CHAPTER 16: CRANES IN THE SKY

{Verse 1} I tried to drink it away I tried to put one in the air I tried to dance it away I tried to change it with my hair {Verse 2} I ran my credit card bill up Thought a new dress would make it better I tried to work it away/ But that just made me even sadder {Verse 3} I tried to keep myself busy I ran around in circles Think I made myself dizzy I slept it away, I sexed it away I read it away

Away/ [Refrain 1] Away, away, away, away, away Away, away, away, away, away/[Hook 1] Well it's like cranes in the sky Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds Yeah, it's like cranes in the sky Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds [Verse 4] I tried to run it away Thought then my head be feeling clearer I traveled 70 states Thought moving round make me feel better [Verse 5] I tried to let go my lover Thought if I was alone then maybe I could recover To write it away or cry it away Don't you cry baby

Away [Refrain 1] Away, away, away, away, away

Away, away, away, away, away [Hook 2] But it's like cranes in the sky

Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds Yeah, it's like cranes in the sky Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal...

SONGWRITERS

SOLANGE KNOWLES, TROY JOHNSON, RAPHAEL SAADIQ

Justin

I've been gone from Pittsburgh for about three weeks, and I'm already missing him. To say that Brian and I weren't on good terms when I left would be an understatement. It's not even that we argued; it's that we haven't. We haven't even spoken more than twenty-six words to each other every time we've seen each other since I was released from the hospital. Admittedly, every time he tried to explain his comments to Mel, I shut down.

It wasn't that he wasn't right; just that I'm still dealing with my own culpability in the matter. He told me that when I'm ready to finally listen, then he'll speak. I just nodded and let the matter go. At least, physically I did. Mentally... well, that's another story.

Being in Hollywood Hills, at the moment, is exactly what I need. Here, I'm gaining much needed time to think, to reflect, and to make some core decisions about how I want my life to go from this moment on. Of course, leaving home wasn't easy, even though it was what I needed to do. The day I got out of the hospital, I went to Ethan's to return his key only to find him staring at the empty corner where my things used to be. 

"Something you want to tell me, Justin?" he asked, still staring ahead as if the space was suddenly foreign to him.

"I think the space being devoid of my belongings says it all, Ethan. But I guess I owe you an explanation at least."

"You're damn right you do!"

"Fine, Ethan. Here it is: I need to be on my own for awhile."

"You mean with Brian..."

"No, I mean on my own. I went from living in my folks house, to living with Deb, then to living with Brian, and up until now, with you. I need my own space."

"But Justin, I thought we were good the way we are, Baby. I loved coming in from school to find you here cooking, or drawing, or whatever you were doing. I really want you here!"

I can still hear the plaintive note he injected into his voice. I think he expected me to just give into it as I had in the past. I couldn't. This was my way of reclaiming myself; to not be anyone's anything. I just simply needed to be my own man in practice as well as theory, for once. 

"Sorry Ethan, but you don't get a vote."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I think we need a break from each other. There is such a thing as too much togetherness, you know."

"That's bullshit, and you know it!"

"No it isn't, Ethan. The bottom line is, I can't sleep here with you in the apartment, and I still have to work and go to school during the day."

"Speaking of school, how are you paying for it?"

I could hear the accusation in his voice, like he already knows. But it's also like he feels that I should somehow be ashamed of what I'm about to say. "Brian and I have a contract. We've had one in place, since before you were born to me."

"So terminate the fucking contract, Justin! Can't you see that he is trying to buy you back to him?!"

"He's doing no such thing, Ethan. You don't know anything about it..."

"I know that you are nothing but the whore's WHORE, if you continue to accept his money!"

"Is that what you really think? That because I accept his help where my own father wouldn't give it to me, it makes me his whore?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

"But that's what you said." I told him, while removing the key from my pocket, and placing it on the countertop in the kitchen. "And on that note, it's time for me to be going."

"No, Justin... Baby, we can work this out. You don't have to leave. Between this lawsuit and the bullshit with the car- no wonder you are having nightmares! I told you being around THOSE people wasn't good for you. We can go to a counselor together to talk about your nightmares. I don't want to lose you!"

"How the fuck did you find out about the lawsuit? Nevermind, it doesn't really matter anyway." I remember sighing in exasperation, first, because someone is, once again, speaking about MY business behind my back, and secondly, because Ethan was showing just how clingy he really is. I have to wonder if I was ever like that with Brian- this stunting and stifling stone, suffocating Brian. I knew that I needed to get out of there right away, before I gave into the urge to yell at him. My need to assert my independence was not his fault, although his behavior enhanced and reaffirmed my decision to move out. "Ethan, I just need some space right now."

"No! You need me, and I need you here with me! You're my muse, Justin," he said to me, and suddenly I felt disgusted with the phrase.

I suddenly understood why Brian snickered and winced at the same time, when I told him what Ethan called me. Ethan used the sentiment as a catchphrase, and to inflict guilt to get me to bend to his wishes. Even though Brian is my muse and source of inspiration even though we aren't together anymore, I would never use that knowledge to try and trick or trap him into staying with me. Michael and Lindsay both do something similar to Brian all the time; I wonder if he'll ever figure that out. Going back into my memory, I continue to analyze my last conversation with Ethan.

"Ethan," I said, praying for patience, "Don't think of this as a separation, but preparation. You have your competition coming up. You'll need all the practice time you can get, be it at the studio or here at your apartment."

That seemed to have gotten through to him. "Okay you're right about that. But you don't have to move out, Baby. I need you here."

"No, you don't. And I need to be somewhere where I can scream or paint at will, or just sleep if I can, Ethan. I need to be on my own."

"So where will you be staying? Can I have the address? I don't even know where this studio where you've been spending your nights is."

"I would prefer if you didn't, Ethan."

"What's on Tremont?"

That brought me up short. Why would Ethan ask about Brian's place? And how does he even know about it, since I never told him where Brian and I lived? "Why?"

"It's just... nevermind. So, can I have your new address so that I can still see you everyday?"

"No, Ethan. If I want to see you, I know where you are and we'll be at school. It will be like we're really dating. No one just fucks and moves right in."

"You did." He sneered at me, but I refused to take offense because he was right to an extent.

Sure, it took me awhile to move in. But I see now that Ethan and I were really only based on fucking. Sure we had conversations about school and life, but really... How much has he actually lived compared to me? That's one of the things I really need to think about, while I'm here in L.A.

My mind continues to drift back to the apartment, and the conversation that made leaving him behind a bit easier.

"And that's why I am moving out. It wasn't fair to you or to me, Ethan. I should never have moved in here, knowing that I wasn't ready for it."

"So where will you be?"

"Around."

"That's not an answer, Justin."

"But it's the only one you're getting, Ethan."

"Fine! Go ahead and leave! It's what you do best anyway!"

"You're probably right. I leave when a situation, or conversation no longer serves its purpose. But I also leave when I need time to grow and flourish; to come into my own as a man. So if insulting me and my penchant for leaving your apartment is what you have to do so that I can grow up a bit more, feel free to do so. It doesn't change the fact that I'm going to my house."

"And how did you afford your own place anyway? Oh, let me guess... Brian?!"

"For your information, Brian doesn't even know where I live."

"Well at least, there is that."

"Why should it matter if he does?"

"Because you are mine, Justin!"

"No, Ethan. I don't belong to anyone, other than myself. That's something that you have never learned in all the time we've been together. I may have wanted to be claimed, but not at the expense of my mind and the ability to make solid decisions for myself. I hate to say it, but Brian understood that, and until you learn it, we will always be at an impasse about this. I'm going home."

"What am I supposed to tell everybody?" he asks, back to using his piteous voice again.

"Tell them whatever you want."

And then I left, closing the door with him standing on the other side with his arms folded and a pouty mouth to rival Michael's, and the instant tear-filled eyes to give Lindsay a run for her money. I just couldn't take any more conversation about my decision. Not for the first time I began to really understand and empathize with how Brian must have felt when having to deal with both Michael and Lindsay at the same damn time. It was unsettling! Which brings me to the conversation about what to do about Michael and Lindsay.

Mel told Brian that until the babies are born, there isn't much he can do legally, if there is anything he can do at all. Technically, it wasn't breaking and entering, since Lindsay had a key that was given to her by the homeowner. The catch is whether he has a case because the key wasn't used for its intended purpose, and that's what needs to be proven. For Brian's part, he's ready to seek custody of Gus based on the videos of Lindsay fucking while he was strapped into his carseat. Mel asked him to think seriously about that for a time, because Brian's work schedule will be hectic with one kid, but now he faces the possibility of having three to care for by himself.

Let's face it: Brian will be a great dad. He already is with Gus, but he's worked his ass off to get to where he is in his career. I can't see how he is going to make it work. Sure we'll all help him in some form or another, but it will still be all Brian. The good news is that Mel also has custody of Gus through the third-parent adoption, and that will help both of them in the long run.

But with the new children, if Brian cuts Lindsay out, where would that leave him?

Ben has already made moves to dissolve whatever he and Michael owned together, and had Ted liquidate it so that Michael will receive his share in a check, so he could officially be done with him. Deb came by the hospital to ream him out for making Michael cry and whine. So we all had no choice, but to tell her what little Mikey has been up to with MY money. At first, she couldn't believe it, trying to come up with every excuse known, and unknown, to man; anything to NOT hold Michael responsible in his own drama. But then when faced with the written proof of receipt copies and the like, she couldn't dispute Ben's feelings in the matter.

Of course, she tried to turn all the blame to Brian, but again none of us would let her. I love Deb, but I'll be damned if I can understand how she could be so blind to Michael's machinations. How does one inspire the thievery of sperm, and then the use of said sperm to aid in entrapment? I know that somehow it happens in hetero relationships all the time, but we're gay men for fuck's sake! Now that I think about it, and as Mel has already pointed out, this has the handprint of Lindsay all over it.

As confused as she is about her sexuality, she's definitely clear that she wants Brian Kinney.

I really feel bad for Mel in all of this. She's done everything, tried to be everything that Lindsay has ever wanted or needed, and because of an obsession on Lindsay's part, she's going to end up alone. Ben said that he's finally going to give that Pos-Men's group a try, so he has a plan to move forward again, even though he loved Michael. Melanie deserves someone to love her the way Lindsay never has; the way she never could. Ironically, I understand Lindsay's motivations since I grew up in that bloodsucking, self-stifling environment, but it doesn't mean that I agree with her use and treatment of Mel or Brian.

Underneath it all, my Dyno-Dyke has a heart of gold, and a strength of will that I have seen diminished daily as long as I've known her, which hasn't been very long. I really wonder who Mel was before Lindsay got ahold of her. I wonder if she'll ever be able to find that person inside of herself again. I certainly hope she will, so that she is never taken advantage of, or for granted again. 

Then there is where I fit into all of this. Based on the math, one or both of those children could be mine. Brian and I haven't talked about it vocally, but I know he's thought about it. I don't know whether to wish it so, or pray that they aren't. Ever since I discovered that I was gay, the question of impending fatherhood was wiped clear out of my mind.

It wasn't until I saw Brian with Gus the night he was born, that it even became a question again. Right now, being a dad in any form isn't on my to-do list. I have too many irons in the fire to devote all my time to children, which is something I would want to do. Babysitting is one thing; you can spoil the hell out of them and give them back. But parenting is something else.

My mom is a prime example of putting your life goals, dreams, and wishes on hold to take care of home and hearth. I don't know that it's something I could do. But then again, there are a million single parents out there, like Deb, who make it work daily and they are to be admired for that. I just don't want to be selfish with a kid involved. I don't want to become another Craig Taylor, who didn't even know we were alive until he needed us to do something for him, like playing the happy conservative family for his business associates at a country club function.

I don't want to become the man whose love was conditional, dangled like a carrot in front of a hungry horse, and based upon how well we performed to his standards and specifications. As soon as we thought differently or acted as an individual instead of a Craig-bred robot, we were disregarded and disabused of the false sense of security we grew to expect. I'm glad Mom and I are free of him, and even though Molly isn't until she reaches her majority, she's a smart girl and will undoubtedly be able to handle the man I used to call ‘Dad.'    

When I arrived home that night after leaving Ethan's place, I actually breathed a sigh of relief, seeing all my things scattered about. Em and Ted left a note, telling me that they left the foodstuffs in the cupboards and refrigerator. I'm still amazed that for a tiny house, with a little over 430 square feet, it sure has a lot of room. I requested that part of the triangular roof be replaced with quadrupled paned glass as well as most of the walls in the front of the house to give me lots of light to draw and paint by. It even has a loft, for either guest or storage, on the other side, a full bath, kitchen and laundry facilities.

All the glass in the house is tempered, in case I ever decide to move the house off of the lot it's on. In short- no pun intended- my house is perfect and exactly what I need.

     (Layout to Justin's tiny house is on far right)

George really made sure that I wouldn't want or need for anything. I had put notice in at my job as effective immediately, since I just couldn't bear to work there any more. After hearing about what happened from Em and Ted, he and Malcolm purchased new paints and canvases to replace the ones that were in the trunk of my former jeep, figuring I wouldn't want any physical reminders of what happened. He was right. When I offered to write him a check to pay him for the items, George waved me off; told me to think of them as a benevolent benefactors, since they are determined to sow into my career.

I couldn't help, but smile at both of the men. Their belief in my art is as strong as Brian's, and I can't help but be grateful for it. And even though I live on the Schickle property, I'm still far enough away that I have my privacy. But still close so that if I needed them, George and Malcolm are readily available. That made me feel a lot better.

The night before I left for LA, the two of them arranged a special dinner for me and invited Em, Daph, Ted, and my mom. They asked me if I wanted Brian to come, but I told them that it was better for both of us that he didn't. It wasn't that I didn't want him there, but just the opposite. I would have loved to see him, to touch him, to look into his eyes for reassurance that accepting this commission wouldn't separate us even more than we already are; to know that in spite of it all, we were still friends. I just didn't want everything we said, or didn't say, scrutinized even by our staunchest supporters in this non-relationship we seem to be teetering on the brink of.

I can't help but be leery about it all, and I think he knows that.

So here I am driving down the street in sunny California, in the car George gave me permission to use while I'm here, replaying all of the events that happened before my departure. I won't deny that I miss home sometimes- well specifically Daph, Em, and yes, even Brian- but some new things have also been happening here since my arrival. The neighborhood, although quiet, is also teeming with big name stars. I think I got a little star struck my second day here. I mean Ben Affleck actually waved at me while I was walking around the neighborhood, so yeah...

This is definitely a different world than what I'm used to. Since Hollywood Hills is located on the northwest end of LA, there are remarkable views and a million things to do. Yet it still gives me the peace and quiet I need right now. My biggest surprise- although it probably shouldn't have been- is that Brett Keller lives right next door. Apparently, he and George share Enrique the gardner and Brett asked if George had come back to LA. So now Brett knows that I will be here off and on for awhile working on the mural for the Schickle Estate.

He came by a few days into me being here, and wanted to talk about the movie. I told him that I would rather wait on it for a month to see if I could settle things with Michael. I didn't go into details, but I did tell him that we were in the process of dissolving the partnership; that until the matter was settled in black and white, it would be prudent for me to wait. He seemed to understand my caution, and said that we would revisit it in a month's time. Outside of that, we've hung out a few times and he introduced me around to a few people, but I couldn't really say who they were.

The parties he took me to were fast-paced, and if you weren't working on a project with a motion picture, you weren't worth standing around to talk to. That was actually fine with me, since I like to people watch. There were any number of actors and actresses who were deeply entrenched in the hetero-closet, but within the parties, anything went. One such A-lister was Connor James. It was kind of funny really.

I would have fucked him, but I got that ‘fellow top' vibe from him. And since I bottom for no one but Brian, he was definitely scratched off the list. That's not to say I haven't found a few boy toys while I've been here; it just means that Connor James hasn't been one of them.

Pulling up into the driveway of my temporary home, I still marvel at the property. The main house is massive and the inside so opulent that I was almost afraid to paint in there. I spent the main part of last week jotting down a few ideas since George and Malcolm really didn't have a direction in what they want painted. Having full creative control in someone else's place is a bit daunting, but also freeing. And it's definitely a bigger canvas than I'm used to working with, but they are convinced that having a Justin Taylor original will be worth a lot some day and increase the value of their home away from the East Coast.

I just hope that I don't let them down. After I saw the oversized mural that Virginia Hammond ordered painted of herself, I decided that anything I paint would be far better than THAT! Jesus, talk about a narcissistic woman with her iron gray hair, clutching her pearls. The sour puss expression of her face would have made any hetero man question why he wasn't gay. She kind of reminded me of Brian's mother.

Now that woman can deflate any man's hard on. YIKES!

Pulling into the parking space behind the house and alighting from the car, I can't help but be in awe of the guest house I'm staying in. It's almost as if George had it designed with me in mind, if you can believe it. With a backdrop of palm trees that feel as if reachable, this place screams serenity.

I walk into the house, heading straight to the kitchen. After washing my hands, I check to make sure that the ground beef has thawed out from when I took it out earlier. It has, so I begin my preparations to make me some mozzarella-filled meatballs in the slow cooker, which will give me some much needed time to work. Settling myself on the daybed outside by my borrowed private pool, I know that I have four hours to take care of my businesses before it will be time to fix the pasta to go with it. Once again, I find myself grateful that Emmett and Vic made me buy another crock-pot for while I'm out here.

Checking my emails, there are the usual ones from Daphne and Mom, wanting make sure that I am doing okay. I hurriedly answer both of them, letting them know that I am fine. If I hadn't, I know that they would have been on the next plane out here just to kick my ass. Then there was the bothersome one from Ethan, telling me what a shit I am for telling him after the fact that I was coming out to LA for a time. He wants a promise that I call him the minute I am free.

Of course, there is the usual I miss you, love you, need you, blah, blah, blah mantras that I am so accustomed to receiving from him. Since I'm not exactly sure what to say to him that I hadn't already said when he found out I was here, I leave that email to answer another time. George emailed me to let me know that he had a package shipped to the main house, and should be arriving today sometime. I shrug my shoulders, get up to open the back screen door and resettle myself as quickly as I can on the daybed. Ted emailed me to tell me that another potential client is asking to meet with me to work on their logo design, and is willing to come to LA to meet me.

I email him back, asking him to send me all of the financial research I know he has done already. Ted is just efficient like that, and I can't help but smile to myself that he is. Carl emailed me to advise that they have a lead or two on my case, and that he will let me know what develops after following them. I'm glad, because honestly, I'm still a bit shaken up about the vandalization of my car. It was literally like being bashed all over again, even if it was more of an emotional pain than a physical one.

That was another good thing about being out here though. I have a chance to heal here, without the overbearing scrutiny for every breath out of rhythm or well-meaning suggestions for calming down enough to sleep as much as they think I should. Here I can be anonymous. I'm just the young artist, painting a mural in the Schickle mansion, not the victim of Chris Hobbs or ex-boytoy of Brian Kinney. I'm not Sunshine or Sweetheart, or any of the other sobriquet people attribute to me, whether flattering or not.

Here in the Golden State, I'm simply Justin Cole Taylor, Artist. And although the nightmares haven't completely gone yet, they are lessening. In fact, they have been even since I moved into my own place. I wonder if that means something... But I won't think of it right now.

Melanie emailed to see how I'm doing, and to let me know that Michael is still trying to fight the lawsuit. According to her, he's been to three different attorneys, and none of them will take his case, feeling like he has no chance of winning and that jail time is imminent if he doesn't come up with my money. A small part of me wants to let him off the hook for Deb's sake, but the larger part- the core of me- is screaming for justice. Michael knew better, but thought, like he has so many times, that everything would be forgiven and forgotten when he was caught. Well not this time!

Because of him, I had to humble myself to beg for money to attend school from Craig Taylor. And that, in and of itself in my book, is unforgivable! I also found out what he said in the emergency room, while everyone was waiting for me to wake up and that had Daphne kicking his ass. Good! I always knew that Michael hated me, but to wish me dead at the hands of a maniac- TWO MANIACS- was just...

I don't even have the words for someone so hateful.

The last email is from Brian, letting me know that the Carnivale posters have been approved by the GLC and are going up, even as he's sending the email. I'm glad of it. They had already pushed back the date for the event twice already, because of funding and scheduling conflicts with the City. So if they hadn't signed off on the poster, they would have been delayed further in order for me redo the poster. Even though it was a semi-rush job, and a matter of clearing up an outstanding account before I came out here, I still wanted to do the overall theme of the evening justice.

That place gave me my start, and the courage to show my work. I couldn't do a mediocre job in return. My earlier doodles from Rage are also being silently auctioned off. I'm kind of curious to see how much they will go for, even if I won't see a penny of it. I'm just happy that my work will be out there.

Just as I close out of my email and open up the illustration program I'm using to work on the mural, the doorbell to the main house rings. Getting up again, I stretch a little as I prepare to make the surprisingly long trek to the front door. I'm still in awe that although the house is grand, it still has a homey feel to it. The open floor plan takes me through the kitchen, massive dining room, and living room leading to one of four corridors that make up the foyer. There's furniture all throughout that was designed for luxury, as well as comfort.

I can't help thinking to myself that George and Malcolm must have redesigned the space to reflect their styles, as opposed to Virginia's. The words staid and stuffy comes to mind, as well as the names Joan Crawford and Joan Kinney when I think of her. Definitely not comforting thoughts! Finally reaching the door, I yank it open expecting to see a UPS or FedEx man, but instead I see...

"Brian...??"

Brian

I couldn't stay away any longer. Call me selfish if you must, since I know he needs time and space. Just because what I said to Mel about staying with Lindsay for Gus' sake was the truth, it doesn't mean that my words didn't hurt Justin. That wasn't my intention. And although I know he knows that, it doesn't change the facts; I know that.

After we all arrived in Justin's hospital room again that night, I noticed his aloofness almost immediately. Sure, he was ever so cordial and polite as always, but the warmth from him was missing. Even sitting next to him, resuming my normal seat by his side, I couldn't feel it. Afterward, anytime we saw each other it was about business. The Carnivale posters he did were amazing, but then I wouldn't have expected any less.

A minor tweak here, an addition to the dark and dangerous concept there, and it was completed. The following day he left for Los Angeles.

Emmett told me that George, and his partner Malcolm, were throwing a little dinner party for Justin's send off. Even though it was agreed that he would be back to Pittsburgh once or twice a month, he would be staying on the West Coast for awhile. So it was a small scale variation on a Bon Voyage party. Emmett and Ted thought that I should have made an appearance, but I blew them off. The truth: I couldn't take not being spoken to with more than a passing interest.

Justin's continued rejection hurt, but of course, they don't know that. And I wasn't about to tell them. In fact, they think that Justin and I settled our differences, which in reality couldn't be further from the truth. The silence between him and I was even more deafening than it was the night before the Rage party when he'd come back home from seeing Ethan. He didn't have to say anything; I already knew.

I remember lying there in the dark with only the light of the moon filtering through the windows, watching him undress, his teary, confused eyes meeting mine head on. The quietness surrounding us had nothing to do with the lack of physical noise; it was all emotional. No more silent screaming within our heads. No more conversations from our lips and limbs. It was just the still quiet in air, fraught with emotional turmoil, radiating from the both of us.

He crawled into bed beside me, his back against my chest. I could feel every breath he took, every silent sigh he released, even as I covered him with the duvet that matched his eyes and moved closer to him, seeking his warmth. My relief was palpable at him being there, but I knew it would be short-lived. While he was out, I had made the decision to push Justin off the cliff. The strange thing- as I think about it now- is that I think he knew, without me saying a word or my actions speaking for me.

Yes, Justin knew and was preparing himself for it, even as he probably hoped I wouldn't do it; silently prayed that I would prove him wrong in that moment when it really counted.   

I can still see that look of resignation the night of that cursed party. I saw it again as he told us to leave his hospital room, under the guise of fatigue. I watched helplessly as he, once again, withdrew himself from me. I don't generally believe in regret. It's normally a useless emotion in my world.

But I really do regret pouring salt in Justin's self-inflicted open wound. Whatever progress we had made up until that point was negated by my harsh words directed towards Mel, a woman who is still being serially cheated on. And all for the sake of my son. But in all my anger at the situation Mel is allowing to suppress her happiness, I caused harm to the man I had supposedly forgiven; a man that I still want beyond all rhyme and reason, and who is my equal in every way that matters to me. How the fuck am I supposed to fix it if he won't fucking talk to me?!

Rather than dwell on all of it, I threw myself into work and it's really paying off. In the first week after Justin's departure, we acquired four of the seven clients we went after. The other three are still reviewing the campaign with their respective Boards of Directors, and that's fine. I did all of the pitches personally, since I just needed to get out of town for a bit. I felt too cold, too lonely, too... something!

But it caused such a restlessness in me, that it was just better for me not to be around anyone who knew me. I held fast to my motto of work hard and play harder in every major city I visited. The tried and true methods of pain management were my friends, and the only things I could trust at those moments. I needed to feel empty, to feel numb, because feeling anything else just fucking hurt too much. Between Michael and Lindsay's betrayal, and then Justin's departure, it was...

Well let's just say that it wasn't fucking fun. By the time I got back to the office, I was exhausted but had resolved to resume my life- well as much of my pre-Justin existence- as I could. Michael and Lindsay kept calling, and showing up at Kinnetik. It was hard to pretend I didn't know what they had done, but that was for the best. At least, until the babies were born.

I still have no idea what the hell I'm going to do, but adoption isn't even an option. I think they both knew that, which is what makes this even harder to deal with. Growing up the way I did, doesn't exactly inspire trust. The only reason Gus is even here in this world is because I thought I could trust Lindsay and Mel to raise him with love and honor. Finding out that the woman I used to look upon as my best girl-friend is a Mistress of Manipulation hurts more than I can ever say, and that just pisses me off!

Lindsay was the first woman after Deb that I ever trusted. So imagine my shock when I found out that instead of being able to confide in the woman I thought I knew, I'm trusting her lesbian lover instead. Mel and I may have our differences, but I know she loves Gus, even if she was jealous of him during the first few months of his life. From what Justin told me, that was normal as the secondary parent. I always found it funny that he knew more about parenting, and the issues that go on between couples, than I did.

But then again, he's a fucking genius and isn't afraid to quote a public service announcement or hundreds of them if it means I have all the information I need to navigate this fatherhood fiasco. Because of him, I can say that I am definitely a better father than I ever thought I would be. Now I just have to figure out how to keep that upward mobility going so that Gus, and the other child or children, don't feel the neglect I grew up feeling. As for Michael and Lindsay, I'll keep avoiding them as much as I can until I figure it all out. Sometimes the best offense when dealing with those two is to say nothing, while thinking of and planning for every possible scenario.

It's when I allow them to goad me, and put me on the defensive that all the problems within my life happen. I mean, look at what Justin and I are going through now. If that isn't proof positive of how dangerous those two can be for my psyche, then I don't know what is.   

Another surprise came for me this week when I received a call from George Schickle. He said he was looking to change the direction his company was being advertised and had heard from Emmett that I was the man to call. I couldn't dispute him there, especially since Schickle's Pickles was currently being represented by VanGuard Advertising Agency. So with Ted and Cynthia in tow, we headed out to the enormous estate in Sewickley. I couldn't help but be impressed with the area, noting to myself that Justin would feel right at home since he'd grown up in elite society.

As for me, I couldn't help but mentally laugh that a kid born and bred on the wrong side of the tracks was about to have a meeting with a man in the top tier of the WASP nest. Meeting George Schickle, and his partner Malcolm, was a pleasant surprise. I could immediately see why Emmett had spoken so highly of him. Even though they had buckets of money, they weren't pretentious as so many are, including Lindsay's parents. It was obvious that George Schickle had far more wealth, and yet he was as down-to-earth and with a wicked sense of humor, as Emmett and Justin.

Getting down to business, he advised that he wanted a modern campaign while honoring the traditions which have built his empire for over sixty years. By the time the meeting was finished, I had sold him on a ‘Dancing Pickle' idea, which paid homage to the dance crazes of the times while adding enough heat and innuendo to the pickles to make it sexy. Children would love the cartoonish feel, while young adults would find the idea of breakdancing and tangoing pickles, suggestive. The older adults would have a bit of a nostalgic feeling, remembering the first time they tasted a Schickle's Pickle, be it while watching a baseball game, attending a drive-in movie, or eating a burger at some family function, or a sock-hop from yesteryear. While we were hashing out more ideas and primary costs for the campaign, he also asked to have a logo overhaul.

As we were conversing, I realized that there was only one artist I knew who could pull this off. Yes, I have a whole staff of talented artists at Kinnetik, but I really wanted something special for George Schickle. Call me crazy, but what he was doing for Justin was... Well there weren't enough words in the language to describe his benevolence towards Sunshine. So to me, it made perfect sense that Justin would work with me on this campaign.

It was then that I told Ted to email Justin, telling him that a new client is interested in a logo, and that said client would be willing to fly out to meet him. George realizing who Ted and I were speaking of, asked why I didn't just call Justin and ask then. Although I didn't tell him everything, I told the older gentleman that Justin and I weren't on speaking terms at the moment. I don't know how much George knew of the situation beyond my vague answer, but the next thing I know, I'm sitting on his private jet and heading to LA with only my briefcase, and the number of his tailor. When I get back, Emmett and I will definitely have to talk about the boundaries of friendship.

But for now... Justin won't be able to avoid me.   

There was a car waiting for me at the airport when I arrived. I was taken to George's tailor, who already had several suits, leisure suits, and casual wear ready for me to try and decide on. After making my selections and adding a few pairs of jeans, a pack of t-shirts and a few pairs of Prada boots to the pile, I was ready to pay for my purchases.

"No need, Monsieur Kinney. Monsieur George says this is his treat, since he insisted you come out right away. We're packing your things in garment bags as we speak."

"But..."

"Ah, no buts, Monsieur. Monsieur Schickle is a very good client, and you must be a special guest to him for him to do this for you. Don't- how do you Americans say?- look gifted horse in the mouth, yes?" Mr. Schickle's tailor, Alphonse, tells me.

"That's ‘gift', Alphonse. ‘Don't look a gift horse in the mouth' is the correct saying." I couldn't help but snicker. Instead of being offended, he smiled.

"Ah...that means I'm getting better! You should have heard me butchering the Americanisms before George began teaching me. Definitely a... a...  trial, as Mr. Malcolm says." He chuckled, and I couldn't help but do so in return.

Whatever nervousness I felt on the way to sunny California, dissipated for just those few moments with the frenchman. Thankfully, he wasn't horribly pretentious as the last one I had a run-in with. Perhaps I should have let Lindsay marry Gui after all. We sure wouldn't be going through the bullshit we are now, if I had. I left Alphonse with a tip worthy of his services, for which he thanked me for and wished me well on my continuing journey.

He handed me his card and told me that if I needed anything, he and his partner, Gene, would be available day or night to dress me. Of course, that could be taken several ways, until his partner joined him at the counter. The taller brunet, Gene, ran his hands through Alphonse's short red-blond curls, as the shorter man leaned against him. I was seeing in action what I had done with Justin so many times before, and how it must have looked to others when we thought no one was watching. It was intimate, making me feel like a complete voyeur.

So simple a gesture, but with a wealth of words being said through the action. I watched as Alphonse turned in his lover's arms, and the sparkling smile he graced Gene with; watched as Gene became mesmerized and enchanted by the man in his arms, until an answering smile appeared on his own lips. I want that back was all I could think, before finally getting into the car to go find Sunshine. 

When we pulled up in front of the Schickle Estate, I think I must have drooled a bit. The Mediterranean-style mansion was definitely a vision straight out of Architectural Digest. Saying it was just plain grand was an understatement. The white building stood tall and pristine, much like the men who owned it, themselves. I couldn't help but feel a measure of peace here.

The only thing that would make this feeling complete was if Justin and I could get our shit together.

Taking a deep breath, I ring the doorbell, then turn my back to mentally prepare myself in case he was less than welcoming once the shock wore off. No matter how hard it has been to admit to myself, life has been rather empty without the whirling dervish known as Justin Taylor, gracing it everyday. He added to my life in a way I hadn't expected or accepted, until he was gone from it. I can only hope he will be willing to do so again. When heard the door began to unlock, I took one more fortifying breath before turning around to meet the blue eyes I've missed, dead on.

No sense hiding anymore.

"Brian??" The blue eyes regarded me, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Shock and elation, mixed with a hint of trepidation blinked back at me.

"Hello, Sunshine."

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I'll get to that in a minute, but first things first..." I grab ahold of him, before he had a moment to even step back to let me into the building. Pulling him to me, I let my lips ghost over his at first, before claiming them as my own.

God, how I have missed his taste; missed the little hitch in his breathing whenever our tongues meet for the first time after being apart for any length of time. I've missed his smile and his voice; the way his arms welcome me as I settle into them. I missed his fingers in my hair, and the sound of the low growl in his throat when roused and aroused. It's that little sound I'm listening for now, as I continue to kiss him. It lets me know that he is fully engaged in the exchange.

When it finally comes, I release him, looking down into his face, pleased to see the dazed and flushed look on his countenance. My golden boy- my Sunshine- is one beautiful man.

"What are you doing here, Brian?" he asks, still a little breathless. Good!

"Business, but also... I- I missed you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

His smile shines brighter than the waning daylight. "Then I guess it would be okay for me to let you in. I actually thought you were the FedEx man. George said to expect a package."

"I know. I'm what you were waiting on." I laugh at the look of surprise on his face. "Let's face it, Sunshine. George Schickle is one sly old fox."

He smiled back at me. "You really don't know the half of it."

We move steadily into the house, as I take in the decor surrounding me. From the opulence of the foyer, I was expecting the interior to look like a museum with expensive or priceless artifacts. I was pleasantly surprised to find it warm and homey, luxurious, but without all the pretensions I would imagine most of the homes in Hollywood would have. It looks lived in, not like a showroom. Justin noticed my awe, and began to tell me that George and Malcolm had the entire interior redone once Virginia Hammond died.

When he told me of the mural, I couldn't help the shudder that went through me. I remember seeing pictures of her in the society pages of the numerous newspapers I tend to read. She always looked so joyless, as if she was always smelling bad meat. She reminded me a lot of my mother. Justin laughed again at my involuntary shudder, and when he asked why, I told him.

"Think of both the depiction of Joan Crawford in ‘Mommy Dearest' and Joan Kinney clutching pearls, with her numerous disapproving looks. Personally I think Virginia had your mom beat in the evil bitch department. No wonder George was happy when she finally kicked the bucket." Justin chuckled.

"So, how did he get the house back?"

"They never divorced. She was determined to take him for everything he owned, even before they married and joined empires. Every time he offered her a settlement, she sent her attorneys back to the table with demands for more. Well now everything she was trying to withhold from George, he ended up with in the first place. Since she died unexpectedly, she never updated her will, figuring she had time."

"Time waits for no man, or woman, for that matter."

"A lesson Virginia and her family learned the hard way. Her son and daughter from her previous marriage tried to contest the will and lost. Needless to say that Hammond and Francesca weren't happy with the million dollar bequeathment for each of them. George had his lawyers pay it out, and sent them on their way. He advised them to invest it wisely, because that was all they were going to get from him. After that, he ended up having to get restraining orders on them and their spouses since they were showing up wherever George and Malcolm were, making scenes, and threatening them. When he finally had them arrested for stalking and continual harassment, they told the judge what their mother had promised them in the event of her death, and were told that it wasn't hers to promise as long as George still lived. They aren't allowed within fifty feet of him, his residences, or his businesses, but George has a PI constantly looking after them, and the security firm he uses checks everything, including what they have done with the million they each received. He's determined that they aren't going to stop his life, or catch him unawares."

I nod as we entered the backyard from inside the massive kitchen area at the back of the mansion. It's an absolute private oasis with the swimming pool, separating the guest house from the main one. The contemporary structure looks as if it's always been here, but Justin tells me that George and Malcolm just built it a year ago when they remodeled the interior of the mansion. It looks almost as if they had Justin in mind when they designed it. The small house has huge windows, which would let in tons of sunlight, especially during the middle of the day.

Again, that sense of peace assaults my senses. But even more than that, I can tell Justin has found a measure of it. Taking a good look at him, I can tell his shoulders look a bit more relaxed than they have been in the last five months. He's still guarded and wary, but I think that has more to do with me being here than anything else. I guess I would feel less guarded too, if I didn't have to worry about other people's motivations all the time.

"So, how long are you staying?" Justin asks me.

"Ready to have me gone already?" That tenseness is back, and I don't like it. "Hey, stop, Justin. I was only joking with you." I watch as he releases the breath that I know he didn't realize he held for as long as it took me to reassure him. This is what we've been reduced to again. I shake my head at the thought.

"What?"

"What, what, Justin?"

"What was that look for?"

"What look are you talking about?" Fuck! This is... awkward, which is something I never thought Justin and I would ever be around each other.

"It doesn't matter. How long are you in town for again?"

"Until it's time to go back for the Carnivale."

"Okay."

"You are still attending, right?"

"I plan to, unless something else comes up."

That causes my ears to perk up. "Like what?"

I can see him hesitating to answer me, before he does. "Nothing really. I've just been spending some time with Brett. He lives next door."

Alright now... "Who the fuck is Brett?" I know I sound... Well I.... Okay so yeah, I'm having issues with my natural possessive streak right now. There, I've admitted it to myself, but he doesn't need to know that. "A friend of yours?" I ask to take the sting out of the implication that I could, in fact, be a little jealous of whomever this fucker is.

"Yeah, Brett is a friend. Well as much of a friend as you can have in this town. Actually, you've met him before."

I pause to think back if I've met any Brett while out with Justin, before things went to shit between us. The only one I remember is: "Brett Keller?"

"Yeah."

"And he lives next door?"

"That's what I just said."

"So why would you be making plans with him?"

Justin shrugs his shoulders, as if that should provide me all the answer I need. And maybe it does for him, but it fucking doesn't for me! I'm still standing here with my newly-acquired garment bag in one hand and my briefcase in the other, sorely tempted to turn around and walk back through the house to get out of here. This fucking tension between Justin and I feels like there is a ton of cinder blocks weighing me down. But I can't seem to will my feet to move in the opposite direction of where Justin is, especially since whatever is going through his mind is causing him to chew his bottom lip.

The ping from his laptop interrupts the uncomfortable silence between us, and I'm grateful for it. If there is one thing Justin and I don't need right now, it is to get into another argument- or in our current state, a non-argument over inconsequential people. Although this is a business trip, this is also about me and Justin. I don't want to waste a second of it over hurt feelings, and misplaced accusations. I think we've already had enough of that.

"Ted emailed me the specs of my new client."

"That's good, since that's why I'm here. You've been requested." I'm grateful for some common ground right now, and if nothing else, Justin and I know how to separate business from all things bedroom-related.

"Requested?" he asks, looking up from the screen briefly.

"Yes. Do you think I can put my bag down somewhere, and then I can fill you in on the main details of this campaign?"

His eyes widen, as if just realizing that he's been less than hospitable. "Sorry, Bri. I was a bit... preoccupied."

"Jeez, I hadn't noticed."

He moved into the guest house before me, and I have to admit it's even more impressive than what I've glimpsed through the open blinds. The floorplan is completely open with floor to ceiling views of the vistas on either side, and a full view of the pool and hot tub in the front. The tour is short, but even the bathroom layout catches my eye. Everything from the waist up is all glass while the bottom half of the walls are made of Italian White Carrara marble- one of the most expensive types per tile. It's pure pleasure to look at with its chrome finishes, and yet it still feels inviting.

I swear George and Malcolm are decorating masters. No matter how decadent the residence and the pool house are, they still feel as if the buildings themselves are welcoming you home.  

We found our way back into the kitchen, where he busies himself checking the slow cooker. I hear the mutter under his breath followed by an expletive I haven't heard from between his lips in a long time. It's been forever since I've heard him swear in any other language than English. The first time I heard it, I was amazed to know that he knew a foreign language at all. The second reason is that I was shocked I still remembered Greek.

"Problem?" I ask, trying to figure out exactly what has him rolling his eyes at the moment.  

"Uh... I hadn't exactly planned on company, and this definitely won't be done until after seven," he answers as if the statement should explain everything. Truthfully, it does, since not everyone is as fastidious about their eating habits.

"I'll tell you what... why don't we just get down to business first, and then we'll figure out what to do about food afterwards?"

I can see the wheels in his mind turning, then finally agreeing that it's a viable solution. "Okay. So tell me what George wants?"

He heads back outside, and I follow him to the daybed. He clears off a small area on the coffee table he's been using to work from his laptop, so that I can spread out the notes from my earlier meeting with George. I hand him the specifics with the targeted demographics, and explain to him my idea for marketing so that it reaches all age groups at the same time, without blowing the budget. He listens to me intently, nodding where appropriate, completely engaged in what I'm saying. I can't help but hope that he'll be just as attentive later tonight, while we're clearing the air.

Justin has never had a problem separating the business from the personal, which again leads me to being pissed with myself for not telling him why I cancelled Vermont in the first place. He would have understood; I know that. It was my own damnable fucking pride that put us here. Hell, I could have even taken him with me, if I had just...

"So basically, you want to use the pickles in different situations. That's good, but it would be a bit morbid to have a pickle eating another pickle, even if it is animated."

I laugh at the imagery his words conjured. "So how would you do it?"

He shifts his laptop into position where I can't see it. I have to admit that I love watching him work. The way the tip of his tongue molests the corner of his mouth, brings to mind all the other things that talented appendage is able to do to me. The way his eyes zero in, centering to the exclusion of everything going on around him, reminds me of the way he looks at me, whether we're speaking or fucking. Each sweep of his eyes across my body feels like he actually touches me; in lust, in anger, in happiness, or in despair.

Whatever emotion he's feeling at any given moment can be found there, and felt deeply within the assessed. It's what makes Justin an amazing artist, untried and untutored though he may be. It's why I can't give up on him, on this; on us. Being bereft of his focus when I've finally become accustomed to it, has made me lonely in a world where I am King. A world where no one really sees me, other than him.

After a few moments, he turns his computer towards me. The work is based simply off of the notes from the meeting, and the brief conversation we had, but I'm amazed that it is almost entirely complete. Justin managed to take the idea and give it action, even though they are in still shots. Each picture has a personality. As I sit there flipping through the slides he's placed in the PowerPoint program, I marvel at how ingenious this idea really is.

It's one thing to have it in your head, but another to see it coming to fruition. It's reminding me of why I fell in love with the advertising business in the first place. And why I have fallen in love with the artist, who just gets me without a plethora of words. I bite my lip to keep from saying the lebianic sentiment aloud, when there are so many things still unsettled between the two of us. Then breathe a sigh of relief when he again focuses on the campaign, and not picking the other thoughts out of my head instead.

"Of course, there are some things that need to be added, like the animation and phasing concepts to seamlessly change from the pickle to the person eating the pickle, but I think this is a good start for now."

"A variation on the adage, 'You are what you eat.' Hmm, not bad," I say, as I continue to study the slides, but I can feel the beam from the satisfied smile gracing his lips. "Not bad at all, Sunshine."

"Well, I aim to please, Mr. Kinney," he snarks playfully, and I find myself sticking my tongue out at him. "Oh, very mature."

"Well I aim to please, Mr. Taylor."

He looks at me, the twinkle still in his eyes. I realize that I've missed this mischievous side of his personality most of all. This side of him always knew how to make me laugh, when I thought everything else around me was going to shit. Or how he would take my phrases and turn them in such a way, where I had to laugh, if they were applied to me. Justin Taylor taught me- and continues to teach me- when not to take myself so seriously that I lose sight of what's really important in my life.

He's the reason I can be such a good dad to Gus, when I spend time with my little mini-me. The reason that after he and I have had one of our numerous arguments, I can forgive myself for saying something cruel, even if it had a measure of truth to it. He's been my conscience more times than I care to remember. But more importantly, he's also been my solace during those times when my life just feels a little bit too much. We're interrupted by the tell-tale grumble of his stomach.

He looks a little embarrassed when he mumbles, "Sorry."

I shake my head at him. "Don't be. I know the routine by now, Justin. When was the last time you've eaten anyway?"

"I think my stomach is still on Pitts time. It seems like I'm hungry as hell every few hours."

"Uh-huh. Don't blame it on you leaving Pittsburgh, three weeks ago," I snicker.

"Hey, I'm a growing boy. What do you expect?"

I look at him closely, noting, not for the first time, that while he is still slender, he's filling out in all the right places. His arms seem more muscular, and oddly enough, he's grown a few inches in the last few months. It's the only reminder I have that he's still under twenty-one most of the time, even though his fake ID says that he should be about sixty now. I silently laugh at that thought, remembering how he used it a few years ago to gain entry to my playground- to our playground. I can still see the confetti raining over his blond head and naked torso, seeming to cling onto him as if never wanting to fall off.

It's how I feel about him now.

I look at my watch, knowing that he'll still be ready to eat again in a few hours since it's only about four- thirty now on the west coast. "So know any good Thai places around here?"

"Definitely, but you might want to change your clothes first. You look like a tourist right now."

"Well Duh, I am one."

"Well since I'm not dressing up, you have to dress down, Mr. Kinney."

I contemplate what he's telling me, and decide he's right. Besides it might be better if we're in public, when we clear up some misconceptions between us. Suddenly I'm even more glad that George Schickle didn't give me a chance to say no to coming out here. I head inside, and pull out a pair of jeans that I know will hug my ass in all the right places, one of my sleeveless tees and a black silk shirt off of one of the leisure suits I've just gotten from Alphonse. Looking at myself quickly in the full-length mirror on the wall, I call it good.

But I know I've made the right decision when I step back onto the patio of the guest house, and see the look of lust immediately flair into Justin's eyes when he looks up from his computer.

"See something you like?" I ask, already knowing his answer, but he clears his throat and feigns nonchalance.

"You look great."

"Well, according to you, I always do."

He raises an eyebrow at me, but I can see the little smirk turn up the corner of his mouth. Grabbing his keys and cell phone, he says, "Let's go."

I follow his enticing ass, noticing the slight twist in it he has which just comes naturally with the way he walks. That was another thing about Justin that I appreciated. No matter how a man's walk stereotypes and separates a gay man from a straight one, Justin doesn't give a shit or buy into the bullshit. He's just who he is without artifice, take him or leave him. He doesn't let what others think of him and his decisions negate who he is anymore, the way it did when faced with Michael's harsh criticisms, or Lindsay's passive-aggressive suggestions.

He's confident now, and it shows. He always has been, even if he'd forgotten for a little while.

We arrived at Thai restaurant in Santa Monica, about a half hour to forty minutes later. How the fuck has it happened that he's being greeted by name already, and he's only been here for three fucking weeks? Justin doesn't bat an eyelash, and is automatically deferred to for choice seating in the place. He picks the table closest to the kitchen that looks out over the water. It's still public, but it's also private enough away from the other patrons so that we can speak freely, without being interrupted or overheard.

The waiter comes back, and I can tell he's interested in both Justin and myself. When he lingers, I help him out. "Not interested."

"I just wanted to wait for Mr. Taylor's order," he tries to explain, stammering over his words.

Justin just looks at me over his menu with something akin to shock, pride, and trepidation all mixed together. "I know exactly what you were doing, and when we're ready, we'll signal for you," I say smoothly. Reluctantly he moves off to tend to other patrons in his area, who were apparently signaling for the check. I still feel Justin's eyes staring at me, while I try to refocus my attention on my menu selections. "What?"

"What, what, Brian?"

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Hmm let's see... you almost went caveman on that poor waiter."

"I did not. I was just letting him know that if he got any more transparent, he would be mistaken for scotch tape. I did him a favor."

"Really? How is that?" He arches his eyebrow at me.

"I saved him the embarrassment of being turned down by you."

"How do you know I would have? Turned him down, I mean."

I could tell him that he's already sitting with the only man worth fucking in this place. Justin wouldn't have disputed that, but outside of getting a blow job, in his mind, he wouldn't have been fucking the waiter's face. So after steeling my resolve, I decide to give Justin a dose of truthful reality. "Because you want the shit that's between us resolved, even more than I do."

He seems to think about that for a minute, before resigning himself to his own truth. "Yeah, I do."

"So that means right now, we don't have time to play well with others. Now later..."

"Will there even be a later?"

"That's what we're here to figure out, Sunshine."

Justin signals the waiter, who comes back as if his asshole is on fire. And perhaps it is, metaphorically speaking. Both Justin and I look hot, but then again, we always do. He orders for both of us, knowing exactly what I like. After the waiter leaves eager to do our bidding so that he has reason to come back to our table, we both settle in to discuss what has brought us to this desolate place in- dare I say it- our relationship.