TED’S POV

alone again, naturally

That’s it. That’s what it is. I knew it would come to me. It’s a carry over from last month. I knew that girl from that temp agency didn’t know how to reconcile a bank account. Just like I know I’m probably the only guy who figures these things out while masturbating to John Cusak talking to his therapist in Grosse Pointe Blank. There’s just something about all that black he wears while he’s working out all of his issues.

Work ‘em out John, work ‘em out. Holy fucking fuck fuck. Phone’s ringing, and I’m out of tissues.

Em. Of course.

”OH THANK GOD YOU ANSWERED YOUR PHONE!” Well, that’ll be the last time, considering I’m deaf now.

“Why are you yelling?”

I’M NOT YELLING. I’M ON MY NEW HEADSET. ISN’T IT FABULOUS?”

“Only if fabulous means ‘make someone’s ear bleed.’ Turn it down.”

“OH, SORRY! Is that better?” Much.

“What are you doing? Wearing a headset while you cook now?”

“No, Teddy. I’m not cooking. I’m lost.”

“Physically or metaphorically?”

“Directionally. I’m on my way to the museum, and I know I’m close, but I can’t find it. I’m starting to panic. You’ve got to help me.” The museum? Before noon?

”Okay. Fine. Why are you going to the museum? And which museum? The one downtown or the new one?”

“No, not the new one. Downtown. And I can’t tell you why. I’m on a mission. I think it might be top secret. All I can tell you is that I’m in Carl’s car on the way to the museum, and I’m totally lost, and I need your help.”

”Okay, wait, let me get this straight. You’re on a top secret mission to a museum in Carl’s car by yourself. You’re completely lost. You can’t tell me what it is, and you want me to help you carry out this mission?” This is even better than whacking off to Cusak.

“Teddy. You’re not helping.”

”Right. Where are you?”

“IF I KNEW WHERE I WAS, TEDDY, I WOULDN’T BE LOST!” Em in a nutshell—loud and obvious.

”Pull off somewhere and figure out what street you’re on. You’ve got to give me a starting point. I’m not Houdini!”

“Fine. Fair enough. Maybe I should get some donuts.” Huh?

”What?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m just talking to myself. I’m in the parking lot of The Donut Hole.” I know exactly where he is.

”Okay. You’re about three blocks away. Make a right out of The Donut Hole, go three blocks down, and the museum will be on your left.”

“Teddy, you’re a lifesaver. What would I do without you? I’m going through the drive-thru. I can’t get through this without some donuts or some chocolate or something.”

“You’d drive some other conservative homosexual up the wall, and get through what? What’s going on? You’re making me feel more left out than usual.”

“Believe me Teddy, you don’t want anything to do with this.”

“With what!?”

“Hang on. Can I please have six chocolately-chocolate donuts with sprinkles and six strawberry-glaze with rainbow sprinkles?.....No, that’ll be all. Thank you.”

”Jesus. This must be bad. You don’t eat chocolately-chocolate with sprinkles unless….unless Barbara or Cher are really not going to tour again. Or Madonna! Oh my god, did you hear something about Madonna? You did, didn’t you? Out with it.” Or maybe George Michael died. I’ll bet that’s it. Somebody died. Somebody famous. No wait. A museum. A gay artist? Shit. Why can’t I think of a gay artist?

”Almost ten dollars for a dozen donuts. That is ridiculous. Teddy, you know if I heard something about Madonna, I would’ve called you the minute I heard it. Don’t be dramatic.”

”Then what!”

“Well apparently, Teddy, unbeknownst to me, and since Michael resigned on Friday, I’ve been appointed the defacto ambassador of the Brian/Justin relationship.”

”You have?” He has?

“Yes, apparently I have. Didn’t even see it coming either. I’m so naïve, Teddy, so naïve.”

”You are?” He is.

“Yes, I am. I mean think about it. I’m the logical choice. Michael’s too close to the situation to really help them. I’m the one who’s been in a May-December relationship, I’m the one who Brian chose to pick out Justin’s new clothes, I’m the one who Justin confides in when he’s having problems with Brian—"

Hold on a minute. ”He did that once, and technically a May-December means that—“

“Don’t you see, Teddy? I mean, it just all makes so much sense to me now.”

”It does?” It’s not making any sense to me.

“Yes, it does. Brian's so desperate for help, god Teddy, it almost makes me cry to tell you this…..he tried to pay me, Teddy. Can you believe that? Tried to pay me.” He oughta save the receipt for those donuts. Business expense.

”He did?” Pay you to do what?

“Yes. Of course, I told him, ‘no, Brian, I don’t want your money. I would never take money from a friend.’ Can you fathom such a thing, Teddy? Taking money from a friend?” No, I can’t imagine that at all.

”You? Mooch off of a friend? Never. So does this mean that you’re Dr. Phil now and not a party planner?”

“No, heavens, no. This is just a side thing. You have to understand, this might be where my heart lies, my life’s work, but it will probably never be something I can make my living at. Sadly, I’ll probably always be a party planner. Oh, look, I just found the museum! It was right where you said it was!” Whadd’ya know? I’m good for something.

”Imagine that. Well, look on the bright side Dr. Em. If you do mend Brian and Justin’s relationship, you can always throw them a party, charge Brian a shit load of money for it, and get paid for all of this in the end.”

“You know what Ted Schmidt? That's a damn fine idea. That’s why you and I make a great team.”

”Yes. It frightens me sometimes.”

“Well, wish me luck. I’ve got to go spread some fairy dust.”

”Don’t sneeze.”

So I guess in another four years, it’s my turn to play doctor? Just like kickball. Always the last to be picked. Why do all of us end up working for Brian Kinney in one way or another?

********************
JUSTIN'S POV

I think there's something you should know
I think it's time I told you so
There's something deep inside of me
There's someone else I've got to be

sixty-seven minutes ago….

“Dad? It’s Justin.” I can’t believe I still have his number in my phone. A cigarette before I go in. If I smoked in my mother’s car, she’d have a meltdown. I can see Myron waving to me from his desk. Moron.

”Justin. Hey! Didn’t realize that was you. Didn’t recognize the number.”

“Yeah, it’s my cell. I was just calling to thank you for bringing my luggage over.” Okay, I can’t think of anything else to say now.

”Oh, you’re welcome. Your mom tells me you’re moving to Hollywood? That you’re making a movie? Couldn’t believe it. I’m proud of you, Justin.” Didn’t expect that.

“Yeah, I am. Thanks. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

”Your mother told me. For how long?”

“Not really sure yet. Six to eight months probably.” Hopefully not longer.

”Well, what’re you gonna be doing? What’s this movie? This has to do with your artwork, right?”

“Right. My comic book. The one Michael and I did together. Rage. It’s being made into a movie. I’m going to be the Assistant Art Director on the film.”

”Wow. So this is like computer animation? What you wanted to do?” No.

“No, Dad. It’s not an animated picture. It’s a regular film. It just brings the characters to life, like an action movie.”

”Right, right. And it’s for kids?” I’m sure some will go, but, no.

“No, Dad. It’ll be rated ‘R.’ It’s targeted toward an adult audience.”

”A gay audience?” Here we go.

“Yes. An adult gay audience.”

Silence.

”Well, if that’s what you want to do Justin, that’s your decision. But you’re talented. I guess I just don’t understand why you would want to limit yourself by working on something like that, start your career out like that. I mean if you’re work is good enough for Hollywood, surely you can work on something less controversial, something more mainstream. Why waste your talent on something like that?”

“It’s my comic book, Dad. It’s controversial for a reason. And it’s not a waste of my talent.” I’ve found our next villain.

”Well, making a comic book and making a movie are two very different things, that’s all. That’s gonna give you a lot of exposure, whether you like it or not.” Yeah, or maybe you. Maybe that’s what you’re worried about. “But you’re an adult now, you can make your own decisions. This is the comic book you made about that guy Brian, isn’t it?” Seems his memory’s working again.

“Yeah, it’s based on him, and he’s my partner, Dad. He loves me.”

”He’s your business partner now, the one that got you into this deal? This was his idea—to make this movie? You need to be careful, Justin. I don’t like the sound of that. You don’t have all your money tied up with him, do you?”

“I got the deal on my own, and he’s my boyfriend. He’s not going out there with me. I’m going by myself.”

”Well, that’s gonna be the best thing for you, Justin. It’ll probably do you some good to get away from him for awhile. Make a clean break. Live your own life. Be careful out there, son.” The relief in his voice makes me sick. “I love you.” Bullshit.

“No, you don’t.”

”What?”

“I said, ‘no, you don’t.’ You don’t love me. I don’t want you to say if you don’t mean it.” Myron is giving me a really weird look, probably because he’s never seen me like this. Welcome to the last four days of my life Myron. I wish he would just fuck off.

”I do love you, Justin. I just don’t understand the things that you do or why you want to do them. I just never thought that---"

“That your little boy would grow up to suck cock.”

”Don’t say that to me. That’s disgusting.”

“No, Dad. What’s disgusting is that I’ve spent the majority of my life looking up to you only to have you reject me when I haven’t done anything but be myself. That you can love Molly, but not me. Like somehow all the years before you knew I was gay don’t even matter. So, just tell me, what was the exact moment that the switch flipped?”

”Justin, that isn’t true.” Lying mother fucking piece of shit.

“Was it when you realized I was a fag or when you realized that I had replaced you with someone who actually did—does---take care of me—better than you ever did.”

“Justin.”

“And fucks my brains out as well?”

”Don’t talk to me like that. I’m your father.”

“Yeah, well, not anymore.”

I never knew a cell phone could shatter into that many pieces.

********************

Everybody's high on consolation
Everybody's trying to tell me what's right for me

“Thought you were gonna stand out there all day.”

“Hey Myron.” Myron. One of the few “See the Light” success stories, if you want to call it that. Married to an ex-lesbian. Runs a museum. Dresses like he walked right out of Banana Republic. Gets his hair cut every three weeks. Trims and files his fingernails compulsively, all day long, while he works. Yeah, he’s straight. And I don’t have mood swings.

“You all right? You looked like you were about to rage against the machine out there.”

“I was having an argument with someone.”

“You want some pound cake? Janet made it.” His wife’s cooking isn’t fit for prisoners in a third world country.

“No, thank you.”

“Just gonna have your usual then?” And he thinks he’s a bartender, not a curator.

“Yeah. I’ll be back here.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” See what I mean?

********************
Sometimes the clothes
Do not make the man

This place is almost deserted and now I know why. Half of these exhibits are being packed up. I know it’s fucked up and weird to sit on this sofa bench thing backwards and look at this painting upside down, but I noticed one day that it looks just as weird either way and sometimes I just like staring at the ceiling in here. I like the ceiling. It reminds me of the loft, only I can stare at it without Brian touching me all the time. I can’t think when he’s touching me.

I shouldn’t even be here. I should be packing. I should have a father that loves me, a little sister who doesn’t have to spend every other weekend sleeping in a different bed—a mother who doesn’t shop for shitty condoms. A boyfriend that—

A boyfriend that—

The thing about Picasso—he was so heavily influenced by the women he was in love with. One of his wives didn’t like his work—his style—so he changed it. Just started painting a different way. There's so much pain in his paintings. I like it. It feels good to me—that he could just let all of it go—all over the canvas. That’s hard to do because once you let it out, set it free, it’s so hard to bottle it back up again. Picasso let his pain, his fear, bleed out of him into his art. I can’t control mine like that. Mine consumes me.

It’s too hard to explain to anyone the amount of energy it takes to hide this from people, to stay a step ahead of where you are every second so you don’t get trapped where you don’t want to be, to be constantly creative—coming up with new ways to decline invitations to go places with friends you just met because you can’t. Because even if their car is parked in the bright sunshine at lunch, we might have to park in the deck when we get back, and what am I’m gonna do—just jump out of the car, hyperventilating? Freak them out?

And then what do I do when this person is my boss or my co-worker, and I don’t know where we’re going? I know this city inside and out. I can predict things here. I can’t do that there. I’ll be on edge, a nervous fucking wreck. Wear a sign around my neck that says: CAUTION: BEWARE OF PARKING STRUCTURES. This is a fucking disaster.

There’s an orange sticker on the bottom of this painting. That means they’re taking it away. It won’t be here when I get back. Nothing will be the same when I get back.

Fuck, nothing’s the same now.

I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there. I don’t know what an Assistant Art Director does. If I’m just supposed to do whatever the real Art Director tells me to do, what am I gonna do if they ask me to do something I don’t know how to do? I don’t know that many graphics programs. I can’t draw for that long without shaking. Brett didn’t send me a job description. I have no clue.

Or what if it’s the other way around? What if I’m supposed to tell other people what to do? I’m twenty. I hardly look it. Who’s going to listen to me? People that have worked in the movies for years? Not likely. I should’ve asked more questions. I should’ve thought this through. I should’ve talked to someone about it.

Brian.

I love him. I don't want to be away from him, worrying about him, knowing he's never telling me the truth about anything, wondering what he's really doing.

I don’t want to leave him.

I don’t think I can.

Shit. I think I already did.

********************
BRIAN’S POV

greet me with the eyes of a child

My son and hardwood floors are not a good combination.

“DADDY!!” He runs right past me chasing the kitten. I look like an idiot, standing there, waiting for a hug. My son prefers pussy. I guess I’ll learn to deal.

“There’s a bump on his forehead. What happened?” It’s a big bump. I help Lindsay try to clear a path to the kitchen. Gus is in rare form this morning.

“He ran into the coffee table yesterday morning. Right as we were walking out the door.”

“Ouch.”

“That’s one of the side effects of living in a new place. He thinks he knows his way around, but then he miscalculates and SLAM. I put ice on it. Do you think it looks that bad? Maybe I should look at it again.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Every kid goes through that stage. Just wait until he starts playing sports. You’ll run out of ice.” I’m going to look at it again when he slows down.

“Thanks, Brian. I needed that image in my head. I can hardly handle it when he gets hurt now. Maybe I’ll be lucky, and he won’t want to play football. Maybe he’ll want to be an artist like me or like Justin.” One vote for football. “He loves to paint, and he’s drawn you about ten pictures since you and Justin got him that cat. It’s all he talks about.” Speak of the devil. Here he comes again.

“WATCH OUT DADDY!” I grab him this time. He squirms in my arms as I hold him over my head. “Put me down! I’m having a race with Twink!”

“Not in your socks you’re not. I wanna look at this bump on your head. You hit the coffee table?” I sit him down in a kitchen chair.

“Yeah. It hurt.” Shit. It’s got a gash in it and everything.

“You can’t run in the house in your socks Gus. These floors are slippery.”

“I know.”

“Go put your shoes on before you start playing with the cat again.”

“I can’t find them Daddy.”

“Gus, they’re in your room in your closet. I told you I put them in there.” Lindsay shakes her head at him.

“Go put them on.” He glares at me like I’m the meanest Daddy in the world.

“Okay.” He sulks to his bedroom. What a little drama queen.

“That’s his new thing, Brian. ‘I can’t find this. I can’t find that.’ He’s smart as a whip.”

“Takes after his father.”

“Which ironically is why you’re here.” I should’ve seen that coming. She always gets this syrupy sweet smile on her face before she knees me in the nuts.

“I know. So what happened at school? Tell me before he gets back out here.” I guess we’re having spaghetti for lunch. I hate having spaghetti with Gus. It’s a weapon of mass destruction.

“Don’t worry. It takes him at least ten minutes to put his shoes on. He avoids it like the plague.” She’s making salad for me, I guess. Gus won’t eat salad, last time I checked. “His teacher called me Monday or Tuesday and told me that he was acting out really badly before lunch every day, which isn’t like him. She said every time they line up on the playground to go inside for lunch, he just loses it. Won’t go, screams, anything not to go. It didn’t make any sense to me, so I went to watch the next day from another classroom, where he couldn’t see me. Took me a second to figure it out.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“They line up in two lines. Girls and boys. He lines up with the girls.”

“He does?”

“And then they make him switch lines, and that’s when he loses it.”

“Why does he care who he’s in line with?”

“Because who you’re line with, is who you go into the bathroom with. And since he doesn’t pee standing up, he gets teased mercilessly. The minute he lines up, the boys start chanting: ‘Gus is a girl.’” Oh shit. “As far as he’s concerned, he’d just as soon stay with the girls. But I’d rather you help him out a little, so at least he has a choice.”

“He goes in the girls’ bathroom?” How am I gonna undo that?

“No. Their bathrooms are unisex. They just go in groups. But next year, in Kindergarten, they’re separate, and he’s gonna have a problem.”

“Okay. You made your point.”

“Don’t make him feel like what he’s doing is wrong. Just—“

“I know what to do.” I think. And why was Mel so against this?

“I have to run to the gallery to take care of one thing, so I’m gonna leave you two alone. I’ll be back probably right around his nap time. Please make sure that he takes a nap. We’re going to Jennifer’s tonight, and I don’t want him to be impossible.”

“Okay. I can handle it. It’s probably better if it’s just me and him. Wouldn’t want any girls around here for him to line up with.” She puts our lunch in the fridge and grabs her purse. “Call my cell if you need me. I take it your weekend was wonderful?”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Good luck.” I hope I don’t need it.
********************
My child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.

My boy is just like me. I stand in the doorway of his bedroom and watch him as he tortures the kitten. Shoeless, of course. Kinney men do not wear shoes. He’s trying to get Twink to look at herself in the mirror. He picks her up as carefully as he can and sits her on his dresser. She freaks when she sees herself in the mirror and puffs up like a porcupine. He squeals with delight. My son is a sadist. There’s hope for him yet.

“Daddy, I know you’re watching me.”

“Mommy went to work for a little bit. I’m going to stay with you for a while.” He looks at me. Twink takes the opportunity to try to figure out a way off the dresser.

“I know. She told me you were going to stay with me.”

“Good. So what are you doing in here?” In your little torture chamber.

“Playing with the cat.” Twink jumps down and bolts for the closet. She’s had enough of him for the moment. “Aw, man. She went in the closet again.” I sit down on the floor and pull him into my lap.

“Where are your shoes?”

“I don’t want to put my shoes on. I hate shoes.” He’s definitely my kid.

“Then take your socks off, so you don’t slip.” He likes that idea. He yanks them off and throws them in opposite directions. I have no idea how his teachers deal with a multitude of these little people. We lie on the floor in his room driving cars and trucks everywhere on his car mat and building things with blocks, Lincoln Logs, Legos, and anything else he has laying around.

“Okay, Daddy, this is your house. Yours and Mr. Justin’s.” Apparently we live in a skyscraper and not a very sturdy one. “And these are your people.” He hands me a boy and girl. Tells me who is who. Justin is a girl now.

“Justin is a boy. This is a girl. I need a different one.”

“I don’t have any boys with yellow hair. That’s Mr. Justin.”

Oh. My bad.

“And this is the school, and this is Mommy and Baby Jenny’s house, and this is Uncle Michael’s house, and this is the cat store, and this is the diner and Grandma Debbie.”

“Okay. Where’s your house?”

“Oh, I forgot. And this is my house. And this is your office, Daddy.” Where’s Babylon? “Okay, Daddy, now everybody go to sleep. It’s nighttime.” I put my head down and start snoring.

“NOT YOU DADDY! Your people!” He grabs me and Ms. Justin and lays us beside the skyscraper. We’re sleeping peacefully. What a crock of shit. I try to molest Ms. Justin when Gus isn’t looking, and she cold-cocks me. Bitch. “Okay, now everybody: ‘Wake up!'” He’s the town rooster. Normally Ms. Justin would blow me in the morning, but somehow I don’t think that’s appropriate right now. Anyway, she doesn’t usually want to when she’s on the rag.

“Okay, Daddy. Time for you to go to work!” He hands me a red car. Give me a minute. I’m still jerking off in the shower.

“I’m going to come pick you up and take you to school.” He hands me a yellow truck and tells me it’s for Mr. Justin.

“I’m not going to school.” I look over at his house. Yep, he’s still in bed.

“Why not?”

“I’m sick today.” Uh huh.

“Well then I’ll come over and take care of you.” I start driving my red car over to his house.

“NO! I want Mr. Justin to come take care of me. You go to work.” He steers my car in the other direction.

We need to build an airport. “Mr. Justin can’t come take care of you. He’s going to California. He’s going to his new job, to work in the movies. Remember?”

“I know. I drew him a picture. You wanna see it?”

“Sure.” He goes over to his little desk and pulls out about fifty sheets of paper and brings them over. He’s been busy. So maybe my kid’s a little like me and a lot like Justin. “You draw like Mr. Justin.”

“Yep. This one’s for him. This is the mouse in the kitchen with Grandma Debbie. She’s scared of the mouse.” He hands me that one. “This one’s the cat store.” I’m glad he’s telling me what these pictures are because I sure as hell would have no clue. “This is you carrying Twink and me in the cart.” A moment I’ll always treasure.

“What’s this one?” Looks like a big brown square.

“That’s the box of kittens!” Right. “And this one’s for you Daddy.” I’m at a loss. “This is you and Mr. Justin kissing, and this is me. See, you’re holding me. And this is the night. And this is the moon. And this is the box of kittens. I had to put it on the back ‘cause I ran out of room.” I flip it back over and look at me and Mr. Justin kissing. His head is three times the size of mine, but I’m twice as tall. Gus looks like a little monkey in a leather jacket hanging off of me. He got that part right.

“That’s a really nice picture. You did a good job.”

“Yeah, I’m an artist.” Yeah, I guess he is. He notices everything, an inherited trait, apparently. I look up to see Twink peering out of the closet. She has perfect timing. I tap Gus’ arm and point so he notices that she’s peeking out.

“GET HER DADDY! GET HER!” I’ve never dived for pussy so fast in my life. God, I feel for this kitten.

“Come on, Gus. Let’s go into the living room.” I thought a change of scenery would quell the artist in him, but I was wrong. He plops down beside me on the couch with his “My First Sketchpad” and a box of crayons that I’m sure Justin gave him and proceeds to inform me of his intentions.

“Okay. Be still Daddy. I’m going to draw your picture.” If Justin ever lets me touch him again, I’m going to strangle him.

“Wouldn’t you rather play with the kitten?” Even I’m all for torturing the cat now.

“In a minute. Stop moving.” Justin was right. He’s bossy as hell. Like father, like boyfriend, like bossy little artist. I lay my head back against the back of the couch and close my eyes. “I’m gonna use a lot of colors, Daddy, but not yellow ‘cause you don’t have yellow hair like Mr. Justin.”

No, I sure don’t. I can feel Twink walking back and forth between Gus and I as I sit for “My First Portrait.” I can’t wait to see this. Although something tells me I may be asleep before he’s done.

I think Twink has the same idea. She’s decided that the safest place to be right now is in my lap. I don’t have the heart to tell her how wrong she is, especially today. Although I do feel something for her that feels vaguely like affection, but I think that’s just because she’s kneading my balls. If I can’t have Justin right now, I’ll settle for this.

Now that I think about it, Justin and Twink have a lot in common. They’re both small, young, warm, and cute. They both have beautiful eyes and shiny hair. They both like to be between my legs.

And, son of a bitch, they both have claws.

********************

Lunch is spaghetti and frustration.

“Gus, stop worrying about what Twink is doing and worry about finishing your lunch.”

“I can’t see her. I don’t know where she is.” I’m going to put whiskey in his sippy cup.

“She’s under your chair. Eat.” Okay, that’s the third time his cup has fallen on the floor. “Gus!”

“Daddy, you’re grouchy.”

“I’m tired. Please stop worrying about the cat and just eat your spaghetti.”

“You need to take a nap.”

“I plan to. So how’s school?”

“Fine.”

“So you like it?”

“I like my friends.” God, he’s worse than me. It’s like pulling teeth.

“Who are you’re friends?”

“Um, Rachel, Bethany, Haley, and Jessica, and sometimes Amanda.”

“Sometimes Amanda? Why only sometimes?”

“She likes to play with the boys a lot.” He couldn’t get more spaghetti on his shirt if he tried.

“Oh. And you don’t?”

“No. They’re mean to me. And if I want to play with them, they make me be the dog all the time. I don’t want to be the dog. Haley and Rachel let me be the daddy. Like you.” I’m gonna beat the shit out of those boys.

“You like to be the daddy, huh?” He nods, his mouth full of pasta.

“I’m done with my ‘sghetti.”

********************
I will be your father figure
Put your tiny hand in mine

I yank his spaghetti-soaked shirt off over his head before he even gets up from the table.

“I’m gonna get some ‘jamas for my nap.”

“You can just put on another shirt Gus.”

“No. I want ‘jamas.” He leaves me in the kitchen to clean up the spaghetti explosion. He’s stark naked in the kitchen five minutes later.

“What are you doing?” He’s too much like me.

“I can’t find my Blue’s Clues ‘jamas.”

“Wear a different pair then.”

“No. I want Blue’s Clues.” I stare at him knowing damn well that I’d order him to go find another pair right now were this any other day before any other naptime, but I need his cooperation today. We need each other.

“That’s not the way Mommy does it.”

Okay.

If you had told me that last Sunday I’d wake up this Sunday to guzzle champagne, tell Justin I loved him sort of by accident, be betrayed by my own dick, and then be supervised by my naked four-year-old son while I loaded the dishwasher, I would’ve told you that whatever you were smoking wasn’t strong enough.

“Yeah, well, this is exactly how Mr. Justin does it.” That shut him up. “Come on, let’s go find your pajamas.”

“I know where they are Daddy. I just can’t reach them.” He’s going to drive me up a wall. He points to a box in the top of his closet. “They’re in there.” I pull the box down and sit it on the floor. He flips the lid open and finds them right away. “These are my favorite ‘jamas!” I shake my head at him. Whatever. My son picky about what clothes he wears. Never saw that coming.

He starts to put them on, and I realize immediately why they were in a box in the top of his closet. I truly am an absentee father, even when I’m standing right in front of him.

“Gus, those are way too small for you.” He looks like an orphan.

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are.” Lindsay’s going to kill me. He looks like Justin in his midriff t-shirt at Michael’s snooty political party that time.

“I want to wear them.” Fine. In the grand scheme of things, does this really matter?

“Okay, you can wear them this one time, but after this nap, they go back in the box. Let’s go use the bathroom before we read stories.”

Showtime.

To be honest, I never thought this through, how to teach Gus how to take a piss. I just figured it would come naturally to him. I don’t remember anyone ever showing me. He’s four now, though, and he’ll remember this—unfortunately. The only thing I can think of to do is to beat him to the punch. This is too weird.

“Come on Gus.” He follows me down the hall in his high waters. For some reason, I feel like dead man walking. I try to just focus on what I’m doing when I get to the bathroom—putting the seat up, unzipping my jeans, god help me, pulling it out—it’s not like he hasn’t seen me do this before. I know he has. I think he has. He has? Hasn’t he? Please let this work. My dick better not betray me twice in one day.

“Gus, do you have to go?” Such an intense stare for such a little guy.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?” I might have to run water. This is gonna be harder than I thought.

“Why is your penis so big?” Okay……fuck……no need to panic. That’s a logical question.

“Because I’m a big person. When you get bigger, your penis gets bigger.” That made sense, right? He’s walking around me now to get a different view. This is way worse than the trolls in the backroom. Jesus, don’t think about that right now.

“Are you scared of it, Daddy?” You have no idea---this morning---perfect example. Scared the mother fucking shit out of me. Has a mind of it’s own sometimes. Like right now, when I wish it would just piss.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Gus.” Oh my god, urine. God bless urine. I have never been so relieved in my entire life. “Why don’t you see if you have to go?” He’s looking at me like I’m an alien. Believe me, Sonny Boy, I feel like one.

“I sit down.”

“Why don’t you see if you can stand up, like Daddy? This is how daddies pee.” Damn, that was good thinking.

“It is?”

“Yep. All daddies pee like this—standing up. Let’s see you try.” Come on Gus. You can do it.

“Does Mr. Justin pee standing up?” Uh, yes?

“Yes.” It was okay to answer that, right?

“Is Mr. Justin a daddy?” Uh, shit.

“No, but he wants to be one someday, so he’s practicing.” Brilliant Kinney. That was fucking brilliant.

“I want to be a daddy too.”

“Well, you better start practicing, so you’ll be ready.”

“Okay.” Yes.

So it takes him a minute, and I had to run water and we have a long discussion about aiming, but he manages to pull it off pretty well. The smile on his face when he saw the smile on mine made the rest of my shitty day not even matter anymore.

“You did it, Gus—on your first try. Way to go.”

“Yep. I’m a daddy, just like you.” He washes his hands and dries them off. I bend down and give him a hug, holding him in front of me.

“Do you think you can do that at school with the other boys, be just like Daddy?”

“The boys won’t let me be the daddy at school. Haley and Bethany will and sometimes Amanda. I can pee like a daddy with them.” Right. He wiggles out of my arms and runs back to his room to pick out the books he wants to read.

Nothing is ever as simple as it seems. I guess it’s time to go back to school.

***************
EMMETT’S POV

nowhere to run,
nowhere to hide

I don’t know why anyone would come to this museum when over half of the exhibits are gone. This is ridiculous. And, to top it all off, Little Boy Lost is nowhere to be found.

Mission impossible. Sunshine is out of pocket.

Abort. Abort. Abort.

I really don’t want to walk into this bathroom and look for him because god help me if I find him in there. What the hell am I gonna say to him then? Oh, hi Justin. I just came by to be sure you were getting your rocks off at the museum like everyone thinks you are. Well, sure looks like you are, so, ta-ta!

“Can I help you?”

“JESUS, DON’T SNEAK UP ON SOMEBODY LIKE THAT! YOU SCARED THE PISS OUT OF ME!”

“Well, you seem to be lurking around the men’s room, and I don’t like fellas lurking around the bathrooms in my museum. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

The nerve of this hot…piece of… man-meat… talking to me like this.

“I’ll have you know that I am not lurking around outside your men’s room. I’m looking for a very good friend of mine that just so happens to be going through a very difficult time right now. How dare you insinuate that I’m cruising in your establishment!”

Although I am cruising you honey. Right here, right now.

“There aren’t many people here. I’m sure you would’ve seen your friend by now. I’ll show you out.” Pushy hunk of burning love, isn’t he?

“Okay, look. We got off on the wrong foot here. My name’s Emmett. Emmett Honeycutt. Here’s my card.”

“You’re a caterer?” Seems interested now.

“Sure am.” Flash that smile, Emmett. Work it.

“Name’s Myron.” Strong handshake. “My wife can’t cook for shit. I’ll hang on to this.” He’s married? No ring. Damn fine dresser, manicured hands, bleached teeth. Time to upgrade the gaydar.

“Fabulous. Listen, I’m looking for a friend of mine who’s supposed to be here. Justin Taylor. I think his mom spoke to you earlier.”

“Oh, Picasso? Yeah, he was here.”

“Was?” Oh shit.

“Yeah, he’s across the street now. At the coffee shop. You can only hang upside down for so long, you know?” True. He’s not a bat.

“Thank you so much. And listen, you call me if you ever get tired…..of your wife’s cooking.” Big smile, cute wave.

“Will do.” I hope my new cell phone number’s on that card.

********************

this boy’s too young to be singing the blues

And there he is. The Muffin Man. I’m glad I wasted ten dollars on a dozen donuts so I could find him in a coffee shop stuffing a blueberry muffin in his face. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him unshaven before. He looks so much older and that is not the way I told him to wear that shirt. My work is never done.

“This seat taken?” In the back corner by the window. Nice view.

“Emmett?” In the flesh. “What are you doing here?” Could ask you the same thing. Don’t need to ask me to sit down ‘cause I’m gonna do it anyway.

“Went to your Mom’s to help you get ready for Hollywood, and you were nowhere to be found. She told me you’d probably be at the museum.”

“She has a big mouth.”

“No, she’s just worried about you. That hottie at the museum told me you had relocated over here.”

“Myron?”

“Is that his name? The guy who runs the place?” He’s laughing at me.

“He’s ‘seen the light’ Emmett. You better watch out.” Oh good lord. I gave that man my card. “So tell me, how was your weekend?” I’m dying to know.

“Like a fairytale.”

“I knew it!” A dream come true.

“Only without the ‘happily ever after.’”