SNOWSHINE

Interlude

Rumplestiltskin

Two weeks later...

       Clack! Clack!

       Cynthia slammed her hand down on Brian's wrist silencing those damnable beads...pearls...whatever.

       "Brian! Not now!" she hissed in a desperate stage whisper.

       "Take your damn...hand..off...me! Now!!" he commanded in an equally soft but desperate and dangerous stage whisper.

       "Is there....something wrong?" a soft and deceptively gentle Asiatic voice spoke up at the head of the conference table.

       "No, Honorable Fugi-san! Not at all! However, I do request that we take a short 5 minute recess so that I may confer with my colleague in private!?" Cynthia said, bowing slightly as she did so.

       "Very well," came the gentle voice in permission.

       "Thank you, Fugi-san. We won't be a minute. Please help yourself to Danish or more coffee or whatever you like. We won't be but a moment."

       As soon as the other men and women had dispersed, Cynthia dragged Brian over to a quiet corner. Her hand was like a manacle around his wrist and Brian realized with some trepidation that he could not shake her loose. Shit! She must really be pissed! He thought.

       She was.  Her eyes blazed as she finally let go of his wrist in disgust.

       "One hour! One hour, Brian. We are in the meeting of a lifetime here! Fugimoto Electronics is a multimillion dollar account!"

       "I know that, Cynthia. I set the whole thing up, remember?" Brian drawled in that smug, shit eating way of his, that only enflamed Cynthia more.

       "Then for God's sake, keep your hand still for one hour...one measly hour and then you can take days off, weeks off to do nothing but clack those stupid little beads..."

       "Pearls."

       "Whatever!!! You'll be able to clack them nonstop for as long as you want if we get this account just keep them still for one...fuckin'...hour!"

       "Geez Cynthia! What's your problem!?"

       "What's my problem!? YOU'RE my problem! THESE things are my problem! I've been listening to you clack these things around for the last two weeks and I put up with it because I'm your assistant and you pay me. But these guys are different and they barely understand English much less the fact you think these beads..."

       "Pearls..."

            "...are your way of knowing if your boyfriend is alive or dead. They'll think you're nuts! Hell, I only halfway believe it! They won't at all and we'll lose the account."

            "I don't click them that much," Brian protested.

            "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me!? You're like a fuckin' cat with a bell on with those things! Every few seconds! Every minute at least! I've gotten used to it but I can hear you coming a mile away now! And I'm hearing that damn clacking in my dreams now!"

            "Oh, you're exaggerating," Brian said but his mind raced. Was Cynthia right? Had this become a habit? He had been checking them an awful lot but it wasn't like every minute. It wasn't...clack! clack!

            Unbidden, his wrist twitched. The pearls slid and clacked. His eyes widened and Cynthia's face blackened with rage.

            "Honest, Cynthia, that time I didn't mean to!" Brian said in true contrition.

            "Hand ‘em over!" she held out a slender palm out, the fingers curled over in a rage induced claw.

            "Hand what over?" he said densely. For a few seconds it really didn't penetrate, the bracelet was like a part of his body now. Taking it off would be like cutting off his wrist.

            "Hand...'em...over, Brian! You are not going to screw this up for me! I need the extra money and time now just as much as you do, only in my case, I'll need it for the extra therapy to get that damn noise out of my head! You can have ‘em back at the end of the meeting but until then hand ‘em over, because if we lose this account..." she leaned close..."I WILL...KILL..YOU!"

            He raised his eyebrows at her. She raised her own and made the gimme gesture. She was serious.

            He handed them over.

            Later, he was glad he did. Perhaps Cynthia was right. Maybe. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. The only two things he knew for sure was the tightness in his chest because he wasn't hearing the soothing clacking of the pearls telling him Snowshine was alive. The second thing was that he felt it was best to keep his left hand under the conference table as much as possible. Cynthia was right. Every few seconds, every minute at most, he felt his wrist twitch autonomically, seeking to move pearls that were no longer there, seeking to hear evidence of a lover but not love, that was lost.

BJBJBJBJBJBJBJBJBJBJBJBJ

       They won the account.

       As soon as the Japanese magnates were out of eye and earshot, Brian had rose to his full height and width and held his own hand out. After Cynthia had given them back, he had spun on his heel and got the hell out of there, her words of apology honking in his ear as senselessly at the brass trumpet effect used in those Peanuts cartoons.

       After that, he just walked. Walked without seeing, walked without caring. Time must have passed but he didn't know how much. When next he registered where he was, the sun was lower in the sky. There were trees. Benches. A stone walkway. A fountain. A park. He was in a park.

       He sat on a bench. He put his head in his hands and succumbed to the crushing weight that was never off his shoulders now.

       The first day had been the worst. He had gone to work and had no idea anything was wrong. The day had dragged. At last it was closing time and he'd rushed home and waited. He'd ordered Thai. He waited. He looked at the phone like it was a live thing and willed it to ring. It didn't. At ten he realized, Justin wasn't going to call or come so he ate his cold Thai. At eleven, he turned on the news to see if he could pick up any clues on when Justin would be home.

       He picked up a clue all right. It was the top story on the news. Justin Taylor, dirty cop. Justin Taylor, evidence tampering, Justin Taylor, drug possession, warrant out for arrest, APB, blah blah blah... Brian switched off the bottle blonde bitch before she could finish. He didn't believe a word of it but whatever was or wasn't true, he wouldn't be back at the loft anytime soon. Brian was Stockwell's campaign manager. He was too close to him and cops in general. And after this, Brian was pretty sure he'd be under surveillance. He was very sure a few days later, after the flower delivery truck across the street from his building hadn't moved in 3 days straight.

       Stockwell. The man was a complete asshole and the bane of Brian's existence. He was a clean freak, perfectionist, wouldn't swear, smoke or drink and yet remained as stupid as if his mother had done all three during his time in the womb. Brian continued to have to tell him to do the simplest things that Stockwell would then become convinced were his own idea. He wouldn't allow anyone else to do any of the three in his presence either and since Brian did all three, life became extremely...constrictive.  He was a total breeder who was militantly homophobic. He had the streets crawling with cops as a new campaign to "clean the streets" but Brian wasn't stupid. He watched a steady stream of grey haired old timers parade through the building and knew they were looking for Justin as well. Then Stockwell drafted the most disgustingly fascist, homophobic, and "Stepford Wifey" campaign that he had ever seen. Gay marriage would be outlawed. Gay bars would be outlawed. Cops would be watching on the lookout for any same sex couples holding hands. Taxes would be levied against existing same sex couples and same sex couples with children. Which wouldn't happen any more since same sex couples would not be allowed to adopt in Pittsburgh. Anyone professing to be gay would not be allowed in concerts, movie theatres, restaurants, bars, pools or anywhere else fun. The only thing missing was separate drinking fountains. When Brian sarcastically pointed this out, Stockwell only answered quite seriously that it would cost too much money to build the separate ones. It became increasingly difficult not to scream. I'm Gay! A fag is running your campaign and doing a top notch job of it!! and then smashing in his face.

       But he couldn't quit. He was making Kinnetic too much money and besides that, Brian knew too much. Stockwell had entrusted him with a lot of confidential information, some of it illegal or just about his disgustingly clean living family that Stockwell figured had "bonded" them. Besides, Brian was a gay in the heart of enemy territory. He wanted to gather as much information as he possibly could in order to stop him. But he didn't know who to tell. When his business grew, he had grown...well not up...more like away from his friends and family and now he was disgustingly alone. He didn't even know where they were anymore, where they hung out. Except maybe Babylon and Brian was pretty sure he'd be lynched and burned at a stake if he showed his face there.

       Stockwell had called the disgusting campaign Proposition 14. Of course within a few days a counter campaign had cropped up calling themselves Stop Prop 14. They rallied and held mock debates and posted their own flyers and drove Stockwell insane with rage. However they never did anything technically illegal and so could never be arrested. Their headquarters remained a mystery...to Stockwell. The man had tunnel vision and Stop Prop 14 knew this. And so they set up their HQ in an area of Pittsburgh that Stockwell avoided like the plague. It was anathema, like the darkest, scariest part of a deep forest that was haunted by the damned.

       "Alms!! Alms for the poor!! Alms for the old and needy!!"

       Brian sucked in a huge breath and jerked back. The voice had cut though him and his reflections like a dentist drill. He was astonished and a little scared at how low the sun was in the sky.

       A small man with a shock of unkempt white hair and a full on white beard and moustache stood before him. He wore an old green army jacket, filthy pants and was hunched over, leaning heavily on a cane. He carried a backpack. His teeth were filthy. He brandished a black baseball cap at Brian and shook it, rattling the few coins that were in it.

       "Come on sonny! Come on! Help a grampa out like a good ole sonny boy!"

       Something pierced Brian's heart. He took out his wallet and threw in a few fivers. "I had a son once. I used to call him Sonny boy."

       "Did ja now! Did ja now! Well, isn't that sweet!? What happened to him? He die?" the old man was at the same time sympathetic yet ghoulish sounding.

       "No! I was a sperm donor for a couple of lesbians. I signed over my parental rights to them and they repaid me by having him circumcised. Not long after all that they broke up. The mother "married" a Frenchman and took him away from me. I expect he's in France somewhere swilling wine at 6 and speaking a language I can't understand!" A few tears leaked out of Brian's eyes before he was able to suck it up.

       "There now! There now! Someone so young and handsome...and rich," The old man gave the young man the once over, taking in his Armani suit. "Should be a happy man! What's got you down?"

       "I am all you say. But I hate my job, my boss is insane, and my lover is wanted by the police and is a fugitive. I haven't heard from him in weeks."

       "My goodness! Sounds like you need another lover!"

       "Oh, I couldn't. I love him. Besides, my lover was a cop and is a good man. I'm convinced he was betrayed or framed or...or something. I'm sure he would not have done what he is accused of." The lesbianic words dripped from his lips like water and strangely Brian didn't mind at all. He meant them all.

       "Wait! You keep saying he!" The bum narrowed his eyes. "Say, you aren't one of those queer-o-sexuals are you?"

       Brian huffed out a laugh. "Actually yes. I've never heard it put quite that way but yes, I'm queer!"

       The old man narrowed his brilliant blue eyes even more and then glanced furtively around. Seeing nobody, he opened them wide again. They danced happily with a youthful exuberance that belied his age. "Well, why didn't ja say so Sonny boy! Welcome to the club!" He clapped Brian on the arm and sat down beside him.

       "You! But you're so..."

       "Old!?" the old man finished for him, "That may be but that just means I've been gay a whole lot longer than you! Hee! Hee! Hee!"

       "My goodness!" he continued, "Gay and loyal! That's a rare combination! Most gay guys are just into getting fucked!"

       "I used to be like that. But I started to slow down even before I met my partner. Now it's him or nothing."

       "Your partner? What happened to lover? And really? You haven't been with anyone else since he's been gone?"

       "I guess he's both. And not anyone. He's it for me. And wherever he is, I know, I'm it for him."

       "Some would call that ridiculously romantic."

       "Old timer, I'd be first in line. But not any more. Now, I'd just call it the simple truth."

       Something akin to tears glistened in the old man's eyes. "Well, that's jest the most bee-yoo-tiful thing, I've ever heard. And as a reward, young man, I'd like to draw you!"

       "Draw me? You're an artist?"

       "My boy! It's what I do now! It's how I eat and makes my way in the world, as meagre as that may be now. So it is a reward but there's also a price!"

       "What kind of price?" Brian was wary.

       "Crossing my palm with green for starters. The price is different for every customer." The old man pulled a sketchpad and a pencil out of his backpack. "Shall we begin?"

       "OK."

       The old man grasped Brian by the chin and turned him this way and that mumbling to himself the whole way. "Such a strong chin...roman nose...clear eyes, bedroom eyes!...what a beauty...what a beauty...hmmmm, a profile I think...yes, YES!! That will do!" The old man cackled horribly. "OK, young man just relax and watch the fountain...watch the water...that's the way....don't move...don't move...just watch the water....that's the way...." The little man cackled again and kept up a soothing patter and Brian watched the fountain with its jets of water and its white creamy froth on top. The white tops reminded him of...a smile curved his lips.

       "Yes! Yes! That's the way! Smile! Smile just like that! Hold it! Hold it! I got it! I got it! Ahhh hee hee hee hee!!!! Now don't worry young man, I've almost got it, almost got it! Just a while longer!"

       But Brian didn't mind waiting. He was going to be waiting anyway. And this way he had something to wait for.

       The old man's pencil flew and less than half an hour later it stopped.

       "Well there we go! What do you think, young man?" the old man cackled, turning the portrait around to show him.

       "It's fantastic! It looks just like me!" Brian cried in delight.

       Indeed it did. It was indeed a profile, shaded nicely. It showed him from the shoulders upward. There were trees and a fountain not unlike the one they were in. His lips curved upward in a Mona Lisa smile and his eyes were dreamy.

        "What were you thinking of...to smile like that?" asked the old man.

       "I was looking at the white caps in the fountain and they reminded me of my lover. He has white hair."

       "Ohhhhh?? You into guys with a bit of...experience?" the old man asked waggling his white eyebrows.

       "OHHH! No!! I mean...Well, sorry! But no, my lover is young. He had a trauma a while back and now his hair is white. I call him Snowshine."

       "Why's that? And if he's young enough why doesn't he just dye his hair?"

       Brian explained about the nickname. Then he said, "I don't know why he doesn't dye his hair. He says he used to be blond. I didn't know him for long but I got the feeling that he felt it defined him. As for me, I wouldn't have it any other color."

       "Aww, that's sweet! Prefer brunets myself though," the old man said, giving Brian a suggestive wink.

       "Uhhhh, that's cool! Anyway...how much do you want for it?"

       "Well for starters, you can replace these Lincolns with a couple of Franklins. Come now, young man, I know you have them. I see your suit and you admitted yourself that you're rich. Don`t be a pinchpenny to an old grampa in need!"

       "No, you're right! I can. OK, here's $200." Brian dipped into his wallet.

       "Aaaannd...this!!" the old man's voice took on a feral tone as he grabbed Brian's wrist in a painful grip.

       As Brian reached for the money his sleeve had shifted, exposing his bracelet. The old man exposed it fully, a hungry look coming into his eyes.

       "Those are pearls! Rare and black pearls! Forget the money! I'll take those as payment!"

       "FUCK NO!" With difficulty, Brian pulled away and covered the bracelet with his other hand. "You can't have that! Anything but that! It's not for sale!"

       "Ohhh??? And why's that?"

       "It's an heirloom and very old. Besides...it's the only way...the only way I know my Snowshine is still alive!" Brian felt like an idiot the minute the words were out of his mouth. It sounded so...so stupid in the light of day but Brian never thought he'd have to explain it to a total stranger.

       The old man laughed his head off making Brian feel even more foolish. He scowled and kept his hand over it though.

       "What is that supposed to mean? Come now, trade it to Grampa and you can have your picture, free and clear!"

       "NO!! You don't understand! It's special! He gave it to me! I promised I'd never remove it. Besides, he told me..." Brian explained about the magical properties of the bracelet.

       The old man cackled again. "How do you know if he wasn't just making that up? He could've just made that up about them being stuck! It's just an ordinary bracelet! Give it to me!"

       A terrible doubt swept over Brian. What if it was just a bracelet? What if the pearls were just ordinary? What if Snowshine had deceived him? Would it be so wrong to trade them then? The man seemed to want nothing else. No. Not for just a drawing.

       "Maybe it is. But you still can't have it! He spoke words over it when he gave it to me: Guard me with his life! Even if it is a fraud I can't help but think that meant he was entwining our lives, our souls together. And he entrusted this to me! So you can't have it! I have $400! You can have $300 and leave me the last 100 for food and a cab home. I don't even know where I am right now! That's all I have! That's my final offer! Give me my picture!"

       The old man looked at him shrewdly. "There is...one more thing you have!"

       "And what is that?"

       "You mentioned him before...you have...a SON! A firstborn son!"

       "Yes. So what?"

       "So...that is what you will give me. The money more my immediate needs...and you must promise me your son...to be mine if you truly are not willing to give me the pearls!"

       "Or....I could just take everything back and tell you to fuck off! That's insane! You're insane! Who do you think you are? Rumplestiltskin!?"

       "Hee! Hee! Hee! It's been a long time! A long time! Who knows who we're descended from? Could be! Could be! Hee! Hee! Hee! But whatever my ancestors, the fact remains...I have plied my trade for you and I demand payment! I have named my price! And you want this! And trust me...you need this picture more than you know!"

       "What do you mean?" Brian said suspiciously.

       The old man sat down on the bench and patted the seat beside him.

       "Come and sit, Brian Kinney," he said, "And I will explain."

       Brian gasped. "How did you know my name?"

       "I am associated with Stop Prop 14. There are few people in this city who have not seen you on TV, who do not know who you are affiliated with. Within this picture I have encoded where to find us. You can help us...help us bring down Stockwell...if you are willing. You were more right than you can possibly imagine when you said your boss was insane. And when you find us, you will find your Snowshine."

       Brian gasped again and sat heavily on the bench in the dwindling twilight. "You know!? You knew all this time where he is!? Why didn't you say so?"

       "You didn't ask," said the old man. "Besides...I had to wait until we were completely alone...and still I have to watch my words carefully. You are being watched, are you not?"

       "Yes," admitted Brian, thinking of that damnable flower truck.

       "So it stands to reason that somehow you have been bugged as well, in ways you may not even be aware of...so...back to business...Snowshine...or your son!?"

       "Why...why, you...YOU SADISTIC SHIT!!!" yelled Brian, probably breaking the eardrums of any potential eavesdroppers. "Are you still going to insist on that devil's trade? How am I supposed to agree to something so horrible!?"

       The old man shrugged. "You must," he said simply.

       Brian's mind raced. And then he smiled a small but evil smile. "Fine! I agree. You may have my son. What do you want him for?"

       "My reasons are my own!" shrieked the old man, "Do we have a deal!?"

       "I told you my son is most likely in France somewhere. I do not know where he is. If you can find him...and if you can pry him away from the "Frog Prince" who has him...you can have him."

       The bargain is done! The deal is sealed!" the old man danced and shrieked insanely. "Sealed....with a kiss!" And before he could stop him the old man had grasped his neck with a soft hand and pulled him in and kissed him hard and deep. A tongue snaked out, seeking entrance. Brian struggled, panicking a bit, shuddering in revulsion, thinking the man's rotten teeth would reflect an even rottener mouth. Instead it was like spearmint. Jerking a bit in surprise he relaxed slightly and then the man was inside him and frenching him, tongue fucking him wildly and...weirdly enough, it wasn't gross. It should have been, but it wasn't. Brian groaned in pleasure and just when he was settling himself down for more, the man pulled back and it was over.

       The old man leaned close to his ear and whispered and as he did puffed bits of warm air into it, sending unlikely shivers down Brian's back.

       "They say a picture is worth a thousand words," he said, "In this case a thousand words may be found in this picture. IF you look hard enough! Oh and I know where your son is! And he isn't French!"

       Brian's mind and body turned to stone. He was transfixed in terror, paralyzed with pain and rock-solid with regret. He had given his son over to this weirdo and now he would live with that for the rest of his life.

       Numb and dumb with the horror of what he had done, Brian watched the little old man cackle in glee and hobble quickly away in the now dark park, leaning heavily on his cane. In a few minutes, he was gone. A rolled up paper lay on the bench beside him.

TBC