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+ Three +

The presentation was over. It had gone extremely well. Cynthia came over to Brian.

"Well done, Boss! They're signing the contract now," she said.

"Good."

"Um …"

"What? Spit it out!"

"They want to take you and Ryder out to lunch."

"I don't do lunch," Brian said with a scowl.

"It's a five million dollar account, Brian."

"So…!"

"Okay, I'll tell them … something."

"Wait," Brian said hesitantly. "I'll go, but make sure they pick a place that's wheelchair accessible."

"I'll tell Ryder."

"He fucking well should know already."

When they arrived at a nearby restaurant, Brian knew immediately that this had been a mistake. He hadn't been to this restaurant since his accident, but their waiter was one he had fucked in a stall in the restroom the last time he had been there. He could tell the waiter recognized him, but that really hadn't been his worry. He knew if the guy wanted to keep his job, he'd keep his mouth shut. What he didn't want to see, but what was clearly evident on the waiter's face, was the look of pity and of sudden superiority. He was glad the wheelchair belonged to Brian and not him.

Brian wanted to run. This was why he never went out in public. He had fucked most of gay Pittsburgh in his heyday, and he was constantly bumping into former tricks. The look on their faces always sickened him, made him want to crawl into a hole somewhere and die. This guy was no exception.

"Bring me a double Chivas Regal," he said curtly to the waiter. He might as well have good scotch. The clients were paying and he sure as shit needed something to fortify himself.

Once the drink orders were taken and the waiter thankfully disappeared, the client decided to make small talk.

"That was an excellent presentation this morning, Brian."

"Thanks," Brian replied.

"I have been very impressed with your ideas and … with you."

"Thanks again, Mr. Halvorson," Brian replied sounding much more gracious than he actually felt. All he wanted to do was get out of there, back to the safety and anonymity of the loft.

"How long have you been in a wheelchair?" Mr. Halvorson asked.

Brian groaned inwardly. Here it came. He knew this spiel off by heart. "What happened? Did they send the drunk to prison? How brave you are! How do you manage? And to think you hold such a high powered job."

Brian answered all the questions doing his best to keep his temper under control. He wanted to shout at Halvorson that he was still a man, that his legs didn't work but his brain did, that he lived a life just like everybody else. Instead he was polite and seemingly friendly although somewhat aloof. Ryder smiled approvingly. Brian picked at his lunch knowing that he wanted to puke.

When lunch was mercifully over Halvorson and his entourage paid the bill and took their leave. Brian and Ryder sat at the table, Ryder finishing his coffee.

"You handled that very well, Brian," Ryder congratulated him.

"Next time, you fucking make it abundantly clear that I don't go out for lunch," Brian spat out. "I thought I made it crystal clear to you that business lunches are no longer part of my job description."

"Brian, I…"

"Don't bother, Marty. This is never to happen again."

"But…"

Brian spun his chair around and headed for the door. As he wheeled by he saw the waiter give him a sympathetic glance. Brian wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he bit his tongue and kept going. By the time he had himself seated in his van he was shaking with anger and frustration. He turned the key in the ignition but then just sat there. He wanted to cry. He wanted to die. He tried to breathe but his chest hurt. He blinked, hard, trying to clear his vision. He put the van in gear and started for home.

The ride only took about thirty minutes but it was thirty minutes too long. When Brian finally turned onto Tremont he let out an audible sigh. He was fucking exhausted. This kind of crap knocked the stuffing out of him.

To get to the covered parking he had to drive past the loft building and turn into the laneway at the other side. As he neared the front door he noticed a blond head walking up the steps. The man pulled the door open and entered the building. It had to be his phantom blond. How many times was he going to see him before he could actually get a good look at him?

Brian parked the van and entered the building. He glanced around looking to see if the blond was anywhere around. There was no sign of him. Brian grabbed his mail from his box. He studied the names on the other mailboxes. There weren't that many people in the building, but there was really only one name that he recognized, someone who had lived there longer than he had. He wasn't even sure that he could put a face to that name. None of them sounded like his blond, although what he thought his name might be was a mystery.

His fucking supplements still had not arrived either. He made a mental note to contact the company and find out where they were. All he wanted to do at the moment though was to lie down. He had just about worn himself out, especially since he got almost no sleep the night before.

Brian awoke to darkness. He had slept the afternoon away. It was almost eight o'clock at night.

"Fuck," he muttered. Now he would most likely be up all night. He dragged out the remnants of his Thai takeout and nuked it. He ate in front of the television set watching some program that barely registered.

His mind kept replaying the lunch with Halvorson over and over again. The same predictable condescending questions, the smirking waiter, the stupidity of Marty - none of them got it. None of them understood what it was like to be trapped in this chair, to have people turn away afraid to even look at the cripple, afraid to acknowledge that he even existed. Then there was the group with their looks of pity. He hated that. He had never done pity in any way shape or form. Pity made his dick soft, or was that self-pity? Shit! He needed to do his exercises. Maybe they would take his mind off his woes and make him feel better.

A few hours later Brian had completed his exercises and had a shower. He hoped he would be tired enough to want to go to bed, but no such luck. The clock told him it was a little after 1 am.

He decided to check on the package of supplements that he had been waiting for. The site merely told him that it had been shipped by UPS. He sent them a nasty e-mail demanding to know when he would receive their product. If it wasn't soon, they could shove it up their ass.

Feeling decidedly better having gotten that off his chest, Brian thought he would check out who was online tonight. He wondered if BB would be there. He kind of liked talking to the little smartass. He logged on.

BB asked for an IM almost immediately. Brian snorted, but secretly it pleased him that BB seemed keen to talk to him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

PP: Waiting for me again? You need to get a life.

BB: I have a life, thank you very much.

PP: So what are you doing on here this time of night?

BB: Talking to you.

PP: You should be out dancing or fucking.

BB: Is that what you would normally be doing?

PP: Yeah.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

No one said he had to tell the truth, and that's what he would be doing if he could.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

BB: So, you're a club kind of person?

PP: Guess you could say that. You?

BB: Not really. I'm too busy.

PP: Doing what?

BB: Talking to you.

PP: Are you gay?

BB: You found me on a gay chat site, didn't you?

PP: Answer the question.

BB: Yes. Are you?

PP: Oh, I'm a merry little devil.

BB: I believe the devil part.

PP: Why? I'm sweet.

BB: I think you're evil.

PP: Snort! What makes you say that?

BB: Anyone who calls himself Perfect Pecker.

PP: Can't be all bad?

BB: Can be very bad.

PP: Which can be very good.


BB: Under the right circumstances.

PP: What circumstances?

BB: How did your presentation go?

PP: Changing the subject?

BB: Maybe, but I wondered how it went?

PP: You have a good memory.

BB: I remember everything.

PP: It went okay.

BB: Just okay? I would have thought it would be fabulous!

PP: Now I know you're gay.

BB: Huh?

PP: Fabulous!

BB: Oh! But you were fabulous, right?

PP: As always.

BB: And modest too.

PP: What did you do today?

BB: I'm getting ready for a show.

PP: Of your art?

BB: No, I'm doing the lead in Cancan! Of course it's an art show.

PP: I'm impressed.

BB: Don't be. I'm one of five young artists being showcased at a local gallery.

PP: That's still an achievement.

BB: I suppose.

PP: Now you are being too modest.

BB: Okay, so we're both fabulous.

PP: You got that right.

BB: God, your ego is enormous.

PP: Used to be.

BB: What does that mean?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Brian couldn't believe he had let that out. He had had an enormous ego, but it was mostly bravado to cover up things he didn't want to be questioned about. He was fabulous at his job. That was where he gained his confidence and his status. That let him make himself into anything he wanted to be.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

BB: Hello?

BB: Are you there?

BB: What happened?

PP: I have to go.

BB: What's wrong?

PP: Good night.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Brian logged off without waiting for BB to respond. Once again this blond had hit a nerve, had made him look at things that cut to the core. The guy didn't know him from Adam, yet he seemed to be able to hone into things that hit too close to home.

Brian went to his stash and rolled a joint. He sucked a lungful of the sweet smoke. He could feel the effects begin. His shoulders relaxed and he let his mind wander. He didn't do pot much anymore, but sometimes there was nothing like it. If he only had somebody to fuck, everything would be perfect.

That thought brought him back to the fact that he had fired his hustler service. He still had to find another one, but not tonight. It looked like his dick was going to get majorly reacquainted with his right hand.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The alarm woke Brian at seven. He was determined to get in his exercises before he called in to the office. His routine had been knocked off course by the trip to Ryder. He would do his exercises and get back on track.

When he finally called in to the office, it was a little after nine. He was freshly showered and feeling quite virtuous.

"Was Ryder pissed with me?" Brian asked after the usual preliminaries.

"Not that I know of. What did you do?" Cynthia asked.

"What's on the agenda for today?" Brian asked immediately changing the subject. If Ryder hadn't mentioned it, he certainly wasn't going to.

"The chewable vitamins," she replied having learned long ago not to pursue a topic when Brian changed the subject. She'd see what she could find out through the grapevine later.

"Fuck!" Brian reacted. "Have Bob and Brad made another mess?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You know, the one thing I really miss about coming in to the office is chewing out those two screw-ups. Hey, maybe I can do something with 'chewing out' and 'chewable vitamins'".

Cynthia smiled. "I guess you'll be in touch with B and B later? Should I warn them?"

"Whatever," Brian replied realizing she had said BB. His brain immediately went to the conversation on the internet last night.

"I'll fax you their ideas."

"If you have to…" Brian replied.

"Bye, Boss."

Brian hung up still thinking about his blond boy. He was being inundated with blonds.

The phone rang. The phone hardly ever rang. He had deliberately driven all his friends and acquaintances away. He didn't want their help or their pity, so he had refused to talk to any of them, except one. He looked at the caller ID - another blond.

"What do you want?" he said into the phone.

"Hello to you too, asshole."

"I said what do you want, Lindsay? Make it fast."

"I called to remind you that there's only about two weeks till D-Day."

"Are you invading Europe?" Brian asked knowing that would piss her off.

"Delivery Day," she yelled.

"All right! I get it. So what?"

"I want you there."

"No fucking way!"

"Please, Brian," she begged.

"No."

"This is your child too."

"What about your husband?"

"Melanie will be there of course, but I want you too. You need to see your son or daughter."

"I don't fucking need anything!"

"Brian…"

"I told you when I agreed to provide the sperm that I wanted no part of this baby. It's yours."

"But Brian, it is a part of you too. The baby deserves to know its father."

"And what child would want a fucking cripple for a father? And don't fucking tell me it doesn't matter, because it does."

She had been about to say exactly that. "Will you at least think about coming to the hospital when I go into labor? I'll make sure Mel calls you."

"Don't do me any fucking favors."

Brian shut the phone off and set it down. He hadn't wanted to be the sperm donor, but Lindsay could always get him to do stuff. He knew he was in for trouble the moment she had propositioned him, but he had given in. Now he would have to suffer the fucking consequences.