-I have to go, Justin. I'm being forced to attend another pathetic charity/benefit thing for the latest ‘really good cause’ near and dear to the hearts of the gay community, blah, blah, blah. I really hate going to these boring, tedious, wastes of time. The only reason I’m going tonight is that Lindz will be there and I’ll get to see Gus. B.
-No Problem. Just don’t forget to open the other letter I sent you. I’ll be starting on my end at 11:00 pm, precisely. Don’t be late. And make sure you follow all the directions to the letter or I’ll be very upset with you. You’re gonna love this – I promise. Justin.
-I’m so proud – you’re becoming such a prolific and enthusiastic little sexmailer! A boy after my own . . . dick! Don’t worry, I’ll hold up my end. Now, if only you were here in person to hold up YOUR end – I could really get behind you on that idea. And you would love what happens when I get behind you! Later. B.
-Later! Justin.
Brian dragged his feet on the way up to the loft to shower and change. The last thing he wanted to do that night was go to the Gay & Lesbian Center’s latest wallet-emptying beg-fest. He would get to see Gus though and that would make it worthwhile, he guessed. He figured he could show up, play with Gus for a while, throw some money at the ‘good cause’ and be out of there in under an hour. Then it would be back here to open Justin’s letter and get his rocks off, hopefully in a particularly spectacular manner – Justin had hinted at something to do with the shower and a fresh bar of soap and Brian was definitely up for that. In fact, he might even be able to expand on Justin’s ideas a bit, hmm?
At 7:30 pm (precisely a half hour late – Brian Kinney was always fashionably late, except where an ad pitch was concerned), Brian sauntered through the door, prepared to endure whatever was necessary to get through this as quickly as possible. The GLC – safe haven for all fags who can’t get laid – was one of his least favorite places on Earth. The center had taken over and remodelled an old firehouse located right off Liberty Avenue. The brick structure was crumbling and covered with thick ivy (which was probably why the brick was crumbling), making it picturesque enough, and the interior had been well done with plenty of light and space – it was actually a pretty nice facility, Brian thought. And he didn’t really object to the programs the Center provided either – like the child care program – lots of those classes and services came in pretty handy, he had to admit. What he really objected to were the snooty people who ran the place – they all acted like they were God’s gift to gay culture or something. Brian was out and proud and he did things his way. He did not need some cunty bitch and her pussy-whipped gay buddies to tell him how a gay man should live his life. Fuck them!
Taking a deep breath, therefore, and plastering on his best fake smile, Brian strolled into the large open area on the building’s second floor that was being used for the night's art show. Lindsey was standing just inside the entryway, being the perfect hostess, shaking hands and greeting everyone with her perfect WASPy manners. Since she hadn’t seen him yet, Brian snuck up behind her, snaked his arms around her waist and gave her a huge, very wet, and very loud smooch, in the hopes of embarrassing her in front of all the artsy-fartsy types she’d been trying to impress.
“Hi, Honey”, he intoned using his best falsetto.
“Brian,” Lindsey said in that deprecating way she had that always told Brian he was misbehaving – it never made him behave better but it was always entertaining to listen to, Brian thought.
“So, where’s the backroom,” he asked as he started checking out the display in front of him – the men on display, that is. He thought there were some definite possibilities here – maybe that tall, slim, black guy over by the atrocious vagina sculptures? Maybe, but he’d reserve judgment until he saw what else the room had to offer before he made his play.
Lindsey adroitly maneuvered the randy brunet away from the other patrons, angling him towards the bar, where she knew he would stay put for at least a little while. “Gus is over here with Mel, Brian. Come see the adorable outfit Emmett got him from the new line of baby clothes Torso has now,” Lindsey said in an attempt to divert the conversation back to acceptable topics. Brian acquiesced with at least a semblance of grace and allowed himself to be hustled off towards a waiting glass of Beam. Luckily, Lindsey was almost immediately distracted by someone calling for her help with the sales table. Brian hadn’t seen Mel and Gus yet, so he started rambling around looking desultorrily at the art and hoping to find his son. Brian had to admit some of the stuff was actually pretty good. Of course, a lot of it was absolute shit, too.
After a few minutes, he found himself in front of a display of several charcoal drawings hung in groupings on a series of yellow display panels. ‘These drawings are good,’ he thought to himself. Something about the style vaguely reminded him of . . . something – maybe some other art work he’d seen somewhere, he wasn’t sure. The first one he examined was a simple line drawing of a woman sitting on a bench in a garden. There was not a lot of detail to this one but something about the way the woman was portrayed elicited a sense of calm contentment. The drawing displayed diagonally below it was more detailed and showed another garden scene, this time with a profile of a rather well-appointed, scantily-clad man standing with his face turned away from the viewer – nice, Brian thought, but too much like an art class study piece.
On the other side of the yellow display panel was another drawing of a woman. Brian easily recognized his friend Lindsey holding his son as the focus of this picture and smiled at the fabulous likeness of the boy. It must have been done very recently, he thought, since the beanie hat the boy was wearing in the picture was a new one that he and Lindsey had just picked out the previous weekend. The drawing was more than good – it was fantastic. The amount of detail was astounding – you could see every eyelash on the baby’s tiny eyelids. Brian stared at that picture for several minutes, wondering who the artist was. He was definitely going to ask Lindz later and maybe he would even buy this one for her.
When he had finished with the drawing of his friend and their son, he turned to view the final display panel for this grouping, and immediately froze. The drawing in front of him was a very elaborate and detailed street scene showing Liberty Avenue looking north from the intersection with Fuller St. Brian knew exactly where the artist had been sitting when he drew this because he had studied the very same image hundreds of times and had even gone so far as to visit the scene in person on a number of occasions. The drawing he was avidly gazing at right now was done in stark black and white using only charcoal, not in the brilliant pastels he was used to seeing, but it was undeniably the same picture as the one hanging on the wall in his office at that very moment – the drawing Justin had made with the pastels Brian had given him as a present less than six weeks before. This was the same scene, the same image. This was Justin’s drawing; he was absolutely sure of it. The small 'J.T.' in the bottom left corner of the drawing merely confirmed what he already knew in his soul.
Brian’s heart was racing. He could feel a light sheen of sweat breaking out over his whole body. Was it possible? How? Brian was almost afraid to turn around – afraid if he looked away for even an instant the drawing would disappear just like the letters in the mailbox at the loft. He had to look, though, so he slowly turned his body around and began to scan the crowd. Was he here? Was it possible that Justin, his Justin, was here? He had to know. He had to find him.
Brian practically ran to where Lindsey was still standing at the sales table. Without any warning, he grasped the woman’s arm and began dragging her, almost violently, towards the area where Justin’s art was displayed. Lindsey was still trying to pry the pinching fingers off her forearm when they arrived in front of the Liberty Avenue drawing.
“This artist. Do you know him? Is he here?” Brian demanded breathlessly. Lindsey stared at her long-time friend, taken completely off guard by his desperate mien and frantic actions. “Lindz, please, tell me if you know this artist and how I can find him. Please!”
“Of course I know him. His name is Justin Taylor. He’s wonderful isn’t he. Gus and I posed for him last Monday when Justin came to the Center to help me start setting up for the show. Did you see that one - It turned out beautifully, I think,” Lindsey asked, still confused by Brian’s behavior.
“Yes, I saw it. Now, please, Lindsey, listen to me. Are you listening?” asked the frantic man.
“Yes, I’m listening”, replied the bewildered blonde.
“I need to know if he is here tonight. Do you know where Justin is?” Brian asked, speaking a bit slower than usual in order to hammer home the importance of his question to Lindsey.
“He’s right over there at the bar," was Lindsey’s simple response.
Brian whirled around so fast he almost lost his balance. At first he couldn’t see the artist – his view was blocked by a group of drag queens all wearing high heels and sporting very big hair. Then, thankfully, the throng parted somewhat and Brian finally saw him. Justin was there!
Brian had never really seen this man except for the drawings Justin had made of himself and delivered to Brian. Brian had never received any done in color, either. But he knew instantly that this was his Justin. He stood there devouring the first sight of his lover, unable to move, for what seemed an eternity. He probably would have gone on standing and staring, but then the young artist waved and smiled at someone across the room and began to make his way through the crowd and away from Brian.
Galvanized, Brian began to move again, following the younger man, trying to force his way through the crowd and catch up to him. When he was only ten paces or so away, Justin stopped, reached an arm up and hugged a petite, well dressed blonde woman, who kissed the boy’s cheek in return. Brian hesitated to approach the pair. He urgently wanted to rush up to the beautiful man, grab him in his arms, and rain kisses down on his face and body. This was the man whose image and writing had been driving him crazy with desire for weeks. He could barely restrain himself. The only thing holding him back was that he had no idea what to say to THIS Justin.
He’d just realized that this man standing not ten feet from him was not the same man he’d been writing to for all these weeks. This man, living now in 1999, didn’t even know Brian Kinney existed. From Brian’s perspective, they had been virtual lovers for weeks now, but from the perspective of this Justin, he was a complete stranger. How, exactly, was Brian going to work this without Justin thinking he was certifiably insane? Brian took several deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate so he could think and figure out what to do. All he knew was that he was not going to let this man leave here tonight without him. No matter what he had to do.
Trying to put on a more nonchalant air, Brian slowly approached the two blonds who were still talking in the corner of the gallery. “Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if you were the artist who did that wonderful sketch of my friend, Lindsey?” Brian thought that was a safe enough opening line. He smiled at the shorter man, trying to concentrate on Justin’s response and willing his hands not to reach out and stroke the porcelain smooth cheek only inches away from him now.
“Yes, I’m Justin Taylor. Did you like the drawing?” Justin replied, extending his hand towards Brian in a friendly gesture.
He mutely shook the proffered hand. “I love it. It’s perfect,” he finally managed. Brian was having a difficult time coordinating his mouth and brain sufficiently to get out whole sentences. It was finally hearing Justin’s voice that had done him in this time. Justin’s voice was almost exactly what he had imagined – a soft, sultry tenor – Brian had imagined that voice so many times. Listening to Justin speak had almost caused HIM to lose the power of speech. ‘Snap out of it, Kinney,’ he demanded of himself.
“I also really admired the street scene.” Better, he thought. “It’s so detailed. I might even buy it – it’s really that good. Would you care to get a drink with me and we can discuss it?” Brian said while gesturing towards the other side of the room. His only thought was to try to get the young man alone somehow and . . . well he didn’t know what he would do then, but it would come to him.
“Of course. Mom, would you excuse me for a few minutes?” came the cultured reply.
Brian tentatively reached out and lightly touched the younger man’s lower back, guiding him through the mass of art patrons, towards the bar. As they neared the more open area directly in front of the bar, the tall handsome brunet quietly looked down at the beautiful, blond artist, now within arm’s reach, and smiled. “What would you like to drink,” he asked, his voice low and hushed. Justin glanced up at the taller man who was looking at him so intently and beamed a devastatingly beautiful smile up at Brian as he answered. Brian didn’t even hear the drink order, though, because he was blinded and deafened by the luminous smile directed at him by the ravishing blond he’d been yearning for all these weeks. ‘That smile – Shit, when he smiles like that his whole face lights up,' was the involuntary thought that popped into Brian’s mind. ‘It’s like a beam of sunshine’.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I was momentarily distracted.”
“So, what can I get you, Sunshine,” Brian asked again.