BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

CHAPTER 3-OPPORTUNITIES

BRIAN'S POV
a bottle of red,
a bottle of white,
it all depends upon your appetite

It'd been a hot, humid, summer day four and half years ago when you'd decided that the only place you were going to find the man you needed was in New York City. Mama Zirrolli's wasn't the classiest Italian restaurant in the city by any means, not nearly elegant enough for your taste. But you weren't there for the ambiance; you were there to find him.

His resume had come in with every other Business major's resume along the east coast along with a cover letter and a photo. He sent a photo. You thought that was odd and brave at the same time. Every time you looked at it, all you could think of was JFK, Jr. You decided that if you looked like John Jr., you'd send your photo to everyone, too. And he had the whitest teeth you'd ever seen. Your eyes kept coming back to his picture, his resume, every time you sat down to review your options. Finally, thinking you were losing your mind and getting tired of him staring back at you, you gave the whole stack to Ted and told him to pick out his top ten.

This guy wasn't one of them.

You hadn't given Ted the photo.

You interviewed seven of Ted's top ten and nothing was clicking for you. They were all great candidates, had great credentials, but they weren't exactly what you needed. After the seventh felt like another lukewarm letdown, you added JFK, Jr. to the list as number eleven and had Cynthia call him to set up an interview. He would be in your office in the following Monday.

You went to New York City the next day. The first time you'd gone since Justin left.

The minute you got into the cab at the airport, the buzz of the city overtook you. You used to feel like that buzz was you, what you were going to be, but it didn't feel like that that day. It felt like something you longed for. Something you'd always long for.

You recognized him the minute you walked into the door of Mama Zirrolli's. He looked just like his picture. You figured he was about twenty-eight.

"Table for one, sir?"

"Yes." You asked to sit in the back. It gave you a better view.

"Your server will be right with you."

"Thank you.”

You watched him while you ate your salad, watched him greet customers, watched him help out the wait staff when the place began to fill up, watched him answer the phone, work people in, schmooze with everyone who came in the door—from elite businessmen to mothers with screaming toddlers. And he did all of this with his sleeves rolled up, the true sign of a work-a-holic. He never stopped moving. And the lasagna was fucking amazing.

He noticed when you were nearly finished with your meal and came over to see if you wanted dessert. People waved to him through the window that you were sitting in front of. He smiled and waved back.

"Sir, can I get you anything else? Coffee, perhaps?"

"You're Gabe Zirrolli, aren't you?" He gave you a funny smile. It took you a minute to realize that everyone knew who he was. It was a dumb question in retrospect. Of course, he was Gabe Zirrolli.

"Yes, I am. Was everything satisfactory?" He told you a year later that he thought you were a food critic.

"It was delicious. Damn near perfect." You handed him your business card. "I'm Brian Kinney." It took him a second to make the connection.

"Oh my goodness, I didn't know. I'm interviewing with you next Monday. I just got my e-ticket from your assistant today."

"This was your interview. The job is yours if you want it. Do you have a few minutes to schmooze with me?"

"Oh my god, absolutely. Let me go tell my father so he can come out here and cover for me."

"Certainly."

You talked with Gabe for about half an hour, offered him a relocation package to come to Pittsburgh, talked about where he got his business degree, and then asked him why in the world he wanted to leave this, his family's restaurant that he was obviously born to run, and the hubbub of the city.

"I've literally been working here all my life. I want to make it on my own, branch out a little. I've always wanted to manage my own restaurant, and I can't open one in the city and compete with my family. My parents have worked too hard for this. I couldn't…..I wouldn't do that to them. There'll be plenty of time for me to run this place when I'm an old man. But I'm not right now, and I want a chance to prove myself to someone other than my father."

"Fair enough. You can prove yourself to me. I'd like you to be settled in thirty days or less. Zeal opens in two months. That'll give you a month there before it opens."

"I just can't believe this. That you just showed up here. I was still stressing over what I was going to wear." To this day, Gabe's neurotic tendencies make you laugh. He's worse than Theodore.

"You're what I want. You have the perfect disposition to keep paying customers happy."

"I guess it's in my blood. Customer service and all that."

"Okay, well, I'll see you in a month. Call my assistant for help with relocating, whatever you need. She can help you."

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Mr. Kinney—"

“Brian.”

“Brian. I look forward to working with you."

"Same here."

Gabe introduced you to his parents before you left. His mother told you that she just knew that it was Gabe's lucky day when she woke up that morning. You knew you'd made the right decision. He was the one you wanted. Someone who looked the part, had the experience and education, and who was more loyal than a Golden Retriever.

You'd secured your fortune that day in the city, and a month later, when Gabe arrived, he hit the ground running.

The sun beat down on you as you stood outside of Mama Zirrolli's after that meeting, as you watched the myriad of pedestrians negotiate their way on the busy streets. You stood still and weighed your options.

One down. One to go.

But first, you had some negotiating of your own to do.

**************************
I realize it's just a picture in a frame

The name of the gallery was shoved in your wallet on a post-it note: Frequency. It was less than two blocks from Mama Zirrolli’s. You’ll never forget your visit there because of the way you were greeted when you walked in the door,

“Good afternoon, sir. Please excuse the heat. Our air-conditioning is broken.” A very petite, brown-haired woman in her early thirties stood in the foyer. Her eyeglass frames matched her hair color perfectly.

“Well, it’s certainly a bad day for that.”

“That’s very true. My name’s Margy. What can I do for you?” Her name had a hard ‘g.’ She spelled it for you when you looked perplexed.

“Margy. M-A-R-G-Y. Margaret’s too formal, but my parents gave me that nickname. I’m not responsible for it.”

You smiled, “You don’t want to know the nicknames my parents have for me.”

“Oh, so you’re charming. How refreshing on such a hot day.”

Your eyebrow went up before you could stop it, “Was that sarcasm?”

“Quite possibly. Or I might just be flirting. I never really know until I see how things turn out.” Her mischievous smile lit up her face. “But you didn’t come in here to be hit on by me, or at least, I highly doubt it, so what can I do for you?”

You pointed to a small painting hanging on the wall, “I called the other day. I think I spoke to someone else. I’m interested in buying that painting.”

“That painting?” She walked over to it and studied it for a second. “I’m sorry, but it’s already been sold.” You knew that, thought you’d take your chances anyway.

“How much did it sell for?” She walked behind a counter and pulled out a book, her finger running down the page until she found what she wanted.

“Seventeen hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I’ll give you two thousand.”

“You want to give me two thousand dollars for a painting that’s already been sold?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I won’t, I guess.”

“I’ll give you twenty-five hundred. Two thousand for the painting and five hundred for your trouble.”

“My trouble?”

“Your crisis of conscience.” She eyed you up and down, probably wondering if you were good for the money. “In cash.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.” She erased something on the page she was holding hostage with her finger and looked right at you.

“I suppose everyone makes mistakes.” She took the cash out of your offered hand and wrote you a receipt for two thousand dollars. “This is the most intimate thing you and I will ever do, isn’t it?”

You rolled your lips in as you wrote the address for Kinnetik on a piece of paper for and handed it to her, “I’m afraid so, but rest assured, it was good for me.”

She blushed and looked down at the piece of paper in her hand, “Well, Mr. Kinney, you certainly know how to treat a lady.” Her facetiousness, though over the top, was impressive.

“Takes practice.”

“And I’m sure you’ve had plenty.”

“Less than you could ever imagine, trust me. I’m just a quick study.” She walked you to the door.

“Well, thank you for your business……and for somehow making it unbearably hotter in here.”

“My pleasure. The painting will be delivered by the end of this week?”

“Yes, and now, I have to go call the gentleman who purchased this painting the first time, and tell him how horribly I fucked up. And I know him. He won’t take it well. He’s a bit uptight.” Her voice went up at the end of the sentence as she held the door open for you.

“Well, thank you again, Margy, and have a good day.”

“You do the same, although you didn’t have to say my name. Now, I’ll be in a puddle before you even get halfway down the street.”

“That’s one way to stay cool, huh?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kinney, and enjoy your art.”

“I will.”

**************************
Rikki, don't lose that number
it's the only one you've got

A block away from the gallery, you stopped staring at your cell phone and actually used it. You called Justin and got his voice mail.

"Hey. I'm in town on business. Last minute thing. Thought maybe I could see you—" He was beeping back in as you were leaving the message.

"Brian?"

"Hey."

"Something wrong? What's up?"

"I'm in town. I'm here. On business. Last minute thing."

"Oh…. Whoa."

"I'm done. For the day." It was one fifteen.

There was an awkward silence before he spoke again, "I'm actually at a coffee shop. Can you catch a cab?"

"Sure." He gave you the address. You wrote it on your hand. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay. Great." His voice sounded tentative, like he didn’t really think you were there, like you might have been playing a joke on him.

**************************
must be the clouds in my eyes

The bell on the door of the coffee shop rang loudly as you opened it, your body grateful for the blast of ice cold air-conditioning. Your sunglasses fogged up as you saw him, almost a blond blur toward the back. The five or six patrons in the restaurant glanced up when you walked past them and then looked down again. You tucked your shades in your shirt pocket and smiled as you sat down. He smiled back, closing his sketchbook. A waitress came over and poured coffee for you that you didn't want. You didn't stop her.

He spoke first, "This is a surprise."

"It's good to see you." It was so good to see him.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, well, I'm just hanging out here. My roommate's fucking her boyfriend in our place."

"Oh….. well, I didn't know I was coming. Last minute thing."

"Yeah, you said that on the phone."

……

……

"You doing okay?"

"Great." You didn't quite believe him. "I like it here. Keeps me inspired, you know?" He glanced around the coffee shop. You got the feeling he spent a lot of time there.

"Right. That's good."

……
……

"Are you staying somewhere?" He sounded like he wanted the answer to be, 'yes.'

"Just here for the day. I fly back tonight, early evening."

"Oh." He sipped his coffee. His eyelashes looked longer. "Well, you look really nice." The compliment felt good. You returned it.

"So do you." He laughed a little like he didn't believe you, his cargo pants and t-shirt no match for your designer label.

It got quiet again after that, and you drummed your fingers on the table, pretended to look around the coffee shop, to read the menu over the counter.

This place sells a lot of pastries, you thought.

Your eyes moved back to him, and he was looking at you. They met and he looked away, out the window, running his hand through the back of his hair. You raised your arm pretending to look at your watch, and his eyes returned to yours.

"I could stay somewhere for a while. If you want." His smile seemed almost grateful as he put his sketch pad and his cell phone in his bag.

"Okay, we could take a walk or something."

"Okay." You stood up. He stood up, throwing ten dollars on the table. You motioned for him to walk in front of you, and you both stepped out onto the sidewalk. When you touched him, the small of his back felt exactly the same, but your hand didn't linger.

Which way do you want to go?" he asked, looking at you, his eyes squinting in the sunlight.

"You lead." The two of you walked in silence for about half a block until he stopped at the entrance of a nice hotel.

He turned to face you, "This okay?"

"Sure." You opened the door for him, getting the second blast of cold air you'd had in fifteen minutes, the sweat on your skin cooling immediately. He looked around and then sat on a gold-colored sofa near the front desk. Your hand rested on his shoulder for a brief second, "I'll be right back."

The elevator ride was quiet, stopping on the seventh floor, and you motioned for him to step off. He did, looking back at you as you pointed the way, "Right here. It's this one."

**************************
and she'll wrap herself around you like a well-worn tire

The room was as cold as the lobby and the hallway, so you walked over to the vent under the window and backed the air conditioning off a little, your eyes following him as he put his bag on a chair. You walked over and stood in front of him, putting your hands on his wrists as he reached to put his arms around your neck, holding onto them for a few seconds, thinking that you should say something, but you couldn't think of anything, so you didn't.

You kissed him with your eyes wide open.

"I miss you."

You felt like he was talking to his fingers, and you stood still as he loosened your tie and unbuttoned your shirt, gently tugging the fabric out of your pants. His lips felt soft and open on your chest, your body almost tingling as they brushed over your skin. He sucked your nipple into his mouth and you moaned, pressing his head against you, and held him, standing there frozen in time, until you felt his hands undoing your belt, unzipping your zipper.

His hand slipped inside your underwear, and you squeezed his shoulders, feeling like you were about to lift him off the floor. His palm was warm as it slid down your cock, as you pushed into it. He rubbed you softly as he sucked, his fingers skimming over your slit, as you tightened your hands around his arms.

It was a matter of seconds before you came in his hand. Raising his chin with your finger, you leaned down and kissed him, your hand cradling the side of his face. He slid his other hand inside your underwear and pushed them down, undressing you completely. You reached between you, undoing his pants with one hand, and he kicked them off and laid back on the bed, welcoming you as you lowered your body to his. You felt him spread his legs, felt him want you as you laid on top of him, felt like lust had never been so heavy.

It was going to crush him.

In a way, it was like this moment had already happened, that you were really just daydreaming, because it was exactly how you thought it would be, because you'd imagined it in your mind since the day he left. Imagined him winding his fingers in your hair just like he was doing right then, imagined the sounds he'd make as you kissed him, the way he'd arch his body for you when you slid your hand between his legs.

And this was it. This was perfect. You wanted to be wanted.

It was strange and familiar at the same time, the way his hands moved over your body, the way they knew you so well when you didn't really feel like you knew him at all.

Not anymore.

And it was so unfair to want this so badly, to have to have it, to need this like it was essential for your survival. But it was. And somewhere inside you it felt like a favor he was doing for you, like a sacrifice.

But your body wouldn’t let you care.

He released your hair, letting it slide through his fingers, as you roamed down his body, your hands looping underneath his legs.

"Brian." It was a whisper. It was your face running down the inside of his thigh. It was your mouth on his skin.

You felt his other leg along your back, holding you, using you for leverage as he lifted his hips for you, drowning in his urgent need to press against your face.

He smelled so ready.

You'd missed that smell, the smell of you about to fuck him. He moaned as you pushed your palms up the back of his thighs, lifting his balls into your mouth. Your mouth was greedy on him, soaking his balls, running up and down his cock, and then you pushed again and he held his legs up for you as you started to rim him. He knew what you wanted.

You licked him slowly, your thumbs parting his ass, savoring the squeeze on your tongue as you pressed it inside him, generously wetting him as he softly said your name.

He begged eventually, quietly, "Just fuck me. Please fuck me," panting on the bedspread as you put the condom on, stroking himself, until you pushed inside him all at once.

His body jerked underneath you, the moist skin between his legs suctioning against you as you moved inside him. "Keep them spread, just like that," you told him as you fucked him, unrestrained, your hard breath against his ear, "Just like that."

He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you, combing your hair with his fingernails, trying to lock his legs around you as you put your hand on his inner thigh and pushed them back apart, "I'm going to come, please."

"Come like this." His feet slipped on the bedspread, and he scrambled to plant them again, pulling your hair as your thrusts quickened. You felt his hand slip between the two of you. He pressed his cock hard against your stomach and arched into you, his body shaking in your hands.

"Brian, please. Help me."

He was struggling to get his shirt off before he came. You gave it a hard yank and pulled it over his head, letting him cling to you when he started to come, fucking him harder as you felt his body trembling underneath you, the warmth of his come sealing you together.

And then he kissed you as you came, his eyes dark and intense as you looked at him, and then you collapsed over his shoulder, the hotel smell of the bedspread filling your nose. His lips were sweet and wet on the side of your face as he held you, his voice in your ear,

"Did you wear that suit on purpose?"

You couldn't for the life of you remember what suit you'd worn that day. You felt like you came here naked, just like this, like you'd never been anywhere but here.

"No. Why?"

"It's just that it's the first suit I ever saw you in."

**************************
there was a time
I was everything and nothing all in one

He invited you under the covers in silence, pulling them back for you, lying on the white sheets. You laid beside him, pulling the sheets over both of you and held him, kissing him softly, kissing him everywhere, your hands moving over his warm, smooth body until he said he had to go,

"I'm sorry. I have to be somewhere." You released him.

"It's okay."

You watched him get dressed, unable to participate.

"I didn't know you were coming, or I would've--"

"It's okay. It was just a last minute thing."

He knew you weren't coming downstairs with him when he kissed you good-bye.

You laid there until you had to go to the airport, replaying the last few hours in your head over and over. The last time you'd fucked him, he was hours from boarding a plane, and now, you were.

When you got in the cab, you checked your messages. Gabe Zirrolli had formally accepted your offer.

You left New York that day thinking Justin never would. You left knowing you'd been right all along:

One down.

One to go.

You glanced at your palm as the cabbie swerved in and out of traffic. The address of the coffee shop had nearly faded away.

Lyrics taken from Billy Joel's Scenes from an Italian Restaurant, Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell’s Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing Baby, Steely Dan's Rikki Don't Lose that Number, Elton John's Daniel, Island Girl, and Something About the Way You Look Tonight.