Chapter 11 - Everybody Has A Plan.

“Wakey, wakey, Boy Wonder! Time to rise and shine,” an annoyingly cheerful voice demanded as someone jostled Tristan’s shoulder. 

He blinked at the too-bright morning and groaned. “Wha . . . Ugh. What time is it?”

“It’s late. Afraid I overslept a bit. So you better hustle.” 

Tristan was finally awake enough to understand that it was the idiot Brunet Guy who was acting like some high-octane fool and being all overly-morning-like but not what the guy meant. He picked up his double’s phone, which had been sitting on the end table next to his couch-bed, and hit the home button to light up the screen. Then he groaned again and flopped back on the pillows. 

“Seriously, Dude? Seven-thirty in the fucking am? What the hell are you doing waking me up at fucking dawn?” Tristan growled and pulled the blanket back up so it covered his face, keeping the light out.

Brunet Guy wasn’t deterred in the least, though. On his way back from the kitchenette, he passed by the couch and pulled the blankets all the way off the bed, taking them with him as he headed towards his room. “No going back to sleep. You have twenty minutes to get up, grab a shower if you want one, and then we’re out of here. I want to leave enough time to stop by the Diner and pick up breakfast and I still have to drop you off at Kinnetik on my way to the Big Q.”

“Kinnetik?” They had been up playing Ghost of Tsushima until almost three in the morning, so it wasn’t a surprise that his brain wasn’t operating on all cylinders. 

“Uh, yeah. You know, the place where you work?” Brunet Guy laughed at him, but then handed him a mug of coffee which made up for the dissing. Sort of. “Come on. Get your ass in gear. I’m not going to be late because of Brian’s pet artist.”

The caffeine helped a bit and,after a few more sips, Tristan was finally able to function enough to get to the bathroom and take a piss. He took his time in the shower, enjoying, for once, not being rushed or having to share a bathroom with a dozen other guys. A shower where the hot water didn’t give out after five minutes was a bonus. This was almost unheard of luxury for a street kid. If the Brunet Guy hadn’t come pounding on the door, harassing him to get out about fifteen minutes later, he would have stayed in there all fucking day. 

Still dripping from the shower, a towel wrapped negligently around his hips, Tristan shuffled out of the bathroom to where he’d left his bag of loot on the floor next to the couch. Nudity was sort of a way of life for the young hustler; most of the time he didn’t even really notice it anymore. So he didn’t think twice about just whipping off the towel after he pulled some fresh clothes out. Apparently, though, that was a surprising development for the other occupants of the apartment. 

“My, my, my! Am I still dreaming or did I just wake up to a real live porn show in my very own living room?” the Swishy one exclaimed the minute he came out of his own room and found a naked twink standing in the middle of his living room in all his pale, blond glory. “No wonder Brian’s gone so head over heels with THAT in his bed every night.” He sighed exaggeratedly and pretended to wipe a bit of drool from the corner of his big gap-toothed grin. “Just do me a favor and promise you won’t tell our favorite Stud that I caught a glimpse of his golden treasure all in the buff, because he might be just a tiny bit jealous and I really like my balls where they are . . .”

Tristan rolled his eyes but took the hint and pulled on a pair of pants before the big queen totally lost it. In his head he was cussing himself out for forgetting his role again. Of course the sweet, innocent little Justin wouldn’t dare to be seen naked by anyone other than ‘His Brian’; the kid was obviously a total prude. Tristan was just too tired to have remembered to play act the part of his clone, but if he didn’t want to get caught, he really did need to up his game. Getting sloppy would get him pinched.

Luckily, Swishy mistook his embarrassment at letting his con slip for modesty. Emmett chuckled and left Tristan to finish getting ready. Which didn’t take long. Living on the streets for as long as he had meant that he was good at moving quickly when he had to; and it wasn’t like his daddy or the johns cared what he looked like, so Tristan wasn’t exactly in the habit of primping. By the time Brunet Guy came out of his bedroom a couple of minutes later, yelling at his house guest to get a move on, Tristan was basically ready to go.   

By eight o’clock Brunet Guy was pushing him out of the apartment. Tristan started to pick up the duffle bag full of his haul from the night before, but the Swishy one demanded he leave it there, saying there wasn’t any sense in dragging his clothing around all day when he was coming back again that night. That went against everything the little thief had ever been taught; you didn’t leave your stash anywhere unless it was locked up good and safe. However, Tristan couldn’t think up any logical way to argue the point, so he was reluctantly forced to leave the bag. He hoped nothing would go wrong or make it a hassle to get back here and retrieve it later on.

Then they were off, heading back to that same dive diner as the night before, where the same annoying waitress glommed all over him before he could even get his breakfast ordered. 

Not Tristan’s idea of a great morning.

It got worse from there, though. After being rushed through breakfast - he’d ordered the biggest meal on the menu, because free food, right? - Brunet Guy had pushed him into the passenger seat of some crappy little Plymouth Colt hatchback for the trip to ‘the office’. When they arrived at the fancy office building he’d been staking out for the past week or so, Brunet Guy pulled over. Michael seemed to expect Tristan to get out, so that’s what he did, although he had no idea what he was expected to do next. 

“I’ll swing by and pick you up about six, after my shift is done. Then we’ll head over to Woody’s for happy hour with the guys. And, maybe, if you’re feeling up to it tonight, we’ll hit Babylon,” Brunet Guy offered, getting only a shrug from Tristan, which seemed enough for him. “Well, see ya later, Boy Wonder.”

Then he was gone and Tristan was left standing alone on the sidewalk outside the upscale office building where the Kinney guy’s advertising agency was located. Tristan looked up at the renovated four-story building on the north side of Liberty Avenue and tried to think what he should do next. He was tempted to just leg it. He didn’t want to give up on his con yet, not when his goody bag full of the stuff he’d lifted from Kinney’s was still back at the Brunet Guy’s apartment, but there was no reason he couldn’t find an out-of-the-way place to hole up for the day.  He’d just come back here to meet the dweeb at six. The only question was where to go. He didn’t want to head off to one of his usual hang outs and risk Hugo finding him and giving him shit for disappearing for so long. At least, not till he had the loot he planned to give Hugo to fence for him. But that didn’t leave him a lot of options for where to hang out for the day. He still had the cash he’d taken from Kinney’s place, so if worse came to worst he’d just find some coffee shop or something and hide out there, he thought. 

While he was still trying to decide where to go, though, he was interrupted by the arrival of yet another of his double’s ‘friends’ and Tristan’s plan to escape was dashed. 

“Morning, Justin!” an overly-enthusiastic voice coming from behind him chirped. Tristan turned around to find the guy he’d christened ‘Mr. Desperation’ standing there grinning at him like a total dweeb. When he didn’t immediately react, the guy frowned. “You don’t seem your usual, cheerful self this morning. Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Tristan fumbled, unsure how to respond, then added, “I, uh, didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Mr. Desperation nodded as if he understood perfectly. “I get it. You’re probably missing Brian. Plus, sleeping over at Michael’s and all . . . Personally, I can never sleep in a strange place, either.” He clapped Tristan on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. “But at least it’s only for a couple nights. The Boss is supposed to be back tomorrow, right?”

“That’s what he said. Either tomorrow or Friday,” Tristan answered with a shrug.

“Well, good thing we’ve got plenty of work to keep us busy in the meantime. The busier the better, I always say. It makes the time go by faster,” Mr. Dullwit the Desperate twittered as he guided Tristan’s shoulders around so they could enter the office building together. 

So much for his plan to bugger off and hide out for the day in some coffee shop.

Desperation held the door open and ushered his captive inside. The lobby of the building was nice enough but kinda sparsely decorated. Tristan thought the furniture looked cheap and generic. Not what Tristan would have expected of a flashy guy like Kinney. But then again, what did he know about business shit, right? They took the stairs up to the second floor and Desperation preceded him in through the door of the office space located just to the right off the landing. Again, the little couch and two matching chairs in the reception area looked just as boring and beige as the stuff down in the lobby. It was nothing like the posh stuff he’d seen in the guy’s loft. This crap looked more like the cheap furniture he was used to seeing in the hotels his johns sometimes took him to. Maybe this Kinney guy wasn’t as loaded as he seemed? 

The only thing that was at all entertaining to look at was the gorgeous blonde chick sitting behind the front desk. “Justin! Perfect timing. I need someone with an artistic eye to help me go through these new listings our realtor sent over. Brian wants me to winnow them down to no more than five possibles and set up time for all of us to go see them on Monday. Only, none of these places seem right for the future headquarters of Kinnetik International,” Ms. Thang said with a sexy smile aimed his way.

“Sure, Doll. Show me whatcha got,” Tristan drawled with a little half wink at the attractive woman who, even though she was a little older than him, was still definitely on the fuckable side. 

Clearly that had been the wrong way to react, however, because the woman immediately gave him the stink eye. “Justin? What’s going on?” 

Okay, so obviously, judging by the dental floss’ reaction, Tristan’s double wasn’t bisexual. Or at least he probably hadn’t ever tried to hit on Ms. Thang before. She did not look at all amused. And, if he didn’t want to blow his cover, he was going to have to dial back on the attitude a little. He had to remember he was supposed to be an innocent little pussy boy. Coming on to the hired help - especially when that included those of a female persuasion - was definitely not on brand for a milksop like Justin. 

“Sorry, uh, I’m not feeling great this morning . . .” he lied, trying to look weak and wimpy.

“Justin said he didn’t sleep well last night over at Michael’s,” Mr. Desperation cut in, making excuses for him. 

Ms. Thang didn’t look completely placated but at least she didn’t say anything more. 

“So, real estate listings?” Desperate asked, trying to break the awkward silence. “That’s good news. I’m sure we’ll all be glad to get out of these temporary offices and into our own space. Plus, we’re going to need the room if we want to hire enough help to handle all the new accounts Brian and Justin keep bringing in.” He turned to Tristan with a grin. “I heard you were the one who came up with the idea to approach the Tropical Smoothie Cafe folks; Brain showed me the logo you designed for them. I gotta say it’s a 100% improvement over what they had before. But, there’s no way just the four of us can handle any more work on our own. If we bring them in too, Brian’s gonna HAVE to hire at least one more artist and maybe a couple of account reps.” Then he turned to Ms. Thang and looked at her with his Desperate little smile. “So, better get going on finding us those new offices, Cynthia. The sooner the better.”

Aha! Her name was ‘Cynthia’. That was a hot name. Ms. Thang definitely looked like a Cynthia too; she was spicy and bossy and . . . What he wouldn’t give to take her right there across the damn desk.

“What do you think of this one, Justin?” Cynthia asked him, pulling him out of the fantasy he’d been having about the damned desk. 

He looked at the listing sheet she handed him showing a typical highrise glass and steel office building. “It’s kinda . . . meh,” he replied. “Doesn’t have much personality.”

Ms. Thang nodded in agreement and set that flyer aside. The three of them stood around the front desk looking through the entire stack of listing sheets for the next twenty minutes, without much better luck. All the potential offices the realtor had pulled together for them to look at were pretty much the same. The same tall, nondescript buildings. The same vanilla office spaces. Most all of them within the same ten square block area of downtown. And, judging solely by the prices indicated on those listing sheets - figures that made Tristan’s head explode just thinking about all that cheddar - you’d think the realtor coulda come up with something a little more eye-catching. Something that had some pop to it. Kinney was an advertising guy, right? Tristan figured somebody in advertising needed a better hook than a plain vanilla office space. 

“These places all kinda suck,” Tristan exclaimed as he tossed the last of the listing sheets back onto Cynthia’s desk with disgust. The shocked stares he got from both of the others reminded him that the guy he was pretending to be didn’t ever curse. “Um . . . What I mean is, none of these places look like My Brian,” he amended, feeling like he wanted to puke after saying that kind of sap.

“True,” Mr. Desperation agreed, frowning down at the mess of real estate flyers. “I can’t picture the Brian I know being comfortable in some generic, cookie-cutter office tower.”

“Agreed.” Cynthia pursed her mouth up as if trying to suppress a smile. “Then again, if we’re going for someplace Brian would feel comfortable, we’d have to move our offices to the back room of Babylon.”

“That would work,” Mr. Desperation laughed. “Or, even better, the Liberty Baths. That way, when Brian’s nervous about giving a presentation, he won’t have to picture the clients naked, because they’ll already be that way for real.”

Both Ted and Cyndy were cracking themselves up, offering up more and more unlikely places to put their new offices. All of their suggestions were getting seedier and seedier. Apparently, The Stud got around to some pretty low-life dives. But, while they had been laughing, Tristan had actually come up with an idea that might just work for these losers. 

“You know,” he offered when the laughing hyenas had finally quieted down a bit, “there is one place around that Kinney might like.” The others looked up at his serious tone, paying real attention to him, which kinda felt good for a change. “There’s this empty bath house over off of Smithfield, down by the University. It’s been closed for ages, and it would probably need a ton of work, but it’s kind of a cool old building. I’m sure you could pick it up for practically nothing and, if you renovated, it could end up being pretty swank.” Both Ted and Cynthia stared at him like he was insane. “What? You were the ones who said Brian would be most comfortable in a bath house?”

“Well, it’s not the craziest idea I’ve ever heard,” Mr. Desperate finally conceded with a tilt of his head and a two-shouldered shrug. “Wait . . . You’re not talking about the old White Swallow are you?” Tristan nodded. “Man, that place was a total pit. Wasn’t it closed down for health code violations a couple years ago?” Cynthia snickered at his unintentional admission that he’d frequented such a disreputable establishment but he ignored her. “The kid is right though; the building’s got some good bones. All that old stone work and the glass brick . . .” Ted looked at Cynthia and nodded. “What the hell. You might as well get your realtor to at least look into it. Knowing Brian, he’d probably get a kick out of the idea of having his offices in a gay bathhouse.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ms. Thang grumbled but she’d already picked up the phone and started dialing. “Thanks for the suggestion, Justin. I knew our resident artist would be the one to ask about this stuff.” She winked at him but then turned her back so she could concentrate on talking to whomever had picked up the other end of the call, leaving Tristan unsure what he was supposed to do next. 

He must have looked particularly lost, just standing around there, though, because Mr. Desperate even commented. “You sure you’re feeling alright, Justin? I mean, I get it that you didn’t sleep well at Michael’s, and you probably miss Brian like crazy, but you just don’t seem like yourself today at all. Is there something else that’s bothering you? If there’s a problem, and I don’t call the Boss to let him know, he’ll hand me my ass in a basket, so . . .”

“No, no. No need to call Brian,” Tristan rushed to reassure, making sure to call Kinney by the right name this time. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m just having an off day, I guess.”

“Well . . . Okay . . . If you say so,” Mr. Desperate conceded without losing the worried creases that lined his forehead. “I’ll leave you to your artwork then - that should cheer you right up, like it usually does - and go back to my boring spreadsheets.” The nerd sounded almost happy to be going back to that crap, which Tristan couldn’t understand in the least, having detested math, and school in general, all his life. “Oh, by the way, Brian texted me this morning and told me to remind you that the preliminary boards for the Primanti Brothers’ account are due tomorrow by five, so you better get on that before you start anything else.”

Tristan tried to look like he knew what preliminary boards were as he nodded at the accountant. Mr. Desperation must have been satisfied since he gave a pathetic little wave and disappeared through the door of one of the offices down the little hallway that led away from the reception area. Tristan assumed that wherever he was supposed to be working must be down that way as well, so he headed that direction too. He peeked into the two other open doorways as he passed; one was a mere copy room, which didn’t look at all interesting, and the other was a fairly large office. The office didn’t look like someplace where his artsy-fartsy double would hang out, though, so he continued on to the last doorway at the end of the hallway. Behind that door there was a room with a large bank of windows and, set up in front of that expanse, a drafting desk as well as an easel. Not that Tristan knew what the fuck to do with either of those pieces of furniture, but at least he figured this was the right place for him to be at the moment. 

He went in, making sure to close and lock the door behind him, and flopped down in the relatively comfortable office chair at the big desk. Now, all he had to do was lay low and try not to raise any further suspicions for the rest of the day. And, maybe, get some rest because, fuck this early morning working stiff crap, right? 

With his feet up on the lower shelf of the desk, and his arms folded across his chest, he relaxed back into the ergonomic chair and prepared to take a nice, extended nap. 

All in all, not a bad life if you could work it, Tristan thought as he drifted off to sleep.