A Slight Inconvenience

LaVieEnRose

Derek and I both still lived with our respective parents, which was a fucking annoyance and the worst, but it's New York City so what are you gonna do? Gather at Justin's apartment every fucking time we got together, that's what. But then I had the good sense to hook up with Samantha, who had this amazing apartment in SoHo, because I fucking know how to pick them, thank you very much, so finally we could switch it up and not always eat Justin's food and smoke Brian's weed. Not that that wasn't great and everything, but since Brian was now my boss I figured I should probably show, like, an ounce more respect. Maybe. Half an ounce.

So anyway, tonight we were at Samatha's place. Her cousins were in town, and Derek invited people from his D&D group, so it was gonna be a pretty good crowd. Are Justin and Brian coming? she asked me.

Justin is. Brian can't, he has four major presentations tomorrow. Clients in all day. Very, very important.

She rolled her eyes. Oh, this is fun.

What! I'm just saying, we've been preparing for this day for a month and he's got speeches and proposals and visual aids and—

I just wanted to know if I needed to cut up some celery or some shit so Brian would have something to eat.

I was still giggling about that when her cousins got there, then Derek, then a whole bunch of D&D guys. Justin came in on their heels, and he kissed cheeks and smiled but he looked kind of pale, and after a while he camped out on the couch and got really quiet. I didn't have a whole ton of time to worry about that, though, because there were jello shots, and Samantha came up to me with one of her straps slipping down her shoulder, and the next thing I knew we were on top of the pile of coats on her bed, and her mouth was on my neck, and party, what party?

The lights flickered, and I raised a hand and signed no without looking up from the soft skin on Samantha's collarbone. They flickered again, and Samantha rolled off of me and I sat up. It was Derek, standing in the doorway and looking sheepish. What? I said.

Sorry. I think someone should text Brian. Or maybe Daphne? Justin looks like shit.

Brian, I said. Definitely Brian. What's wrong?

He's holding his head and he really doesn't look right. Derek took out his phone and texted. Okay, he said he knew it and he'll come get him.

Samantha nudged me. I thought Brian had all those presentations.

Yeah, and guess what kind of attitude he's going to be stomping around with tomorrow if he finds out I texted Daphne before him.

Samantha and I straightened ourselves up and we all went back out to the party. I sat with Justin and convinced him to drink a glass of water while Samantha managed the rest of the party and kept people from bothering him, since she still didn't know him all that well. I'd seen Justin sick, fuck, I visited him in the hospital when he had those burns, so none of this was new and scary for me. And he was okay. Just dizzy, he said, but he looked relieved when I told him Brian was on his way.

Sorry, he said. This is embarrassing.

You're so fucking weird about this shit. Relax.

Derek met Brian at the door with a quick kiss—he's getting the hang of being friends with queers, only took knowing me for fifteen goddamn years—and pointed towards the couch. Brian had a brief conversation with him I couldn't see much of, but I saw Brian sign mother so I figured he was asking Derek to tell his mom, Justin's boss, that he wouldn't be coming in the next day. Brian didn't come right over to the couch; he helped himself to a handful of chips, complimented Samantha's dress, and circled the room, watching Justin with his eyes narrowed, like he was figuring out a strategy. Finally he swept over, messed up my hair—I slapped him away—and tapped two fingers on Justin's knee.

Justin looked up and smiled a little.

I told you so, Brian said.

Don't give me that shit, this is your fault.

Fifty-fifty. Ready to go?

Justin nodded and stood up shakily. Brian stood close but didn't help him. Told you you'd get to rescue me soon enough, Justin said.

We'll see, I'm out of practice. Where's your coat?

I'll get it, I said. I went back to Samantha's bedroom and dug Justin's red coat out of the pile. Brian supervised but didn't help Justin get slowly into his jacket, then turned to me and gave me a light punch under my chin.

Watch the drinking, he said. Need you sharp tomorrow. And then he smiled like nothing was wrong, tucked Justin under his arm, and was out the door.

**

Everyone was running around in the morning getting the office ready for all the clients coming in. Cynthia had a new vase of flowers on her desk, picked up by yours truly, and we had boards and banners ready to go and switch out as the day went on and different accounts arrived. This was a multi-million dollar day, Cynthia had told me last week, and about an hour after that it hit me that she wasn't exaggerating. I had to borrow heels from my mom!

Cynthia's job was to meet the clients at the door and gush and lead them to Brian, and my job was to do everything else that she wasn't doing while she did that. I was sitting at her desk, which made me feel professional as hell, when Marcus, one of the office managers, came and dropped a note on my desk. I use the staff interpreter for meetings and things like that, but one-on-one I mostly manage on my own. I'm a decent enough lipreader and Cynthia's a serviceable signer, plus it's an office so most of the important stuff is over email anyway. It's not like I've never dealt with hearing people before.

Does Cynthia know Justin's here? I'm supposed to be setting up boards in Kinney's office and Justin's on his couch the note said.

I looked up. Justin's there to stay? I might know how to deal with hearing people, but that does not mean I'm speaking to them. I'll mouth some English words and that's usually enough for them to piece together simple sentences. Emily St. Boroughs speaks for no man. And most people in the office knew a few signs at that point anyway, and if they didn't they fucking would by the time I was done with them.

Marcus nodded.

Why is Justin here? He's sick.

“I think that's why,” he said.

What did Brian say?

“He told me to fuck off.”

He told you to fuck off?

“Yeah.”

I got up and walked as fast as I could in these fucking heels to Cynthia by the door and handed her Marcus's note. “Fuck,” she said.

He was sick last night, I said.

Yeah, Brian only brings him in when he's too sick to be on his own. Usually he just sleeps on the couch, which is fine when we don't have fucking clients coming in.

What should I do? I said.

Okay, go to Brian's office, see where he wants me to bring StarWood when they get here in fucking five minutes, and see if you can get a read on where his head is. If I have to move these meetings to Isabel, I'll do it.

I wobbled myself down the hall to Brian's office. He was sitting at his desk, writing something down. I knocked, and he waved me in without looking up.

Justin was curled up against the arm of the couch, his knees up to his chest and his face hidden in his arms, feet sticking out from under a blanket. He was shivering, not like when he has a seizure or anything, but like he was cold. I couldn't tell if he was awake, but either way he looked like he was trying really, really hard to pretend he wasn't here.

Brian stamped on the floor, and I jumped and turned around. Did you need something? he said. I learned pretty quickly on in this job that Friend Brian and Boss Brian are not the same person. He's not mean to me at work or anything, but it's not like I spend time hanging out in his office shooting the shit. And I send him emails addressed to Miiiiiiister Kinney.

I looked at Justin.

Brian waved his hand at me. Emily, he said, with a stern look. I guess Justin wasn't the only one pretending Justin wasn't here.

I said, Cynthia wants to know if you're ready.

It's eight fifty-six. Isn't StarWood coming at nine?

Yes...

Then you can assume I'm ready, can't you? He stood up and showed off his suit, doing a little spin and straightening his cuffs. Don't I look ready?

He did. Not a hair out of place. Definitely didn't look like someone with a sick boyfriend. He raised his eyebrow again, like a challenge.

I said, Do you still want to meet them in here, or...?

His expression faltered, just for a second. Uh, no. I'll meet them in the conference room. Tell Marcus to set it up. Quickly, please.

Do you want me to stay with Justin while you're—

Nope. I want you to do your job, can you do your job?

Before I could answer, Justin reached over to the table beside the couch and tried to drink from a small bottle of water, but he was shaking too hard and it fell out of his hands and spilled on the floor, and he hit the couch in frustration and balled himself back up. Brian produced some napkins from a drawer in his desk and strode over and cleaned it up, barely glancing at Justin but resting one hand on his knee. Justin pushed his face into the couch.

Well? Brian said to me, standing back up. He tugged the blanket so it covered Justin's feet.

I shook my head. Yeah. Okay. Sorry. I'll tell Cynthia the conference room. I forced myself not to turn and look at Justin again as I left, but right as I was about to go Brian stamped on the floor again, and I turned around.

Brian studied me, and he looked like my friend, all of a sudden. He's fine, he said. The medications he's on are strong and sometimes the side effects get the better of him. He'll be better tomorrow.

I felt sort of embarrassed, which was dumb as shit, because Justin was one of my best friends and he was curled up miserable; I was allowed to be concerned. But that's how Brian always is when something's wrong with Justin. He manages everything so tightly. There's no room for sympathy, or worry, or for anyone who isn't him and Justin. Businesslike.

I said, Yeah, okay.

Tell Cynthia I'm on my way to the conference room.

Okay.

Thank you.

Justin squirmed out from under the blanket and said Stop banging on the floor, to Brian.

Brian smiled at him, his eyes like melted chocolate. No.

**

The presentation went off without a hitch. I didn't even need Stephanie's interpretation to see Brian charm the fucking pants off of StarWood Electronics. They were hanging on his every fucking word, and when we said goodbye to them and got them into their limo—their limo!—I could practically see the dollar signs.

What time is it? Brian asked Cynthia as the three of us headed back from seeing them out. He was walking way faster than I wanted to in these heels.

Nearly eleven, Cynthia said.

How long until the next one?

They texted that they're going to be early, Cynthia said. Twenty minutes.

Early. Phenomenal.

Cynthia said, Marcus is flipping the conference room now.

Remind me which one this is? He led us into his office and went straight to the couch. Justin was sitting up, twisted up like a pretzel and half-asleep, and Brian sat down next to him and worked on untangling him.

Acclaim, I said.

Right. Bicycles. He pulled Justin towards him and palmed his forehead, then dug through Justin's backpack and took out one of those blood pressure machines. Justin rolled up sleeve, and I gave him a little wave, and he smiled a little and gave me one back. Did Stephenson get back to us about the comps we sent? Brian asked, fastening it around Justin's arm.

All he'd say was... Cynthia started, then looked at me. Probably a little bit complicated for her to sign, but I'd seen the emails.

He was eager to get to talk to you about it in person, I finished.

Gotta love suspense, Brian said, as Justin winced while the cuff tightened. Okay, let's make sure the comps are the first thing he sees when walks into the conference room, all right? They're fucking good, and if he has a problem with them I don't want to waste half an hour pitching him a campaign based around them if he's just going to make us come up with something new. He took the cuff off of Justin and checked the readout on the machine. Uh, all right. Change of plans. Tell Marcus we're meeting in here. He gave Justin's cheek a quick kiss.

In here? Cynthia said.

In here. Emily, could you get me some water?

I went to his water cooler in the corner and filled a plastic cup. Cynthia said, Brian, are you sure—

Yep, and it'll be completely fine. Go tell Marcus, please, we need to get set up. Cynthia left, and I brought the water back to Brian. He handed it to Justin and guided his hand up to his mouth. There you go. Wasted enough water today.

Maybe we just get Isabel to do this one? I said.

Brian shook his head, still casual as can be. Justin's just gonna hang out. Won't be any trouble, will you, Sunshine? Justin's told me that's what that sign means, that it's a nickname he's had since he was a kid and they weren't going to lose it when he went Deaf, even though we're not big on nicknames, or using names at all, really. Really the way they sign it looks more like Shower. These late in life Deafies, you can't trust 'em with anything.

Justin shook his head a little, sipping the water. No trouble.

See? Brian smiled at me, cupping the back of Justin's neck. We're fine.

Brian had Marcus set up chairs and set the boards up on the opposite side of the room from Justin, so everyone was facing away from him. He was asleep and under his blanket again before anyone came in, and they all glanced at him in confusion and Brian smoothly drew their attention away, and that was it. At one point, halfway through the presentation, their CFO asked Brian a question, and Brian answered as he walked to the closet for another blanket and lay it over Justin—who, I saw when I turned my head, had started to shiver harder—without ever pausing what he was saying or losing eye contact, striding right back over to the boards when he was done.

The guy was good.

**

Justin got up to use the bathroom and kind of wander the office while we prepared for the next client. Brian leaned against his desk, legs crossed, trying to go over our talking points for Spike Sneakers, but he kept getting distracted when Justin would walked past him. Finally he said, Hey, Forrest Gump. How about taking a breather?

Justin rubbed his forehead. Forrest Gump?

Walked across America.

Justin sat back down on the couch. I think he ran.

Well, yeah, he probably had a blood pressure higher than seven and a half over four or whatever the fuck yours was.

I feel like I'm underwater.

Well, next time don't fuck up and take your anticonvulsant twice in four hours. I told you you should have just stuck your finger down your throat when you realized, but no, someone's too prissy.

You were the one who convinced me I hadn't taken it yet, and it wouldn't have fucked me up this badly if my dosage weren't already jacked up from you being fucking paranoid! I told you I was going to crash on this much. He was shaking so much it was hard to understand some of his signs, but I got it all because I'm amazing at sign language, and Brian got it because he always knows what Justin's saying.

Brian said, Yeah, and now you have the moral high ground! Isn't that worth feeling like crap for a day?

Justin glared at him, and Brian shot back a cheesy grin.

Can you do the next one somewhere else? Justin said. I don't want them to stare at me.

No one's staring at you. You're not that interesting.

Justin pulled the blanket up over his head. Brian rolled his eyes and went over to the couch and fished out one of Justin's wrists to take his pulse.

You want to meet them in here again? Cynthia asked. She probably hadn't been able to follow the conversation between Brian and Justin.

Brian tapped his fingers over his mouth.

“Brian,” Cynthia said.

I'm thinking.

I'll stay with him, I said. Risky move, but it felt right, and Brian looked at me differently than he had when I offered that morning.

You're supposed to be learning, he said.

I learned in the first two meetings.

Brian hesitated.

I'm your assistant, I said. I'm assisting you.

You are not my assistant. You're her assistant.

Yes I am. Transitive property.

Does anyone follow you when you fingerspell that fast?

So maybe because of that, and maybe because I knew it would work, I fingerspelled Brian, nice and slowly. Not his sign name, which could theoretically be a nice respectful Mr. Kinney. Brian. I am your friend. I'm his friend. Let me help you.

Cynthia looked between the two of us, because the significance of me spelling out his name like that was definitely lost on her, but Brian got it. He's not a bad Deaf person, for a hearing guy.

All right, he said. He ran a hand absently over Justin, through the blanket. Come get me if he dies.

Okay.

On the way out of the office, he signed, small, Update me in an hour, and kissed my cheek.

**

Mostly Justin slept, and I sat at Brian's desk and put my feet up and played with his little toys and pretended this was my agency. Maybe someday. I'd never thought of myself as a white collar sort of girl, but this shit was all right. I'd be the first Deaf billionaire.

Justin stirred after a little while and looked at me. How long have I been asleep?

Just a few months. I moved up the ranks pretty quick. How you doing?

He pulled his legs up. I'll live. Just a bad day.

I tossed him a can of Play-Doh—Brian's desk has the best shit!—and he opened it up and squished it around.

Did you really take your meds twice? I asked him.

I got confused!

You're so stupid!

He tried to throw the Play-Doh with me, but he was so shaky that it just went somewhere to the right of Brian's desk.

Nice, I said.

He flopped down on the couch. Shut up.

I got up and went and sat by his feet. Come here, let's cuddle.

Okay. He squirmed around until his head was on my lap and I played with his hair.

Brian acts like such a jerk when you're sick, I said.

He yawned. I know. I love it. And I think right there is the only explanation there is for their relationship, or the only explanation anyone deserves, anyway. Justin needs someone to remind him not to take shit too seriously, and Brian needs someone to remind him that his tough act isn't fooling everyone. Keeps them mortal, I guess. So Brian acts bored and dismissive, and Justin gives him knowing glances, and...I don't know. I get it.

I laughed. Me too.

He was asleep again when I went to update Brian. I stood outside the door of the conference room, not sure if I was supposed to just walk in or wait for him to stop in his presentation and invite me, but after a second he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, still speaking, and wiggled his fingers, kind of a Well...?

Oh, okay! His nose was bleeding, but he said that was okay?

That's fine, he signed, so fucking small that anyone who wasn't looking for it would think he was just scratching his chest or something.

He said he wants to go home.

No.

Brian came back to his office about an hour later, while I was playing solitaire on his computer and Justin was checking his blood pressure again. You better not have gotten blood on my couch, you little shit.

Tons. Buckets.

Feeling better?

Justin pouted and flopped down on the cushions.

Cool, good to know.

**

I went out and got lunch for me and Cynthia and Brian, like most days, and we ate in his office while we strategized for our last meeting. Justin was half-awake, leaning on Brian with his face pressed into his side and a blanket around his shoulders. Brian ate his sandwich and sorted through files and pretty much ignored him, though even with the signing and eating he kept the arm Justin was on very still.

How many fucking products do they expect us to have ideas for? I said. And does this company even have a fucking focus? How much shit do they make?

It's the whole parent company, Brian said. And they want someone for every one of their little branches. Multi-million dollar a year advertising budget.

Holy shit, I said.

Brian nodded. Holy shit indeed.

We still need something for the silent fireworks, Cynthia said.

Brian read over a page about them. Silent fireworks. Who the fuck wants these? He took a bite of his sandwich, shook the shoulder Justin was against to dislodge him, and held the sandwich up to him. Justin made a face, but when Brian didn't move it he took a small bite, then shook his head and shoved it away.

Families with dogs, Cynthia said.

Christ, that's bleak. He looked at me. Do you want this?

You can't just market everything to Deaf people, I said.

I spent ten years marketing everything to gay people. It works.

Well, no, we don't want silent fireworks, I said. You can feel them in your stomach. It's awesome.

Brian sighed. Fuck. Abandoned by the Deaf community.

PTSD, Justin said, rubbing his forehead.

Brian turned to him, and said, Hey, what? surprisingly gently.

Veterans with PTSD, Justin said. Fourth of July is supposed to celebrate them, they hate the noise of the fireworks. Market it as being sensitive to veterans and places will be falling over themselves to show how much they support the troops.

Brian stared at him for a beat, then turned to us. See, this. This is why you shack up. He lifted Justin's chin and kissed him. My little genius.

Can I go home now?

No. He fixed the blanket over Justin's shoulders. But you might have just made us a few million dollars.

I'd rather go home.

Brian gave him a quick squeeze and let him go. You up to being left alone? I want Emily to see this one.

Justin shook his head and slid down into Brian's lap.

Okay, Brian said, chuckling a little. Cynthia, can you take this one?

She blinked. You got it, Brian. Won't let you down.

On they way out, I asked her, He's giving you a multi-million dollar meeting?

Keep a straight face, she said. You and me are going places, kid.

**

Cynthia fucking killed it. God, my boss is so fucking cool! Like, Brian's good and everything, but holy shit, Cynthia! I wished so badly in that moment that she signed better because as soon as I watched Stephanie interpret for her I realized how much fucking personality she has that she couldn't really convey yet. I couldn't wait for her to get better so we could talk more. Holy shit, I wanted her to run my life. Next time I was gonna borrow her heels.

The company loved her. The second they were gone we jumped up and down and Cynthia hugged me. I felt bad about it since like, my good friend was so sick and everything, but fuck this was just the best day.

We floated back to Brian's office, where he was asleep on the couch with Justin curled up on top of him. He opened his eyes and put a palm on Justin's head. Well?

We got it, Cynthia said.

Fuck yes. I knew you would. He carefully displaced Justin and went over to his desk while Justin rubbed his eyes. And to celebrate... he said, taking out his checkbook, and he glanced up at us and then wrote and tore two checks. Bonuses for everyone. He looked at Justin, shrugged, and wrote a third one. And a consultant's fee.

He handed them out and...what the fuck. Emily St. Boroughs. Twenty thousand dollars.

So...yeah. This was a pretty fucking great day.

Cynthia and I kind of just stood there gaping at him, and Brian grinned and clapped his hands together. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get my person out of here. He craned his neck over to Justin. Ready?

No, Justin said.

I said, You've been wanting to go home all day!

Brian laughed. What? Look at him. We're not going home and he knows it.

Justin pouted.

Brian helped him off the couch, steadying him as he wavered on his feet. I was amazing today, he said to Justin, small, intimate. And you. You were amazing.

Justin blushed. I slept on your couch and came up with an idea you would have thought of thirty seconds later.

Brian shrugged. Well, time is money. He helped Justin into his jacket. Come on. Next stop, hospital.

Oh, joy.

Thank you for a great day, Brian said, kissing my cheek, then Cynthia's. See you in the morning and we'll do it again. He slung his arm over Justin's shoulder and brought him out of the office.

Cynthia and I looked at each other, and she just laughed. Same time tomorrow? she said.

I'll be here.