BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD-CHAPTER 47—ILLUMINATION

SAM COLLINS’ POV
”Mourn the losses because they’re many, but celebrate the victories because they’re few.”

Because you’d never actually planned on being a father--you’d been winging it from the moment Harper told you she was pregnant, and things flew by so fast back then—the pregnancy, the wedding, the birth, a tiny baby—all you ever focused on was providing for your little brood. Since Alan’s murder and the loss of your unborn child, things had slowed down in an almost cruel way; days that used to fly by merely crept along, moving at the pace of a crippled slug. Your camera was being neglected as well. You couldn’t bear to photograph the pain you were living in.

Taking up temporary residence in West Virginia did more good for your tiny family than you could’ve ever imagined. At first, you worried that it would just be another form of avoidance, another way of ignoring the tragic side effects of Alan’s murder, but after only a few days, you changed your mind. How, you wondered, could a family composed of two artists and a pint-size one in training not foresee the benefit of a change of scenery? And you had to admit that the OCD-side of yourself was a little too curious about the inner-workings of other people’s lives, especially the filthy rich ones. And, you wondered, why did they call it that—‘filthy rich’—anyway? Dust was clearly afraid to land anywhere in Brian’s house.

Harper’s days during those two weeks were always filled with restaurant work. Initially, you could see that much of the work she was doing was probably just the gift of busy work, but soon she was working with Gabe on redesigning the menu and perhaps even painting a mural in Zeal itself. She came home exhausted, her arms bursting with legal pads and scraps of sketches she’d doodled on just about everything. She’d even put on a couple pounds which made you very relieved as eating wasn’t something she’d done much of since the tragedies. Each morning, you and Amelia hugged Harper and Justin good-bye as they jumped in his Jeep and made the trip into Pittsburgh.

The first day that it was just you and Amelia, you felt a little lost in Brian’s huge house, but it wasn’t long before the staff showed up and began going about their daily tasks. When Amelia realized that there was essentially a short-order cook in the kitchen, she wasted no time in demanding a breakfast composed of whatever she’d seen on television the night before. And before she could finish chewing her last bite, there was an athletic young woman knocking on the back door ready to start her swimming lesson. Amelia forgot all about the breakfast she’d demanded and took off upstairs to her room to put on her ‘babing’ suit – usually backwards. You sat on the edge of the pool (ready to jump in if she needed you) and watched her splash her way to an accidental sunburn – floaties, goggles, and all. (Harper still hasn’t forgiven you for the raccoon she came home to later that first night, scolding you and then leaving immediately to buy water-proof sunscreen at the twenty-four hour pharmacy.) As far as you were concerned, a little sunburn was an upgrade from the sadness Amelia had been immersed in, and Harper’s wrath was a sign of her long-missed vitality returning.

The second day, a black Lincoln town car pulled into the driveway to take you and your daughter to her new dance class. Amelia had worn her new pink tutu every moment she wasn’t in the pool, and she was beyond ecstatic to be chauffeured to an actual dance studio. Everything was perfect until she realized that it wasn’t a private lesson, that there were, in fact, other children in very similar tutus who were just as excited as she was. Your darling daughter stared at them and then at you like they were aliens on an undiscovered planet, like you’d purposely been keeping a secret from her—that children weren’t just faded, huddled masses in a church. Amelia was finally convinced that she wasn’t the only representative of her species on earth. And then there was the issue of dancing itself…. You had to promise Amelia that you’d take dance class from her when you got home as it was the only way to keep her from ‘teaching’ the class. At three years old, your daughter was finally learning the novel concept of ‘participant.’ Slowly, your camera began to call to you again and you used Amelia’s newfound hobbies as a tunnel back to the light.

*********************
BRIAN’S POV
”So, are you coming or going?”

In late June 2011, you were nearly six months into your marriage with Justin and rather amazed that you’d both survived intact. Conceivably, there were multiple reasons for that: your sexual attraction could sustain the both of you sans food and water for at least a week, you’d matured a little despite your best efforts, and, quite frankly, your lives had been on fast forward since he returned such that you scarcely had time to reconsider your decision had you ever suffered the inclination. But as that summer blazed on, you came to the conclusion that marriage is one of those thousand piece jigsaw puzzles of Niagara Falls. First you have to accept the fact that it’s a project and then carve out space for it in your psyche. Next, you know that everything you need to complete the puzzle comes in the box but it’ll take you forever to put it together. So the question becomes, how best to tackle the task? Should you start on the corner pieces and work towards the middle or start in the middle and work out or split the pieces into two different piles and work in tandem with Justin side by side? Turns out, it’s a little bit of all three.

Your first staff meeting with Justin at the helm of Babylon and Harper helping at Zeal was on a Wednesday morning as always. You and Justin had evil, conniving plans to pull off an elaborate practical joke on Gabe. Gabe, who was vulnerable anytime Zeek wasn’t around to harass and then protect him, was about to witness the most brutal staff meeting of his life – one where you pretended to berate Justin about his ‘measly profit margins’ and ‘not meeting your expectations’ – and you weren’t going to stop until Gabe got up the nerve to stick up for Justin and put you in your place. But just minutes before the meeting was supposed to start, some cosmic force decided you were working on the wrong part of your jigsaw puzzle and dumped all of your metaphorical progress all over the fucking floor. All it took was one phone call and instead of playing a joke on Gabe, you were leaving the meeting in his hands with Justin on your heels as you stormed out the door of Kinnetik.

*********************
JUSTIN’S POV
”Sunshine, how did I ever get along without you?”
“You didn’t.”

Working with Brian that summer was exhilarating. You felt empowered as you oversaw Babylon, the establishment that had, like it or not, witnessed all the good and bad in your years with Brian. That summer as you counted cash and cases of liquor, you began to have more respect for the place where you’d been king for a day and once begged just to dance on the bar. The opportunity to be front and center at a legendary Kinney staff meeting actually excited you, too. You knew what to report and your numbers were pretty good, considering your time on the job. And Brian’s idea to razz Gabe a little, well, it sounded like fun. (A week working with Gabe and Brian was right, he must somehow secretly starch his toilet paper.) So when the plan fell through and Brian suddenly wanted nothing to do with the meeting or the joke or hell, even work, you were a little freaked out. You could barely keep up with him as he shut and locked his office and headed for the car.

"Good morning, Mr. Kinney. Today is Wednesday, June 29, 2011. The time is ten sixteen a.m. The current temperature is—“

Silence.

Five seconds in the car with Brian and he’d done the unthinkable, pulled the plug on his automotive secretary. “Where are we going?” you asked since obviously, the car wasn’t going to tell you. “The loft,” he replied, his hands at ten and two and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Brian, you’re freaking me out. Are you okay?” He shook his head no. “You’re scaring me. Is it the cancer or something? Was that your doctor on the phone?” Your stomach felt like you’d just eaten a bowling ball. He turned and looked at you, an almost-apologetic expression on his face as his answered you, very quietly, “No. No, I’m not sick.”

“Jesus. Thank god. Don’t do that to me.”

…

“I don’t know; I think…maybe…we should go to New York and make it official,” he offered next, his eyes still fixed on traffic lights.

What the…?

…

You know Brian well enough after all these years to know that his answer to a small problem is often a boulder-like solution meant to make a statement rather than just addressing the problem at hand. And even though you didn’t know what the problem was, you knew better than to charge at him with demands of full disclosure. So you took a deep breath and then another and just said, “Okay with me, but we’re going to the loft first, correct?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

He didn’t want to take the elevator, so the two of you climbed the stairs to your original homestead, and you waited while he unlocked the door.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asked you on his way to plop down on the sofa, wasting no time in unraveling his tie.

His behavior was odd, but you played along. “Sure. Want me to get you a drink?”

“Something strong would be nice.”

You brought him a double shot of Johnny Walker Blue, and he downed it like water. Brian found an old western on AMC and let the remote control rest for awhile. You leaned against him, and he moved, putting his arm around your shoulders. For the next half hour, you paid half of your attention to the movie and the other to Brian’s phone which rang, hummed, and chirped constantly. You pressed ‘ignore’ about twelve times before deciding to scroll back through his recent calls and messages. About half an hour before the morning meeting, there was a twelve minute phone call with a number you didn’t recognize. You turned off Brian’s phone and set it on the table and then kicked off your shoes and lay your head down in his lap. You were still adjusting to working ridiculously late at Babylon and could nap just about any time and anywhere. He didn’t push you away. You watched underneath the coffee table as he kicked his shoes off one by one. They landed on top of each other. Brian slid his hand inside the back of your jeans and laughed a little, “You know, this morning when I left for work, you had a piece of that giant purple club glitter lodged in your crack.”

You smiled, “I did? It gets on everything.”

“I took it with me. It’s in my pocket.”

“You sniffed it, didn’t you?” you asked, turning to look up at him as he lied to you, “No. No, I would never do that.” You jabbed him with your elbow and he laughed. The credits began to roll on the movie, so you rolled onto your back and asked him, “So that’s why we need to make it official? Because I came home with glitter on my ass?” He sort of ignored you, reaching for the remote and you stopped him, gently but with purpose, and said, “Because here’s the thing: we can go today if you want, right now, and I’ll talk to Emmett about cutting back on the glitter bombs, and, I mean, maybe we should go back to New York because when we were there, we kind of made a deal about being more open with each other—“

And that did it. That freed the genie in his bottle.

He urged you to sit up, so you did, crossing your legs and facing him, expectantly, ready to hear about how hard it is to be forty or how some client really fucked him over or maybe his mother called or--

“It’s Gus.”

*********************
”What is it with kids today?”

The bowling ball you felt in your stomach, somehow you knew it had been transferred to Brian and now it was weighing him down. “Tell me,” you said, your hand on his shoulder. For the past few years, Gus spent weeks of every summer with Brian. Over the past three months, there had been endless negotiations between father and son regarding Gus’s summer plans. They were cancelled more often than network shows in autumn, and the entire process was beginning to feel as impossible as resolving the Palestinian conflict.

“He’s not coming,” Brian said. “He won’t come.”

“Why?” And then you thought for a second and added, “Because of me?”

Brian laughed a little and shrugged his shoulders, “I guess, in a way, but not for the reason you think. I thought he was having a hard time because he felt like he wouldn’t get enough one-on-one time with me or because Rube isn’t here to entertain him. Turns out, I was wrong.”

“Why then? I don’t understand.”

Brian stared straight ahead again at the empty television screen, “Because we’re, or actually, well, I mean, after all these years of telling me he’s not sure if he’s gay or not—“

“He’s figured out what it means?” you asked.

“I think his exact words were, ‘So, you and Justin do it in the butt?’”

“Oh god.”

“So he doesn’t want to come visit this year.”

The look on Brian’s face-- it made you reach for his heart for fear that it might be ready to fall out. You offered your initial thoughts, “Brian…look …he’s eleven. Every eleven-year-old thinks anal sex is horrific. He’s supposed to. I’m sure he thinks all sex is disgusting right now.”

“Apparently not his mothers’.”

“Well, that’s different. He doesn’t have a vagina. He can’t relate; he doesn’t feel a connection to that.”

“I was horrible to him on the phone,” Brian admitted. “I told him he was being a little shit.” And then he sighed and hung his head. “This is what happens when you let your son be raised by lesbians.”

“Brian,” you semi-scolded him.

“Well, it wasn’t just being a fag or what we do. He’s caught on to our age difference.”

“So?”

“Well, he idolizes seventeen year olds whereas I just—“

“Fucked them?”

“Yeah,” he said, defeated…completely, “I mean, I thought our first real sex talk would be about random wood and what to do, and it is okay to touch yourself and what is that milky white stuff in my sheets. Not this.”

“Of course.”

“He knows what a blow job is. He tells me this like it’s a threat, ‘I know what a blow job is Dad.’ I mean, Christ, what am I going to say? ‘I gave my first one when I was fourteen to a teacher. Let me explain the finer points of sucking dick, son.’”

“Oh boy.”

At first, you had a hard time understanding why this latest conversation with Gus had sent Brian into hiding at the loft, but then you had to adjust your thinking; you had to remember that Brian’s track record with boys Gus’ age wasn’t so hot. He never mentioned his sister or his nephews; they’d even felt dead to you for years. So you suggested that maybe the two of you should go have lunch somewhere new and different, someplace he doesn’t own, and then come back and try to sort this mess out. He reluctantly agreed. “I’ll drive,” you said, “Come on.”

*********************
”That will teach you to fuck with faggots.”

Your intention to talk things out at lunch and make a plan to address the situation were sort of thwarted when Brian decided to get a little trashed. Your suggestions of ways to approach Gus got you nowhere, so finally you just ate your flatbread sandwich and listened as Brian attempted to school you on the finer points of father/son relationships while stabbing the air with his silverware and giving your waitress the evil eye for not keeping his drink refreshed.

“Okay, because here’s the thing. I would have never said the things to my dad that he just said to me—“

“Brian,” you tried, “You hated your dad for one, and two, he beat the crap out of you. Of course you wouldn’t.”

“That’s beside the point. Gus has no right to judge me.”

“Brian—“

“Telling me that---. I mean, like I don’t roll out the fucking red carpet for him every summer. I give him everything, all his video games, anything he wants. Fuck, I gave him his fucking freedom so he wouldn’t even have to live in this god-forsaken bigoted country and this is what I get for it?”

“You need to calm down.” You motioned to the waitress to cut him off. “You’re upset and rightly so, but he’s a child, Brian. Your child. Your flesh and blood--“

“Bullshit. There’s none of me in him.”

“Oh really? He’s bull-headed, opinionated and obsessed with sex. Gee, I have no idea where he got that from.”

“Do not be a twat right now, okay?”

“I’m going to order dessert, and if you don’t rein it in, I’m ordering you a straight jacket,” you told him from behind your menu.

“Make sure it’s a brand name,” he mumbled. You kicked him under the table.

*********************
”It’s only temporary.”
“Until he grows up?”
“Until I figure out what to do with him.”

You drove the two of you back to the loft, relishing how wonderfully Brian’s car drives when that bitch isn’t narrating every fucking thing. Brian’s bitchiness was reaching new heights in her place, however. He talked shit about the situation under his breath the entire ride back. “C’mere, Brian,” you said when the two of you were back in the loft. You took his hand and pulled him to the bedroom and ordered him to lie down. He fell backwards and folded his hands on his stomach and stared at you like, Are you happy now? “We’re going to fix this. Just take a fucking chill pill,” you ordered.

“How?”

“Well, first off, you’re going to call Gus right now and apologize for calling him a ‘little shit’ and whatever else you said.”

“I am not.”

“Oh yes you are or in about five minutes this new symphony I composed for your skin flute will be completely forgotten.”

He glared at you and yanked his cell phone out of his pants. It’d been off for almost two hours, so a cacophony of beeps and buzzing filled your bedroom. “Jesus Christ, I have eighty emails.”

“Ignore them. Call him.”

He found the number and called and gave you a look when it went to voice mail, “He’s not even picking up now.”

“Leave a message.”

He cleared his throat right before the beep and then began speaking like one of those old telegraph machines, “Gus, this is your father. I…um…just want to apologize for some of the things I said…before. I was…upset. I don’t think you’re a little shit.”

“Tell him you love him,” you prodded in a whisper.

He breathed in deep through his nose like he always does when he’s pissed, “I mean…you’re my son and I love you…you know…even if we’re not…seeing eye to eye right now. Okay, so… just wanted to tell you that…. And, um…may the force be with you.” He hung up and threw the phone in the sheets. “Okay, now fucking blow me,” he ordered, undoing his pants like they were on fire.

*********************
”I don’t want him to forget me.”

Because Brian is always most compliant after a blow job, it wasn’t difficult to get him to play hooky with you for the rest of the day. You drove his car and stopped by Zeal to give Harper the keys to your Jeep and to reassure her that everything was okay. She cornered you in Gabe’s office and confided in you, “Gabe is freaking out about Brian just leaving like that. He’s gonna give himself an aneurysm. What do I tell him?” “Tell him he had something personal to take care of. It’s a family matter. No need to freak,” you advised. Harper nodded. “Good thing you guys didn’t play that joke on him first; he’d be dead by now.”

The ride back to West Virginia was peaceful but different. It was the first time you’d seen some of the older, poorer neighborhoods in the middle of a hot summer day. You drove cautiously as you crossed the state line because every street was filled with children either skate boarding in the street or jumping through sprinklers on lawns no bigger than a postage stamp. At a stop sign, you watched as boys about Gus’ age terrorized girls with the threat of cold water spewing from a garden hose. Brian just stared vacantly out the window; you were just driving his body home.

Once home, he trudged up the stairs to your bedroom like each of his feet weighed fifty pounds. Sam was upstairs trying to convince Amelia to take a nap when she heard Brian on the stairs and ran to see who it was. You were a few steps behind Brian as she caught of a glimpse of him, clapping her hands together in glee, preening up on her toes, “Hi, Brime Kinney.”

“Hello, Amelia,” he said.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked following his daughter out of her room.

“Cruddy day,” you said, discreetly pointing to Brian’s back.

“I don’t wanna a take nap, Daddy,” Amelia said pushing Sam’s hand off her shoulder like he was a nothing but a nuisance. Brian just kept walking past your bedroom and into Gus’ room where he sat down on the bed. Amelia decided to follow him and before you could stop her, you could hear Brian, “Why don’t you go take a nap, and when you get up, we’ll go swimming in the pool, okay?”

“I wanna go fwimming now.”

“Well,” he said with a sigh, “I have to take a nap first, so you might as well take one, too.” You watched from the doorway as he kicked off his shoes and laid back on Gus’s bed, staring at the ceiling. Amelia seemed to consider her options carefully including whether or not to join Brian in an all-boys room and decided against it. “C’mon Daddy. Read me anober story,” she ordered her father. Sam guided her back into her pink palace and gave you a concerned but grateful look as he closed the door behind them. You stood in the doorway of Gus’ room and asked Brian, “Do you want to be alone for awhile?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll be in my studio if you need me. Want this door opened or closed?”

“Closed. Please.”

You pulled it shut and went to hang out in your studio, sorting through supplies trying to make a list of what you needed to order. Concentrating wasn’t coming easy and eventually you abandoned the task, deciding instead to change into your bathing suit and swim the uneasiness away. You were walking toward the pool when your phone rang. You dug it out of your pocket, half-expecting it to be Brian, but you were wrong. It was Lindsay.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m trying to reach Brian and I can’t. He told you…about Gus?”

“Yes. He called to apologize. Did Gus—“

“Yes, he got it. Mel and I just finished having a long talk with him. Where’s Brian?”

“Well, he got kind of drunk at lunch, and he was napping in Gus’ room awhile ago,” you informed her as you wandered back inside. “I’ll find him and tell him to call you.”

“I could tell he wasn’t totally sober in that message,” Lindsay laughed.

“He’ll call you in a bit. Let me find him.”

She thanked you and hung up and you began your hunt for Brian, starting where you’d last seen him. Gus’ door was open, the bed was empty save Brian’s cell phone. You grabbed it and not wanting to wake Amelia, you padded quietly into your bedroom, bathroom, studio, guest room, and his office with no luck. You were halfway down the stairs when you heard a weird clanging sound. Your search took you down to the basement where Brian—shirtless but still in his work pants and shoes--was lifting weights.

“Brian, what are you doing?” you asked him.

“I think they call this exercising, Sunshine.”

No, you thought, They call this pretty fucking stupid. “I thought you were going to relax, maybe sleep it off for awhile?”

“Tried and failed.”

“Okay, well Lindsay’s been calling your cell phone. She wants you to call her.”

“Not now.”

Brian lay back on the weight bench, preparing to lift a ridiculous amount, so you went over, pretending to spot him, only you held the bar down instead. “Fuck you,” he spat out as he sat up.

“I think we should talk about this. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Why? What’s the worst that can happen if we talk about it?”

“Well, for starters, you’ll lie to my face.”

“Fuck you, Brian. I will not.”

Brian made one of his trademark sarcastically amused faces and countered with, “Okay, Sunshine. Let’s talk. You start.”

“Well, I don’t think I should be the one to start, but... I think you’re overreacting a bit. Every parent has flare ups with their kid.”

“Is that so? You speaking from experience?”

He was really starting to piss you off but you couldn’t figure out what exactly was up his ass, so you just kept trying. “Yes, I guess I am. And I think that’s kind of a fucked up thing for you to say to me.”

Brian used his three hundred dollar dress shirt as a towel, wiping his face and then (unbelievably) his arm pits, “Well, I think it’s fucked up for you to stand there and act like these kind of father-son spats always resolve themselves. In fact, I think you’re being grossly hypocritical.”

You crossed your arms in defiance, “Brian, whatever you’re trying to say to me, just fucking say it because you’re pissing me off now. Seriously.”

He didn’t hold back, “Okay, I don’t think you should lecture me about father-son relationships. Your father’s been calling you almost every day for four weeks, and you won’t return any of his calls. Sometimes these ‘flare ups’ are more than that, Justin. Sometimes they’re the beginning of the end.”

How Brian can be right about something and yet leave you beyond infuriated has always befuddled you. You feared that nails would fly out from between your teeth when you spoke, “You need to go call Lindsay if you’re sober enough to use a phone.” You threw his cell phone at him and walked out the basement door, once again heading for the solace of your pool.

*********************
”Nice going Ma and Pa.”

The sun was beating down on your backyard when Brian, Amelia, and Sam finally joined you at the pool about forty minutes later. Brian jumped in the water and walked over to where you were (hanging out in the corner enjoying a nice agua-ass-pounding from the water jets.) “I’m going to teach Amelia how to jump in the pool,” he said to you, and you gave him a cursory glance and replied, “Well, good for you.” He splashed you a little and walked away. Amelia was hollering to him, “Brime Kinney, you borgot my some scream!”

“Come here, Amelia. I have it,” Sam said, waving her over to a chair.

“I want Brime Kinney to put some scream on me,” she insisted.

“No,” Brian said, “That’s your daddy’s job. Hurry up so we can practice.” She waddled over to her father in her pink fairy flip flops staring at Brian while Sam rubbed lotion all over her. Brian took the opportunity to wander over in your direction again, playing footsie with you under the water, “Are you wearing ‘some scream?’”

“Shut up.”

“We just had a horrendous family meeting,” he said, “On Skype.”

“So you called Lindsay?”

“Well, they sent me a text that a meeting was getting ready to happen so I reluctantly participated.”

“Reluctantly?” you asked.

“Well, since I didn’t answer my phone the first ten times, they called Michael and Ben for advice, and then the five of us just had a fucking intervention with Gus.”

“Jesus.”

“I know. By the end of it, I was back on Gus’ side. If I ever hear Mr. and Mrs. Bruckner explain the ‘crucial role anal sex’ has in their lives again, I will kill myself.” He stuck his finger down his throat and gagged for unneeded emphasis.

“So, Gus is coming to visit?”

“Eventually. He’s in some soccer camp thing right now and doesn’t want to come until it’s over. I told him that was fine, and that he could stay two days or two weeks, whatever makes him happy.”

“Well, that was a dramatic turnaround,” you offered, still kind of pissed at him from earlier.

“Gus kind of apologized,” Brian explained. “I think he’s getting shit from his friends.”

“Well, he basically has three sets of gay parents. I’m sure they tease him.”

“So you include yourself in that? I like that,” Brian said and your eyes narrowed as you responded, “Well, I named him, didn’t I?”

*********************
”A man needs to know when to ask for help.”

Teaching Amelia to jump in the pool was no easy task. She was terrified of the ‘jumping’ part even though Brian was only a foot in front of her. Eventually, you got out of the pool and offered to throw her to Brian which got an immediate and frenzied response, “No, Waffle! Don’t frow me!”

“My name is Justin,” you retorted as you began to search the flower beds for an unsuspecting garden gnome. You knew they’d be close by because Amelia had been spanking the one with its pants down since the first day she got here. You chose one that was fully clothed and sat it right on the edge of the pool, “Watch this, Amelia. He’s gonna jump and Brian’s gonna catch him.”

“You’re just trying to drown him,” Brian said, “And it won’t work. They’re hollow plaster; they float.”

“One…two…three!” you said and then you flung the garden-squatting piece of crap in Brian’s direction. Brian caught him and held him up high above his head while you cheered.

“Hold me like dat, Brime Kinney!” Amelia squealed, her arms thick with floaties so they bounced off her body.

“You have to jump first,” he said, “Be brave. You can do it.”

Amelia closed her eyes, pinching her toes around the edge of the pool and counted, “One…two…free!” and took the plunge. Her slippery form soared over Brian’s head, her arms held out wide like she was the star of Titanic while Sam’s camera just kept on rolling. “Let’s go again, Amelia,” Brian encouraged her. “Get really good at it and we can show Harper when she gets home.”

“Yeah, Brime Kinney, I’m in a moobie,” Amelia declared as she half-swam/half-splashed back to the ladder.

“All the world’s a stage, pipsqueak,” he answered, “Trust me.”

“Yeah,” Amelia said, “I already knowed that.”

You jumped out of the pool and peered in the kitchen door looking for Roger. “Hey,” you said when you found him, “Do we have hot dogs and hamburgers? We should grill out tonight.”

Roger peered into the pantry, “I’ll have to run to the store, but we can make it work.”

“I’ll call Harper and ask her to get what we don’t have on her way home; just give me a quick list. You should stay and eat with us,” you offered.

Roger grinned, “You’re in a good mood again.”

“Yeah, well, I guess it just feels like family night tonight.”

*********************
” A song and a snack can turn any moment into an occasion.“

You think that when you go out of your way to invite the help to hang out with you that they’d appreciate it, but apparently you thought wrong because an hour later when you were desperately trying to conjure up grill-lighting knowledge without Brian’s help, Harper appeared next to you with a brown bag of groceries in her arms. “I got everything on the list…plus some adult beverages,” she declared while pulling out a bottle of Absolut Raspberri. “You don’t know how to light a grill, do you?” she added.

“Yes, I do,” you lied, “But honestly, Roger should do it.”

“Oh, he was pulling out as I was pulling in.”

Brian magically appeared to announce, “No one pulls out in this house. We don’t allow it.” Harper laughed and shoved her groceries into Brian’s chest to prepare herself for the dripping-wet-pink-whirlwind that was coming her way. “Mommmmmy!” Amelia squealed, “I knowed how to jump in the pool ‘cause I’m ‘upposed to ‘cause Brime Kinney showed me and Daddy made a moobie of me jumping and—“

“Let me run inside and change into my bathing suit and you can show me,” Harper said giving her soaked daughter a squeeze.

……

Later that night, an almost-drunk you attempted to seduce a regrettably-sober Brian by implying that you’d like a demonstration of the ‘important role anal sex plays in your lives’ and got more or less rebuffed. “What the hell, Brian? You don’t wanna fuck?” became your second unsuccessful seduction attempt. He put his e-reader down, peered over the top of his glasses and said in all seriousness, “I’m worried about Amelia. When we were in the pool, she kept asking to play with my pink noodle.”

You sighed and put your underwear back on, “She means those long foam things in the pool shed.”

“Whew, that’s a relief.”

“And don’t ask me to play with it tomorrow morning,” you huffed as you laid down, snuggling into a sheet-cocoon that left Brian completely out of luck in the covers department.

*********************
ROGER EGGARD’S POV
”How are you going to keep a cleaning lady?”
the following morning

You were standing in the backyard surveying the ungodly amount of trash from what was apparently a cookout gone wild. The pool boy was skimming the water for bugs and had already made it clear upon his arrival that cleaning up all the trash was not his job. Ordinarily, you might have argued with him, but you were still waiting for Justin and Harper to come down for breakfast, so you had some time to kill. You reached into a cardboard box, unraveled a black trash bag and began to pick up the all the empty cups. Brian had assured you before he left for work that the backyard looked nothing like that when he retired the night before. “Cesaro,” you requested, “Please at least get the gnomes out of the water.” He was skillfully ignoring them.

“Roger.”

You looked up and over your shoulder when you heard your name, and Justin was standing there dressed in khaki pants and a dress shirt but otherwise looking like shit. “We can get our own breakfast, but can I talk to you for a moment?”

You let the sagging trash bag hit the ground and walked over to him, “Hi. Looks like you guys had fun last night.”

Justin was shielding his eyes from the sun and squinting, “Let the maid clean this shit up.”

“It’s okay. Maria will not want to do this. She’ll curse in Spanish all day long. I’ve got it.”

“I don’t get you,” Justin said rather emphatically.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t get you. I invite you to stay and eat with us last night, and you leave, but you’ll come out here and clean up our trash?”

He seemed pretty aggravated, but you tried to brush it off anyway, “Oh, I really appreciated the invite; it’s just that by the time I was done preparing everything, everyone had already eaten.”

Justin wasn’t buying it, “There was nothing to prepare. We were grilling out.”

You tried again, “I just had some things I had to finish and had to get a few things for the rest of the week.”

“I sent Harper to the store,” he argued.

“I forgot to put some things we needed on the list, that’s all. I just took care of it. I’m sorry I missed the meal.”

Justin sighed and scratched the back of his head, “Yeah, well, maybe we’ll do it again sometime. I don’t know…”

You watched him turn around and walk back into the house. Once the door closed, you pulled out your cell and called Brian. You were done with this charade.

*********************
JUSTIN’S POV
"It’s off my desk."

About an hour after you arrived at Babylon, you were in the club office going over sales reports from the night before when Detective Horvath walked in. “Hey, Karl. Looking for Brian? He’s at Kinnetik.” And before he could respond, you were talking again, your law enforcement jitters resurfacing, “And Rube? He’s in Italy. He’ll be back in—“

Horvath shook his head, “Actually, I was looking for you.”

You stood and rounded the desk, a sinking feeling in your stomach. Your absence the night before may have been officially ‘excused,’ but if something illegal went down on your watch, Brian would have your ass anyway. “Me? Why?” Karl had a folded piece of paper in his hand and you tried to discern what it was to no avail.

“To give you this,” Karl said, extending his arm. You took the paper from him and unfolded it, trying to make sense of what you were reading. It was a computer print out with case numbers and evidence numbers and a bunch of codes you didn’t understand. “Justin, that’s an evidence release from the FBI. They found parts of your stolen computer in that meth explosion that killed Cody Bell.”

“From years ago, you mean?”

“Yeah. The serial number came up as stolen when they were processing the evidence from that bust. I got that report this morning.”

“Cody stole my computer?”

“Well, we don’t know for sure if it was Cody per se because the FBI busted a ring of drug dealers and Cody was just one of them, but Brian reported him bothering you a few years ago, so I’d say he was behind it at the very least. So, I’m sorry the actual computer can’t be returned, but I thought you’d like to have this.”

You were still in shock, trying to wrap your head around the information, “Yeah, thanks. I’d forgotten all about it. Now I feel all creepy again.”

“Well, I wouldn’t bother with that. He was blown to smithereens when that meth lab exploded. I’d say the matter is closed.”

“Well, thanks, Karl. I appreciate you bringing this to me.”

“Well, I appreciate you being in town so I could give it to you in person,” he said as he tapped you on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around. Have a great day.”

*********************
”Or coming and then going?”

Immediately after Karl left, you re-examined the form he’d given you and then sent a text to Brian to please call you when he could. You didn’t get a response text until just after three o’clock and all it said was, ‘Can you come to my office now plz?’ So you said good-bye to Emmett and drove the short drive to Kinnetik. When you walked in, the receptionist smiled at you and said, “Go on in. He’s ready for you.”

Brian smiled at you and replied to her, “Hold my calls. No interruptions, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

You closed his door after hearing that, asking, “So what’s up?” The evidence report was in your hand and Brian looked a little baffled when you handed it to him. “This is what I wanted to tell you about,” you said. Reading the confusion on his face as he read it, you filled him in, “Horvath brought that to me at Babylon this morning. Apparently the FBI found my stolen computer in the evidence cache that Cody’s bust left behind.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“No. They matched the serial numbers. I mean, it’s no good anymore from the explosion, but they found a part or something.”

“Bizarre but interesting,” Brian said, getting up from the desk and leading you over to one of his sofas. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

“Am I in trouble or something?”

He half-smiled, “Not really, but we have an issue we need to resolve.”

“All you’ve done this week is freak me out,” you said as you sat down.

Brian extended his arm, his fingertips resting on your shoulder, “It’s about Roger.”

“What about him?”

“He called me this morning.”

*********************
BRIAN’S POV
”Sorry is bullshit.”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have attempted this conversation at your office; it was just that it couldn’t wait until you got home tonight. Like it or not, this random Thursday in July would be a turning point in your relationship. Justin’s initial participation in the conversation left you a bit pessimistic about the outcome, “What the fuck did I do this time? Hurt Roger’s feelings or something?”

“No, his feelings aren’t hurt. What happened is my fault; I’ve been keeping something from you that I shouldn’t have.” Justin literally leaned away from you. “Look, I was going to tell you last night, but after I volunteered to put Amelia to bed, you and Harper got shitfaced.”

“We were just having fun, jeesh.”

“Justin, when I came back out to join you guys, Harper was topless and laughing hysterically and you were standing buck naked on the end of the diving board doing what could only be described as attempting to sodomize a garden gnome.”

Justin mumbled, “Well, he deserved it.”

“Just be glad we have high security fences or the Home Owner’s Association would be on our doorstep right about now.”

“Whatever, Brian. That’s not what you called me over here for, so just tell me.”

You felt bad for Justin; this situation had gotten more complicated than you’d ever anticipated. I’m not sure where to start,” you said, “So I’m going to do my best to explain this. It would be helpful if you could stop staring at me like I cheated on you or something.”

“Did you?” he asked, nothing but steel in his expression.

“No. I promise you on my life that this has nothing to do with that. Can you just take a deep breath and calm down?”

His arms were crossed, “Talk, Brian.”

“Okay,” you began with a heavy sigh, “The reason Roger wasn’t at the cookout last night is because he was running an errand for me.”

“What errand?”

“He was going to that organic grocery store to get something I could eat.”

“Why? I sent Harper to the store with his list.”

“What I needed wasn’t on that list or at the store she went to,” you explained.

“You pulled me out of Babylon to talk about our fucking grocery lists?”

This really wasn’t going well. “No. I pulled you out of Babylon to tell you that I’m part of a secret nutrition network that Steve Jobs created.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Did you eat bad sushi for lunch for something?”

“No,” you tried again, “I eat what iWWINN® - the World Wide Integrated Nutrition Network – tells me to eat. I’m part of a clandestine focus group that includes only twenty-five people. Most of them are celebrities or shitheads, or both--you know, like Anderson Cooper.”

“Whatever weed we have at the house, Brian, you need to ditch it. It’s rancid.”

“Justin, I know this sounds crazy. Trust me; it’s why I didn’t try to explain it before. I’ve been on it for years, and once you hired Roger, I needed him to help me stay on the program since he prepares all of our meals. He gets whatever I need if we don’t have it in the house.” Once you brought Roger into the explanation, Justin seemed to find it more credible, although the suspicious look on his face never went away. “Basically, I paid Roger extra to help me stay on the plan because if I don’t stay on it, I’m out of the network. The twenty-five of us, make up the APPLET-- the Apple Pilot-Project for Lifestyle Enrichment®.”

“Like you need your lifestyle enriched, Brian.”

This wasn’t wwinning at all.

“Okay, can you try to see this from my perspective for a minute? I was here…and you…weren’t…and I was making tons of money and fucking around had become tedious, and I was kind of…bored. I knew it was somehow related to Apple and everything sort of snowballed from there. I’m part of their Branding Division. The pilot-project…they’re the ones that sent the appliances for the kitchen and everything.”

“Let me get this straight. You missed me and instead of just picking up the phone and telling me that, you bought a ridiculously expensive car that houses some bitch who stroked your ego and gave you psychotic kitchen appliances?”

You shook your head. How can he even question why you keep in the dark sometimes? “Look, you love your iphone right?” you tried. “You practically sleep with it. Would you give it up?”

“No, but what the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, my automotive secretary is sort of like Siri’s mother or something.”

……

……

Justin responded, “Wait a minute. So all this stuff I hear about how Apple tracks everyone who uses their products…it’s true then? They track you?”

“Everywhere.”

“And they talk to the fridge and the dishwasher?”

“Yeah,” you offered hesitantly.

“So how do we get out of this ‘Dharma Initiative’ cluster fuck? Go into witness protection or something?” he asked.

“We don’t. I mean, I don’t want out. It’s a great program. I’m forty, Justin, and still weigh what I did at thirty-six.” He rolled his eyes, “The testing phase is almost done and they’re going to release it to more people. As part of the first focus group, all twenty-five of us have a financial stake in the future of the program. That means more contacts for me and more money for us. ”

“How much more money?”

“Enough to buy up every garden gnome in the world and dump them into a volcano.”

Justin looked very befuddled, blinking rapidly, so you knew there were nothing but random thoughts in a mosh pit inside his brain. One finally emerged, “So wait…why does Anderson hate you?”

You sighed, “Okay…well…you know how he’s in a secret relationship with Gavin Newsome?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, several years ago at an iWWINN® retreat, Gavin sort of blew me, and I didn’t stop him when Anderson walked in on us. I mean, Anderson acts all laid back on his show, but mark my words, he is one possessive little twat who never forgets anything. I mean, of course Gavin wanted to blow me. I don’t have prematurely white hair or a face that would make a better Muppet than a—“

Justin interrupted you, “This is insane. I feel like I’m getting punked or something.”

“That’s understandable. Just take it out on me, not Roger. This isn’t his fault. He’s just doing his job.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning,” he said and then got up to leave.

“Wait. Where are you going?” you asked, also jumping to your feet.

“Back to do the job you hired me to do. At least you trust me with that.”

*********************
I guess the change in my pocket just wasn’t enough

You didn’t want to leave that moment in that way with Justin, but when he’s dead set on digging his heels in, it’s in your best interest not to be underfoot, so you waited until around seven o’clock pm that night and went back over to Babylon with dinner for both of you in tow. You ate together in the Babylon office accompanied by stilted conversation and very little eye contact. He knew he’d pissed you off when you finally asked him, “What the fuck are so pissed about? “

“Seriously? You have to ask me that?”

“Yeah, because I don’t dare hazard a guess. You scold me for not being open with you and then you shut down like this.”

“Secrets. That’s what I’m pissed about, Brian. Secrets. I don’t like them, and you already know that anyway, so that makes it twice as bad.”

“What the fuck? You keep secrets from me sometimes. You don’t see me going all Midol on your ass.”

“Really? What secret have I kept from you?” he asked.

…..

“Well…the Eggo thing. You wouldn’t tell me about that. I had to figure that out by myself.”

Justin looked a little shocked, “What do you mean you figured it out?”

“It’s that fucking milk crate in your old studio. You sat on it and it gave you waffle-ass, and then Zeek fucked you.”

“Zeek told you that?”

“No, nobody told me shit. I saw what Richard looked like after he sat there during his break-up with Jon. He came out of there with marks all over his pants.” You knocked on your skull, “I’m smart like that.”

Justin sat back in his chair in a rather dramatic fashion and came at you hard, “The Eggo thing? You think a stupid secret like that is comparable to the secrets you keep from me? Honestly, Brian.”

You were honest, “Well, yeah, I sort of do.”

“Well, that’s fucking stupid. I kept that ‘secret’ so as not to embarrass you. The secrets you keep hurt me.”

“How does knowing about my freaking nutrition program hurt you? “

Justin stood up, walked around the desk and leaned against it with his arms crossed. He was standing so close you could feel the steam rising from his brain, “Did it ever occur to you that I might want to take care of you, Brian? That I married you so I could actually love you and not just when we’re naked? Every part of your life where I might be able to contribute, you farm out to some goddamn robot or hired help—“

“Justin, you hired the chef, not me.”

“Yeah, and thank god I did because, otherwise, you would have never told me about this cult you’re in.”

“Well, if you want to take care of me, then why’d you hire him in the first place?”

“Because…I’m not the best cook in the world, and I wanted both of us to eat well, eat healthy, and have our schedules free to pursue work and shit. I wanted to do that for you as your partner and then you have to come in and co-opt that, too. Hell, it’s not just co-opting; it’s corrupting. The only time I really feel like your equal is when we’re fucking.”

“Well, that’s about eighty percent of your life, so that’s pretty good,” you teased him. He flipped you off. “Justin, come on. I’m not trying to hurt you; I’m trying to make your life, hell our life care-free—“

“I don’t want my life to be ‘care-free;’ I want to care for you. That’s what makes me happy. Now, please get out of here so I can work. I’ve got a lot to do after we missed yesterday, and we shouldn’t discuss our personal problems here.”

“Justin---"

“Please. I just need some space, okay?”

You stood up and tried to stay, “You want me to drop out of the program? I will, okay. I’ll drop out.”

“No,” he said emphatically, “You’re missing the point. If you drop out, something else will just take its place. I want you to grasp what I’m saying to you. Now please, out. Let me work. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”

You left the office and walked the catwalk to the stairs. Halfway down, you stopped, frozen in thought. Your employees were testing the lights and the sound system all around you—everything was flashing and buzzing--and, yet, you just stood there…thinking.

…..

And thinking.

……

And then, slowly, you turned around and walked back to the Babylon office, knocked once on the door and opened it. Justin didn’t look startled; the security cameras were up on the wall in front of his desk; he probably watched you for those few minutes. And although he wasn’t surprised to see you, he did look worn out, his head resting in his hands. You closed the door behind you, leaned against it and made a request, “Can you come here for a minute?” He looked a little puzzled, but got up anyway and walked over to you. “I have something to say,” you offered before he could start up again.

“Okay,” he said…barely.

“When we were in New York we talked about having faith in each other, remember?” He nodded. “Sometimes I feel like you still don’t have any faith in me, like there’s a part of you that thinks this isn’t real…what we have…our life and everything…and all I can tell you from my side of the equation, is that this is as real as it gets…but…Justin, real doesn’t mean perfect.”

……

……

“I know. You’re right,” he conceded.

“And for what it’s worth, I do want you to take care of me—"

“I don’t just mean twenty-four/seven blow jobs, Brian.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not talking about blow jobs, Jesus.” You reached out and grabbed his upper arms, pulling him against you. “I mean this,” you said and then you kissed him—hard and fast--and yielding only when you pulled back for a second to tell him, “This is what I want when we part for a few hours or a whole day or whatever; in fact, I don’t just want it, I expect it. Think you can handle that?”

He smiled and looked almost embarrassed, “Yeah. I can handle that.”

“Good,” you said, and the kiss you gave him after that drew him up on his toes and made him initially compliant when you popped the button on his pants and slid your hand down inside his underwear. You were stroking his crack with your finger tip when he responded, “You’re my boss. You can’t sexually harass me at work.” He tried to grab your hand and stop its journey, but you grabbed his wrist and pinned it behind his back.

And then you reminded him, “It’s Thursday, you know. We always have a contest at Babylon on Thursday. What’s tonight’s?”

His eyes opened wide, “Oh shit, Brian. I forgot.”

“Well, you better come up with one.”

He rested his forehead on your chest, tapping his fingers, “Okay…let me think for a second…. okay, I’ve got it: ‘Tightest Butthole.’”

You raised your eyebrow and tried not to laugh, “And you think you’re qualified to judge a contest like that?”

“I have to be; you married me.”

Your tongue rolled inside your cheek, “I’m just going to double check this claim of yours if that’s all right with you.”

……

……

“I could sue you for this,” he breathed against your neck.

“Go right ahead,” you told him, “It’s worth it.”

All sections but the last one begin with dialogue from Queer as Folk. The last section is lyrics from Cee Lo Green’s Forget (Fuck) You.