don’t understand,” I told him, though I was beginning to.

“When I got the Accord I paid for a year’s lease, it was almost cheaper really than paying month by month for a rental, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d need it. So – it’s paid for, and I want you to keep it.”

“Brian, I can’t keep your car. I don’t even want to.”

“Don’t be stupid, Justin, of course, you want a car. You need a car, running from school to the diner, and out to your mom’s condo.”

I was agitated and scooted forward to the edge of the chair. “Brian, you can’t give me a car!”

He shook his head. “I’m not giving you a car, I’m just loaning you a car. For a year, then you have to give it back.”

I stared at him, suddenly feeling dizzy and sick. “You’re – you’re like trying to REWARD me, for helping you out. Do you know how awful that is?”

“I am not fucking rewarding you, Justin.” The more agitated I got, the more relaxed Brian seemed to become. He leaned back in the chair and raised his supercilious eyebrows at me. “What if I was, anyway? I’m not, but what if I was? What’s so terrible about that?”

“Because!” I almost shouted at him, jumping up and starting to pace around the desk. “Because it’s like putting a price tag on us helping each other. When you took me in after my dad kicked me out, I didn’t buy you a fucking car, Brian!”

“Maybe you should have,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “After all, your dad wrecked my jeep.” He nodded and said again, “You should have bought me a car.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I threatened him from my stance by the door.

Brian stretched out his hand to me. “Stop being a drama princess and come back here, would you? I’m getting a crick in my neck watching you stomp all around the loft.”

Without moving an inch, I insisted, “I am not taking the car.”

“Okay,” he gave in, turning his back to me and logging on to the computer. As his screensaver came on, he said, “I’ll just leave it parked in the garage till the lease is up.”

“That’s stupid.”

He nodded, still not looking at me. “I don’t know what else to do with it.” He was silent for a moment, then he said, “Oh – maybe Michael would like to have it? His old car’s always breaking down.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “Give it to Michael.”

“Okay.” Brian picked up the phone and punched a code. A moment later he said, “Hey, Mikey, what’s up?”

I sauntered over and sat back down in my chair.

“I just called to tell you I got my new jeep today, it’s fully loaded and fucking beautiful.”

“Brian – “ I interrupted, but he held up a hand to silence me.

“Mikey – I need to ask you a question.”

“Brian – “

“Mikey, do you – “

“Brian, wait.” I grabbed his arm and shook it.

“Hold on a second,” Brian said into the phone, then turned to look at me inquiringly. “Hmm?”

“Maybe I will. After all.”

Nodding, Brian said, “Okay. Oh – Michael? I’ll have to get back to you tomorrow. Oh no, it wasn’t important. Bye.” He hung up the phone and turned sideways in his chair. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

I just stared at him, knowing he’d tricked me into taking the car. I do need a car and I can’t afford one of course, with only a part-time job at the diner and new college expenses popping up all the time. Then it occurred to me that I’d have to pay insurance, how was I going to pay for insurance?

“If you’re thinking about insurance,” Brian interrupted my thoughts, almost like he was reading them, “The car’s insured already, it’s part of the lease package.”

“It is?” That didn’t sound right somehow. “But – “

“Maybe I can eat something after all,” Brian stood up and stretched, then limped into the kitchen. “Would you fix scrambled eggs? I’ll make the toast.”

“Sure,” I agreed enthusiastically, suddenly starving. I opened the fridge, pulling out the egg carton. One of our favorite easy dinners is just eggs and toast, and plenty of Brian’s killer-caffeine coffee. He sat at the counter next to the toaster and I got out a skillet and the low-fat margarine.


Brian

The last night with Justin was difficult. I tried like hell to keep him from making it seem momentous, I wanted it to be ordinary, just another Sunday night. He hassled me about the car like I knew he would but in the end we settled the matter and moved into the kitchen to fix dinner together. Somehow Justin talked me into watching Yellow Submarine with him, sitting side by side on the sofa. After a while Justin laid down with his head in my lap, he loves to have his head massaged, and long before the Blue Meanies were subdued Justin had fallen asleep.

So I was trapped there on the sofa, with nothing to do until Justin woke up except think about things. I hate thinking about things. He woke up when the end credits were rolling, sat up, rubbed his eyes, and before either of us could get maudlin I said quickly, “Bedtime.” I got to my feet and felt him trailing silently behind me.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asked, and though I knew it was a bad idea, of course, I said yes. What’s funny is, we didn’t even have sex. We started out kissing but after a few minutes I felt Justin pull away, then he turned around and scooted backward into my arms. I held him tight and felt the battle going on inside him not to cry. I never cry of course, but I knew how Justin was feeling - I didn’t feel all that great myself. I knew it would pass eventually, bad things always do.

Next morning we overslept. I forgot to set the alarm so we were in a rush, which worked out well. We grabbed a quick shower together and Justin laid my clothes out while I shaved, then we dressed quickly and headed out the door and rode down the elevator together. There was no time for breakfast but I promised to let Cynthia get something for me later. We said goodbye in the garage. I pulled him into a hug and said crisply, “I wouldn’t have survived without your help, Justin – “

“Yeah, you would’ve,” his voice was muffled against my jacket, then he pulled back and forced a laugh, “But you’d have murdered a few dozen people along the way.”

“True.”

We pulled apart and I turned away quickly, waving at him over my shoulder. “Drive carefully.”

“You – you, too.” There was a catch in his voice but I was proud of him for controlling his emotions. I heard his footsteps going away from me, and somehow that was the hardest part of the whole thing. Just hearing his footsteps going away.



Justin

My timing was good. That’s what I should be thinking. I’d just come in the front door of Woody’s – right in time to see Brian going out the back door. With a trick of course. So my timing was good, I didn’t have to watch all the guys hitting on him. I wasn’t really expecting him to be tricking already, he’s only been on his own for a week, off the crutches a few days longer than that.

I didn’t have to wonder if the trick would mind that Brian isn’t quite a hundred percent yet – ten percent of Brian would be more than enough for most guys. I’m experienced enough now to really appreciate how great Brian is in bed – which of course I always appreciated but I didn’t have anything to compare him to. Counting Ethan, counting the frat guy (and counting those rat bastards Kip Thomas and Gary Sapperstein as one-half each), I’ve had sex with more than a dozen men now. Sixteen in fact. Most of those times were sharing with Brian, but despite not really liking it very much, it was a good learning experience. That’s one way to look at it.

Of course, I didn’t come to Woody’s to run into Brian – actually, I never expected him to be going out at night already. I saw Michael talking to Ted at a table in the corner but I pretended not to notice them. All I need is Michael lording it over me that Brian’s pushed me away again. We agreed not to tell anybody about this six-month business, so I have to act like Brian and I are just going to be friends now.

What’s kind of funny is, that we are friends now. He’s told me that a couple times, coming right out and saying that I’m his friend. Brian doesn’t have a lot of friends so that’s really a big deal. And it means he finally sees me as something other than a nice ass he likes to fuck. I had a lot bigger hopes than that last year, till everything fell apart. A lot of that was my fault. I should never have gone along with Brian, I should never have agreed to keep our relationship so wide open. I pretended to Brian – and worse, I pretended to myself – that I was okay with that. I wasn’t. It made me miserable and I should either have demanded some changes or walked. I have no doubt that ‘walked’ is what I would have had to do. But I’d have been no worse off than I am now.

Turning toward the bar, I decided to have a couple shots and go on home. I’d thought about shooting some pool but I didn’t know any of the guys who were playing and I wasn’t about to ask Michael or Ted. As I sat on a barstool I felt a tap on my shoulder and looking up I was surprised to see Mr. Cooper, the teacher I’d had for design class my first term at PIFA.

“Justin,” he smiled at me, “I thought I recognized you!”

“Mr. Cooper, hi,” I stuck out my hand and we shook.

“Lawrence, please, we’re not at school now. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure, I guess so.” It felt strange to be having a drink in a gay bar with my teacher. Former teacher.

Lawrence hoisted himself onto the barstool next to me and while he talked to the bartender I had a chance to really look at him. When I was a kid I always thought of my teachers as old, but of course, now that I’m in college I can relate to people of all ages. Mr. Cooper – Lawrence – seemed to be somewhere between thirty and forty, but I’m not a good judge of ages. I hate when people ask, ‘Well how old do you think I am?’ because, no matter what you say they get pissed. Anyway, Lawrence looked like he was in good shape; he was wearing jeans and a black v-neck sweater over a red shirt, he had dark hair curling over the collar of his shirt.

While the bartender poured our drinks, Lawrence turned back to me and said, “So how’re your classes this year? Did you get Bethany for second-year design?” I made a face and he laughed. “That answers my question! He’s been at PIFA forever, he’s got tenure, they’ll never get rid of him.”

“He’s so fucking conservative!” I exclaimed, “Everything by the book, no initiative allowed. It’s like saying, ‘Don’t color outside the lines.’ I’m thinking of dropping his class.”

“Ah, stick it out, you’ve come this far. Here we are.” Lawrence took the drinks from the bartender and handed me my glass. “Salut!” We clinked glasses and I tossed back my shot, then took a sip of beer.

Lawrence tossed back his shot too, then he asked, “Are you exhibiting in the student show next month? I saw your triptych paintings at the last show and I was very impressed. Are you continuing with that technique?”

“Really?” I was flattered, Mr. Cooper – Lawrence – is an artist in his own right, he shared slides of some of his paintings with the class last year, they were really good. “No, actually I didn’t like the triptych style very much, it was too limiting. You really liked them?”

“Sure did.” Lawrence leaned an elbow on the bar and said earnestly, “I was going to buy the red one – the one you called ‘Three Kisses’ I believe? But when I went back later, it was gone.”

That was the painting Ethan bought. Or actually, I gave it to him. For a song.

“What did I say?” Lawrence asked quickly, and I realized that my damned non-poker-face must have shown the – sadness or something – that I was feeling, remembering Ethan. And all that came after.

“Nothing, it’s okay,” I made myself smile at him. “Anyway, I’m not doing that style anymore. I’m in Jamerson’s watercolor class and I’m liking it a lot more than I thought I would. So I’ll probably exhibit one or two of my watercolors.”

Lawrence nodded. “Your hand must be better if you’re painting more?” When I hesitated, he added, “If you don’t mind talking about it?”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” I assured him; it’s the truth. “And it is better, though it’s still a little weak and gets tired easily.”

“Then I don’t suppose you’d like a game of pool?” Lawrence asked tentatively. “The tables were full at Jake’s – that’s my usual hangout - so I thought I’d check out Woody’s.”

“I’d love a game,” I agreed enthusiastically; I hadn’t played pool since the accident. Brian taught me so I’m pretty good, and I thought I could probably hold my own with an older guy. As soon as a table freed up we started playing and it turned out that Lawrence was a hell of a good player. He beat me two games out of three, and the third was a real squeaker.

While we were playing Lawrence told me about his sabbatical two years before, he’d taken a year off to paint in the south of France. “Every artist’s dream,” he’d smiled and I sighed; it was my dream too. I enjoyed his stories about the locals and how they were so sick of American painters descending on the countryside around Arles, imagining they could all become Vincent Van Gogh while they were on summer holiday. Lawrence laughed a lot and it felt good chatting with him about art and about PIFA – he had some scandalous stories to tell about some of the other teachers, most of whom he identified merely as ‘Professor X’ or ‘Professor Y-Not.’

I had plenty of time to study Lawrence while we played. I remembered staring at him in class sometimes – I knew he was gay, he talked about it openly which I thought was cool. He’s beautiful in a sort of rough-edged way, tall with muscular shoulders and curly dark hair. We each bought a round of drinks while we played but after the third game I waved away Lawrence’s offer of another shot. “Better not,” I said, “I’m driving.” I looked at my watch, it was after midnight. “And I need to be driving now. I promised a friend I’d help her move in the morning and she’s an early bird.” Daphne was moving back home for a while, to save money and to bring up her grades; too much partying with friends was taking a toll.

“This was fun.” Lawrence took my cue and racked it for me, “I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“Me too.” I pulled my jacket from the back of a nearby chair and shrugged it on. Lawrence reached over to straighten my collar and I said, “Maybe we can do it again some time, I don’t have anybody to play with right now.”

“Really?” he said, “How about next Friday? And how about dinner first? There’s a great Vietnamese restaurant on Washburn Avenue I’ve been wanting to try.”

“I’ve never had Vietnamese,” I hedged, suddenly realizing that Lawrence was talking about a date. Or that’s what it sounded like. “You mean – sort of like a date?” I asked as I zipped up my jacket.

“Yes, sort of like a date. Exactly like a date.” He pulled on his own jacket, dark brown leather with fringe across the shoulders. “That is, if you don’t mind dating your teacher? Former teacher, I should say – so it’s not like immoral fraternizing.”

“Yeah, okay. I guess that’s okay.” I was surprised, I hadn’t been thinking of Lawrence in that way.

“Maybe you don’t like older men?”

“Yeah I do.” We were headed toward the door and I stopped just outside on the top of the steps. “How much older?”

Lawrence bowed his head and chuckled. “I’m thirty-four. Do I make the cut?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not.” We exchanged cell phone numbers, and Lawrence promised to call Thursday to confirm and to give me directions to the restaurant. I didn’t want him picking me up at home.

Lawrence walked me to my car and we shook hands. I wondered if he’d try to kiss me or something but he didn’t, just closed the door for me and waved as I drove away. It felt really strange driving home, to realize that dinner with Lawrence next week would be the first real official date I’ve ever had.



Michael

I can’t wait to tell Brian about Justin picking up that guy at Woody’s last night. I’m glad Brian’s eyes are open about that kid, he’s such a liar and a cheat. Oh, I know Justin’s not living with Brian anymore, and I know that that ‘relationship’ crap is over with. But it still feels to me like Justin’s screwing around on him. I wonder what Brian will say?

Brian

We’re having Sunday dinner at Deb’s – just Michael, Lindsay, Melanie and me – and Lindsay hands me Gus – there’s this strange feeling I can’t describe when he holds out his arms to me and screeches ‘Daddy!’ So I’m relaxing, I’ve pushed back my chair and I’m bouncing Gus on my good leg and I’ve got this big stupid smile on my face when suddenly Michael exclaims, “Oh Brian, I almost forgot to tell you! I saw Justin at Woody’s last night.”

The smile freezes. So quickly I bury my nose in Gus’ fat little neck till I can be sure nothing’s showing on my face. I was at Woody’s last night, my first tricking adventure in three months. I didn’t set out to drag somebody off with me, it was just a sort of reflex – a hot guy gives me the eye and first thing I know we’re out in the alley headed for my jeep. By the time I’d limped – trying desperately not to limp – to the car, I was almost sorry.

Well okay, I was really sorry, because my leg was hurting and I knew I could not pull off a famous Brian Kinney fuck, not that night, probably not for a few weeks yet. So I dragged the guy around the other side of the jeep and pushed him down on his knees, let him give me a blowjob. Then I sent him away and got in the car and drove home. I couldn’t very well go back into Woody’s after that, could I? Only now I find out that Justin was there, I’d missed him.

Which in itself is a good thing, probably. But I haven’t seen him for several days and it might have been okay just to check up on him, see how he’s doing. I wondered if he had enough cash to keep gas in the car, and wished there was some way I could have given him a credit card. Creative as I am, I couldn’t think of a reason he would believe that the leased car came equipped with free gas refills.

I hand Gus back to Lindsay and she settles him on her lap. “How is Justin?” Lindsay asks Michael. “We haven’t heard from him for a while, a couple weeks. He’s got a heavy schedule this term, and he’s gone back to work at the diner, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” chimes in Debbie as she brings another huge bowl of pasta to the table and resumes her seat. “Second helpings everybody, or Vic’ll be eating penne for a month.”

“Eat, please eat!” Vic begs comically and everybody laughs.

“Sunshine’s been working his little ass off this past week,” Deb tells Lindsay. “It’s hard to get back into the grind of waiting tables when you’ve been away from it for a while. He’s probably too tired to see anybody.”

Michael snorts a loud laugh and we all turn to look at him. “But he’s not too tired to fuck around – he picked up a guy at Woody’s last night and went off with him. He had a lot to drink too, that kid sure can put away tequila shots.”

The room goes silent as everybody tries not to look at me, and as I try not to look like I’m the least bit interested. Finally, I say, “Please pass the zucchini,” and when Vic hands me the bowl I take a large helping, though God knows that one more bite would choke me.

Finally, Debbie pipes up, “Well, it’s good that Sunshine’s going out, he’s been shut-in for months.”

“Please pass the bread,” I say, tearing off a hunk of the crusty loaf.

“Ted and I were at a table in the corner and Justin completely ignored us. Ted waved at him once but he pretended not to see. He just sat down at the bar and started drinking, till this guy comes on to him, and – “

“Please pass the chicken.”

“Michael,” Lindsay chimes in, “How’s the comic book doing? Is the new issue coming out soon?”

“Justin’s behind schedule,” Michael complains, “At least now I know why, he’s too busy fucking around to meet the deadlines he agreed to.”

“Please pass the – “ I look around the table, there’s nothing left to pass.

Melanie laughs. “Brian, I’ve never seen you eat so much, you must be starving. Bet you’re missing Justin’s great cooking.”

I’m aware that Linds has reached over to pinch Mel’s arm, and Melanie laughs again. The bitch.

Casually I lean back in my chair. “Yeah, he’s a great cook. But I eat too much when he’s around. In fact,” I eye my loaded plate with revulsion, “I can’t finish this after all.”

“Don’t worry sweetie,” Debbie jumps up and leans over to grab my plate. “I’ll wrap this up for you to take home, you can have it for dinner tomorrow. Okay?” When I nod, Deb grabs Michael’s shoulder and shakes it. “Come on, help me in the kitchen a minute.”

“Why?”

“Come ON,” Deb insists, grabbing hold of Michael’s sleeve and physically lifting him out of his chair.

“So, Brian,” Vic leans his elbows on the table and smiles at me, “How’s the therapy going – still working out with that personal trainer?”

“What?” It takes a moment to realize what Vic is asking me. “Yeah – yeah, he’s great. He’s not so rough on me as the PT at the hospital – she’s a killer. You know what – “ I glance at my wrist as if I’m wearing a watch. I haven’t worn a watch for five years at least. So I look around for a wall clock, Deb has three of them scattered around the kitchen and living room, though they all show slightly different times. It’s seven-thirty. Or seven-thirty-three. Or seven-thirty-eight. “I need to be getting home,” I continue, rising to my feet, “I have an early meeting tomorrow and there’s a presentation I need to finish up tonight.”

“Oh, don’t go, Brian,” Lindsay begs, “Gus hasn’t seen you for ages – “

“Yeah, sorry,” I say over my shoulder as I limp to the closet by the door to retrieve my jacket, “I’ll call you in a few days, maybe I can stop by after work one night.”

Linds hands Gus to Mel and comes over to the entry where I’m putting on my jacket. “Brian – “

“I’ll call you,” I promise, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She puts a hand on my arm but I pull away, go into the kitchen where Debbie is sliding the contents of my overloaded dinner plate into a Tupperware container.

“Thanks for dinner, Deb, it was great.” I give her a kiss too and she shoves the Tupperware into my hands. There’s no way I’m going to eat it tomorrow but I don’t need to tell her that. “Bye,” I say to Deb, to Michael, to Vic, just one big general ‘goodbye’ before I turn around and limp quickly to the door.

I’m almost free, I’m almost out of there when Michael calls, “Wait up, I’ll walk you to the car.”

Fuck.

“Okay,” I agree, “But I’ve got to hurry.” I pull open the door and take two steps across the porch when my leg gives out on me and I slip sideways, almost falling, if Michael hadn’t grabbed my arm to steady me, I’d have gone head first – or ass first – down the porch stairs.

“Jesus, Brian, slow down,” he warns me and I nod, yeah-yeah-yeah, then turn away and move as quickly as possible toward the jeep.

He doesn’t say anything till we’re at the car and I’ve unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Brian – are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” I tell him, swinging myself onto the car seat, “Why should I be mad at you?”

Christ, I hope he doesn’t answer me. Then he does.

“Because I told you about Justin. I didn’t think you’d care about him screwing around now, you guys aren’t together anymore, right?”

“Michael.” I put the key in the ignition but don’t turn it. Then I look at him. “It’s okay that you told me,” I say, almost honestly, “But you didn’t have to tell everybody else. It’s Justin’s business, it’s his personal business.”

“Oh,” Michael says, he looks first chagrined, then crestfallen. “I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve got to go now, okay?” I raise my eyebrows at him and wait till he backs up so I can close the door. “Bye, Mikey,” I mouth at him through the car window, then I swing my head away, turn the ignition, put the car in gear and pull away from the curb. I can’t wait to get home, I’m just suddenly so amazingly tired. There really is a big presentation I’m preparing for tomorrow, but I don’t think I can work on it tonight.


Justin

Tonight is my first-ever real date and at the very last minute, I think about calling Lawrence and canceling. Not for any special reason, just because.

I didn’t date in high school, not even girls, and then I jumped into Brian’s bed and hung around with his friends and went twice to the baths with Brian and we shared quite a few tricks in our bed, so now dating just seems, I don’t know, weird. I’ve changed my clothes like about four times, I feel like I’m starring in some after-school special, I’m getting more and more nervous and I really, really would just like to call the whole thing off.

Lawrence phoned me Wednesday night to confirm and to give me directions to the Vietnamese restaurant, Nguyen’s, and now I can’t remember where I wrote them down. I’ll probably drive around for hours looking for the place. Or I guess I could call the restaurant. But actually, I remember the directions so I don’t need to call. I can’t remember ever having sweaty palms before, it will be so humiliating if Lawrence tries to hold my hand and I just slip right out of his grasp like I’ve been lubed.

Should I take lube? Should I put a bottle in the car? I assume we’re going to have sex, that’s what adults do when they go on dates. As far as I know. Do I want to have sex with him? I’ve tried not to think about it all week. I haven’t messed around since I left Brian. Well, there was that one time with Jamie. And of course there was Ethan, but that wasn’t messing around, that was love. Or something.

In the end, I’m late, I hate being late, I hate waiting for people, and I wonder if maybe Lawrence might have given up and left the restaurant, but when I come through the door I see him sitting on a bench in the entryway. He stands up and smiles at me and taking a deep breath, I move forward and smile back at him. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“No problem, no worries mate.”

God, he’s not going to do an Australian accent all night, is he?

“You can leave your jacket here, there’s a cloak room.” Lawrence points at the corner where a woman steps forward and takes my coat, bowing. I manage to stop myself from bowing back at her and instead follow Lawrence into the restaurant; they’re holding a table for us.

We’re handed beautiful menus and we both admire the artwork, what looks like real leaves have been woven into the edges of the cards, then Lawrence describes some of the dishes. He tells me that the French occupied Vietnam for a long time, way before the American war, so there’s a strong influence of French cooking on the cuisine. I listen carefully to Lawrence’s comments, and when he glances over the top of his menu at me, he does a double-take.

“Sorry, was I being a teacher?” he asks ruefully.

“Oh no, no, I was just really interested, I didn’t know that history before.”

“I’ve been to Vietnam actually,” he says, “But I’ll save that lecture for another time.”

“I’d love to hear about it.” I mean it too. “I want to travel all over the world when I finish school.”

“You’re sure?” When I nod, Lawrence says, “Let’s order first, then I’ll tell you a little. If you start snoring and fall face-first into your soup, that’ll be my clue to stop.”

That makes me laugh; he’s nice. I forgot that he’s nice. Then I settle down to seriously read the menu; I’m starving.

After dinner, we leave my car at the restaurant and Lawrence drives us to a bar he likes called Bogey’s. It’s small and dark and smoky, but immediately I fall in love with the place, there’s all this Humphrey Bogart movie memorabilia type stuff on the walls, fake palm trees, even a tiny five piece band playing music from (Lawrence tells me) the nineteen-forties. I like it, and when we’re seated at a tiny round table under a fake palm tree, Lawrence urges me to order a fruity drink that comes in a real coconut with a little paper umbrella stuck into the edge. I just absolutely love this place, and I look around smiling and laughing.

“I hoped you’d like Bogey’s,” Lawrence says, leaning over the table and putting his hand on my arm. That’s the first real physical contact we’ve had, and I’m okay with it.

“It’s great!” I exclaim happily, then Lawrence leans way over the table and plants a tiny kiss on my mouth. I’m okay with that, too.

When we’re leaving Bogey’s, Lawrence gets our coats and we put them on before going outside. I had a glass of wine with dinner and two coconut drinks at Bogey’s so when the cold night air hits me, I kind of wobble sideways. I can drink a lot of guys under the table so I don’t know why the coconuts affected me. Lawrence puts an arm around my shoulders to steady me, and it brings my face close to his. We’re in the parking lot, it’s deserted, and when he kisses me, I close my eyes and lean into his body. When Lawrence invites me back to his place, I’m ready. I’m ready for this. Brian says I should experience life. Everybody tells me the same thing. So I’m going to go ahead and do it.



Lawrence

I don’t know what I’ve let myself in for with Justin. While I’ve always liked men younger than myself, I’ve never seriously dated anyone this young, I’ve never dated a student - former student - before now. I remember when he was in my class last year I had to force myself not to stare at him, not to show any favoritism, not to make a fool of myself. I knew he had a boyfriend – several times I’d seen this guy in a jeep picking up Justin in the parking lot, I’d seen them kissing. Later I’d seen Justin hanging out with one of the music students and I’d seen them kissing too. Justin’s still a kid, he’s probably not nearly ready to settle down yet.

When I ran into Justin at Woody’s I was sure he’d give me the brush off. I know I’m attractive but I’m thirty-four, almost twice his age. I’d never have dared to ask him out if we hadn’t had such a great time playing pool. Justin seemed totally at ease with me, in fact, I forgot about our age difference and he seemed to do the same. When I asked him out I felt there a good chance he’d turn me down but when he accepted, I felt my heart go THUMP - just like that. I laughed about it later, but at the time the sensation of joy felt very real.

The thing about Justin is – he can be so open with his feelings, transparent as glass, and moments later, he’s shut up tight as a clam inside its shell. He was open all through dinner, his enjoyment of my favorite bar was palpable, the first time I kissed him, he almost fell into my arms. The way things were going was almost too good to be true. Which turned out to be the case.

Justin came home with me, we walked through the door and pulled off our coats, and I was going to offer him a drink or some coffee when suddenly I felt him grab my arm, whirl me around, and push his body against mine. “Let’s fuck,” he said throatily, and I felt my cock immediately spring into action. We started kissing and he had my shirt off before I even noticed what he was doing, so I started pulling off his clothes and I could hear myself gasping with desire for this incredibly beautiful and sexy boy.

He wanted to fuck on the sofa but I managed to maneuver him into the bedroom, I’m not old-fashioned, I just like comfort (and I didn’t want come stains on my just-reupholstered damask sofa). He came along willingly – we were both naked by then – and he helped me pull off the bedspread and blankets, then he leaped into the middle of the bed and spread-eagled himself on the mattress. “Are you a top or a bottom?” he demanded, and when I said ‘both’ he laughed. “Me too,” he said, “But mostly I’m a top, so you better have plenty of lube because I forgot to bring mine!”

To say I was surprised by Justin’s sexual aggression would be an understatement. Not that it wasn’t exciting, not that it wasn’t fantastic actually – but looking at that innocent angelic face with the beautiful wide-open blue eyes would not prepare anyone for the Justin lurking just beneath the surface. It never occurred to me in my wildest fantasies that I’d get my ass fucked tonight – much less that I’d enjoy it so much. Justin was obviously very experienced and very talented in bed.

And yet, and yet. . .

Afterward, after we’d both shouted loud enough with our orgasms to set the neighbors dialing 911, I lay prone on the bed, exhausted and working hard to get my breathing back to normal. What I wanted more than anything else was to cuddle up with Justin in my arms, go to sleep holding onto those beautiful pale shoulders with the silky soft skin. But he pulled away from me, and when I looked at his face, it was as if Justin had rolled shutters down over his eyes. Gone was the laughing, happy boy of only moments before, and in his place was this stranger, a changeling almost. He just pulled away and said sullenly, “I need a smoke,” and I lay on the bed, dismayed by this personality change, watching him walk into the living room and rifle through the pockets of his jacket looking for cigarettes. Then he sat on the sofa with his back to the open bedroom door, puffing away in silence.

Finally, I got up and found an ashtray in the kitchen and brought it to him. He took it from my hand without looking at me. “Thanks,” he said tersely.

“Is something – wrong?” I finally dared to ask, perching on the arm of the sofa.

“What?” he looked up at me, his eyes still shuttered. “Oh no, no, everything’s fine. Hey, that was great,” he added with a big fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But I really need to go now, could you give me a ride to my car?”

“I’d hoped you’d stay the night,” I told him, and when he said nothing, I sighed. “But of course I’ll take you to your car.”

We got dressed then in silence and drove back to Nguyen’s. I tried to chat with Justin but I got only monosyllabic answers, then at the restaurant, before he opened the car door, he turned to me and said quietly, “Thanks, Lawrence, I had a great time.”

“I’m glad,” I replied, “I did too. Will you see me again?”

He seemed to be thinking about it. “I don’t know,” he answered at last. “Can I call you?”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Thanks again, bye now.” And he got out of my car and into his own. We waved at each other and I drove off, wondering what the hell had happened to me tonight. Wondering if Justin would call me, or had he given me the brush off? Wondering how long it would take me to get over it, if Justin didn’t want to see me again.


Brian

I’ve just had a shower and I’m turning down the bed when my doorbell buzzes. I glance at the clock and see that it’s nearly two a.m., I’m tempted to ignore the buzzer because nobody would be coming to see me at this time of night, and some neighborhood kids have been going around ringing everybody’s doorbells the past week or so. But it buzzes again, and then again. Fuck.

Padding across the floor to the door, I mutter into the intercom, “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Let me in.” It’s Justin.

“Are you okay?”

“Brian, just let me in. I don’t have my – I mean your – key.”

Without answering I push the buzzer, then limp back to the bedroom to pull on my jeans before returning to open the door just as Justin reaches the landing.

“You okay?” I ask again, he’s stopped at the top of the stairs.

“No.” He looks – angry.

“What’s wrong?”

Without answering, Justin pushes past me into the loft. He pulls off his coat and throws it on the floor. Closing the door behind us, I take a closer look, Justin’s face is flushed pink and I try to see if his eyes are dilated.

“You wasted?”

“No, I am not fucking wasted,” he growls, kicking off his shoes, stomping into the living room and throwing himself down on the sofa.

“Justin,” I’m getting annoyed, “What the fuck’s going on? It’s two in the fucking morning, is this a social visit or what?”

“No,” he says. Then a moment later he says, “Or yes. Maybe it is.”

“Do you need coffee?” I try again, running a hand through my hair.

“Don’t humor me, don’t placate me, don’t offer me coffee!” he glares up at me, and now I’m getting worried. Maybe he’s wasted, after all, this is very un-Justin-like behavior.

“What’s going on, Justin, this isn’t like you, this – “

“Hunh!” he exclaims loudly. “No, this is NOT like me. Not like the old me. This is the NEW, IMPROVED ME!”

Sitting next to Justin, I try to take his arm but he pulls away.

“Why aren’t you yelling at me?” he asks. “Why aren’t you throwing me out of the loft – again?”

I feel myself getting irritated even though I know it’s equal parts worry. “Just tell me whatever the fuck it is you came here to say, can you do that?”

Justin jumps up and paces around the coffee table till he’s facing me.

“Know what I did tonight?” he spits out, glaring at me.

“Killed somebody?” I hazard a guess. “Run somebody over with your car?”

“No!” he shouts, “I had a DATE.”

I nod, keeping my face noncommittal; I don’t have a clever answer ready for that announcement.

“With a GUY!”

I nod again. “Actually, I could have guessed you didn’t have a date with a girl.”

“He took me to dinner!”

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” Justin’s calmer now, “That’s okay with you, right? Justin’s experiencing life. Cool.”

I wait, he’s obviously got more to say.

“And you know what we did afterward?” he demands, leaning over the coffee table and staring into my eyes.

“I can guess.” Why is he telling me all this?

“Damn right. Damn right!” Justin throws out his arms. “We fucked. I fucked him, I fucked the shit out of him, and he fucking LOVED IT.”

“Of course he did. You’re good.” It’s very important that I keep a straight face. For some reason, I feel like laughing, though nothing about this situation is remotely amusing. Why do I feel laughter bubbling up in my chest, threatening to spill out of my mouth? Justin’s already furious for some reason. If I laugh he’ll go ballistic.

Finally, I beat down the urge to laugh and ask seriously, “So why are you pissed off, Justin? Why’d you come banging on my door at two in the – “

“Because I didn’t want to fuck HIM. I wanted to fuck YOU. Damn you to hell, Brian fucking Kinney!” And with that Justin steps over the coffee table and throws himself – literally – on top of me. He’s straddling me on the sofa and trying to pin my arms down to my sides. Of course, I’m much stronger and it would be easy to buck him right off my lap. Easy as pie.

We’re nose to nose, and that urge to laugh is bubbling up in my throat again. To forestall it I kiss Justin – only to stop that bubble of laughter. I let him pin me to the sofa and I let him shove his tongue down my throat. I can smell the other guy on him but it doesn’t bother me. Much. I let him rip off my jeans – even in his anger and fury and passion, he’s careful of my leg – and I let him push me down on my back on the sofa.

“You’ve done your quota of fucking tonight,” I tell him, grinning, “But you can sit on my cock if you want to.”

Justin laughs at that, and then I can laugh too, I can let loose the laughter trapped inside my chest and I let out a roar of it, and then I sigh deeply. Then I close my eyes and let Justin have his way with me – as long as he knows whose cock is really in charge here.

Later, when we’re once again sitting on the sofa, our bodies glued together with sweat and laughter and a certain amount of shared but unexpressed anger, we smoke a cigarette. “You need to go home now,” I tell him and he nods his head.

“I know. In a few minutes?”

“Sure.” I’m agreeable. “And come back again after your next date, okay?”

“Brian.”

“What?”

“Do we have to do this? Do I have to experience life for six more fucking months?”

“Yes.” I hug him tight for a moment, then push him gently away. “But you have to try harder to enjoy it.”

Justin sighs resignedly and we begin to separate our tangled sticky body parts.

I can’t help asking, “Do you like this guy – your date – whoever he is?”

“Yeah,” Justin answers half-heartedly. “He’s nice. We went to a Vietnamese restaurant. They like people who eat a lot, they brought me extra side dishes.”

Of course, they did, why am I not surprised? “You going to see him again?”

“I don’t know.” He stands up and picks up his clothing from the various points of the room where I threw it and begins to get dressed. “Maybe.”

That’s good. It’s good that Justin’s going to be dating other kids for a while. And if it’s more than ‘a while,’ well, that’s good too. As great as we are in bed together, I know myself and I know Justin pretty well too. We’re not a good match. I’m not a good match for anybody but he can be, if he gives himself a chance. He needs this chance to be with other kids his age, go out to dinner, to younger clubs, to fuck around, to have fun. When the six months are up, if he –

Nope. I won’t think about that ‘if.’

Justin’s dressed and I walk him to the door. I know it will annoy him but I can’t help asking, “You need anything? Gas money, or – “

“No, no, I’m fine.” He’s annoyed.

“Okay.” I put my hand on the back of his neck and squeeze. “I’ll see you around. I’m not ready for Babylon yet, but I’ve made it to Woody’s a couple times.”

”Yeah, I know,” Justin turns to pull open the door. “Bye,” he says solemnly.

“Zip up your jacket, it’s cold outside,” I tell him, sounding like Debbie.

Justin zips his jacket and takes off down the stairs. At the first turn he looks around and smiles at me and I give him a wave, then I pull the door closed. I feel the need for a drink or at least for some strong coffee, but instead, I turn off the lights and limp up to the bedroom, slide into bed between the sheets. They’re chilly, and my last wakeful thought is a wish that Justin were here to slip his arms around my chest, push his warm naked body tight against mine and help me heat up this cold empty bed.

Justin

Well, I did it, I called Lawrence and arranged another date.

I've been going around and around in my head all week, trying to decide what to do with this fucking six-month separation Brian forced on us. In his view, I'm too young to know what I want just because I haven't had a bunch of fucked-up relationships like he apparently had. I know about Charlie, I know about the nameless blond hunk in the photo Brian showed me, the one that made him almost jump off a roof. So just because I haven't had some equally awful experiences, Brian thinks I'm some naïve kid who doesn't know his own mind.

Brian said that I can't be happy with him. I told him, 'I can't be happy without you.' The thing is, we're both right. I know I can't be happy with Brian unless some things change, but I also know I can't live my whole lifetime without him. I would probably die. I believe that with all my heart.

I just have to hang on and do what he asked me, wait six months. I can do this because he promised we could see each other sometimes. And he promised not to get together with Rick. That scares me worse than anything. Because Brian didn't just want to fuck Rick, he liked him. So for the next six months, I'll do as Brian asked and date some guys. A few anyway. I might as well start with Lawrence, he's nice and I enjoyed being with him, it was fun. And Lawrence is older, he's mature - he's not some kid who's going to get all gaga about romance and stuff.


Lawrence

It's not like I fell in love with Justin Taylor after one date; it was just that I couldn't get him out of my mind. By the time he called me the following Wednesday, I’d resigned myself to the idea that he'd decided against seeing me again. So when I heard his voice on the phone I was amazed to discover that for a brief moment I felt almost tongue-tied; and it was downright silly at my age to feel my heartbeat quicken just hearing his voice.

"I called to see if you'd like to go out Friday night," he said.

"Justin, I'd like that very much. Shall we do dinner again, or - "

"It's my turn. I'll pick you up at your place. But - " he hesitated, then went on determinedly, "I just need to tell you that I'm on a budget so I can't do a fancy restaurant, would you mind having pizza?"

"Pizza's almost my favorite food," I exaggerated and I heard him sigh. With relief? I wondered if he thought I was a snob, my condo probably seems very formal to such a casual young man. I like to surround myself with beautiful furnishings, works of art, tastefully arranged. But I didn't always have the means to afford little luxuries and I’m empathetic about student finances, Justin told me he works as a waiter while he’s going to school.

"There's a Monty Python retrospective at the Regency near campus, do you like Monty Python?" When I said yes, very much, he said, "Friday they're showing 'The Meaning of Life,' I've seen it on video but not in a movie theatre."

"Great, that sounds great," I said enthusiastically. "I like all the Python films - 'Life of Brian' is one of my all-time favorites."

"Uh, yeah, " Justin said, Then he added, "Well, I'll pick you up about seven, is that okay? I get too hungry if I eat later than that."

"Sure, sure." I could easily believe it, I'd seen Justin eat his way through half the menu at Nguyen's.

"Okay, well, good-bye."

"Bye."

Hanging up the phone, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the hall table. I had a big grin on my face. That grin stuck around for hours.



Brian

Ted’s telling one of his boring stories about callers who phone requests to the porn site, I’ve pretty much tuned him out and by force of habit I’m checking out the guys scattered around Woody’s when I happen to see Justin come in the front door. He slips his eyes casually around the room and when he spots me looking at him, he gives me a half wave and immediately turns away before I can respond. Emmett says, “Oh look, there’s Justin,” but no one suggests inviting him to join us.

Justin moves to the bar and starts talking to Eddie, so I empty my glass in one swallow, say, “Next round’s on me,” and stand up.

“Brian, I just bought a round not five minutes ago, we've all got drinks,” Michael reminds me, so I show him my empty glass and casually walk over to the bar. I know they’re all watching me, but I don’t give a fuck.

“Hey,” I say to Justin, stopping next to him at the bar. He half turns and smiles slightly but keeps talking to the bartender.

“It was a red Corvette,” Justin says, and they both laugh.

Naturally, I don’t ask what they’re talking about. “Hey, Eddie,” I’m pulling out a twenty, “Double Stoli.” He nods and turns away to pour my drink.

“Wow, you know his name,” Justin marvels, smirking.

“I also know his dick size, but I’m not telling you.” I lean an elbow on the bar and check out Eddie’s ass. I’ve told the truth.

“Maybe I know it, too.”

I can’t help it, that makes me laugh. “Eddie doesn’t like chicken, do you, Eddie?” He sets down my vodka and a Coke for Justin. “I’ve got it,” I say quickly, shoving the twenty at Eddie, who’s looking at Justin with raised eyebrows.

“This chicken’s turning into a damn fine rooster,” he says slowly, looking Justin up and down. “I like roosters.”

He’s joking and I know it but I’m annoyed anyway, and when he winks at Justin I grab my change and think to myself, there goes your tip, asshole. Touching Justin’s sleeve, I say, “Feel like a game? We’re waiting for a table.”

“Oh – I don’t know.” Justin glances at the guys sprawled around a table in the corner.

“It’s no big deal,” I say, shrugging as if it doesn’t matter one way or the other, then adding, “It’s just that you’re a better player than any of them, it’s boring always winning.”

“Ha.” He’s not buying it.

When he still hesitates I say again, “Come on,” looking him in the eye and letting him see that it does matter to me after all. He smiles then. I like the quickness of Justin, subtleties are never lost on him.

He says okay and picks up his Coke, follows me as I wend my way through the crowd to the corner. “Justin wants to play with us,” I announce, which I know is a dirty trick the minute the words leave my mouth. I see Michael frown as the other guys say words of welcome, then I throw my arm around Justin’s shoulders and admit, “I asked him to.” Michael’s frown deepens, damn him, so I add, “He’s the only one of you guys who can give me a decent challenge.”

“That’s because you taught me,” Justin says generously and I squeeze his neck before releasing him. I drag over another chair and push Justin down into it.

Ted never has much to say to Justin but Emmett leans over and fingers the sleeve of Justin’s shirt – if that kid ever stops wearing French Connection clothes I’ll be amazed. “This blue almost exactly matches your eyes,” Emmett marvels. I’d noticed that already. Justin looks good in blue.

There’s a long pause then Ted jumps in with another one of his boring stories, but this time I’m glad, it’s filling in the nearly hostile silence emanating from Michael. He’s my best friend but sometimes he really pisses me off.

Finally, he speaks to Justin. “You promised you’d get the final proofs to me on Friday.”

”I know, and I will.”

“This Friday – tomorrow,” Michael grumbles.

I can almost feel the tension in Justin’s body. “I know, and I will,” he repeats.

“You won’t get them done if you’re hanging out here all night.”

Justin stands up quickly and I want to put out a hand to stop him. Stop him from what, I don’t know. “Wait,” he says to Michael, then turns and walks quickly out the back door. He’s left his jacket on the chair so I know he’s coming back.

“Lighten up why don’t you,” I can't resist murmuring, then I reach over quickly to squeeze Michael’s arm so he doesn’t go off into one of his shit-fits.

“Fuck you, Brian, that kid has no idea of responsibility, I’m telling you, he promised me the proofs tomorrow, it’s the fucking deadline, you ought to understand about deadlines.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from rushing to Justin’s defense; it’s really none of my business, after all. A moment later the back door opens and Justin returns, walking quickly across the room and dropping a thick manila envelope on the table in front of Michael.

“There they are,” he says abruptly, then resumes his chair and glances away, across the room, as if he’s disassociating himself from the group.

There’s a long pause, then Michael grumbles, “Well, if you had them today, why didn’t you bring them by the shop?”

Justin swings his head around. “You said Friday. If you wanted them Thursday, you could have said so.”

“What am I supposed to do with them here? What if they get lost?”

Justin just looks at Michael for a moment, his face noncommittal, then he stands up. “I’m going to go,” he says to me, with barely a glance, “Thanks for the Coke.”

There’s silence at the table and I sit there for two heartbeats, then I toss back my drink and stand up. “See ya,” I say to no one in particular, then hurry to catch up with Justin as he goes out the back door of the bar.


Justin

I couldn’t believe it when I felt Brian come up behind me in the alley and throw his arm around my shoulders. I knew better than to start bitching about Michael – Brian always sticks up for him, or anyway, he won’t discuss Michael with me. That’s the way it should be, they’re best friends.

Though I won’t complain about Michael, I can’t resist saying, “I wish I had a best friend like you.”

“You’ve got Daphne.”

We stop beside the jeep. “I don’t though, not anymore. We’re not close like we used to be.”

He nods. “That’s probably inevitable – she’s a girl.” Brian takes out his cigarettes and offers them. I pull one out and he lights mine and his own. “Let’s take a ride,” he says, so I get in beside him. Light from a streetlamp illuminates the inside of the jeep.

“You and Lindsay are still good friends, though,” I contradict. “She’s a girl.”

“Linds and I – “ he says, then stops.

I sigh; of course, he’s not going to tell me anything personal.

“Linds and I had a – a relationship, in college.” Brian turns to grin at me. “See, I’ve had a relationship before.”

“Did you love each other?” I dare to ask, holding my breath; I'm sure he’ll tell me to fuck off.

But he doesn’t. After a pause he answers, “She did, I guess. In a way. I liked her a lot, but. . . well, I’m gay. Always have been. Still, we went together for a while just to try it out. Being straight.” He laughs again, he’s looking over my shoulder out the window, and I can tell he’s remembering things, times with Lindsay. “Later we were beards for each other, to fool our parents I guess.”

“I think she still loves you, Brian.”

He nods, brings his eyes back to my face. “I know. That’s why I agreed to give her my sperm.”

“I thought so. But – but I’m glad you told me.”

“My God!” Brian exclaims suddenly, rearing back from me and grabbing his head. “My God, we’re having – we’re having a MEANINGFUL DISCUSSION.”

“Asshole.” But I laugh.

Actually, I feel choked up. Because Brian shared himself with me. Just a little piece, just a few words. But he did it freely. Other people would scoff if I told them, but I know it was a big deal for Brian.

“All this talk has made me horny,” Brian says, reaching across the seat to touch his hand to my hair, rub the back of my neck gently. “Can we go home now and fuck?”

“Okay,” I agree, “But could we maybe stop for a sandwich first? It’s been so long since dinner.”

Brian’s shaking his head as he puts the key in the ignition. “Why am I surprised?” he says, to nobody. Then he adds, “Actually, I’m hungry too. Where shall we go?”

“Not the diner,” I say, and he agrees.

“Not the diner.”



Brian

I know I told Justin we could see each other sometimes but it's happening too often. How's he going to really involve himself in his own separate life if he's at the loft in my bed every few days? Well, it was more than a few days, it was almost a week since he came by after his date and threw himself at me. That time wasn't my fault. Tonight was my fault, though. I should have let him just walk out of Woody's but somehow I couldn't. He was upset and so I followed him. Of course, I never go after anybody, but it wasn't me he was upset about so it doesn't count as going after him, not really.

We stopped at the deli and even though they were about to close, Justin charmed the owner into making sandwiches for us, we brought them home and sat at the kitchen counter eating, then we moved into the bedroom. I enjoyed the taste of corned beef in Justin's mouth, and I made his dick taste like pastrami. When I told him that, he offered to run to the kitchen for mustard, but I said if he did I'd use it for lube. Tonight was one of those fun times we sometimes have, lots of laughing, both of us feeling relaxed and joking around.

And this was the first time I've been able to stay on my knees long enough for a really good face-to-face fuck, though of course, Justin helped me out, being sure not to put any pressure on the bad leg; and then when he sensed I was getting tired he asked me to switch to our sides, saying he wanted to come that way. I knew he was making concessions but somehow it didn't bother me.

I almost asked him to sleep over, but luckily I remembered it was a school night and he needed to go home. So I'm driving him back to Woody's to pick up his car and I'm feeling good, better than I've felt all week. In fact, I'm finally ready for my first visit to Babylon tomorrow night and I tell him so.

"Brian, that's great! You're finally getting back to normal."

"Maybe you'll be there too." I'm offhand because it doesn't matter to me one way or the other. But I'm not prepared for Justin's laugh.

"Yeah," he snorts, "That would be so fun for me, watching guys swarm all over you, watching you lead them into the back room one at a time."

"Maybe two or three at a time." Suddenly I'm grouchy.

"Besides, I'm busy tomorrow night." He hesitates, then says in a rush, "I've got other plans."

Oh. "Same guy?"

"Yeah. We're going to dinner and a movie." Justin doesn't look at me, he's staring out the windshield. "You missed the turn."

"No, I didn't," I contradict him, "I'm going around the block on purpose."

When he stays silent I say impassively. "Date night." Then I sigh and add, "Good. That's good. I hope you have fun."

"This is your idea, not mine," Justin turns to look at me but I keep my eyes on the road. I pull up behind his car parked in the alley near Woody's and switch off the ignition, then turn to give him a big cheesy smile.

"Have a good time on your date."

Justin sits unmoving for a moment, then he leans over and gives me a quick kiss. "Have fun at Babylon." He's not smiling. He gets out of the car and I wait till he unlocks his door and gets in. He gives me a wave and I raise my hand, then drive off down the alley.

The good feelings I had earlier tonight have dissipated. It must be the pastrami. I know better than to eat so late at night, it always makes me feel bad.



Lawrence

Justin seemed to be holding himself back from me, it was a subtle thing but felt real. Maybe he was sorry he asked me to go out with him tonight. I enjoyed dinner though the Friday night crowd at the pizza joint was very young and very loud, we could hardly hear ourselves speak, but after that he drove us to the university neighborhood, parked and we walked to the theatre. We both laughed out loud during the movie, and when I slipped my hand over to hold his in the darkness, he didn’t pull away.

We came back to my place afterward and had sex. It wasn’t as wild as the first time, which strangely enough was almost a relief – I’d been worried about keeping up with such an energetic young man. He was more subdued this time, though he seemed to enjoy the sex very much. He initiated a round of sixty-nine which I especially enjoyed and it seemed to go on forever, I had the most amazing orgasm, and when he swallowed my come, I moaned out loud.

Afterward, Justin asked to use my shower but when I offered to join him he said, “Not this time, okay?” He stayed in there forever, and when he came out he was pink all over, even his face and his eyes, he must have had the water boiling hot. We sat in the living room while Justin smoked a cigarette and I told him about a graphics conference I’m attending in New York next weekend.

The university’s paying for the registration and the hotel, and after briefly hesitating – hesitating because I was afraid Justin would say no – I invited him to go with me. “I’ll be in meetings all of Saturday and on Sunday morning, but you could get around town on your own Saturday, and we could be together for dinner that night and spend Sunday afternoon at the Guggenheim – it’s one of my favorite art museums in the world.”

“Wow,” Justin said, crushing out his cigarette, setting the ashtray on the coffee table and scooting back on the sofa, pulling up his legs to sit cross-legged. “That sounds great! But I’m supposed to work Saturday night.”

“Can you get the night off?”

“I don’t know,” he hedged, “Maybe.”

“Well, think about it and let me know soon, so I can get your plane ticket.”

“Oh!” he said, “Airfare’s expensive, I don’t want – “

“Justin,” I reached across the sofa and rubbed his smooth ivory shoulder, “I can afford it. It would be a treat for me, to share the museum with you. Please say you’ll come.”

“I don’t know,” he said again. “I don’t think I can, but could I call you in a day or two?”

“Sure, of course - no worries, mate!”



Brian

I'm in line at Starbucks when I hear a voice calling, "Hey, Brian!" Glancing around, I see a hand waving from the corner and there's Rick, sitting at a table in the back. I give him a nod, then the clerk gets my attention and takes my order. I keep my back turned resolutely to the room concentrating on watching the girl make my double latte, and when she hands it to me with a smile, I tell myself just to push through the crowd and walk out the door.

It's rude of course to snub Rick, he's done nothing to deserve a kick in the teeth, but of course rudeness is a Kinney trademark, it's no big deal. But with an almost physical shake of my head, I turn and walk over to the table where Rick's sitting; it can't hurt to say hello.

"Hello."

"Brian." Rick smiles up at me and gestures to the other chair. I hesitate, then sit down on the very edge of the chair seat, I'll just stay a second.

"How's it going?" I ask, keeping my voice superficial; "I'm in a hurry, so - "

"You look great," he tells me, "Is your leg completely healed now?"

"Almost. I'm back at work full-time finally. How've you been?"

Rick pushes the hair off his forehead, he has beautiful thick hair that's always falling into his eyes. "Good news," he tells me, "I've been accepted into the Master's program! I feel like I’m finally on my way to becoming a lawyer!"

"Great, that's great. You've worked hard for it I know."

There's an awkward pause, and I'm just deciding to stand up, say goodbye, when Rick asks, "So, umm, are you still with him - with Justin?"

And how do I answer that? Do I say no - but I can't see you? Instead, I say, "He's around. And I've got to be getting to the office, I've got an early meeting."

"Don't worry," Rick smiles, "I wasn't planning to rape you here in the middle of Starbucks." Then he laughs, "Although that sounds like fun!"

Laughing with him, I have to agree. Christ, he was a great fuck. I easily get a mental picture of the two of us naked, Rick lying on his back on the tiny round table with his legs around my neck, me fucking him like crazy while everyone around us sips their coffee and reads the Wall Street Journal. Then something makes me look up, look toward the door. Justin's framed in the doorway, frozen almost like a statue as he stares at us. I feel frozen, too, unable to move. Then suddenly he turns and rushes out the door.

Fuck. I stand up. I want to follow him, run after him, explain. . .

Explain what? I wasn't doing anything. No matter what it looked like to Justin, I wasn't doing anything, I wasn't breaking my promise. I shouldn't have to explain myself, he ought to know I keep my promises. Fuck it, he knows he can trust me. Or he should know. Damned if I'm going to explain every little thing I do. Not to him, not to anybody.



Justin

I'm still shaking, I glance down at my hands and grasp them together to stop the shaking. When I backed out the door of Starbucks, I hurried into the alley and quickly squatted down on the pavement, lowered my head to alleviate the dizziness, and I could hear an echo of my gasping breath bouncing off the brick walls of the buildings in the narrow alley.

I saw them. Together. Brian and Rick sitting at a table in the back of Starbucks, laughing together.

It takes a few minutes to get my breathing back to normal, to be sure I'm not going to throw up or pass out or at the very least, scream my guts out. Because he promised. He promised. Brian promised not to see Rick anymore, and there they were having coffee, talking and laughing together.



Lawrence

Justin's got me grinning again. I'd given up hope that he'd go to New York with me, but just now he called and said he's changed his mind. I've already made reservations but I'll call the airlines right away and add Justin. I'm sure we're going to have a wonderful time in the city, I can't wait to show him the Guggenheim, and maybe he'd enjoy a hansom cab ride around Central Park in the evening. That would be so romantic.

Brian

If he doesn't answer, I'm not leaving a message. In a way, I hope he doesn't answer. I hate this shit, it's fucking emotional blackmail, that's what it is. I've never bought into this kind of -

"Hello?"

Fuck, Justin answered his cell. "Hey."

There's a pause, then he says, "Hey."

Fuck.

"How's it going?" Christ, I sound like an idiot.

"Fine."

He's not going to help me. "I saw you at Starbucks this morning," I tell him.

"I saw you too."

Long pause.

"You should've come in. I'd have bought you a latte."

"You were busy."

I knew it would be like this. I should never have called him. He wants me to explain and why should I have to explain? Nothing happened. Nothing fucking happened. Well, that's the end of the game for me, I'm not playing anymore.

Or maybe I am, because then I say, "Justin, if it looked like - something to you, well, it wasn't."

Another long pause. "It looked like something to me."

"Well, it wasn't."

I sigh deeply, shake my head. Why did I make this call? "Look, Justin, we sound like a couple of lesbians. This is way too much drama for Thursday morning. I've got a meeting in five minutes."

"Okay."

I'm exasperated and I growl at him, "Okay, what?"

"Okay, sir."

Against my will I sputter a laugh. "You're such a shit sometimes."

"Me?" Justin's voice goes up an octave.

There's another long pause and I look up to see Cynthia hovering in the doorway holding the Jackson file. "I have to go now."

"Okay."

Christ, he won't help me at all, the fucker. "Justin, are you working tonight?"

"Yeah," he confirms, "Six till midnight."

That's too long. He should be home sleeping or doing homework or something, not waiting tables till fucking midnight. But that's his business. I think about talking to Debbie about his schedule but I know Justin would be pissed if I did.

"I might drop by for dinner," I tell him, glancing at Cynthia again and waving her into the office. "So I just wondered."

"Oh," he says, "That might not be a good idea."

Cynthia hands me the file and I open it, search for the notes I need for the ten o'clock meeting. Absently I ask him, "Why not?"

"Um," Justin pauses, "Well I think the special tonight is that awful meatloaf you don't like."

"That doesn't matter, I’ll have a sandwich. I've got to go, I'm running late. Maybe I’ll see you. If I decide to come by."

"Well, I don't think you should - "

"Gotta go." Cynthia is pointing at her watch and making faces.

I hang up without waiting for Justin's goodbye, stand up and button my jacket. "Let's go, we're late," I bitch at Cynthia as she follows me to the door.

"You're so charming," she gushes, "I can't imagine why you're still single."

"Fuck you," I frown at her, "And guess what, you're still single, too."



Justin

I hang up the phone, feeling kind of confused and annoyed and I don't really know what else I'm feeling. Actually, I've been feeling sick for the past couple hours but after talking to Brian, I feel a lot better. A little better. I never expected him to call, and I sure as hell never expected him to explain. Not that he explained. He just said it ‘wasn’t anything.' Does he mean he didn't have sex with Rick, or does he mean it wasn't a date?

They were laughing together. Rick was leaning across the little table, they were sharing a laugh, looking into each other's eyes. I know all of Brian's looks. They were - intimate. I saw it, I know what I saw. So how can that be nothing?

I’m making myself sick all over again. Christ, I hope Brian doesn't come to the diner - I really don't want to see him tonight. For lots of reasons.



Lawrence

This is the first time that I've been in Liberty Diner. When I moved to Pittsburgh six years ago I made a conscious decision to steer clear of Liberty Avenue. I'd spent several years living in Los Angeles and then San Francisco, and I probably had sex in every bar in WeHo and on Castro Street. After a while the bar scene, the gay ghetto - it's just repetitive and not very satisfying. So when I got the job at PIFA and moved to Pittsburgh I decided to retire from that scene and I've never been sorry. There's other ways to meet men - I met my last lover when we both volunteered to help with the AIDS-walk two years ago. Rob moved to Dallas last summer, and Justin’s the first serious dating I’ve done since then.

I don't see Justin when I come in the door, I glance around for a moment until a plump waitress with a mass of improbable red hair points a finger toward the back. "There's a booth over there, honey," she says, bustling quickly by me, coffee pot in hand, then throws over her shoulder, "Sunshine'll be right with you, he's just taking a piss." My face must register surprise because she laughs loudly while pouring coffee for some patrons in a nearby booth and says breezily, "Don't worry, he always washes his hands!" The men in the other booth laugh so I smile and turn toward the back. And there’s Justin.

"Hey," I greet him, and he gives me that smile that curls my toes.

"Hey, Lawrence, you're early! That's good!" He points at the empty booth and says, "Sit here, I'll get you a menu, or you can read it off the wall over there." I look where he gestures and see a big sign listing sandwiches and other items, then he tells me, "The special tonight is filet of sole with lemon-butter sauce."

I slip into the booth and smile at Justin, he looks so darling with a big white apron tied tightly around his hips and a name badge pinned to his waist. "I'll get you some water," he offers, turning away quickly and going into the back, and it is a pure pleasure to watch his ass bounce behind him as he hurries away.

He’s back a moment later with a menu and a glass of water.

“I like seeing where you work,” I tell him, “Do you like it here?”

“Yeah. Umm, why don’t you order really fast, Lawrence – it gets crowded later, so you can, you know, finish before the noisy people come in to eat.”

“Okay.” I glance down at the menu. “I wish you could eat dinner with me. Can you take a break and do that?”

“Huh?” Justin’s not looking at me, he’s glancing around; but he brings his eyes back to my face and says, “Oh, I already had my break. The fillet of sole’s good, why don’t you have that? Tony, he’s the cook, he says it’s good tonight. And it doesn’t take a long time to fix.”

I just nod, still perusing the small menu.

“You’re new, aren’t you?”

I look up and the redhead has stopped beside Justin, an empty tray held at her side.

“Deb, this is Lawrence Cooper, he’s an art teacher at PIFA.”

“Oh, really!” the redhead smiles at me, reaches out her hand and shakes my own. “I’m Debbie Novotny, welcome to Liberty Diner! How’s little Sunshine doing, is he behaving himself in school?” She grins widely, cracking her gum, reaching up a hand to ruffle Justin’s hair.

“Sunshine?”

“The one and only,” she confirms, pinching Justin’s cheek. He winces but doesn’t pull away. “He’s practically my son, so you take good care of him, you hear?”

“Deb,” Justin says, “Lawrence isn’t MY teacher, he’s just A teacher.”

“Oh?” she says.

“Deb,” calls a man from a front booth, “Can I get some more coffee?”

“Hold your piss, I’ll be right there, Bobby. Although - as much coffee as you’ve had tonight, maybe you CAN’T hold your piss!” She laughs and several others in the diner join in. It seems like a happy place for Justin to work.

“Enjoy your dinner!” Deb says cheerfully, then she’s bustling off behind the counter.

“Order now,” Justin says and when I look up at him, I notice his eyes keep glancing toward the front of the diner.

“Okay, I’ll have the sole.”

Justin grabs his order pad and scribbles on it, then says, “I’ll be back in a minute!” and he hurries off to the kitchen.

Justin’s kept busy waiting on customers, ringing up the cash register, cleaning off tables, he barely has a few moments at a time to talk to me. “Don’t you get a break?” I ask him when he stops to fill my coffee cup.

“Sorry, Lawrence,” Justin says, “I told you I’d be busy tonight.”

“I know. I just wanted to see where you work. Besides, I’m going to leave a big tip!”

I’m expecting him to laugh but he just nods as if he doesn’t hear me, he’s glancing around the diner again. Then he murmurs, “Oh, shit,” turns abruptly on his heel and hurries off into the kitchen.

Being a waiter is difficult, and my respect for Justin has gone up another notch tonight. He’s obviously conscientious, he works very hard, the customers and the other people working here seem to like him very much. I’m glad I came by to see him. I wish Justin could come home with me tonight, but we’re leaving tomorrow after work so I’ll just have to wait till then to get my hands on him.

The sole's surprisingly good for a diner, Tony the cook knows his stuff. I push aside the zucchini and eat just half the baked potato – too much starch, though I love it. I drain my coffee cup and look around for Justin to see if I can get a refill, but then Deb comes breezing by me and I stop her, she’s got a coffee pot in her hand and refills my cup with a flourish. Justin’s still in the kitchen I guess. I hope he comes back soon, I’m almost ready to leave.

Here he comes out of the kitchen and I smile as he gets close to my table, but he’s not looking at me, he walks straight past me and goes to wait on another customer a few booths away. I’ll catch him on the way back so I can get my check.



Brian

Here’s Justin at last, I’ve slipped into the booth and sprawled on the seat. I’ve been coming here so long my ass should’ve worn through the vinyl covering by now. I stopped by a little earlier than usual, I don’t want to run into any of the other guys in case they drop by for dinner.

“Hey.” Justin stops and leans a hip against the table. “The special tonight’s fillet of sole with lemon-butter sauce.”

“What, no meatloaf? You promised me ‘that awful meatloaf.’”

Justin doesn’t even crack a smile, he must still be mad. Fuck that, I told him it was nothing, he needs to get over himself. His hand’s resting on the edge of the table and I push out my arms in a big stretch across the table, then let my hand accidentally graze his knuckles.

“Can you take your break and eat with me?” I hear a gentleness in my voice that I didn’t intend to be there. He catches it too and tilts his head slightly, like a hard-of-hearing man leaning toward an unfamiliar sound. The edges of our hands are still casually touching and I curl my fingers around the tips of his fingers, the most casual and meaningless and nothing caress. He looks at our fingers and he looks at me and I see the softening in his eyes.

I’m glad I came after all. I want to get past this – whatever this thing is we’re going through, all because I accidentally ran into Rick at Starbucks this morning. I find myself almost wishing I could say ‘I’m sorry,’ even though I did nothing wrong, even though I never apologize. We look at each other a moment, and a tiny smile begins to turn up the corners of Justin’s mouth, and I smile back at him.

“Justin?” A customer comes up behind Justin, making him jump slightly. “Sorry to interrupt,” the stranger says, “But I’m going now and I need my check.”

“Sure. Of course.” While Justin pulls out his order pad and flips through it, I eyeball the guy. He’s about my age, tall and good-looking with thick dark hair. His face is not familiar and I don’t think I’ve seen him before. He catches me looking at him and I see his face flush slightly – the usual effect of my elevator-eyes on a newcomer. I let him see the barest flicker of interest in my eyes and he turns his head away. Maybe he’s straight.

“Here it is,” Justin says, ripping out a sheet from his order pad.

“Thanks,” the guy says. “It was great watching you work, you’re very good at your job.” He puts a hand on Justin’s arm and I wait for Justin to pull away but he doesn’t.

“Thanks, Lawrence,” he says.

“Well, I’m off – “

“Umm,” Justin says, “Wait a second. Lawrence Cooper meet Brian Kinney.”

I look at the guy, then move my eyes back to Justin.

“Hello,” Lawrence says, reaching out to shake hands, so I give him my hand. Who is this?

“Lawrence is a teacher at PIFA,” Justin explains.

“Oh,” I say, relaxing against the vinyl seat, then I ask with a chuckle, “And how is little Justin doing in class, teacher?”

“Lawrence isn’t JUSTIN’S teacher,” Debbie’s suddenly at the booth, barging into the conversation, giving me a look I can’t read. “Lawrence is just ‘a’ teacher.”

“Oh?” I say.

Lawrence’s hand is still on Justin’s arm and I see him give Justin a squeeze. “Nice to meet you Brian, Debbie,” Lawrence says. Then he turns and leans down and gives Justin a kiss. On the lips.

“See you tomorrow night – and don’t be late, we have to be at the airport by six o’clock.”

“Okay,” Justin says. “Here, I’ll ring you up on the cash register.” He turns away but Debbie shoots out her hand and grabs his shoulder.

“Oh, let me do that,” she insists, wrestling the receipt out of Justin’s hand. “Why don’t you take a break now? You can talk to Brian for a minute.”

Justin just nods and stands still while Debbie hustles Lawrence off to the cash register. He doesn’t move till Lawrence goes out the door, turning to wave at all of us. Justin waves back, then he turns to look at me.

We stare at each other a moment, then he asks, “So, do you want the fillet of sole?”

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Do all your teachers kiss you?”

“He’s not my teacher.”

”Oh yeah, I forgot. He’s just ‘a’ teacher. Do all the teachers at PIFA kiss you?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Only the ones I’m dating.”

“You’re dating him?”

“Yeah.” Justin finds a tiny spot on the table and scrapes at it with his thumbnail.

“This is the guy you’ve been dating?”

“Yeah.” Justin raises his head and looks me in the eye. “So?”

“Christ, Justin, he’s my age.”

“No, he’s not.” When I open my mouth to argue, he says, “He’s thirty-four.”

Christ. Christ. “You’re supposed to be dating KIDS.”

My voice stays noncommittal but Justin’s getting angry. “Says who?” he asks loudly.

When I don’t answer, Justin slips onto the seat across from me. “Brian, says who?” he repeats more quietly. “I don’t want to date kids.”

I can’t think of anything to say. Justin finds another spot on the table to rub with his thumbnail, and I pick up my fork and stare at it for a while. I can’t think of anything to say.

“So.” Deb’s back at our table and we both look up at her, startled. “Now – you know that I’m going to butt in, right?”

“Not this time. Go away.” She’s used to my rudeness, it doesn’t faze her.

“Justin,” she turns her heat-seeking-missile eyes on him, “Justin, are you dating that guy?” She gestures over her shoulder with a thumb as if he’s still standing by the cash register.

“What if I am?”

“Well, he seems like a very nice man. You like old farts, don’t ya?”

Of course, I’m insulted but I say nothing. When Justin also says nothing she goes on, “When you’re through with Lawrence, Vic’s got some middle-aged friends he can fix you up with.”

“Debbie – fuck off.” Justin’s voice is getting louder again.

“Yeah,” I decide to jump into the fray, “Fuck off, Debbie.”

“Uh-huh.” She puts her hands on her hips and gives me a hard stare. “Did you ask him where he’s going? That guy’s taking him somewhere on an airplane.”

Oh. I’d heard that but it hadn’t registered.

We both turn to stare at Justin and he shrugs. “I don’t need anybody’s permission. I’m almost twenty.”

“Where are you going?” Deb can be impossible to snub sometimes.

“To New York. For the weekend. Big fucking deal.”

“Yeah,” she snorts, “I’m sure fucking has a lot to do with it.”

“Damn you – I won’t be fucking interrogated!” Justin slides out of the booth and pushes past Debbie. “Both of you, mind your own business!” He hurries into the kitchen and after a moment’s silence, Deb takes his place in the booth across from me.

“Well, Mr. Kinney, you fucked up again, didn’t you?”

“Why do you think this is my fault?”

Debbie raises her eyebrows. “Well, isn’t it?”

Fuck.

I sit there a moment longer while Debbie gives me her version of the Death Stare, then I shake my head, slide out of the booth and walk out of the diner, being extremely careful not to slam the door.



Debbie

“What kind of game are you playing at, hmm?”

“Deb – “ Justin opens his mouth but I’m not finished. I’ve got him cornered in the store room and unless he knocks me down, I’m not letting him out until he talks to me.

“And don’t tell me it’s none of my business, because it is. Or if it isn’t, I’m making it my business.”

“I’m almost twenty years old, I don’t have to – “

“Yeah, you do. And Sunshine, I’ve got dust bunnies older than you so don’t keep flinging your great age at me, I’m not impressed.”

Justin crosses his arms over his chest, sighs deeply and stares at the floor. Stubborn child position number three. He sometimes forgets I’m a mother.

“So tell me,” I lean back against the door and shove my hands in the pockets of my apron. “Are you seeing this guy to make Brian jealous, or are you and him really not getting back together?”

Justin’s silent for a moment, then he looks up at me. His eyes look bruised. “I don’t know.”

“Which question are you answering?”

“The getting together one.”

“Uh-huh. And this guy, this Lawrence, is he in love with you?”

“No,” Justin makes a face, “Of course not. We’ve only gone out a couple times. He’s a nice guy, I like him, but – it’s not like THAT.”

Yeah, right. Maybe not for Sunshine, but I saw the way that guy was looking at him, his eyes following Justin all over the diner. “Don’t break his heart while you’re playing your games.”

Shaking his head, Justin insists, “I told you – it’s not like that. And it’s not a game. I just have to date a bunch of guys, Lawrence is the first, that’s all.”

“Why?”

Justin moves toward the door but I reach out and grab his shoulder.

“Debbie, the customers must be going nuts out there, we need to – “

“In a minute. Tell me first why you ‘have to’ date a bunch of guys.”

He stares at me then with a deer-in-the-headlights look. “I – I didn’t mean I HAVE TO. I’m just going to, for a while. Open the door, will you?”

“Okay,” I give in. I’m not getting any more out of Justin, but I’ve got a pretty good idea what’s going on now. “Just YOU be sure you don’t hurt this guy. Lawrence. You can’t just pick people up, play with ‘em a while, then throw ‘em away.”

“Jesus, Debbie, I know that.” He’s exasperated, he’s mad at me, but he’s a sensitive kid. He’ll think about what I said, no matter how pissed off he is at me now.

“Okay.” I pull open the door and the clamor from irate customers in the diner is deafening.



Justin

I’m sitting in my car having a cigarette and holding my cell phone. I glance up at Lawrence’s windows and they’re dark, he’s gone to bed. I know I should just go home, not wake him up. I‘ll see him tomorrow. I know Debbie’s full of shit anyway. Finally, I push the buttons and listen to his phone ringing. I see a light go on and then he answers the phone.

“Hi, it’s Justin, I’m sorry to wake you up.”

“Justin! No – that’s okay. Is something wrong?”

“No,” I hedge, “But – I need to talk to you a minute. I’m downstairs, can I come up?”

“Sure, of course, hit the buzzer, I’ll be waiting.”

He lets me in and he’s wearing a fleecy maroon robe and brown slippers. I’ve never seen him wear slippers and I find myself staring at his feet. My dad had slippers like that.

“Come in and sit down,” Lawrence urges me, putting a hand on my arm, and I look up at his face. I don’t know how to start this conversation, I don’t know what to say to him.

“You look upset – are you sure everything’s all right?” His hand on my arm guides me into the living room and we sit down on the sofa side by side.

I fold my hands in my lap and look at them, then raise my eyes to Lawrence’s face. “I just need to ask you about this New York thing.”

“What about it?”

“Well, I mean, it’s just for fun, right?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand – “

“I mean,” I feel myself wringing my hands and force myself to stop. “I mean, it’s just a fun thing, it doesn’t MEAN anything, does it?”

“Why should it mean anything? I’m not following you, I’m sorry.” Lawrence’s brow is furrowed, I can tell he doesn’t get it, how can I ask him?

“I mean, it’s not a love thing, right? It doesn’t mean we love each other or anything, right?”

Lawrence takes my hands between his own and squeezes, holds them still. “Justin, New York is not a ‘love thing.’ We’ve had two dates. We’re just friends having a good time together.”

“Well, that’s what I thought!” I exclaim, anger at Debbie making my face hot.

“Justin, who told you that going to New York was a ‘love thing?’”

I pull my hands away and stand up quickly. “Oh nobody – I just wondered. I just wanted to know, that’s all.”

“Okay,” he says. Probably he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push it.

“Now I’d better go,” I say, and Lawrence stands up too.

“Would you like some coffee, some hot chocolate? Since you’re here, I wish you could stay a while.”

“No thanks, no, I can’t. I’ve got an eight o’clock class on Fridays, I’d better be getting home now.”

Lawrence says okay and walks me to the door, then gives me a brief kiss and waves as I get into the elevator. Suddenly I’m very tired and I can’t wait to get home and go to bed.



Lawrence

I wave at Justin as he gets in the elevator, then close the door. I catch sight of myself in the entryway mirror and shake my head. I wonder who’s been talking to Justin about me? It must have been Debbie, the woman who said that she’s practically Justin’s mother. Probably she doesn’t trust me because I‘m so much older than him.

Is going to New York a ‘love thing?’ No. No, of course not. But looking at myself in the mirror, I have to admit that I wish it were.



Brian

Maybe he’s not coming home tonight. He should have been here by now. I’m sitting in my jeep on Willow Street across from Jennifer’s condo like some crazed cop on a midnight stakeout and even if he does come home, what do I intend to say to him?

It’s after twelve-thirty, he should have been here ten-fifteen minutes ago. Probably he went to HIS house. The teacher. The good-looking thirty-four-year-old teacher he’s been fucking. All this time I’m picturing him with some kid, going out, acting crazy, fucking like bunnies. Somehow I was okay with that. Or if I wasn’t okay exactly, I could handle it. But this is – different. I refuse to define ‘different.’

Jesus, I’m being ridiculous. Obviously, Justin’s gone to his teacher’s house to play, he’s not coming home. Turning the ignition, I resist the urge to gun the engine and wake up the whole fucking middle-class straight asshole neighborhood. Then I see headlights coming, a car’s just turned the corner onto Willow and is slowing down. It’s Justin, he pulls into the driveway.

I switch off the engine and open my door, step out onto the pavement. Justin must see movement because he turns to glance across the street and then he stops and stands still by the open door of his car. I’m standing still by the open door of my car. It’s a standoff.

Justin

Brian's here. Across the street standing next to his jeep.

Driving home, I was thinking about our argument in the diner - it wasn't even an argument, it was just Brian repeating his orders. You can't argue with him, he either wins or he walks away. And even though at first my heart jerks in my chest to see him standing there in the darkness across the street as if I'd conjured him up just by thinking about him, still I don't move, I can't move, I don't want to see him any more tonight. There's too much going on inside my scrambled-egg brain and I'm tired and I just don't think I can deal with it. So I stand motionless next to my open car door and just stare at him.

Then he moves. Still he hasn't said a word but he closes his door and starts walking. Brian walks to the middle of the street and then stops. Tomorrow if I bring out the big silver tape measure with the retractable metal tape and lay it down on the road, I'll bet the point where Brian's standing is the exact mathematical center of the space between us. He won't come forward even one extra inch.

He stands there a minute, we're staring though it's too dark to make out each other's faces, and then he shoves his hands into his pockets and he takes one more step, then stops again. Just one more step, then he's over the halfway point. Now I'm able to move. Shutting my car door, I turn toward Brian and begin to walk to him in the middle of the street. In the middle minus one step. When I'm an arm's length away, I stop.

"You had to work late?" he asks. He wants to know if I was over at Lawrence's having a quick fuck. Or maybe he just wants to know if I had to work late. I'm too worn out to maneuver through the complicated minefield that is conversation with Brian.

"Brian, I'm tired, I need to sleep now. Can we talk some other time? Please?"

He nods. "You want me to fuck off."

"No. It's just literally the truth - I'm tired, I can't think straight, I don't want to argue."

He stares at me a moment, then he nods again. "Okay. You can call me sometime. When you're not tired." He turns away and I watch him walk back to the jeep, pull open the door.

"Brian, wait."

He stops then and I hurry to close the distance between us, almost stumbling from exhaustion. He's standing in a pool of light from inside the jeep and now I can see his face, he's wearing his mask of unconcern. I used to be able to see under Brian's masks but somewhere along the way I lost that knack. He looks at me now, turning his head sideways, raising one quizzical eyebrow. I'm too tired for words but I need to communicate. Instead of words I slip my arms around his waist and lay my head on his chest.

Brian's arms go around my shoulders, maybe it's just a reflex but at least he's not flinging me away. We stand together like that, wordlessly hugging, then I feel him press his chin into my hair. "Have fun in New York," he murmurs.

"Thanks." My voice is muffled against his jacket. "I haven't been there since I was a kid. Well, you know – not really." The time I ran away doesn’t count – all I saw was the inside of the hotel room.

He squeezes tighter. "I was going to take you and Gus there, to FAO Schwartz."

"I remember."

He sighs. "I never had time."

"I know Brian, it's okay." I pull away a few inches and look up at his face but his mask hasn't slipped.

"You should have reminded me."

"You were busy, becoming partner and everything."

“Hunh,” Brian murmurs, “Do you always make excuses for me?”

“No. You’re thinking of Michael.”

That stops him; he frowns. “He knows me better than anyone.”

“Why?”

“What?” Brian drops his arms and moves back a step.

“Brian, why does he know you better? It's because you let him. You won’t let me. You won’t let me close to you, you won’t trust me with – “

“Fuck you, Justin.” Brian backs up another step. “Don’t fucking analyze me. And don’t talk to me about trust.”

I drop my head and stare at the ground. What can I say to that? He’s right. I’m too tired to talk rationally and he’s still shutting me out. Maybe it’s hopeless after all. The silence draws out between us, and finally, all I can do is whisper, “Are you ever going to forgive me?” I can’t look at him.

At first, Brian doesn’t answer and maybe I already know the answer anyway, so I turn and head back across the street. I take two steps, three, then Brian’s behind me and he reaches out to turn me around. “I don’t know,” he says. In the dim light from the jeep, I can see that Brian has let the mask slip off his face. He’s letting me see the pain in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he repeats.

I have to close my eyes, otherwise, I'll start crying. Then he pulls me back into his arms and rests his chin on my head again. “Justin.” He pauses, then he says, “I’m trying to.”

“Okay,” I gulp. I'm falling-down-dead-tired.

Gently Brian says, "Go to bed, get some sleep. I’ll see you later."

"Later," I echo him, and watch as he swings himself into the jeep and closes the door. He takes off and I watch him drive away down the street, then I retrieve my backpack from the car and go into the house. It's chilly tonight, I'm shivering. I'm almost unbearably tired, and though I need a shower it's all I can do to pull off my clothes, drag back the covers on my bed and crawl in. I curl up on my side on the pale sheets, and squeezing my eyes shut, I pretend that Brian's body is curled around me, keeping me warm.



Brian

I'd completely forgotten my promise to Justin, that I'd take him and Gus to New York to buy a present for Gus' birthday. It was the day of the birthday party and Justin was terrified of being in a crowd of people. He tried to use the excuse of not having a present for Gus as reason for not going, and that's when I made the promise. He says he remembers but I'd forgotten until tonight.

Now somebody else is taking Justin to New York. Somebody who shares his interest in art. They'll go to the museums that Justin always talks about. They'll have dinner in nice restaurants. Maybe this teacher will even take him to a play on Broadway. And then they'll go back to the hotel and fuck each other all night long. And then maybe Justin will fall in love with this guy, this tall and handsome man who's probably already himself half in love with little Sunshine.

Who wouldn't be?

Debbie says it's all my fault and she doesn't know the half of it. She doesn't know that I pushed Justin away from me. Again. It was the right thing to do, I still believe that. Maybe Justin will find happiness with the teacher. That would be good. That would be very, very good.

I'm almost home when I make a sudden U-turn and head back toward Liberty Avenue. I need a drink. I need a lot of drinks. I need to get my dick sucked, I need to fuck a willing ass, or two or three or four. Nodding my head, I keep driving back toward Liberty.

Pulled up at a red light, it occurs to me that I don't really want to get drunk. I'm out of the habit of drinking myself into oblivion, somehow it's lost the appeal it used to have for me. Partly because I'm out of the habit, partly because I have an important meeting early tomorrow, partly for other reasons that I don't need to think about right now. When the light changes, I turn left and then left again and head back toward home.

There are times when it would be so easy to just drive my jeep into a brick wall. Sometimes the only thing stopping me is the realization that I'd probably survive and end up in some fucking hospital overwhelmed with grinding pain.

Stopped at another red light, I remember a warm spring day during junior year when I sat in my Shakespearean Lit class checking out a hunky blond senior, mentally removing his varsity sweater as well as every other stitch of clothing he was wearing while the teacher's voice droned on and on about Hamlet and his tragic flaw. I can still remember Professor Noxin’s mellifluent voice discussing the 'to be or not to be' soliloquy.

Suddenly the professor exclaimed, "Mister Kinney, perhaps you can explain to the class the meaning of the phrase, 'Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all?"

I remember flushing with embarrassment at being caught daydreaming and I stammered some kind of bullshit answer - you learn to give them the bullshit answers they want early on in college - but later that night I'd laid in bed and thought about Hamlet and what a pussy he was, he should have stabbed his mother AND his uncle and been done with it. And if he wanted to off himself, then he damned well should have just gone ahead and done it and stopped whimpering about it all the time.

But now I think I understand Hamlet better. Knowledge and courage don't always go hand in hand.



```````


Brian

It's Friday night, the office is deserted, I've been trying for over an hour to write a presentation outline for Abernathy Brothers and finally I click 'save' and push my chair back from the computer. Might as well admit that I'm bullshitting myself, I'm not working overtime. What I'm really doing is waiting to see if Jesse shows up. We haven't shared a drop since he visited me at the loft and I'm sort of hoping that he might come by to visit me in the office tonight. Okay, I'm really hoping that he does.

"Hey." I look up and here he is now in my doorway.

"Jesse, come in." I stand up and when he gets close to my desk I reach out to shake his hand.

"You're looking good, Brian, back to normal now?"

"Yeah, yes I am. Or almost. Have time to sit down?"

"Sure." Jesse relaxes in a chair by my desk and, surprising myself, I come around from behind the desk and sit down next to him. I haven't done that before.

We go through a minimum of small talk and then Jesse pulls out his cigarettes and offers me the pack. I'd forgotten our routine so I jump up and retrieve paper cups and the bottle of JB from my desk before resuming my seat and pouring us each a measure of bourbon. We touch our cups together and Jesse says "Clink!" before taking a sip. I accept a cigarette from him and we light up.

"Well," Jesse says, "How's your friend Justin? Still taking care of you?"

"No." I shake my head. When Jesse says nothing, I hasten to add, "I don't need help anymore. He's moved back home now."

"That's too bad. It's always nice to have someone around, helping out."

"He's got his own life, he needs to be getting on with it." My voice comes out sounding harsh, so I smooth it out and add, "He's still in school, not even out of his teens yet. He needs to enjoy himself, be around kids his own age. That's what's best for him right now."

"Yeah, that could be true," Jesse agrees. "If that's what Justin wants too." When I say nothing, Jesse asks, "Is that what Justin wants too?"

I open my mouth, then close it again. Finally, I say, "It's what he should want."

"But he doesn't?"

That's something I can't answer. And not because I won't. "How can he know what he wants?" I reply. "And even if he does," I hurry on, before Jesse can speak, "What if what he wants is bad for him?"

Jesse takes a sip of bourbon, then says, "Why do you think that what Justin wants is bad for him?"

Abruptly I stand up, walk to the door, turn and walk back again, then sit on the corner of my desk facing Jesse. "He wants me. And I'm bad for him."

"Do you love him?"

I'm not expecting this question and it catches me off guard. "I - " Then I stand up again and walk back behind my desk, sit down in my chair. It's easier to breathe over here. Finally, I'm able to answer Jesse. "I care about him."

"But you don't think he can be happy with you, Brian?"

That's easy. "I know he can't."

Jesse considers that for a moment, takes a drag off his cigarette and leans back in the chair. "And what about you, Brian? Could you be happy with him?"

Quickly I answer, "I don't do commitment. And besides, he - "

Jesse waits, saying nothing.

"He doesn't do commitment either. We - had rules. He broke them."

Jesse nods. "That's rough. You got hurt," he murmurs sympathetically. I don't answer, just look at him but he reads my eyes. "I'm sorry."

This is getting too maudlin, too emotional. I want to change the subject, but then Jesse speaks up again.

"You know what I think, Brian?" He hesitates, and when I nod warily he goes on, "It seems to me like maybe you're the one you want to protect from getting hurt. Not Justin."

"I don't - "

Jesse continues speaking, "Of course, I could be wrong, but it feels like maybe while you're insisting how bad you are for Justin and how you want to do what's best for him. . . maybe what you're really doing is, what you think is best for Brian."

"No."

"Here's somebody who can hurt you, who has already hurt you, so you'd better not let him get close enough to do it again."

I lean both arms on the desk and stare hard at Jesse. "You're wrong. It's not like that at all."

Jesse nods. "Okay. I've been wrong before, maybe I’m wrong this time too. It was just a thought."

We don't speak for a moment, then Jesse says, "I could maybe tolerate another drop of bourbon, if you don't mind."

Standing up, I go round the desk and pour an inch of JB into Jesse's proffered cup. "People make mistakes," he says, looking up at me. "Sometimes they deserve a second chance, sometimes they don't. It's a tough call."

There's a few moments of silence, then Jesse sighs. "Nothing like aged bourbon to smooth out some of the bumps, thanks, Brian." He takes another sip. "Did I ever tell you about my wife's cousin, who made wine in his bathtub?"

After a couple minutes I'm able to focus on Jesse's story and I feel myself relaxing, even laughing at his bad joke about the wine leaving a ring around the bottle. And then we talk a few more minutes about the maintenance workers' union, and when he tentatively asks me how my son's doing, I find myself pulling out a picture Lindsay gave me the other day - I'd shoved it in my wallet temporarily. I even hear myself telling Jesse about Gus getting into a jar of grape jelly and drawing pictures with it on the kitchen wall while Lindsay's back was turned. Christ, whoever thought I'd be showing baby pictures and telling boring kid stories?

Soon Jesse must be getting to work and I'm ready to get out of the office myself, I can work on the Abernathy presentation at home this weekend. Jesse stands up and crushes his paper cup, shoves it in his pocket, and reaches out to shake my hand. But this time he hangs onto my hand and squeezes hard. Looking into my eyes, he says seriously, "Forgiveness isn't as hard as it might seem, Brian."

"You think I should forgive him," I say, somehow surprised at this direct piece of advice from Jesse.

"No, I'd never tell you what to do," Jesse contradicts me, "How can I? You live in your shoes, I don't. I'm only saying that sometimes it's easier to let go of anger - it takes a lot of energy to hang onto it."

Then he releases my hand and reaches up to briefly squeeze my shoulder. Somehow that gesture makes a lump stick in my throat.

"You have a good night now, Brian - and thanks for the bourbon."

Swallowing hard, I manage to smile and say, "You too, Jesse."

He gives me his salute-wave from the door and he's gone. Putting away the JB, logging off my computer and loading up my briefcase, I think about what Jesse said about hanging onto anger. It's something I've done a lot of in my life, and sometimes hanging onto anger can make you strong, get you through situations over which you have no control. I never thought of anger as taking a lot of energy, but I can see now that Jesse might be right about that.

I remember how I felt the night I first confronted Justin with his sneaking around. We didn't talk about it, but instead I'd attacked him with my body, with my mouth, I'd aroused him - and myself - almost to the point of losing control. Then I'd pulled back and left him floundering alone on the floor. I was completely consumed with anger that night. And I was exhausted. I remember grabbing the bottle of JB and flinging myself into the living room, falling onto the couch. While Justin was taking a shower, I nearly cried out, I nearly fell off the couch, I was so exhausted by the toll of holding that much anger deep inside me.

I'm still filled with anger and I don't know how to get rid of it. In the past I never wanted to get rid of anger, I'd clutch it to me, believing that it made me strong. But it's not working now. The anger I feel toward Justin isn't making me strong, it's almost a physical pain inside my gut. And Jesse was right, it makes me tired. Incredibly tired.



Justin

I'm in the middle of changing for dinner Saturday evening when my cell phone rings. It takes a minute to find the phone, it's under a pile of discarded clothing, and when I do, a glance shows me the call is from Brian. I hesitate to answer - Lawrence will be here shortly, we have dinner reservations for seven o'clock. But naturally, I have to answer the phone. I don't think I could ever not answer a phone call from Brian.

"Hello."

"Justin?" Brian's voice sounds so far away.

"Hey, Brian, what's up?"

"Nothing," he says, then he asks, "You having fun?"

"Yeah. Brian, why are you calling? Lawrence will be here any minute, I need to get ready for dinner." I sit down on the end of the bed and try to put on a sock with one hand.

"Bet you go to a nice restaurant. Expensive. Romantic."

Why is he calling me? "Brian, why are you calling me?" I stand up again and look around for my other sock.

"Wanna ask you."

I kneel down and pull up the edge of the bedspread - there's my sock! "Brian, are you drunk? It's only like, dinner time, why are you drunk so early?"

"Drunk?" Brian asks, there's a pause, then he says, "Yeah. You know what?" He sounds surprised. "I think I am."

"Well, don't drive or anything, okay? If you're at home just stay there, okay?"

"Okay."

"I need to hang up now." I glance at the clock, I don't want to be on the phone when Lawrence gets here. "Brian, are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm very all right. More or less very all right. You all right?"

I'm getting exasperated. "Brian, I'm fine. I need to hang up."

"Ask a question first."

Sighing, I say, "Well, go ahead and ask."

There's a really long pause and I think he's hung up. Or passed out. "Brian?"

"Justin," he says at last, "Justin. You falling in love with this guy? Teacher guy?"

Why is he asking me this? Why is he calling New York to ask me this? "Brian - "

"Yes or no. Easy question."

". . .No."

"Ah," Brian says, "That's good. Because - because don't. Okay? Don't."

I have to ask. "Why not?"

"Just don't. That's all. But you have a good time now, okay?"

"Brian - "

He's hung up the phone. And I'm left standing in the middle of the room in my underwear with one sock on my foot and one in my hand, wishing like hell I was back home in Pittsburgh. Because if Brian doesn't want me to fall in love with Lawrence, then doesn't that mean. . . something?

Justin

After picking up my car at Lawrence's place Sunday night, my first stop on the way home is Brian's loft. I call him on my cell to be sure it’s okay to drop by and he curtly tells me he’s busy but that he can spare five or ten minutes, if necessary. I tell him it’s necessary and he says okay and we hang up.

As soon as Brian lets me into the loft he walks over and sits down at his computer. I stand next to him pulling off my jacket. “Did you have a nice trip?” he asks conversationally.

“Brian, tell me what you meant when you called me in New York.”

He stretches out his legs under the desk, his beautiful feet naked as always. Now he’s jerking the mouse around and staring at the screen. Then he turns to look at me and says, “Are you sure I called you? Maybe it was a wrong number.”

“Brian, don’t fuck with me. I mean it.” I take the mouse out of his hand and hold it tight in front of me.

He reaches for the mouse but I hold it up in the air, as far as the cord will stretch. Then he leans back in the chair and regards me with his almost-serious look, the one that makes the corners of his mouth twitch. “What did I say?” he asks. “When I allegedly called you in New York.” He’s playing with me and he’s enjoying it.

“You said, ’don’t fall in love with the teacher.’” I’m squeezing the mouse in my hands so hard it’s going to explode into a million pieces. Unless I hit him over the head with it first.

“That sounds like good advice,” he nods solemnly, his mouth still twitching. “So,” he adds, “Did you take it?”

I just stand there staring, wanting to smack him or yell at him or push him out of his chair. Instead, I lay the mouse on the desktop and turn for the door. Then Brian swings his chair sideways, pulls my arm and whirls me around to face him. He grabs me around the waist and pulls me forward, capturing me between his long legs. Holding me prisoner between his thighs.

Despite my annoyance I discover that I’m a willing prisoner, making no move to escape.

“So,” he repeats, “Are you going to take my advice? The advice that I allegedly gave you when I allegedly called you in New York?”

“I don’t know yet,” I hedge.

“Was it romantic enough for you? Being in New York?” He smiles but his voice has an edge to it.

“It was slightly romantic,” I answer honestly.

“You had a nice dinner.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t embarrass him with your table manners, did you?”

“Brian, I don’t think I should tell things about him to you. It’s not right.”

Not very surprisingly, Brian agrees. “No, you shouldn’t. So just tell me this: Are you seeing him again?” His face is serious now and he’s waiting for my answer.

“I don’t know. He wants to.”

“Do you?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Do I want to see Lawrence again? “Yes and no.”

“Tell me the ‘yes’ reason first.”

“He’s nice,” I say and Brian nods. “He’s – “ I was going to say, ‘good in bed’ but I decide not to. “It’s fun to be with him.”

When I stop, Brian nods again. “Uh-huh. Now tell me the ‘no’ reason.”

Brian’s the ‘no’ reason. He knows he’s the ‘no’ reason. I refuse to tell him that.

His grip on me has loosened, so quickly I back away, out of reach. “Do you have any snacks? I didn’t eat much dinner.” I don’t wait for an answer but move into the kitchen and open the fridge. It’s almost empty.

Brian has joined me, peering over my shoulder into the refrigerator. “If I’d known you were coming by I’d have had a few dozen cases of groceries delivered. That milk should still be good – Gus was here a couple days ago. And there’s some of his cookies in the drawer – he likes Oreos as much as you do.”

“Mmm,” I say, pulling out the milk carton and getting a glass from the cupboard. “How’s Gus, I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“He’s big,” Brian answers, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. “And he’s bad.”

“Two-year-olds are supposed to be terrible. That’s what Mom says anyway.” I find the cookies and inhale a couple immediately, I’m really hungry. I thought there’d be snacks on the plane but there weren’t.

“Lindsay says the same thing. He’s terrible all right. He pulled all the CDs off the shelf, he got sticky handprints on the curtains, and he managed to get a sip of my drink before I could stop him.” Brian shakes his head. “He liked it too – another Kinney alcoholic in the making.”

“You’re not an alcoholic.”

“Like Gus, I’m still ‘in the making.’”

I glance at him quickly, he’s joking but not completely. “You haven’t been drinking much since the accident.”

“Out of practice. And don’t start one of your Carrie Nation speeches.” Brian turns away, goes back to sit at his computer once more. I follow him, carrying my glass and bringing along the Oreos. “Besides,” he adds, glancing up at me, “You’re not around very much – you don’t know if I’m wasted all the time or not.”

“Cynthia says – “ Oops.

“What?” Brian’s frowning. “Why the fuck are you talking to Cynthia?”

“Why can’t I talk to Cynthia? She had a curry recipe to share with me, she said call anytime. She likes to cook too.”

“Uh-huh. And while you two girls were exchanging recipes, what precisely did Cynthia say about me? That you were just about to quote?”

I swallow a lump of cookie before answering. “She just said that you’re working harder than ever and that you’ve never been better at your game. She likes you a lot.”

“Mmm-hmm. What else?”

I shake my head. “That’s all – but I just figured, you know, if you’re doing so great at work, you must not be getting wasted every night.” When he just stares at me, his face unreadable, I offer the bag of Oreos. “Want a cookie?”

“That’s my line,” Brian smiles, turning toward me, relaxing back in his chair and stretching out his legs. “’Hey little boy, want a cookie?’ Then I lure you into my bed and fuck your brains out.”

“Maybe I want to fuck YOUR brains out. I’m the one offering the cookies.”

Brian really laughs at that, throwing back his head and bellowing. God, his throat is so beautiful. Putting down my glass and the Oreo package, I move toward him, move between his outstretched legs again. He stops laughing and sits up, takes my hands in his.

“No,” he says, holding me back gently. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

Brian pauses, then says lightly, “I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

"Yeah, you do," I remind him.

Serious now, Brian says, "You should have told me. If you didn't like it."

"I know."

Brian pulls me down to sit on his good leg and wraps his arm around my waist. "So why didn't you? Tell me, I mean."

Part of me wants to lie, to say, 'I don't know,' or make some other excuse. I reach out and straighten the collar of his shirt, at first I can't look at him. Then I do, I look into his eyes. This time I'll tell him. "I wanted to be with you, Brian. That was the only way I could."

"No." He shakes his head. "No, that’s not true."

“It seemed true.” There's nothing else I can say.

Brian grabs my wrist and turns it, looking at my watch. “You should go,” he says, “You have school tomorrow, and I’ve got an eight o’clock meeting.”

I’m not giving up that easily. “Tell me something first.”

Expecting a sarcastic throw-away joke, I’m surprised that Brian sits quietly waiting for my question, without even a smirk on his face.

“Brian, tell me why you said, don’t fall in love with the teacher.” His face is unreadable so I force myself to repeat, “Tell me why.”

He opens his mouth and I interrupt quickly, “And tell me the real reason. Don’t say because I’m too young or inexperienced. Or that I should be dating young guys. Or any bullshit like that.”

“Do you want my answer, or are you going to keep answering for me?” Brian frowns, raising his eyebrows in that supercilious way of his. I keep my mouth shut and wait, not knowing what to expect.

“I said, ‘don’t fall in love with him’ because. . .” There’s a pause, then Brian says, “Because I don’t want you to.”

“Why not?”

Brian gently pushes me off his lap and stands up, puts his arm around my shoulders and walks me over to the sofa, picks up my jacket where I dropped it and hands it to me, then walks me over to the door. He says nothing till we get to the door and he’s pulled it open, one-handed, still hanging on to me.

Then Brian leans down and kisses my mouth, a quick kiss but a good one. When he pulls away he says quietly, “Because.”

Just ‘because.’

Then he gently pushes me out the door and says, “Bye, Justin.” And he closes the door quickly.

It wasn’t a very good answer, but somehow I’m not unhappy. Somehow I’m feeling almost light-hearted as I start down the stairs. By the time I reach the foyer I’m singing my favorite song: “Be-bomp, be-bomp, be-bomp, be-bompity-bompity-bomp.”



Debbie

“Of course you knew I had ulterior motives in getting you over here.” I’ve got Brian cornered in the kitchen – Vic’s visiting a friend in New York for a couple days and Michael’s tied up at the store, so I called Brian and asked him to stop by and help me drag a heavy box up from the basement. Of course, he wanted to pay somebody to do it, Brian’s never been crazy about physical labor.

Now he shakes his head. “No, I didn’t,” he denies it, “Would I have showed up otherwise? Just so you could get on my case about things?”

“Not about ‘things.’ About Justin.” Wiping my hands on a dishcloth, I sit down at the table across from where Brian has dropped into a chair. He’s picked up the salt shaker and is fiddling with it, he can’t ever be still for a moment.

Looking up at me through his lashes, he says carefully, “Justin is none of your business.”

“Oh, yes he – “

“I mean,” Brian screws the top back on the salt shaker and picks up the pepper instead. “Justin is none of your business in context with me.”

“Oh, yes he is.”

Brian looks away again, unscrews the pepper. “I’m none of your business.”

“Brian. Honey,” I say quietly, “You’ve been my business since you were fourteen years old.” He’s not looking at me so I add, “Since the night I found you hiding out in the backyard after your dad whipped you and you were scared to go home.”

Leaning back in his chair, Brian regards me intently. “I’m not a kid anymore, Debbie, haven’t been for years. I don’t need you looking out for me anymore.”

“Justin’s still a kid.”

“Okay.” He gives in, sets down the pepper shaker and folds his hands on the table. “Say what you’ve got to say and get it over with.”

I nod, then ask him, “Just tell me what game you’re playing with him now? First, you played Keep Away, then you played Boyfriends, then you played Scorned Lover. Then you let him move back to your place and take care of you.”

“I didn’t LET him, I didn’t have a choice,” he mutters bitterly.

“Bullshit. Brian Kinney always has a choice. You wanted him there or he’d have been out the door in ten seconds.”

Brian has the grace to look away, he doesn’t deny the truth.

“So. What’s the angle now?”

“Debbie – there is no angle. There is no game, no matter what you’re imagining.”

“Uh-huh. I was there at the diner, remember? I saw your face when you met the competition.”

“He’s not – “

“Yeah, he is. You think you’re this great stone-faced, don’t you? Well, not to me you’re not. Never have been.” There’s a long pause, then I lean forward across the table and put a hand on Brian’s arm. “How come everyone around you knows you’re in love with Sunshine except you?” He opens his mouth to answer and I know what’s coming so I shut him up quick. “Don’t give me your famous I-don’t-believe-in-love line, okay? I’ve got it embroidered on a pillow upstairs.”

“I’m surprised nobody’s ever smothered you with it.” Brian stands up abruptly and pulls his jacket from the back of the sofa. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but nothing’s going on. Justin’s dating a bunch of different guys, that’s the way it should be.”

“Aha!” I exclaim, shaking my finger at Brian. “So that’s why Sunshine said he ‘had to’ date a bunch of guys. You told him to!” I stand up too and hurry around the table to grab Brian’s arm before he slips out the door. “Brian, that’s a dangerous game. What if he falls in love with someone else?”

“What if he does?” Brian raises his eyebrows at me. “Maybe he needs to.”

“Oh, Christ.” With my hands on my hips, I stare at him. The lummox. “So now you’re playing Martyr. You’ll sacrifice your own happiness for Justin’s sake.”

“Deb.” Brian hesitates, then sits down on the back of the sofa. “Deb,” he says earnestly, looking up at me, the least sarcastic I’ve ever seen him. “You’ve never thought I was good for Justin. You’ve said it eight thousand different ways.”

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

There’s a long silence as we stare at each other, then finally Brian murmurs, “Why?”

“For one thing,” I hold out my hand and count on my fingers, “Justin’s not the fragile little boy he used to be. Or that I thought he used to be. Maybe he never was.”

Brian smiles slightly at that and I go on.

“Two, the way you took care of Justin after the hospital, well – nobody could have done it any better. You were there for him every step of the way.”

“Jennifer asked me to.”

“Oh,” I exclaim, “And you wouldn’t have done it otherwise? Be honest.”

“I’m always honest. And okay, maybe I would have helped him. Anybody would.”

“Maybe.” I hold out my fingers again. “Three, it’s general knowledge now that Justin was cheating on you before he walked out.”

“No he wasn’t,” Brian denies it, but the pain in his eyes lets me know he’s just protecting Sunshine.

“Three,” I repeat, ignoring the interruption, “Even when he was cheating on you, you didn’t throw him out. You didn’t hurt him.”

Brian turns his head away. “Yes, I did.”

“And four,” I continue, “You’ve apparently forgiven him. You boys were seeing each other again, before the car accident, so you must have forgiven him. That takes a big man, Brian. This is something I know about.”

“You’re wrong about almost everything,” Brian murmurs, but he’s still not looking at me.

“And five,” I point at my thumb, “Little Sunshine can hold his own with you. He’s good for you. You could be good for each other if you both worked at it for a change. Instead of sabotaging each other.”

Brian’s silent for a moment, then he looks at me again. “Are you through? Because I really need to get back to work.”

“Just think about it, Brian. Will you do that? Don’t throw away this chance to be happy. You might never get another one.”

Brian doesn’t answer. He stands up, shrugs on his jacket and turns toward the door. Then he pauses for a moment and turns sideways, leans down and glares at me, nose to nose.

“You’re an interfering old bitch,” he snarls in my ear. Then he kisses my cheek and moves abruptly away. Without a backward glance, he’s gone out the front door.



Brian

“What are you doing Friday night?”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone for a moment, then Justin asks, “You need me to do something?”

“Do something, like what? Change the oil in my car? Water my plants?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Justin answers. “But I’m free, so I can give you a hand. Not changing oil, though, I’m not good with cars. You’re not either, though, huh?” He laughs.

I’m exasperated already and I haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet. “Listen, smart-ass, just shut up and tell me if you’re available Friday night.”

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t have any plans yet.”

“Good.” I hesitate, shaking my head; why is this so difficult? “Maybe you want to go to dinner.”

“At Deb’s?”

“No, damn it, at a fucking restaurant.”

“Brian. . . do you mean, like a date or something?” His voice is incredulous, and I’m already sorry I called.

Of course, it’s not like a date, I just want to take him to dinner, that’s all. We’ve gone to dinner a hundred times before. Why should it be such an amazingly ridiculous big fucking deal?

When I don’t answer, Justin asks again, “Brian - do you mean, go to dinner, like a date?”

Oh, Christ. Christ. I suppose I do. I close my eyes, hanging onto the phone with white knuckles. How am I going to survive this shit?

Brian

"You should have picked me up at home, that's the proper way to start a real date." Justin's already ragging on me; I've just let him into the loft and I turn away, heading for the liquor cart.

"Yeah," I agree, "And I should have come in and chatted with your mom for a while, that would have been fun. If you're going to be a smart-ass all night, the deal's off."

Justin follows me, he's earnest now. "You know I was joking, but Brian, my mom doesn't hate you as much as you think she does."

"I'm sure someday we'll be bosom buddies." Picking up the bottle of JB, I change the subject, point at his khakis. "I'm taking you to a nice restaurant, you couldn't have dressed up a little? Even your hideous sports jacket would be better than that."

"You didn't say dress up," Justin's staring at me pouring a shot of bourbon, he's making a great effort not to frown disapprovingly. Too bad, I need a drink. A couple of drinks. Not because of Justin being here of course, only because I had a hard day at work.

"Want a drink?" I hold out the bottle toward him but he shakes his head.

"No, and could you maybe not get bombed till after we eat?"

"Where are you getting all these dating tips? Dear Abby?"

Ignoring me, Justin takes off his jacket and throws it on the sofa. "Do you still have my suit here, that you bought when we went to Harrisburg? I could change into that."

I'd forgotten about that suit. Justin hadn't wanted to take it home, he didn't want to explain it to Jennifer. And he claims she doesn't hate me. I'd shoved it into the back of my closet and it's probably still there, so I set down the bottle but take my glass with me as I mount the stairs to the bedroom. Justin's on my heels.

Sure enough, the suit's there, a bit wrinkled from being crammed together with a bunch of my lesser-worn clothes, then Justin expounds on another tidbit from his vast pool of knowledge: "If you hang it in the bathroom with the shower pouring out steam, some of the wrinkles will come out."

"Do you ever get tired of knowing everything?" But I take the suit on its hanger and carry it into the bathroom, turn on the shower, come out and shut the door. We stand there looking at each other for a moment without speaking. Fuck dating.

"Brian," Justin says after a moment, "Why don't we have sex now, then maybe we can relax."

"I am fucking relaxed!" I growl at him before retrieving my glass of JB and heading off for the kitchen. He's still following me. Maybe I'll distract him with food. "If you're starving, there's some Triscuits and cheese."

"You bought me Triscuits?" He's surprised and pleased, "Wow, thanks." He knows I hate them, it was a huge sacrifice to bring them into my home. And cheddar cheese too. I loathe cheddar but it's Justin's favorite. He considers for a moment, then decides, "Maybe I could eat a couple crackers. Just to tide me over."

"Good." I pull open the fridge and take out a slab of fluorescent orange cheese and put it on the counter and add the cracker box from the cupboard. Justin’s already pulling out a knife from the utensil drawer so I wander over to my desk and turn on the computer.

“Whoay ah yooz og duh cumpuda?”

He’s still following me, and talking around a huge mouthful of crackers.

“It’s rude to talk with your mouth full.”

Justin swallows and counters with, “It’s rude to get on the computer when you have a guest.”

“It’s not rude unless you’re sitting down. I’m standing up and I’m just checking e-mail. You’re busy stuffing your face, what’s the difference?”

“Dating makes you so hostile,” Justin says, before shoving another chunk of cheese-n-crackers into his mouth.

“We’re not dating yet, we haven’t left the loft.”

Justin nods and swallows again. “Okay. I’ll go change my clothes so we can get out of here. Do you know where the shoes are? I probably shouldn’t wear my sneakers.”

The image of Justin wearing sneakers with the beautiful charcoal gray suit makes me close my eyes in pain, then I follow him back up to the bedroom to search the closet for the loafers I’d bought him. Who knows what happened to the socks, Justin has to borrow a pair of mine, and he makes a great fuss about folding half the length over underneath his toes.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Justin laughs up at me. “Your feet are false advertising,” he tells me, not for the first time. “Size thirteen shoes should mean a thirteen-inch cock.”

“If that old wives’ tale were true, you’d be borrowing shoes from Emmett Kelley.”

“Who? “

“Ha, there’s something you don’t know? He was only the world’s most famous clown.” I lean against the wall and cross my arms. Usually, I pretend to be annoyed that Justin’s cock is half an inch bigger than mine, though secretly I get a kick out of it. “Aren’t you ready yet?”

“Almost.” Justin stands up and walks close to me. “Tie my tie for me, will you?”

I grab the tie and start to fix it. “You wore a tie to school every day for years and you still can’t do it?”

“Of course I can. But I like when you do it.”

“Who tied your bow-tie for the prom?” I’m not looking at him, so when Justin gasps and takes a quick step backward, I look up in surprise. “What?”

“Emmett. Emmett tied it for me.”

“What’s the matter?” He’s got a strange look on his face and his eyes are wide. “Justin?”

“N-nothing.” He shakes his head, then laughs shakily. “It’s just that I didn’t remember that before. Emmett fixing my tie.”

“A new memory?” When Justin nods his head I ask, “That’s good, isn’t it? Remembering something new?”

“I guess so.” He stands still and lets me finish fixing the tie. “It’s funny how sometimes a little piece of that night will come back to me, out of nowhere.”

When I say nothing, Justin hurries to add, “Sorry, I won’t talk about it.”

“Justin.” I lean back so I can look at his face. “It’s okay to talk about it.”

“But you always said not to,” he reminds me, “You said to forget about it.”

I nod. “Yeah. But maybe I've changed my mind. You can talk to me about that night whenever you want to.”

Justin gets his wisdom from Dear Abby, I got mine from Jesse.

“Really?” Justin just stares at me for a moment, then he leans forward and slides his arms around my waist, underneath my suit jacket. “Sometimes I need to,” he whispers, laying his head on my chest. I feel my arms go around him and I’m jolted by a feeling of – of – protectiveness, or something equally stupid. Justin doesn’t need protection. And even if he did, I’ve sure as hell already proved that I can’t protect him from anything.

“Let’s go,” I say gruffly, almost sorry to feel Justin’s arms pulling away. I walk around the loft turning off most of the lights, then head for the door. Justin’s still in the bedroom.

“What are you doing? Let’s go.”

“Just this,” he says, then flips the switch to turn on the blue neon lights above the bed.

When he joins me at the door, I raise an eyebrow at him. “Assuming a lot, aren’t you?” I ask. “Maybe I don’t fuck on the first date.” Justin merely laughs, then waits outside the door while I set the alarm and we’re off down the stairs.



Justin

If I didn’t know better I’d think Brian's nervous. He’s not, of course, he’s always in control in every situation. But he doesn't believe in dating; anything remotely hetero annoys the crap out of him, so maybe it's just hard for him to think of us that way. Still, this date was his idea, though I’m not sure what made him suggest it. I'm trying not to feel optimistic about things. And I don't let myself wonder what I mean by 'things.'

We climb into the jeep and Brian turns automatically to fasten my seat belt. I really don't need help with that anymore, or not very much, but I'll never tell him. Then we drive off, and I check out tapes in the glove compartment till I find something we both like, a tape of Miles Davis who was an old jazz guy from way before Brian's time. I'm humming along but after a few minutes, Brian turns down the volume and says, "Tell me about school."

"About my teachers and stuff?" I turn to look at him but he keeps his eyes on the road and snorts.

"I'm not interested in your teachers. Tell me what you're doing. If you like your classes. If you're flunking out. Just hit the major highlights. Didn't Abby tell you that we're supposed to make conversation on our date?"

"Brian, you always say that you've never dated. But you went out with guys in college didn't you?"

He's silent at first and I think he's not going to answer. Then he sighs and says, "Not really, not the way you mean. Not dates in the conventional sense. But yeah, I did things with guys. Movies, dinner, things like that."

"Tell me about one of your dates."

"Why?" he throws me a quick glance, then looks back at the road. "Just vulgar curiosity?"

"No," I say slowly, thinking about my answer. "I just want to imagine what you were like back then."

"Back then?" Brian glares at me. "We're talking the early nineties, not the fucking Mesozoic era."

"Why are you so touchy about your age, Brian?" He's still glowering, so I go on, "I know I used to tease you, but now that I’m almost twenty I have a more mature outlook. I don't think of you as all that much older than me."

"What a relief," he says.

"So," I decide to keep heading down this dangerous road, "Tell me what it was like going out with guys when you were in school."

Brian sighs, one of his exaggeratedly long and pseudo-patient sighs. "We'd go to a movie. Eat popcorn. Afterward we'd go someplace dark and fuck. End of story."

"Someplace dark? You didn't go back to your place?"

"Justin, I lived in campus housing. I shared a space about the size of my storage room with two other guys. Straight guys."

"Oh." Somehow I'd pictured Brian always living alone. "Did you like them?"

"No. We're here." He pulls into a driveway and parks the jeep, releases his seatbelt and opens the door.

"Wait," I say, so he closes the door and turns to look at me. "Brian - were you happy in school? Did you like it?"

He considers my question and at first I think he's going to blow me off, but then he says seriously, "I wasn't unhappy. I liked college, for the most part, I'd always liked studying, and it was mentally challenging in ways that high school had never been." He pauses, then adds, "Justin, there were highs and lows, just like for everybody else. But I really don't want to relive it, moment by moment. Okay?"

For some reason, this hurts my feelings and I struggle not to let it show on my face. Maybe he's trying his best and I'm expecting too much. Probably lots of people don't like to talk about their past. So I take a deep breath and say, "Okay," then release my own seatbelt and open the door. Brian reaches across me and pulls the door shut, and when I look at him he's smiling slightly.

"Come here," he says, reaching out for me, and I lean over the gear shift and let him pull me into his arms. When I lift up my face, Brian kisses me. Not his lets fuck kiss, just his gentle I-like-you-but-damned-if-I'll-say-so kiss. When we break apart, he asks, "Hungry?" and I nod eagerly. So we get out of the jeep and walk into the restaurant. It's the Poseidon, a really expensive seafood restaurant; I was here once a long time ago at an anniversary dinner for my grandparents.

I'm feeling relaxed and almost happy - Brian chose a restaurant he knew I'd like. We both like seafood but I like mine cooked - he prefers sushi. He made a reservation but we have to wait a few minutes so he leads the way into the bar. It's crowded and Brian almost walks into some guy who backs up and steps on his foot. The guy turns around to apologize - and suddenly we're face to face with Gardner Vance.



Brian

Fuck. Vance is here and he's just stepped on my foot.

"Sorry," he starts to say, then, "Brian! My God, what a surprise." He reaches out to shake my hand, then I see him catch sight of Justin over my shoulder and he hesitates, just half a moment too long. His face is a mask of cool reserve, then I see him give Justin a slight - very slight - nod, before dragging me - he's still holding onto my hand - around in a half-circle, and beginning to introduce me to the rest of his party.

“Brian, meet Michel Girard and his wife Yolande, they’ve just arrived – yesterday? – ah yes, from Paris, and Monsieur Chambord,” I begin to shake the proffered hands as Vance continues, “Brian Kinney, my partner at Vanguard.” Everyone murmurs polite words of greetings. I knew Vance was trying to woo the Girard-Chambord conglomerate who’ve begun expanding into North American markets but he’s been playing his cards close, wanting to keep these plums for himself. I’m surprised to discover that Girard and Chambord are relatively young – late thirties at a guess; from their reputation I’d expected older men. After a moment I realize that Vance is going to ignore Justin, so I turn around and gesture him over – he’s hanging back from the group.

“This is my friend, Justin Taylor,” I announce to everyone at large; “Gardner, you remember Justin?”

“Ah, yes,” Vance agrees smoothly, “Mr. Taylor, how nice to see you again. Lovely suit.”

“Thanks,” Justin says, his face flushing as he is probably remembering his last encounter with Gardner Vance when he told Vance to fuck off. He politely shakes the hands of the others and I’m proud of his aplomb.

“Perhaps you gentlemen would like to join us?” Monsieur Chambord suggests, and the Girards quickly murmur, “Yes, yes, please do.” Vance says nothing, and for that reason alone I’d love to crash his party.

“Mille merci,” I smile at them, “But tonight we’re celebrating a special occasion, so we’d planned a quiet dinner for two.” There is the merest intake of breath from Vance who’s standing near my shoulder, so I decide to dispel any doubts about my meaning by casually resting my hand on the back of Justin’s neck and squeezing gently. His blush is the final coup de grace. There’s a moment of silence and then the maitre-d calls, “Mr. Kinney, your table’s ready.”

“Excuse us,” I keep on smiling, “Nice to meet you.”

Justin manages to speak up too. “Enjoy your stay in America,” he says, and then everyone speaks at once, murmuring polite nothings.

I drop my hand from Justin’s neck and instead take his hand, leading him through the crowd in the bar, then we follow the maitre-d into the restaurant. We’re seated at a table in the corner, and I have Justin sit so that his back’s to the room, so he won’t be bothered by any repercussions of my one-in-the-eye to Gardner Vance, in case his party is seated near us.

We’re handed menus and the moment the maitre-d leaves, Justin leans across the table and breathes, “Brian, you were so amazing!”

“No, I wasn’t,” I shake my head. I’m bound to pay for that bit of effrontery sooner or later. “But just forget about it now and think about ordering dinner. The lobster here is fantastic, so’s the scampi.”

“Lobster!” Justin exclaims, “I’ve never had a whole lobster.”

“Better order two, in case one’s not enough,” I advise him seriously and that makes him laugh, and I see him visibly relaxing in his chair.

“Can we have champagne?”

“Of course.” Then we settle down to the serious business of reading the menu. I keep an eye open to see where Vance and his party are seated but after a while, I begin to suspect that they’ve left to dine somewhere else. If Vance loses these clients there’s no doubt he’ll blame me, but I’ll deal with him next week, I don’t want to ruin the evening with thoughts of that bald beady-eyed asshole.



Justin

Brian tells me to order an appetizer and I choose hot artichoke dip which comes with tiny slices of French bread, it's delicious and he makes me eat most of it. Dinner's just so amazingly great, the lobster is out of this world, though Brian won't let me wear the bib they bring with it, he just threatens my life if I spill anything on the suit. And then he remembers that he wanted me to go to his tailor to get it fitted properly and makes me promise to remind him.

I thought Brian might be upset after the run-in with Gardner Vance but he isn't. He asks me about school again and so I start telling him about our new assignment in design class, which is to create a magazine layout for some imaginary product. I knew he'd be interested since it's an advertising type of thing. He even explains how different magazines have a format for advertising that represents their target audience, something I hadn't realized. I discover that I've gotten all excited and I'm probably talking a mile a minute, though he doesn't say anything sarcastic like he usually does when I talk too much.

I'm really too full for dessert which is a shame because the restaurant has a triple chocolate cake that looks delicious, the waiter brings around a cart with all these desserts on it, it's really hard to say no. Then Brian tells me, "Next time you can save room for it," and I glance at him quickly to see if he really means there will be a 'next time' but he's looking at the bill and pulling out his credit card.

Then we're on our way out of the restaurant and I catch sight of Gardner Vance at a table near the front windows. I look away quickly so there won't be any eye contact and then we're out the door. As usual, when I've been drinking, the cold night air makes me feel dizzy for just a moment, and I feel Brian put a hand on my arm to steady me. At the foot of the steps there's a tall man standing with his back to the door, puffing on a cigarette; when he turns around it's one of the French guys and I wonder if he'll say hello or pretend not to see us.


Brian

"Hello again," Monsieur Chambord greets us from the sidewalk. We've just left the restaurant; I spied Vance at a table near the front but I didn't notice that one of his party was missing.

"Hello," I reply, holding Justin's arm to guide him around the tall and gorgeous French obstacle on the sidewalk, when the obstacle says,

"Un moment, one moment, Monsieur - Kenny?"

"Kinney, Brian Kinney." Justin and I stop next to him, wondering what's coming next.

"It's so cold out here," Chambord observes, "They would not permit the smoking inside, this is true in all American establishments?" When I tell him yes, many of them, he shakes his head and pulls a silver case from his pocket. "Would you like a cigarette?"

"Gauloises," I note, hesitating only a moment before helping myself. "I haven't smoked one of these in years."

"Ah, you have been en France?" he asks, holding the case toward Justin, who also takes a cigarette; I thought he might take two as he often does, the greedy brat, but he doesn’t.

"Yes, but not for a long time," I answer, pulling out my Zippo and lighting up Justin's and my cigarettes.

Chambord's looking at Justin and he asks, "Did you enjoy your intime dinner, Monsieur - ?"

"Justin. Yes, very much, the food was great. Did you like yours too?"

Nodding, Chambord agrees. "Yes. Well. Yes." I almost laugh, the French are so critical of any cuisine other than their own.

There's silence now and I take Justin's arm again, to lead him away. "Thanks for the cigarette."

"Wait, please," he stops me; there's a pause and then he plunges ahead. "I wanted to ask of you - since we are staying in Pittsburgh during a few days. . ." Then he laughs. "There is no way un peu subtile to ask this, so I will just go ahead, ca va?"

I hazard a guess. "You're gay?" He's not giving off vibes but that doesn't mean anything.

Chambord's shaking his head. "No. Or only a little, sometimes. We call this bisexuel, I don't know the American word?"

"Bisexual," Justin pipes up. "Wow, I've never met one of you before."

Both Chambord and I laugh and Justin stammers, "I'm s-sorry - "

"Ce n'est rien, that's okay," Chambord assures him. "So. I want to ask if there is a special place in this city that perhaps I might like to visit?"

Justin glances at me and I nod my head. "Liberty Avenue," he tells the man, "There's some gay bars and a couple dance clubs, stuff like that. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, merci, exactemente. And there is one place more special than others - ?

I'm still saying nothing so Justin continues. "Depends on what you like," he tells the man, donning the mantle of an old and jaded habitue. "There's Boy Toy if you like twinks, there's the Meat Hook - "

Then I interrupt. "Monsieur Chambord, you can find anything you want on Liberty Avenue. Now if you'll excuse us - "

"Ah, but what if I what I want is right here?" Chambord murmurs, smiling at me and throwing a glance at Justin. "Perhaps you and your friend. . ."

Chambord leaves it hanging there and I see Justin glancing at me uncertainly.

"Sorry, we’re not into that,” I tell Chambord, pretending not to be interested. Then I’m surprised to realize - there’s no need to pretend. "We’ll say goodnight now."

"Certainmente," Chambord quickly acquiesces, holding out his hand to shake, first to Justin, then to me. He hangs on to my hand a moment and gives me a knowing smile. "Be assured, Monsieur Kinney, if I had your charming little morsel I would not share him either."

"Good night," I say, turning away without a sliver of regret. Justin’s moving close beside me.

Then Justin turns around to wave, "Good night, Mon-sewer." He slips his hand into mine as we cross the parking lot. "Thanks Brian," he says, squeezing my fingers.

"It didn’t mean anything," I say quickly, glancing down at Justin. "He just doesn't interest me."

"Okay," he agrees, but he squeezes my hand even tighter.

We're in the jeep, I put the key in the ignition, then I feel a need to repeat, "It didn't mean anything. What I said to Chambord."

"Okay," Justin says again, but he's smiling. And I don't want him to stop smiling so I lean over and give him a kiss.

Then I start the car and say brusquely, "Your French accent is terrible."

"But my French tongue is excellent," Justin brags. "And I'll prove it to you, as soon as we get ho- "

He stops himself, then continues smoothly, "I mean, as soon as we get back to your place."

Brian

“Where are you going?” I’m more asleep than awake when I feel Justin get out of bed and I rise up on my elbows, blinking my eyes to focus on him.

“Can I have a glass of milk?” He pauses at the foot of the bed. “My stomach’s kind of jumpy.”

“Of course.” I throw back the covers and follow him to the kitchen. I yawn and rub my eyes as he pulls open the fridge. “It was probably the lobster or all that butter you slurped with it. Do you want some bicarbonate?”

“No thanks.” He pulls a glass from the cupboard and fills it halfway, then looks at me over the rim as he takes a drink. “I think the milk will hold me till I get home.”

“You’re going home?”

“Well yeah. I was invited for a date, not a sleepover.”

Justin takes a couple swallows of milk and offhandedly I say, “You don’t want to stay?”

“Brian, do you want me to stay?”

I stare at him for a moment then shrug my shoulders. “It’s your call.” Fuck me, I can’t believe I just said that.

Justin turns away to rinse his glass in the sink. Then he comes around the end of the counter and stands right in front of me, toe to toe. Looking me in the eye he demands, “Say ‘Justin, I want you to stay.’”

Reaching out quickly with both hands, I grab Justin around the waist and lift him off his feet, throw him over my shoulder and carry him up the steps to the bed. I feint like I’m going to throw him but instead I carefully lower him onto the bed and then step back and point a finger at him. “Stay!”

Justin rises up to his knees and I can see that he’s struggling not to laugh. Or maybe he’s struggling not to tell me to fuck myself. “If your next command is ‘Roll over and beg,’ I’m out of here,” he threatens.

“You don’t have to beg,” I whisper, sliding onto the bed beside him, pulling him into my arms, “Just roll over.”

“Brian – “

I kiss him.

“Brian – “

I kiss him again.

“Why can't you just – “

I kiss him again, and he shuts up, he stops talking finally and instead we lose ourselves in kissing.

I’ve kissed thousands of men and nobody tastes like Justin. I’ve memorized the shape and length of his tongue, I know every crevice in his teeth, I know perfectly the surface of the roof of his mouth like I was a scientist memorizing the surface of the moon. I know every nuance of flavor in the crease of his lips as I suck them into my mouth.

Our bodies slide together and every inch of him fits perfectly against every inch of me. We move together like synchronized swimmers, I know when he’s going to moan, I know how to make him gasp for breath, I know how to make him sigh and whisper ‘Brian.’ And he knows how to slide his hands down my back just so, how to lick and suck my left nipple until I almost come just from his mouth so hot there, he knows when to murmur ‘now-now-now’ to jolt me into an orgasm way, way beyond any pleasure I can ever remember.

It’s only sex, and yet. . .

It’s only sex. You’d think that it would be boring with the same person over and over. Stale. Routine. So why isn’t it? Why isn’t – oh God, his mouth pulls away from mine and traces a slippery path down to my nipple, I can’t –


Justin

I can almost make Brian come just by sucking his left nipple, it’s one of only a couple places on his body that he can’t control by sheer will power. He loves to be rimmed but he won’t let me do it very often, he says it makes him a pushover for fucking and he’s right. Or nearly. Brian’s so good at rimming because he knows exactly what feels the hottest, I learned from him how to pleasure him and two of the times I’ve fucked him, I got him to agree by rimming him first till he was almost begging for it.

Well, Brian doesn’t beg for anything. But he makes these sighing murmuring sounds that let me know it’s okay to go ahead. No words are necessary. Brian doesn’t like words.

Dragging my head away from his nipple, Brian pulls me up again so he can kiss me. Nobody kisses like Brian – well nobody I’ve ever kissed. Gently but firmly he pushes me down on my back on the bed till he's crouched over me, and I feel his knee slide between my legs, opening them wide. In one swift movement, he's poised to enter me, and almost of their own volition my legs lift up to rest on his shoulders. He's still kissing me and my eyes are closed but I hear the rustle of his hand fumbling in the condom bowl, then I hear his teeth tearing the package open and my breath quickens when I feel his fingers begin to open me up. He's being gentle now, but earlier tonight he was rough. I love it both ways with Brian.

We both gasp as he pushes just that last little bit and he's inside me, and our mouths move apart as we sputter a laugh, then I gasp again when he begins to move in rhythm, and his lips capture mine again and then I'm lost in sensation, my hands moving all over his chest and his hips and his thighs, his knees digging into the mattress with each thrust. He's taking it slow, making it last, and a light film of sweat moistens our bodies all the places they rub together. "Brian," I murmur, "Brian."



Brian

We're taking it slow, no hurry, just smooth and gentle pleasure, for a while anyway. Soon we pick up the pace, we're both getting hot and hotter, I can tell he's getting close right before he murmurs, "Now!" and I let go and he lets go and we come together, the first wave of pleasure jolting our bodies like an electric shock. Then another gentler wave, and my body collapses above him, careful to roll sideways so I don't crush him with my weight. Justin hangs on tight and moves with me, not letting go. He never wants to let go, right from the beginning he has always hung on to me as long as he can.

And I wonder, not for the first time, why I ever let him hang onto me. Right from the beginning I let him, and I'm still letting him - only now I’m hanging on to him, too. Now I don't want to let him go either. So we lie in each other's arms, catching our breath, relaxing into the mattress, and within moments we're both falling back to sleep. Right before I go completely out, I pull off the condom and throw it over the side of the bed, then I reach for the duvet and pull it over us, Justin sometimes gets cold in the night. His face is pressed into my neck and I feel more than hear him murmur "Mmmmm."

When we wake up it's morning, in fact, it's almost ten o'clock, usually, I don't sleep that long even when I'm up late. Justin's still hanging on to me, our bodies have turned into spoons sometime during the night and he's holding onto me from behind. As I begin to open my eyes I feel his lips kiss me lightly on the shoulder and almost I turn around and pull him into my arms. Almost. Instead, I feel myself moving away from him, slipping out of bed, standing up and stretching. I turn around and glance at Justin, as if I'm surprised to see him there. He's not letting me get away with that, though.

"Brian, don't."

That's all he says but I know what he means, so quickly I counter as if it was all I meant to say, "I can't believe we slept so long. It's ten o'clock." Then I turn away and move into the bathroom, desperately needing to take a piss. A half-second later Justin’s beside me and silently we piss together into the toilet. I finish first so I move into the shower enclosure and a moment later Justin joins me. He stands off to one side while I adjust the temperature - his skin burns easily, then he meets me in the middle. We pick up bars of soap and begin to wash each other, a habit we formed when he lived with me.

"I had a great time last night," Justin says, running the soap across my chest.

"Your stomach okay now?"

"Yeah. Mostly."

I'm washing his shoulders, enjoying watching his pale skin turn pink in the hot water. "Still queasy?"

"Yeah, but - I don't think it's from the lobster." He turns around and lets me wash his back.

"Too much champagne." I'm not done with his back but he turns around and grabs my hands, holding them still.

"No." That's all he says, but he's looking at me now. I can't read the expression on his face, but for some reason, I don't want him to explain. If he's going to start talking about 'us' or something, I don't want to hear it. I just don't.

"I wanted to talk to you last night but we fell asleep too fast."

"Fucking'll do that," I reply lightly, pulling away and turning around so he'll wash my back. And maybe so he'll stop talking. I just don't want to go there.

I hear him sigh and I hope that's an end to it though he's tenacious as hell so I doubt it. To forestall him further I duck my head under the water and begin to wash my hair. He gives up for the time being and we don't speak anymore until we're stepping out and drying ourselves off.

"Would you like me to cook you breakfast?" Justin asks, "I saw a carton of eggs in the fridge."

If he does that I'll be trapped in the loft, giving him plenty of time to work me over. It was bad enough that having an actual date opened the door, maybe giving Justin ideas that I don't even want to think about. I still haven't figured out why I started this whole business. "Thanks, but there's no time. I need to go into the office this morning." That's not really untrue, it's Saturday but there's a ton of work waiting for me, I can put in a couple hours and get a jump-start on next week.

I feel Justin's eyes on me as I pull out my shaving gear, then he just says "Okay" and goes into the bedroom to get dressed. I'm finishing up my shave when he comes back and stands in the doorway. He's put on his khakis and sweater and when I glance at him he shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Well, I'll be going then I guess, so you can get to work. Thanks for the dinner - it was great. I had a good time."

"Me too." It's true. I wipe my face with a hand towel and walk over to Justin, slip my arms around his shoulders. "We survived a date. Imagine that." I bend down and kiss him lightly, then let go and step back.

"Brian - maybe you could call me when you have time to talk?"

Christ, I knew it. He's not going to let it go. "Talk about what?"

Justin doesn’t answer, just looks at me for a moment, then he turns away and heads down the steps. I move outside the bathroom door and wait, watching him grab his jacket from the sofa and open the door. I’m expecting him to look over his shoulder and give me a wave and when he doesn’t, merely shuts the door without a glance, I feel let down somehow.

Shaking my head, I go into the kitchen and pull a jar of grapefruit juice out of the fridge, twist off the cap and take a drink. I’m annoyed at Justin for pushing me and I’m annoyed at myself for backing away from him. Like I’ve always backed away from him, from anyone really who's ever tried to corner me, push me up against the wall, coerce me into some kind of fucking declaration or – whatever.

I remember last night when he wanted me to ask him to stay. And I wouldn’t say it. I wouldn’t say, “Justin, I want you to stay.” I shake my head again. Fuck me.



Cynthia

Usually, Brian hides his smiles from me but when he came back from Gardner Vance's office this morning he was practically exploding with what I soon found out was suppressed glee. Not exactly happiness - I've seldom seen Brian let down his guard enough to appear happy - but some kind of obvious satisfaction.

When my phone rang at precisely nine-oh-one and the display showed Vance's number, I took a deep breath before picking up. Just as I was doing my ‘Mister-Kinney's-office’ spiel, Brian surged out of the elevator and passed my desk with his usual Monday-morning frown of acknowledgment. I pointed at the phone and mouthed 'Vance' and Brian's frown deepened as he went into his office and threw his raincoat on a chair. A moment later I followed him in and announced that Vance wanted to see him right away.

Brian just looked at me and nodded and I couldn't resist asking, "Something wrong? He sounds mad."

I didn’t really expect an answer, I know Brian too well, so I wasn't surprised when all he said was, "You'll be the first one I confide in after the meeting."

Luckily Brian's sarcasm became tolerable a long time ago. I hazarded a guess: "Haven't had coffee yet, hmm?" Brian adjusted his tie and straightened his shoulders before moving past me out the door and down the hall.

It’s not even ten minutes later and here he comes striding back and he almost smiles at me until he catches himself in time. Pausing at my desk he says, "If you can bribe somebody to bring me real coffee from Starbucks, I promise not to fire you."

"Wow, thanks." Brian fires me at least once a week. "I've already sent Jeffrey, he should be back in ten minutes."

"Ah," Brian says, then pauses to ask, "Who's Jeffrey?"

"The new copy assistant Amelia hired last week. And forget it, he's got pimples and bad breath."

Then Brian does laugh, and goes into his office, grabs his coat from the chair and throws it toward the coat rack; it misses and falls to the floor. He’s picking it up as I follow him into his office and shut the door. "Tell me?"

Brian unbuttons his suit jacket and sits down behind his desk. "You know Vance has been wooing the Girard-Chambord conglomerate?" When I nod, he goes on. "He took them to dinner Friday night, at the Poseidon. I ran into them there, I was with - somebody." He hesitates and his brow furrows slightly for a moment, then quickly he goes on: "Details aren't important, but anyway, it was made clear to the Frenchmen that I'm gay. Vance was furious."

"Why should that matter?" I interject, though of course, I can guess.

Brian snorts. "I'm sure he thought it might spike his deal somehow. 'These damn degenerate Americans' type of thing."

Leaning back in his chair, Brian picks up the little green ball he plays with when he's thinking. "Anyway, when he called me to his office this morning, I was expecting him to blow up at me. Or something."

"And he didn't?"

Brian finally smiles. He has the most beautiful smile when he allows himself the privilege of a moment's happiness. "Nope. He said - and Cynthia, it nearly choked him! He said, Girard and Chambord have asked him to include me in the consultations. Seems they heard about my reputation - shut up! Stop laughing! My ADVERTISING reputation. And they've asked to have me on board."

I'm laughing so hard I have to sit in a chair by the desk. "Oh God, no wonder he's so angry! Vance wanted to keep that deal all to himself. Everyone's been whispering about it the past two weeks."

"Yeah." Then Brian turns serious. "Now we'd better get to work, I have to prove my brilliance all over again so the Frenchmen don't back out of negotiations and leave my ass hanging out to dry."

"Okay." Declining to make any remarks about Brian's ass, I stand up and turn to go but pause before opening the door. "Brian," I dare to ask, "Was the 'somebody' you were with at the Poseidon - Justin?"

Expecting a growled order to mind my own fucking business, I'm surprised when Brian just looks back at me, his face expressionless but his voice mild when he says, "Yes. Now get to work."

I can't resist a smile then. "Say hi to him for me, will you?"

"Hunh," he grumps, turning to log onto his computer and not looking at me again. "Tell him yourself next time he calls to exchange recipes. Now go away."



Michael

I hardly ever get to see Brian lately, with his partnership in the agency he's working all the time. Then after the accident Justin monopolized him, he was always at the loft, it was no fun going over there with that kid eavesdropping and interrupting. So when Brian called and wanted me to shoot pool with him at Woody's Tuesday night I leaped at the chance. Probably I should have called Ted and Emmett but I really wanted just this best-friends time alone with him.

So we stroll into Woody's, it's after ten, I know the tables will be full but we can have a couple drinks while we're waiting. Inside the door we're pulling off our jackets and glancing around and who should be prancing around one of the pool tables but that damned kid. And he's with a guy. I look quickly at Brian to see his reaction, his face shows nothing at all. Which either means he feels nothing at all or that he's angry or he's upset or feeling any of a dozen other emotions. I've always been able to read Brian better than anybody else, but if he doesn't want you to see inside then you just plain can't.

Brian turns toward the bar and sits on a stool with his back to the room. I'd rather sit at a table but of course I don't suggest it, obviously, he doesn't want to watch Justin, so instead I sit next to him and we order our drinks. I start telling him about a new comics distributor who's hiking up shipping charges and I can tell he's not hearing a word I say. So I stop talking, and it's at least three minutes later before Brian turns to me and says, "What?"

"Look," I set down my glass and put a hand on Brian's arm. "Why don't we go somewhere else?"

"Why?" he raises his eyebrows at me. "Don't you like Woody's?"

"Brian, obviously it's bugging you that Justin's here. Let's just go, okay?"

"Justin's here?" he asks, but he doesn't turn around to look. Of course, he knows.

"Never mind." I wave at the bartender and he comes over to refill our glasses. We drink silently for a minute, then I start talking about the shop again. It takes a while before I notice that Brian is making eyes at a guy standing at the end of the bar. "Look," I say exasperatedly, "If you're going to take off tricking, why'd you even ask me to come?"

"We have to wait for a table anyway," Brian tells me, "Can't you hang on a few minutes while I take this guy out back and get blown? It's never bothered you before."

It's like I always say, Brian will never change. "All right," I agree resignedly, "But if you're not back in ten minutes, I'm out of here."

"Thanks, Mikey." Brian leans down as if to kiss me then turns his head and blows hot air into my ear, which tickles and which he knows I hate. He signals the trick with just a jerk of his head then moves toward the back door, the trick hot on his heels. In a way I'm pissed and yet in another way I'm glad - Brian's finally getting back to normal.



Justin

When Brian comes into Woody's I have to force myself not to stare at him. I haven't let myself call him since we parted Saturday morning. If Brian's not ever going to talk to me, what's the point? He asked me on a real date. I thought that meant he was ready to think about a relationship again, but he's not. In the end, all he wanted to do was fuck.

So okay, he wants me to date for six months? I'm going to date every guy I can get my hands on for the next six months and after that, I'm giving up on Brian. Again.

Probably.

Lawrence was really happy when I phoned him. I picked up the phone and put it down about eight times before calling, remembering what Debbie said about not hurting him. But he's an older man, he's not going to get all silly about love and stuff, in fact, he told me so. He says we're just friends having a good time, so why shouldn't I call him? Why shouldn't I go out with him? It's no big deal.

We went to dinner, just for pizza; it was my turn again and he told me before that pizza's just about his favorite food. We were going to a movie but we'd just missed all the starting times at the cineplex so playing pool was his suggestion. Woody's was his suggestion too and I said okay, although if Brian's jeep had been parked outside I would've asked to go someplace else. How could I know Brian would show up later? It's not like I planned to flaunt Lawrence in his face.

Then Brian comes in and pretends not to see me, he and Michael sit at the bar with their backs turned. Lawrence sees him too and he goes, "There's your friend from the diner, want to ask him to join us?" I say no really fast, he looks at me intently but lets it drop.

So we're all just ignoring each other, and Lawrence is beating the crap out of me because my concentration is completely gone, in fact, he's teasing me about it, and then suddenly from the corner of my eye I see Brian going out the back door - with a trick. That is just somehow too much. I tell Lawrence I'm not feeling well, he grabs our jackets and we get the hell out of there.

Lawrence is so sweet, helping me put on my jacket in the chill night air, putting his arm around me, asking if I want to go home. And I do want to go home, just go home and get in bed and pull the covers over my head. But instead, I go home with Lawrence. I want to fuck and fuck and fuck till I forget all about Brian Kinney. At least for a few hours.



Brian

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," I tell Justin; of course he knows it's me, my number shows up on his cell phone. I wondered if he'd even answer my call so in a way I'm not prepared when he does.

"Hey," he says, not very enthusiastically.

"Are you at school?" It's early afternoon, he should be at school. Unless he's still with that guy.

After Michael dropped me at home last night, I got in the jeep and drove over by Jennifer's condo. It was nothing but curiosity, wondering if Justin's car was there. Of course, it wasn't, I didn't expect it to be. I didn't hang around, I'd just been curious to know if he was with the teacher. They left Woody's while I was in the alley getting what was probably the most boring blowjob of my entire life. When I came back in they were gone. Michael didn't comment and as luck would have it, we got the pool table they'd just abandoned. We played a couple games and I let Michael beat me.

"I'm in the school parking lot actually," Justin tells me, "I'm just leaving."

"You working tonight?"

He hesitates a moment, then says, "I'm on my way there now."

"You have plans after work?"

"Yeah, sort of," he says. There's a long pause, then he adds, "I have a lot of homework."

"Okay."

"Brian - "

"Hey, it's okay," I tell him and laugh. "I’ll let you go now."

"Brian - wait."

I don't want to wait, I want to hang up the phone. I'm busy, I have a meeting in ten minutes. I've got a presentation at two o'clock. I don't have time to be hanging around on the telephone. Yet I’m still holding the receiver to my ear. Finally, I say, "What?"

"Were you wanting to do another date or something?"

Christ. "Justin, let's cut the bullshit." When he says nothing I go on. "I thought you might want to come over. That's all. Fuck dating, okay? Just come over after work. If you want to."

"Well okay," Justin says slowly. "But - "

"But what?" I'm getting impatient now, I'm a busy man, I need to get off the fucking telephone and get to work. I have a meeting in five minutes.

"Brian, if I come over, will you at least TRY to talk to me? A little?"

I don't answer. He's pushing me again, damn it.

"Brian, will you?"

"I don't know."

There's a long silence, and then I hear him sigh heavily. And then I hear myself sigh heavily. Two drama queens waging a battle of silences and sighs.

Finally, I say, "Maybe."

"Okay." His voice sounds way too happy. I didn't make any fucking promises, he shouldn't sound so fucking happy. "Would you like me to bring dinner, something from the diner? I get off at seven. I could wait and eat with you."

Cynthia's at the door pointing at her watch. "All right," I concede. "See you then." I hang up quickly before either of us can change our minds. Especially me.



Justin

I'm not letting myself think about seeing Brian tonight. I can't get my hopes up - maybe all he really wants is another fuck. And if he does, what then? What will I do? I don't know, so there's no point in thinking about it.

The hours go slowly, I hate the afternoon shift, I'd rather work in the morning or at night when it's super busy, I like the bustle and the noise and the fast pace and the tips are better too. Tonight's special is chicken marsala, Tony put some aside for me. Finally, the hours drag by and I'm on my way, at last, the take-out bags are on the seat beside me. When he knows I'm coming over, Brian parks on the street so I can have his place in the garage, the streets get filled up at night and it's hard to find a spot anywhere close to his place. Brian buzzes me up immediately and I take the elevator since my hands are full.

The door's already open and Brian grabs one of the bags from me and I follow him into the kitchen. I'm starving so I hope he wants to eat right away, and I see that he's set out dishes and silverware on the counter, and he's already working on a glass of wine, he's holding it in his other hand. "Hey," he says as I set down the rest of the bags and take off my jacket. "Smells good."

Throwing my jacket over a barstool, I start to open up the bags. He sets down his glass and moves in on me from behind, pulling me away from the counter, turning me around and pushing my back up against the refrigerator.

"Hey," he says again, his voice barely audible, then he lowers his head and kisses my mouth. I can taste musky red wine and I slide my arms around his neck. Brian presses his body against me, the surface of the refrigerator cold on my back, Brian's body warm where he's pushing himself hard against me. He pulls his mouth away briefly to whisper, "Dessert first," then continues kissing.

I put both hands on his chest and push him away an inch. We're eyeball to eyeball. A little breathlessly I insist, "Dinner first, talking second, dessert third."

"Hunh," Brian snorts, dropping his arms, backing up and releasing me. He pretends to be angry but I can tell that he's not. "Your priorities are fucked, you know that?" he asks, before turning away and picking up one of the paper bags, pulling it open and peeking inside. "What's this stuff?"

Brian

Dinner’s over, we ate sitting at the counter, I got Justin to talk about his current design project – a magazine advertising layout, it distracted him for a while. Distracted me too, I got caught up in the conversation and actually enjoyed myself. It’s amazing how smart Justin is, how creative in his thinking, he reminds me of me when I was his age. But only intellectually; by twenty I was already well on my way into cynicism and pharmaceuticals as a way of life.

Justin takes our dishes to the sink and rinses them while I finish my glass of wine. He puts them into the dishwasher, then turns around and looks me in the eye, saying decisively, “Now we’re going to talk.”

“We’ve been talking.”

“I mean – “

Interrupting him, I demand, “What do you want to talk about? The economy? Inflation?”

Justin comes back and resumes his seat on the barstool. “Brian – “

“Never mind, I‘ll start. I’ve decided that we need to renegotiate this six months thing.”

“Huh?”

“Make some changes. Revise the terms.”

“I know what renegotiate means, okay? I just don’t know what you have in mind.”

”Well, shut up and I’ll tell you.”

First I have to get out of touching range, so I stand up and move to the refrigerator, pull it open and look inside for something. What? Water will do. So I pull out a bottle and unscrew the lid, take a big gulp, then turn back toward Justin. But I’m staying on this side of the kitchen counter. He’s looking wary and his hands are folded on the countertop.

“Okay,” I say, “The six months timeframe stands. But there’s a new rule.” He just tilts his head to one side and stares at me, saying nothing. Finally, the silence goes on too long and I have to speak. Trying to keep my voice offhand I say, “You can’t date anybody over twenty-one.”

“What?”

I knew he’d be pissed so I’m prepared for his outburst. Before he can say anything else, I continue quickly. “The whole idea was that you’d be dating guys your own age, going out, having fun. Doing kid stuff, teenager stuff, not hanging out with – “

“Brian, I’m almost twenty years old, why would I want to do teenager stuff? And you’re only saying this because you have some prejudice against Lawrence, just because he used to be my teacher.”

‘It has nothing to do with him.” Which is almost true. “If it weren’t him, you’d be fucking around with some other guy his age.”

“Yeah,” Justin interrupts, “You.”

Ignoring the desire to correct him – I am not that fucking teacher’s age – I continue the speech I’d sort of practiced in the car earlier. “You’ve never had a chance to be around gay guys your own age, you have no idea what you’re missing out on – just having fun and fooling around, no heavy drama or responsibility or any of that shit. Just parties and fucking and – “

“Brian, I don’t want to fuck around. That’s not me, okay? Why do you get to decide that I need to have fun with guys my age? It’s not what I want, it’s not what I’ve ever wanted.”

I just stare at him, he’s not following the script I prepared for him in the car driving home tonight. He’s supposed to be more reasonable. He’s supposed to agree with me.

Not that he ever has agreed with me during all the times we’ve been together. Except for a few months last year, when I convinced myself that Justin wanted what I wanted. Plenty of freedom, plenty of tricking, and just staying out of each other’s way. Even then I knew that something was wrong, but I didn’t want to think about it. It’s easy not to think about important things if you try hard enough. Later I realized that at some point he just stopped arguing with me.

All he had to do was tell me he didn’t want to fuck around. Why didn’t he tell me?

“Why didn’t you ever say that you didn’t like tricking with me?” Christ, I never meant to re-open that can of worms. But I need to know. He needs to tell me.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling sharply, Justin’s quiet for a moment, then he says, “It’s like I told you a couple weeks ago. I thought it was the only way I could be with you.”

He told me that before, but I –

Then he adds, “Brian, you said you wanted me to be the best homosexual I could. I was trying to be.”

I’m startled and I literally take a step backward and bump into the refrigerator. I distinctly remember saying that to Justin, only half-joking at the time. I’d thought he was going to be like me. And who decided that I’m ‘the best homosexual?’ Me, of course.

“You don’t have to be like me. I never said you had to be like me.”

“But you wanted me to, didn’t you?” When I say nothing, just stare at him, he adds, “I thought it was the only way you’d keep me around.”

I want to deny that but I don’t really know the true answer. I’ve had plenty of time to think about those last months Justin and I were together, as much as I’ve tried to ignore it and move on. I loathe introspection and hindsight and anything remotely self-analytical. You go through that existential shit when you’re in college, when you’re trying to understand yourself. I’d done some of that years ago but it only gave me grief. It’s much easier to be an asshole with no regrets.

And there’s very few regrets I have, but getting involved with Justin is one of them. Because of me, he got bashed – maybe not directly, Jesse helped me see that it was not all my fault – but partly because of me. And Justin’s had a hard time ever since. All because he fell in love with me. When somebody loves you, they make you responsible for their happiness. That’s a role I can’t ever fill. Not ever.

“Brian, talk to me. What’s going on inside your head?”

Nobody gets inside my head. “I need a cigarette,” I announce, skirting around the kitchen counter and walking into the living room, lighting up and – after hesitating a moment, knowing I’m going to be trapped – I sit down on the sofa and inhale a lungful of acrid smoke. I’m stalling for time. In the past, I’d just walk out the door. Or throw Justin out the door. I don’t want to do either, and the penalty for that is, I’m going to have to talk. Christ.

Naturally, Justin joins me in the living room, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, just staring at me and waiting. Fuck.

“Brian,” he says finally, “You wanted me to be like you, didn’t you?”

Taking a deep drag of cigarette smoke and watching it explode out of my mouth like a thundercloud, I answer. “Maybe. Maybe I did. It would have been – easier.”

“Easier how?”

I turn sideways on the sofa and look at him then. He thinks he wants honesty? He’s going to get it. “If you were like me,” I tell him brusquely, “You’d have no expectations. No need for any of that love and romance crap the rest of the world’s so crazy about. Just two guys living together because they like to fuck. No strings attached.”

I’m expecting Justin to be shocked. Or something. But he’s not. Instead, he’s just nodding his head.

“Yes, Brian – I know you say you don’t believe in love. But you do love me. Or you did before things went wrong last year.”

“No,” I deny it harshly. “I care about you. It’s not the same as love.”

Justin just stares at me for a moment, then he asks quietly, “What’s the difference between caring and love, Brian?”

It’s important that I get this right. Because he needs to understand. I need to be clear with him. Honest. “Justin, love means, you can’t live without somebody.”

“And you can live without me?”

There’s a long silence while we stare at each other. Finally, I say, “Yes.”

I’m expecting – I don’t know what I’m expecting. Tears, arguments, I don’t know. But I’m prepared for anything. At least I think I am. What I’m not expecting is that Justin will just nod his head at me and say, “Okay. I understand now.” He swings his head around and stares at the window for a moment, then he stands up. His face looks strange. Hard. And without another word, Justin walks around behind the sofa, picks up his jacket from the back of the barstool and heads for the door.

Justin pulls open the door, and he’s almost outside when I realize that I’ve stood up, that I’ve crossed the distance to the doorway and moved my body into the opening ahead of him so he can’t get out. I don’t remember standing up, I don’t remember moving from the living room, and I have to glance quickly over at the sofa to be sure I’m not still sitting there, to be sure I’m not imagining myself standing face to face with Justin.

We just look at each other and then I hear my voice saying, “No. Yes, but no.”

“What?” Justin asks, shaking his head; he’s confused.

He thinks HE’S confused. What about me? Then I hear my voice, at least it sounds like my voice. “Yes, I can live without you. But no, I don’t want to.”

Justin stares at me a minute, his face loses that hard look, his eyes soften. “Brian, I don’t want to live without you either.”

“Well,” I say.

Now, what?



Justin

He hasn’t moved from the door, I couldn’t believe it when he whipped past me and blockaded the doorway. He’s still standing with arms outstretched as if to physically restrain me from leaving. I have no desire to leave.

“Brian, I don’t think your definition works. Hardly anybody dies without the person they love.”

When he doesn’t respond I continue speaking. “Brian, you said you ‘care about’ me. Do you care enough to want to get back together?”

Now he folds his arms over his chest. “I don’t know.” He’s looking me in the eye, but I can’t see inside. He barely nods his head. “Maybe.”

I think that ‘maybe’ is as close as Brian can come to saying ‘yes.’ “Then can we just forget this six months thing?”

“No.” He’s adamant. “It’s important.”

“Why?”

Brian swings his head sideways and stares into space. “Damned if I know.” His shoulders slump and he moves away from the door, back into the living room where he drops down onto the sofa again.

Following him, I perch on the edge of the coffee table and lean forward, put my hands on his knees. “Brian,” I say earnestly, “I don’t want to date other guys. I only want to be with you.”

He sits up straight then, he seems to pull himself together. He takes my hands in his and holds them tight. “Justin,” he says quietly, emphasizing each word as he looks me in the eye, “That’s not ever going to happen. I’d be lying if I said I could be monogamous. I can’t and I won’t.”

“Well, who asked you?”

“You.”

“No,” I deny it, “I never did. I don’t care about monogamy. I don’t care how many guys you fuck – “

“Bullshit!” Brian pulls his hands away and leans back on the sofa. “You said that before.”

“Let me finish, okay?” I wait for him to nod, then I go on. “I admit it bothered me, seeing you with other guys. I hated it.” He nods again and opens his mouth, so I repeat, “Let me finish.”

I stand up then and pace around the living room for a moment, then stop by the coffee table again. “I’ve thought about this a lot and I finally realized that what I hated was the seeing part. Especially in your bed. Our bed. Your home which I thought was my home too. That’s what I hated, Brian.”

When he says nothing, I go on. “If we ever get back together, that’s what I’d ask. Don’t let me see you. Don’t do it in front of me. And if I ever live here again, don’t do it here.”

“Justin,” Brian leans forward and looks up at me, “We made rules once before. I didn’t break them.”

I swallow hard. “I know. It was all my fault.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he insists, getting up and coming around the table to stand in front of me. “What I meant was, if I make promises, I keep them. If I ever made a promise like that – I’d keep it.”

Brian’s close to me. I reach out and touch the hem of his white tee shirt. It feels soft in my fingers. “Would you?” I ask, staring hard at the fabric in my hand. “Would you make a promise like that?”

Brian’s arms go around me then, pull me tight against his chest. His breath is tickling my hair. “If I say yes, can we stop talking for a while? At least till after dessert?”

That makes me raise my head and look up at him. “Nothing’s settled.”

“You said we had to talk, we talked. You didn’t say we had to settle anything.”

“Brian – “

“You promised dessert. You have to keep your promises this time.”

Brian said ‘this time.’ So maybe something’s settled after all. He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom.



Brian

We fell asleep last night after having sex, it was early but we slept through the night. Probably both of us were exhausted from the emotional scene after dinner. I loathe emotional scenes and I’ve managed to avoid them most of my life, until Justin came along. If you want to be with somebody there’s a price tag, lots of price tags. One of them is having emotional scenes.

Apparently, I want to be with Justin, because I couldn’t let him leave last night. I couldn’t let him walk out the door. I don’t know how this happened to me. Letting someone become important in my life. Almost necessary. It’s like I told Justin last night: I can live without him; I’ve been living without him. But I don't want to anymore.

I like waking up with him. Feeling his warmth next to me, knowing that if I turn over he’ll move into my arms even if he’s asleep. Maybe I just got used to it, having somebody in my bed. Maybe that’s all it is. I used to enjoy having the bed to myself. So I’m not sure why it feels so empty now without Justin.

Fuck introspection. A yawn splits my head open and I think about getting up. Light’s filtering in through the curtains, it’s half-past seven. I feel Justin stirring now, my back’s turned to him and I wait, almost holding my breath. Sure enough, he turns toward me, his arm snakes around me from behind and he pushes his body against mine. He does that even when he’s asleep. Last time I pulled away, slipped out of bed. This morning instead I turn over, turn toward Justin, and pull him into my arms. It feels good, holding onto him.

“Hey,” he says, still half-asleep, his eyes aren’t open yet. “Time is it?”

“Early. Go back to sleep.”

“’kay.” And he does. He can do that, just step off the edge and fall right into sleep. Like a child.

Justin's sure as hell not a child, but there’s an air of innocence about him despite all the trauma and pain he’s gone through the past couple years; maybe it’s not innocence, maybe it’s a kind of trust. He’s always trusted me, followed me blindly, assuming I meant the best for him. You should never have that kind of faith in people, they’ll always let you down. The way I’ve let Justin down so many times. And when I started to have faith in him, he let me down too.

I wish I could go back to sleep, get my mind off things. I want to get out of bed but I can’t pull away from Justin. He’s sound asleep, his body's relaxed into mine, my arms are around him. I can’t make myself pull away. Instead of thinking about Justin, I start thinking about the Robertson Insurance campaign, that would put anybody to sleep. And finally it does, I feel myself letting go and melting into the bed, but my arms around Justin don’t let go.



Justin

I wake up in Brian's bed and he's kissing me awake. Sunlight streams from the window behind his shoulder as he leans over me and wakes me up with little kisses all over my face. I open my eyes - my body responding to him even before I wake up, I'm pressed tight against his chest - and I see that Brian's hair, his beautifully messed-up bedhead hair, is backlit by sunlight. The golden light makes it look like Brian is wearing a halo. That thought makes me laugh and brings me fully awake. Saint Brian.

"What?" he demands, throwing a leg over my thighs and pinning me down on the bed. So I tell him about his halo and he smiles slightly but he doesn't pull away, he's got something else on his mind, he starts kissing me again, the kisses getting more and more urgent. Of course, I'm returning his kisses. I need to talk to him, nothing was settled last night, but later, later, I can't resist Brian's kisses.

When we finally get out of bed and share the shower, Brian says I can fix breakfast, just eggs, and toast, he needs to eat light before he hits the gym. I want to spend a few hours at school matting some watercolors I'm submitting for the student art show next week and then I have to work from six to midnight. We move around the kitchen in comfortable silence, Brian making coffee while I fix scrambled eggs, then we sit at the counter eating and sipping coffee from big white mugs.

Finally, I ask, "Now what, Brian?"

"Now I'm going to the gym," he says, taking another sip of coffee and looking at me over the rim of the cup.

"You know what I mean."

Brian sets down his cup and shakes his head. "Justin - I don't know 'now what.' Did you think I'd worked everything out while we were sleeping?"

"You couldn't anyway," I point out, hooking my heels in the top rung of the stool and hugging my knees. "Anything about us has to be decided by us, not just by you on your own."

"What a convoluted sentence," he says lightly, picking up his fork and playing with some drying egg yolk on his plate. "And anyway, what's to decide?"

"What?"

"Oh relax, don't go into hysteria mode, okay?" he says calmly. "I just mean, what has to be decided today?"

He's such a shit sometimes. All right, I can tell him what needs to be decided.

"What needs to be decided is, am I still dating other guys. Or not?" When he just looks at me, his face not giving anything away, I add, "Because I have a date tomorrow, and I need to know if I should cancel it. Or not."

Brian lays down his fork and sighs.

"A date. With whom?"

"Well duh. With Lawrence."

Brian stands up and takes his plate into the kitchen and sets it in the sink. Without turning around he says, "You've been seeing him a lot." Then he turns on the water full blast before I can answer. I join him at the sink and hand him my plate to rinse.

I wait till he turns off the water, then I ask, "Should I cancel?"

Brian grabs the dishtowel and dries his hands before looking at me. His face is still blank, I can't tell what he's thinking. "He must like you. Lawrence."

"Of course he does. We're friends."

"Friends," Brian repeats, twisting the towel in his hands. "I'll bet he thinks you're more than friends."

"No, he doesn't," I assure him, taking the towel away and hanging it back on its hook. "That's a good reason for dating older guys, they don't get all mooshy."

"Uh-huh." Brian turns away and goes back to the counter, picks up his cup.

"Well?" I ask. "Do I cancel my date or not?"

Brian drains his coffee cup and sets it down on the counter. Then he says, "Cancel" and moves quickly up the steps to the bedroom, returning a moment later with his gym bag.

I'm waiting for him at the door, pulling on my jacket and watching as he punches buttons to set the alarm. Before we start down the stairs I put my hand on Brian's arm to stop him.

"Brian, about Lawrence."

He cocks his head at me, raises those eyebrows. " What about him?"

"Do I cancel tomorrow or do I cancel forever?"

Suddenly Brian shoots out his hand and grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me sharply forward and leaning his face close to mine. "Cancel forever," he growls, before kissing me roughly on the mouth.

"Now go away, I'm late," he adds, pushing me toward the stairs. "And come over after work tonight. If you want to."

"Brian," I have to ask, "Do you want me to?"

"Yes, damn it," he's still growling. "Now fuck off."



Debbie

I love these big family dinners on Sunday night, we used to have them at least once a month but they don't happen very often anymore. It's hard to get everybody together at the same time.

We've decided that we're celebrating summer - even though it's a bit early, there's still a chill in the air. Emmett always needs a theme whenever there's a party, even when it's just a family dinner at the Novotny-Grassi house. Vic was feeling so good today that he baked a special cake and decorated it, writing 'Welcome Summer' in icing on the top. Lindsay and Melanie brought cookies, Michael and Ben brought an appetizer, some kind of Thai vegetable thing. Ted and Emmett brought bottles of wine and we've already killed almost two bottles while we were eating Ben's spicy dip. Everybody brought bouquets of flowers, the table is loaded down with vases of beautiful flowers, their perfume mingling with the smell of tomatoes and garlic.

I made puttanesca, partly because it's a special occasion but partly because last week Brian agreed to come to the dinner party, something he seldom does anymore. Puttanesca's always been his favorite. But he didn't show up and finally we all gather around the table and Vic helps serve heaping bowls of the pasta while I pull garlic bread from the oven. Everybody's chattering, I love the noise of a house full of happy people, then suddenly the talking stops all at once, and when I straighten up and set down a foil-wrapped bread loaf on top of the stove, I look at the table. Everyone's staring at the door, so I walk around the corner of the kitchen to see what they're all looking at.

It's Brian. "Hey Deb," he says casually, walking forward and pulling off his jacket. "I brought somebody with me. Got room for one more?"

Then he moves sideways and behind him I see little Sunshine.

"Hi Deb," he says kind of shyly, then he glances at the crowd around the table. "Hi everybody," he adds, before everyone surges forward to hug him and kiss him and pull him toward the table. Well, almost everyone.

Justin's cheeks are flushed pink and he's smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary. "Something smells delicious," he exclaims happily, pulling off his jacket and throwing it toward the sofa. "What's for dinner? I'm majorly starving!"