Vance knocked on the office door of his new agency’s first junior partner and opened it without waiting for an answer. He didn’t want Kinney getting the mistaken idea that he could decide whether or not to let his boss in.
Kinney had had his new office for only a couple days, but already it looked like he’d been there a whole month – and not because he’d decorated it with the stuff from his old office. Everything was new. New desk, new chairs, new (leather) couch, new rug, new artwork . . . everywhere Vance looked, there was something new – including what looked like a state-of-the-art drafting table.
Kinney’s office was nicer than his – a fact that set Vance’s teeth on edge.
Kinney was looking out his window when Vance barged in, and Vance was impressed. He must have startled Kinney, but Kinney didn’t show it. His demeanor implied he’d been expecting Vance, even though he hadn’t been. It was six in the morning – Kinney had no reason to believe Vance was even in the building.
Damn, he was good. Too good.
Vance not only hadn’t wanted Kinney as a partner, he hadn’t wanted Kinney at all. He had planned on firing his arrogant ass first thing on Monday. Hell, he’d even had human resources draft the severance paperwork so Kinney could be escorted out of the building no later than lunchtime. He’d been that sure Kinney couldn’t pull off something that would justify keeping his shitty attitude and exorbitant salary.
Vance had to hand it to him – Kinney was one badass motherfucker. It was impossible not to respect him after snagging an account like Brown Athletics, but it definitely made it easier to dislike him.
“Nice view?” Vance asked when Kinney turned around.
“Nicer than my old one,” Kinney replied.
“Well, you are the agency’s first partner – only the best for the best,” Vance said with a wry smile, knowing full well that Kinney thought he was full of shit.
“And as such,” Kinney said, “I want an office for my assistant. No partner’s assistant should have to work in a cubicle along with the rest of the secretarial riffraff.”
“Done,” Vance said. “I’m assuming you want to keep . . . what’s her name?”
“Cynthia, and yes, I want to keep her,” Kinney replied. “I also want her to get a raise.”
Vance bristled. “Of course,” he said tightly.
Clearly, he had only one of two choices when it came to Kinney: either they were going to be “friends” or they were going to be out-and-out enemies. Vance quickly chose the former. He suspected Kinney was not a man you wanted to cross – even if he was a fag.
Kinney smiled and strolled over to the drafting table.
“Nice, huh?” he asked, running his hand over its surface as though he was stroking the neck of a trophy-winning thoroughbred.
“Very nice,” Vance agreed. “Tell me where you ordered it from, and I’ll get one myself.”
Kinney leaned against it and crossed his arms.
“So,” he said, looking into Vance’s eyes without blinking. “Were there any ‘homosexuals’ in Sigma Alpha Epsilon?”
Vance was startled by the question – and thus annoyed. He shrugged.
“Probably. I didn’t know any,” he said. “But there probably were.”
Kinney snorted. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you knew some.”
Vance felt uncomfortable. Where was this going? He tried to shift the topic.
“Were you in a fraternity?” he asked.
Kinney gave him a little twist of a smile. “No,” he said. “I wasn’t. Didn’t need to be, as you can see.” He spread his arms to encompass his fancy office.
“That’s too bad,” Vance said. “It was more than just networking, you know. We had a lot of fun – still do. Your SAE brothers are family forever. You can’t buy friendships like that.”
Kinney snorted again. “But you sure as hell have to pay to get in the door.”
He and Vance just stared at each other for a moment, sizing each other up. Eventually, Vance shrugged it off.
“So, do you golf?” he asked. “I ask because there’s a tournament coming up and I want to put together a team to represent our agency.”
There was no way Kinney played golf. No f-ing way.
“Sure,” Kinney replied. “Which course? South Hills or Edgewood?”
Vance was getting an eye tic. A blue-collar boy and a golfer. Kinney had to be bullshitting him. Time to up the ante.
“Edgewood,” he said. “But, of course, that’s a long way off. I was thinking about doing something sooner. Do you ski? I want to take some guys I know from Heinz to Vermont or some place. Ever do ad work for a company as big as Heinz, Kinney? If you want to keep an account like that it takes more than golf and cigars.”
Kinney blanched, and the muscles in his jaw tensed. Game, set, fucking match.
“Sure,” Kinney said, his voice flat. “I ski.”
Vance frowned and cocked his head. “I take it not well, though. Perhaps we could work in a few lessons for you before we go.”
“I ski just fine,” Kinney snapped.
Mawr!
“Great,” Vance said with jocularity and gave Kinney a good, ol’ guy punch in the arm. “I’ll have my assistant set something up. Any resort, in particular, you’d suggest?”
Kinney closed his eyes wearily with a sigh and then opened them again. “Just not Stowe,” he said.
Vance arched an eyebrow. He was going to follow-up on Kinney’s remark, but something in Kinney’s expression suggested he’d be taking things too far.
“Killington it’ll be then,” Vance said as he headed to the door. “Now get to work and start earning our agency money, Kinney, or we won’t be skiing with the Heinz guys at Killington – we’ll be skiing with a bunch of overweight supermarket managers on some piss-ant hill in West Virginia.”
He walked out and then down the hall toward his office, whistling all the way. So, Kinney had a chink in his armor like everyone else. The only question was what was it, and how could Vance use it to his advantage.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Justin was taking his last run of the day when his phone rang. He took off his gloves so he could fish it out of his pocket and looked at caller id. Michael. He let it go to voicemail along with all the rest of Michael’s calls and two of Ted’s. The only calls he was answering were from Daphne . . . and Brian.
The first of Brain’s calls had come three days into Justin’s trip.
*Ring Ring*
“Hi, Brian,” he’d said.
“Hey,” Brian had replied.
“What do you want?”
“Just seeing if you’re having a good time.”
“I am.”
Silence.
“Good. Fuck your hot boarding instructor for me.”
“I don’t need lessons.”
Silence.
“Okay, well then fuck someone else’s hot boarding instructor.”
“There are more interesting things to do here than fuck.”
Silence.
“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“Goodbye, Brian.”
He’d hung-up without waiting for a reply.
The following night the same thing happened at about the same time.
*Ring Ring*
“What you do want, Brian?” Justin had asked.
“Nothing. Just checking into see if you need anything,” Brian had replied.
“Nope. Everything’s fine.”
Silence.
“Yeah, I can tell from my credit card statements. Want my debit password so you can get more cash?”
“Fuck you.”
“Just trying to be a good boyfriend.”
“I said, fuck you, Brian.”
Brian had laughed a nasty, shitty little laugh.
“Nighty-night.”
This time he’d been the one to hang-up before Justin could reply.
The next night, Brian had been totally wasted.
*Ring Ring*
“Hi, Brian,” Justin had said.
“Helllooooo, Sunshine!” Brian had replied. “Hey, guezz where I am?”
“Babylon.”
“How’d ya know?”
“Because you’re always at Babylon.”
“That’z not true – sometimes I’m at the bathz.”
“Same difference.”
“Lizzen, Sunshine, I got BIGGG newz! I’m a partner now. I landed a big-ass, motherfuckin’ accownt. You shoulda seen me. I had the baztard at ‘hello’ – you woulda been . . . hic . . . imprezzed.”
“That’s nice. Congratulations.”
“No no no . . . you don’t get it, Sunshine. It’z better than fuckin’ nice. You think I’d’ve bailed on Vermountain if it wazn’t a BIG FUCKING DEAL?”
“I don’t know what you would’ve done, Brian.”
Silence.
“So, enjoying gettin’ poked in the pinez?”
“Yeah, actually, I am. I spent the night with the hottest guy ever last night. We were actually fucking when you called.”
“Hope I didn’t cauze coitdus . . . hic . . . interuptdiz. Tell me, Sunshine, did thiz guy make you so fuckin’ hot that you begged him to choke you with his gigantic, throbbing cock?”
“Shut up, Brian.”
“No, I wanna know. I wanna make sure yer having the bezt pozzible time ever. Did he fuck you so hard and for so long that you pazzed out? Did he suck all the come outta your ballz? Did he eat your ass and shoot hiz huge, hot load all over your chest? Did you scream for more, Sunshine? Did he tie you up and teaze you for so long that you wanted to sell your fuckin’ soul to the fuckin’ devil if he’ll juzt let you come? Did he do thoze thingz to you? Did he even do one of them?”
“Brian, I’m hanging up now . . .”
“No, no! Wait! Did I make you hard? I’m hard . . . let me lizzen to you come . . .”
“I thought you were at Babylon.”
“I am at Babylon! Here, I’ll prove it . . . hey, whatz yer name? . . . Jeremy? . . . Jeremy, I got my boyfriend on the phone here, say ‘hi.’ Sunshine? Jeremy would say ‘hi,’ but he can't with my cock stuffed down hiz greedy throat . . .”
“I’m going now, Brian. Have fun . . .”
“I’M NOT HAVING FUN!! I CAN’T HAVE FUN!”
“That’s really not my problem. Good night.”
Justin had been pretty sure that Brian wouldn’t call the following night, but he had.
*Ring Ring*
“Hi, Brian,” Justin had said.
“Hey,” Brian had replied.
Silence.
More silence.
“I got Cynthia a raise.”
“That’s nice.”
Silence.
“So . . . coming home soon?”
“The day my flight leaves.”
“I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“No need. I’ll take a cab. Besides, I’ll be arriving during the day, and you’ll be at work, and we know how important work is . . .”
“Justin . . .”
“I’m sorry. That was shitty. Look, let’s not fight, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you in a couple days.”
“Okay.”
“And, Brian?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t call me again.”
Silence.
“Okay.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Justin was about to put his phone back in his pocket and finish his run, but suddenly the clouds parted, and evening sunlight spilled like molten gold over the snow-covered peaks of the surrounding mountains. It was so beautiful. Tears filled Justin’s eyes – not only because of the way the sight moved his soul, but because he had so, so, so wanted to experience a moment just like this one with Brian at his side.
He closed his eyes. He’d been strict with himself about not thinking about Brian, and he’d been fairly successful, but this time he set his imagination free. He could see Brian, leaning on his ski poles and squinting at the horizon. The day was warm enough that they wouldn’t have had to wear hats, so Brian’s hair would be washed in the same gold light that was caressing the world around them. His cheeks would be slightly red from days of being outside in brisk, healthy air. It was almost five and they’d have been on the slopes all day, so there’d be just a hint of beard on Brian’s face. Together they’d watch the sun slowly sink behind the mountains, peacefully aware of each other’s presence. After a minute or two, just before the sun disappeared, Brian would wet his chapped lips and lean toward Justin for a kiss. They’d meet halfway, and Brian would take off his gloves and cup Justin’s face in his hands. Their kiss would be as hungry as their kisses always were, but it would also be playful because that was what Justin would have discovered about Brian – that beneath the cold swagger and cutting words was someone timelessly happy, maybe even capable of contentment.
God! Justin was so very, very deeply in love with that Brian – with the Brian he would’ve found and started getting to know. But that Brian had been torn away from him by Babylon-Brian, by the Brian who cared more about his job than he did about their life together.
As soon as the sun vanished, darkness and cold fell like the swoop of a giant crow, turning the snowy trail before him into a purple ribbon leading back to the bottom of the mountain – back toward an empty bed and away from what, in the end, was nothing more than a childish dream.