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BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

CHAPTER 21-INTERSECTIONS

BRIAN’S POV


I believe we place our happiness in other people’s hands

Sometimes in life, you play the hand you’re dealt. As much as you want to think that you’re in control of your own destiny, you often find yourself at the mercy of others—for better or for worse.

For some reason that Saturday night, as you held Justin while he slept, you thought of Gus, and how you used to watch him sleep when he was a baby. Your son was eleven then, most of your interactions with him consisting of chats and emails and the occasional, random text message:

I HATE MOM. I HATE GIRLS. COME GET ME. PLZ

And the one that usually followed that one:

PLZZZZZZZZZZZZZ IN A LIMO

You thought about Gus as you let Justin’s hair slide between your fingers. You thought about Lindsey, about how you missed her. You thought about Michael, about the very different paths your lives had taken.

You thought about how you weren’t going to tell Justin that you’d just watched a late, commercial-free, showing of Dirty Dancing, or that you still over-identified with Patrick Swayze when he refused to put Baby in a corner.

’Justin, are you coming?’

……

You thought about Leo Brown, how if it wasn’t for him agreeing to hire you and insisting that you be made partner… you might not be the man you’d become.

”Last month I'm eating Jujubes to keep alive, and this month women are stuffing diamonds in my pocket…”
……

You thought about how it had to be witchcraft that made it possible for you to get your entire hand in Justin’s ass.

You thought about that a lot.

"You just put your pickle on everybody's plate, college boy, and leave the hard stuff to me."

……

And then Justin began to stir, conveniently as the credits were beginning to roll, and you released him, lest he awake and violently accuse you of cuddling.

**********************
this overload

The affection Justin showered you with when he awakened was so potent and erotic that it was most likely illegal everywhere but New Hampshire. You let yourself really enjoy it, listening to his quiet voice as he pressed himself against you, kissing your shoulder, your neck, your jaw line, ”That was the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.”

“I know; I could feel it,” you told him. “Are you still having cramps?”

He laughed, “No, my period’s over.”

“That’s a relief because I was not going to the store to buy you tampons.”

“We’re married,” he reminded you, “You’re at my beck and call from now until eternity.”

“Why do I feel like I got the raw end of that deal?” you asked him, his arm wrapping around your waist as he got comfortable again.

“Was that a joke?”

You thought about it, “Probably.”

“It better be.”

……

He wanted to know what it felt like for you when you fisted him, so you tried to explain that feeling him come like that, around your hand, felt like you were restraining him inside out. “It was this unbelievable force that had no where to go.”

“I loved it. It was amazing.”

You kissed him; your mouth wandering all over his upper body as he moaned in response. And then, he announced that he was falling asleep again, urging you back up to your pillow. You wrapped your arm around him, keeping him next to you, smiling as he whispered before dozing off again, “You know what?”

“What?”

“I’ve had a really good time here.”

“Me, too.”

“I mean, you could say that I’ve had the time of my life….and I owe it all to you….”

“Cut that out or you’re going back in the corner.”

……

You had to admit that you’d never pictured yourself as the doting husband or even a remotely attentive partner, but if that’s the hand you were dealt, then you were ready to call. But first, you’d fall asleep with your winning hand, both of you oblivious to the repaired painting hanging over your heads.

……

That night you dreamed that it was Justin, and not Chris, who fell out of the lift three years ago—only it was a ski lift. His body had an almost rag doll-like quality to it as it plummeted to the ground, landing on Leo’s coffin.

The paramedics were somehow there before you even called them, and you chased the ambulance, barefoot in the icy snow, all the way to the hospital, only to find out that Sarah was at the wheel. When they flew open the back doors, you fell to the ground, pounding it when you realized that they had the wrong guy.

Leo.

Not Justin.

And then you opened your hands and stared at them. There was a crushed playing card in one of them.

The two of hearts.

The wild card.

**********************
these arms of mine

The flight home on Sunday was almost as quiet as the flight to New Hampshire a few days earlier. Justin seemed none the worse for wear after having your whole hand up his ass, and, oddly enough, you found yourself respecting him in a whole new way. You didn’t fuck him that morning, telling yourself that he didn’t really seem interested, but, in truth, you were paranoid that since you were able to get your whole hand inside him, your dick might disappear in there, too, never to return. According to Theodore, ‘magical castration’ was the neurosis of choice for men who had it all—wealth, power, love, and an indulged libido. (He was probably just bullshitting you because you couldn’t find anything on the ‘net to back up his assertion.)

That night, after getting home, unpacking, and settling back in, the two of you sat in bed (nude) with Justin propped between your legs, leaning back against you. Both of you proceeded to get stoned while simultaneously making your grocery list. (That week’s delivery alone cost five hundred dollars. It was one of the many lessons in life you’d learn the hard way.) When Justin wrote ‘milk’ on the list, you remembered, “You know, we have a CD that teaches you how to use the fridge.”

He titled his head up you and said, “You want me to do a tutorial to learn how to use a refrigerator?”

“Sure, why not?” was clearly the wrong answer.

……

Justin offered to give you a massage, and you took him up on it, warning him not to get any grandiose ideas when you felt his hands on your ass, “Please keep in mind that my ass is not as accommodating as yours.”

“I have a tutorial you can take.”

“Less tutoring and more rubbing.”

“Yes, Mr. Kinney.”

His hands left your body for a second, and when they returned, he’d apparently decided not to extend you the courtesy of warming the goddamn lotion.

“Okay, now you’re gonna get it, Sunshine.”

“Ooh, I hope so.”

**********************
I heard it through the grapevine

Work on Monday ended up being a lot of action with very little payoff. You expected the familiar challenge of playing catch up, the ‘how was your weekend’ small talk, but you forgot to factor in the ring on your finger. Right before lunch, Cynthia sauntered into your office, apparently sent as the sacrificial representative of the Kinnetik Nosy-Ass Delegation (KNAD).

“Can I help you?” you inquired, already kicking yourself at that point for giving her an in.

“What’s up with the ring? Everyone wants to know.”

“Everyone should be working,” you pointed out, perhaps cranky due to your off kilter ‘fuck-to-sleep’ ratio.

“They can’t concentrate,” she informed you. “The shiny thing on your finger is distracting them.”

“I got married.”

“To Justin?”

“No, to Captain Kangaroo.”

……

She seemed to be experiencing some sort of excitement in a radically contained manner. And then the containment procedure abruptly failed, causing her to perform a single bounce-and-squeak on her tip toes, “Oh my god, congratulations.”

……

Lunch on Monday was the same as every Monday—a working lunch--working out at the gym with Theodore, Gabe, and Rube, who never did anything but jump rope. Turns out that Rube and his twin sister, Reed, were the double Dutch champions of Crookston, Nebraska—a small, Midwestern town famous for its reputation as a ‘semi-ghost’ town. Reed went on to compete in international jump roping competitions while Rube decided instead to concentrate on his juggling lessons. (He was right in thinking that juggling had more of a future. Today, Reed Dressler is a proud, and very fit, minimum wage worker at ‘Petals to the Metal,’ a local florist in Crookston.) Sometimes you marveled at Rube’s success in life, finding it difficult to understand how a man who took spiritual advice from a ‘Magic 8 Ball’ always landed on his feet.

You were strangely grateful that your minions were smart enough to go away for the weekend when you were out of town because you would’ve driven yourself insane wandering around Babylon watching your second string trying to run the place.

And when Gabe went to get some water, Ted informed you that Rube wasn’t the only one to get lucky in Atlantic City that weekend, “You’ll never believe who Gabe hooked up with.”

“Somebody from the mob,” you offered.

“No, try Jeffrey Pendergrass.

It took you a minute to place the name and then you grinned like a cheetah who’d just spotted wounded prey, “And to think, you used to be the most desperate person I knew, Theodore.”

When Gabe returned from refilling his water bottle, the three of you immediately dropped the subject. Gabe never fared well when being teased, and you were more interested in his money-making abilities than the serious verbal harassment he clearly deserved for having such bad taste in tricks.

…….

The conversation turned to what Rube did with his five thousand dollars after you suffered through the entire story of the ‘poker game turned eighties fashion memorabilia in a freezing cold warehouse.’

“He put all of us up in the most expensive hotel we could find on foot and then gave Zeek five hundred of it to get laid,” Gabe reported.

Zeek was paying for sex? Your day was getting better and better.

“He brought me back two hundred and twenty though,” Rube added thoughtfully, as though it was a wonderful memory he cherished.

You asked for clarification, “Okay, so Zeek paid two hundred and eighty dollars for a hooker?” That seemed ridiculously cheap, not that you would know…

“Two fifty and he tipped her,” Rube chimed in again.

And before the accountant in Ted could ask for the breakout, Gabe offered it, “Two hundred for the fuck, and an extra fifty for the blow job.”

This was definitely one of the most productive lunch meetings you’d ever had. And to think, you really didn’t want to get out of bed that morning…

“Since when does Zeek solicit itemized sex?” you asked. (It was your understanding from years of listening to Zeek boast about his frequently coddled cock that pieces of ass appeared out of thin air and just bent over whenever he had an urge.) Ted was nodding as you asked, as if you’d just beat him to the question of the hour.

“Since he wore his I’m With Stupid t-shirt,” Gabe answered matter-of-factly. “Tends to keep the more attractive and available pieces of ass at bay.”

Which is precisely why you stick with high-end labels….

**********************
lately I’ve been feeling strange,
maybe it’s ‘cause of my wicked ways


Ruben ran to get lunch while the three of you showered and dressed in the locker room, and you took the opportunity to corner Theodore and set him straight while Gabe was trying to decide if he should pluck his nose hairs, “I just want you to know that that ‘magical castration’ thing you told me is total bullshit.”

“Huh?”

“It’s bullshit. There’s no such thing.”

“Yes, there is,” he insisted. “I read about in Psychology Today.” His voice rose at the end of his sentence, like it always did when he was trying to convince you of something.

“You did not.”

“Did, too.”

“Liar.”

“Why are you suddenly worried about your dick, Bri?”

“I’m not.”

“You are or you wouldn’t be asking.”

Theodore’s head began to look like a giant zit that just needed to be popped, which made you look at your hands, which made you remember your hand disappearing into Justin’s ass….goddamnit. Up until that moment, you would’ve never given any credence to the idea that accountants can put a curse on you.

You glanced over at Gabe who’d decided to embark on his nasal mission and was therefore sufficiently occupied and then turned back to Ted, “I fisted Justin.” You weren’t exactly sure at the time why you were telling anyone this information. Later, after he recovered from you divulging aspects of your sex life to people who weren’t a part of it, Justin would explain to you (during a sexual encounter with him that was particularly memorable because he was simultaneously horny, drunk, and philosophical) why you did it: ”See, before, you fucked anyone and everyone in plain sight of the greater Pittsburgh gay male population.”

“Right.”

“So you were able to consistently perpetuate the image of yourself as a well-oiled sex machine.”

“Right.”

“But now, you only fuck me and not in public because we do it raw, so nobody gets to see you being a well-oiled sex machine anymore.”

“Okay.”

“So you tell people shit that is our personal, sexual business because—"

“I’m completely insecure?”

“Exactly.”

“Shit.”

“And if you do it again, you’ll have no use for that jumbo box of extra-long latex gloves I bought you.”

“Yes, dear.”

“So we understand each other?”

“Yes.”

“Good, now I want you to fist me.”
And with that, he flopped down on the bed on his back. “Get to work.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“Is this punishment for my indiscretion?”

“Yes.”

“Please sir, may I have another?”


......

Ted immediately looked at your hand in shock, “You did?”

“Yeah, it was really hot, but sort of spooky.”

“Did he like it?” Ted asked, looking as if it really could’ve gone either way. Amateur.

“Of course,” you responded, sounding like Zeek, but refusing to make that correlation.

Ted stared at his own hand, mumbling as the three of you exited the locker room, Gabe completely unaware of what he was alluding to, “Seems like that somehow defies the laws of physics.”

“Yeah, and if anything happens to my dick, Theodore, you’re a dead man.”

**********************
believe half of what you see,
and some or none of what you hear


“So tell us about your honeymoon,” Rube asked as the four of you lunched in the conference room.

“Yes, tell us everything,” Ted prodded. You kicked him hard under the table. “Asshole.”

“I want to know what Nate’s resort is like,” Gabe added. You tried to explain to them that if flea markets could fornicate, their offspring would be The Rockford.

Rube’s response was, “Coolness. I love flea markets.”

“Weren’t you born at one?” you asked him.

“No,” he responded, “Just conceived. There were no booths available after my parents’ long journey through the desert.” He licked the tip of his index finger and drew a ‘one’ in the air, accompanying it with a sizzle.

“So our campaigns for them have been successful?” Ted asked.

“That place is always packed,” you told him, “Makes money hand over fist.”

Theodore choked on a tomato.

……

“You two didn’t ski?” he wanted to know when he’d recovered.

“We fucked, ate, and slept.”

“Coolness,” Rube repeated.

“Stop it, you’re gagging me with a spoon,” you told him.

“As if,” he replied.

You put your foot down, “No more Dr. Pepper for you. I’m cutting you off.”

“I’m, like, so totally sick of you right now, ohmygod.”

……

And so you continued your conversation with the three wise men, the subject veering to Leo’s death, Nate’s imminent takeover of Brown Athletics, what that meant for Kinnetik. Ted was quite visibly pleased to hear the news about Nate.

“And now that Nate is taking over Brown, we’ll be primarily dealing with his wife, Sarah, on The Rockford’s campaign.”

“I’ve never met his wife,” Ted informed you.

“She’s an artist and a singer and quite possibly a dominatrix.”

Ted seemed a little too intrigued, “No way.”

“Way.”

“What did Justin think of her?” he asked.

“Doesn’t like the artist part, is impressed by the singer part, and absolutely terrified of the other part.” You’d gotten a tour of Nate’s entire floor at The Rockford before you left, and while Justin was wandering around Sarah’s studio with her, admiring her pottery wheel for some reason, you opened a door that you thought was a closet.

It wasn’t.

You waited until you were safely in the air before you told Justin, “Um, I think Nate’s pussy whipped.”

“Why? Because he adores his wife?”

“Well, there’s adoration and then there’s servitude.”

“Forget it, Brian. I’m not going to be your slave.”
(Justin had this insidious way of answering you with what he thought you meant, rather than what you were actually saying.)

”I accidentally stumbled into their dungeon.”

“Right. Accidentally.”

“Whatever, I’m just saying…you’re just lucky she didn’t string you up in her little shop of horrors.”

“And what? Flog me with her paintbrush?”

“Hmm…”


He’d proceeded to open his in flight magazine with a flourish and roll his eyes at you in that way that always made your seat belt too tight.

**********************
in the still of the night

You woke Justin up early Tuesday morning around four a.m. because you had to fly to Chicago for Leo’s funeral. “Sunshine,” you whispered quietly next to his ear. He didn’t respond until you said it again, covering his ear with his hand.

In a delayed reaction in less than half a minute later, he rolled onto his stomach, his sleepy face turned in your direction, “Mmm, ‘kay,” reaching out to touch your chest when he heard the click of the lube bottle.

The fuck you shared was as sleepy as the two of you, and you spent the majority of it just being inside him, listening to his muffled moans, his head sunk into his pillow.

Your car arrived at exactly five a.m.

**********************
if you start me up,
I’ll never stop


The flight to Chicago was packed, and as was typical, didn’t have enough leg room. You’d hoped that since it was a Tuesday morning, rather than a Monday, that you’d be able to sit alone in first class. But that wouldn’t be the case. You were joined by an obnoxious breeder whose tie was too wide and whose pants were too short.

And whose socks—the wrong color.

You opened your briefcase to retrieve a CD of a presentation you wanted to review when something dropped out of it and onto the floor at your feet.
Your neighbor was more than pleased to pick it up for you, “Here you go, buddy. You dropped this.”




You smiled, tucked it back in your briefcase, and began trying to review the presentation so as to appear unbelievably busy. You’d hoped it would deter conversation with your ‘buddy’ who was obviously a St. Bernard in another life. But the gods of leave me the fuck alone must’ve been on a smoke break at that moment.

“Married, huh?” he asked, obviously gifted in the powers of observation.

“Yeah,” you said, not looking up from your keyboard.

……

“How long?” But before you could answer, he continued, “Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” He pondered the question as if it was the final round on Jeopardy, he was in the lead, and the prize was a brand new wardrobe and somebody to bug the fuck out of all the way to Chicago. “Less than a year, right? Am I right?”

“More or less.”

“I knew it. Wanna know how I knew?”

“How?”

“Notes in your briefcase. No wife does that after the first year.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, take it from me. I’ve been married going on seven years now, and I haven’t gotten a love note in at least six and a half.”

“My condolences.”

……

He shifted in his seat, put his tray down, put it up again, and then, “So, you flying for work or pleasure?” The guy was giving the phrase ‘non-stop flight’ a whole new meaning.

“Funeral,” you replied, trying to look overcome with grief so he’d back off.

……

It silenced him for about twenty seconds before he began again, “You travel a lot for work?”

“’Bout twice a month.”

And then he leaned toward you and lowered his voice, the scent of his out-dated cologne coming with him, “Let me tell you something about traveling when you’re married.” He stopped, cleared his throat, and then continued, “It’s worth it, buddy, ‘cause when you get home from being away, even if it’s just for a day, she’ll be all over you like a pig in shit.”

(For once, something that didn’t turn you on.)

You smiled a smile that only appears disingenuous to people who really know you, “Really?”

“Oh hell yeah, buddy. And coming back from a funeral? That alone is worth a fuck and a suck, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You made a mental note to remind Justin.

……

“Hell, sometimes I travel just so I can have the ‘welcome home’ fuck. Know what I mean?” Unfortunately, you knew exactly what he meant because since Justin had come back, you’d been wearing out his welcome three times a day.

“Hmm.”

“I tease her, you know. Tell her that I have to fly today because we’re having a mandatory meeting of the Mile High Club.” He laughed, rather pleased with himself. Reminded you of a pig in shit.

“You’re their mascot?” you asked sincerely.

“I wish. You ever done that? You know, been to one of those meetings?” He almost winked at you.

“I’m the Treasurer.”

He stared at you with a dumbfounded respect that he must use when he’s selling ‘the only vacuum you’ll ever need’ to desperate housewives.

“For real?”

“Absolutely. And you haven’t paid your dues.”

He seemed as if he was searching for an excuse as to why he hadn’t and then, “Oh, I get it. You almost had me there, buddy.”

“Gee, my loss.”

An unsettled expression began to spread over his face as you put your un-reviewed presentation back in your briefcase. A flight attendant approached to quench your thirst. You asked for a bottle of water, and so did he as if he was afraid to have something other than what you were. You were sliding your glasses back into an interior pocket when they wouldn’t go in. You dropped them in the main compartment and pulled out what was blocking them--a small Ziploc bag full of candied walnuts. You new pal nearly dribbled water all over his pants because he was too busy reading over your shoulder:



You grinned at no one in particular and popped one in your mouth, just in time for the attendant to ask you if you wanted a bag of peanuts. You took it from her and then handed it right to your airborne acquaintance, “Here. I’ve got my own.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Literally

The two of you chewed in silence while you stared out the window at the clouds and at the tiny world below you.

**********************
I’m not the man they think I am at home

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” and he was at it again. You nodded, keeping your gaze on the sky. “So, you got kids?”

“One.”

“Me, I’ve got three—two girls and a boy who’s the youngest…and my wife coddles him big time. I told her the other day, I said, ‘You gotta cut that out, honey. Kids gonna grow up to be a limp wrist, if you know what I mean.”

You turned then, and looked right at him, “I know exactly what you mean.” He seemed to take your answer as an affirmation of your mutual masculinity. It muted him long enough for you to really think about all of the things you needed to be doing that day but couldn’t because of Leo’s funeral. Your week was going to be compressed and hectic when you returned.

……

As the plane began to descend, the cat let go of his tongue, “So, what’s your name? Mine’s Pete. Pete Adcock.” He handed you his business card:



Figured the guy sold shit for a living, but you had to admit they had a catchy slogan, “Name’s Kinney.”

“Well, feel free to give me a call if you have any issues with your grass or your trees or your soil.” He scribbled his cell phone number on the back of the card for you. “Don’t bother putting it on the front; it changes all the time, you know?”

”Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Windy City. It’s certainly living up to its reputation today. Temperature is forty-eight degrees, the wind chill making it feel like about thirty-five. Looks like we’re first in line for landing; please remain seated until the plane comes to a complete stop. We’d like to thank you for flying United Airlines, non-stop Pittsburgh to Chicago, and we hope you have a wonderful day.”

You locked your briefcase after securing your laptop and turned your cell phone back on. He cornered you when it was time to disembark, a serious disadvantage to having a window seat,

“It was nice to meet you Kenny --?”

“O’Brien,” you told him without a moment’s hesitation. “Kenny O’Brien.”

“Well, Kenny, if you and your wife are ever in Philly, give me a call. Love to have you two over for dinner.”

You laughed as you yanked your bag out of the overhead compartment, “Thanks. I’ll run it by him. He has a really good recipe for chocolate chip and walnut cookies.”

Pete looked momentarily taken aback, and then his brain began to process again, “That was a good one, buddy. You almost had me there.”

“You’d know if I had you, trust me.”

**********************
well February made me shiver

Leo’s funeral was well attended. You met up Nate with outside the church, the two of you bundled up to battle the windy day. After you’d both peeled off your coats, scarves, and gloves, you complimented him on his suit,

“You picked out a nice one.” You could smell licorice on his breath. Meant he was nervous.

“Yeah, I like it,” he told you. “And Sarah really likes it.” You laughed.

“I’ll bet.”

You rode with Nate to the cemetery, the two of you in the back of a limo that was far too luxurious for the occasion. There were only about twenty people on hand to actually see Leo go into the ground. Some you recognized, some you didn’t. They all seemed to know Nate.

As the service ended and everyone was saying their hellos and good-byes, Nate told you that he was meeting Leo’s attorney at the Harvard Club, “And you’re welcome to join us for a late lunch. We’ve got loose ends we need to tie up.”

“I haven’t been there since I made my first pitch to Leo,” you told him.

“Well, then it’s the perfect closure, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Their prime rib is fantastic.” Grief was making you hungry.

**********************
the long and winding road
that leads to your door
will never disappear


The Harvard Club’s décor hadn’t changed much in almost a decade, the red leather chairs still surrounding every table, the occasional cigar smoker enjoying himself, oblivious to everyone around him. As you climbed the staircase to the main dining room, you had a moment of deja vu. And it wasn’t from the last time you’d taken those stairs, it was much more recent—

The Rockford

.Justin.

You shook it off as you followed Nate to the table where Leo’s lawyer was sitting. You thought you’d seem him before, but you couldn’t be sure. Nate made the introductions, “Brian Kinney. Jay Foster.” The two of you shook hands. A white-coated waiter approached to take your drink order, and you asked for Johnnie Walker.

“Blue or red, sir?”

“Blue, if you have it.”

“Very well.”

There was talk of the service over salad, how it was respectful and well done. Leo would’ve approved. When the steaks arrived, Jay turned the conversation around. Time to look forward. You listened quietly as they hammered out the details.

“Nate, how long until you move the plant from here to New Hampshire?”

“A year, give or take. Gotta find a location first.”

“Then I suggest we don’t announce that now. No use in getting everyone upset.”

“Fine with me, but we’ve got to make sure we give people enough notice to either relocate or find new jobs. I’m not going to leave a thousand people out in the cold.”

“We’re in a position to offer above average severance packages.”

Nate seemed satisfied with that information, telling Jay that he was planning on meeting with all of the employees at ten a.m. the next day to introduce himself. All of the white collar employees knew Nate well, but to the blue collar faction, he was a name and a periodic snapshot in the newspaper.

Jay approved, “That’s a good idea.”

The three of you finished your meal, and you laughed at Nate when he pulled a small bag of licorice out of his suit pocket. “He’s an addict,” you told Jay.

“I know. He eats more candy than my two kids put together.”

……

About thirty minutes later, you, Nate, and Jay descended the stairs of The Harvard Club, gathering all of your winter wear from the coat check. As soon as you stepped outside, you were greeted with a cold gust of wind and something that you recognized all too well from your days running Stockwell’s campaign—a press ambush.

There were about twenty people outside the club protesting the relocation of the Brown Athletics plant.

“Fuck,” Nate said, ducking into the limo. You were the last one in, slamming the door on the loud voices. Nate was visibly flustered, “How the hell do people know? We haven’t even announced it.”

“Somebody must’ve leaked,” you offered. “Or they were sitting at the next table in the restaurant.”

Jay kept looking over his shoulder, “This isn’t good.”

The limo wove through back streets at Jay’s command as he turned on the television, checking the local stations. It was barely four o’clock and all was strangely quiet—the proverbial calm before the storm.




Lyrics taken from Savage Garden’s Affirmation, Zappacosta’s Overload from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, Otis Redding’s These Arms of Mine from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, Marvin Gaye’s I Heard It Through the Grapevine, Groove Terminator’s Here Comes Another One, Marvin Gaye’s I Heard It Through the Grapevine, the Five Satin’s In the Still of the Night, the Rolling Stone’s Start Me Up, Elton John’s Rocket Man, Don McLean’s Amercian Pie, and The Beatle’s The Long and Winding Road.

Quotes in the first section were taken from the movie Dirty Dancing.

Chapter End Notes:

Original publication date 2/26/06

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