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Chapter 11 - All About Your New PC.
By the time Justin did make it out of the bathroom, Cynthia had already arrived. He had to scurry around in the bedroom, dressing and tidying up after himself quickly, before he managed to traipse down the stairs and join the others. Brian was, not unexpectedly, slurping down the latte that the ever-efficient assistant had brought him as he sat at the kitchen bar and paged through the newspaper that she’d also picked up on her way. At the spot next to him was a styrofoam take out box, simply waiting for Justin to tuck into. Brian patted the seat of the barstool next to him without bothering to look up, indicating that Justin should sit and get started on breakfast.
“So, your ten o’clock got moved to tomorrow afternoon,” Cynthia was reciting, going through Brian’s calendar on her tablet as she sipped at her own coffee. “And you’re meeting with Phil in Accounting about the PC Clearinghouse budget at 2:30.” Brian nodded, remaining transfixed on his paper all the while, and letting her ramble on. “I also followed up on that list of things you wanted me to handle for J,” Cyn smiled over at the boy, who was diligently applying himself to the delicious bacon and egg croissant sandwich he’d been provided with that morning. “I filed a request with the PCRA for all the records on PC J327, but because of the insane government bureaucracy involved it could take up to four weeks to get it. Idiots.”
“That’s okay. I’m not in as big a rush anymore since we figured out the name thing last night,” Brian explained, finally setting aside his paper. “Cynthia Morgan, I’d like to formally introduce you to Justin, formerly known as J327.”
“That’s great! Nice name, Justin,” Cynthia smiled and nodded at the boy with almost maternal affection. “So, did you just pick a name, Brian?”
“Nope. Justin picked it himself,” Brian bragged and stole a scrap of bacon that had fallen out of the boy’s sandwich onto the edge of the takeout tray. “I’m not sure, but I think it was his real name from before. Either way, though, we can now call him something other than ‘Hey, You!’ so that’s good.”
“And it’s definitely better than ‘Boy!’,” Cynthia frowned at that thought, probably remembering the dismissive way that Bellweather and the others at the auction had been talking about Justin. “I like ‘Justin’. I had an uncle by that name. He was a sweetheart too.” Brian thought that the young man sitting next to him might have even started to smile a bit at that pronouncement, before he remembered to control his expression more thoroughly.
“Okay, so I guess it won’t be a problem, then, to wait for the remaining information. As for the rest of it, I got Justin a doctor’s appointment for Friday morning. I asked around and found a doctor that’s on the PCRA approved provider list but that has a good reputation anyway,” Cynthia sounded like that wasn’t at all a common combination. “I talked to their office and they said they would get his medical records transferred directly to them before the appointment. You should be able to ask their office for copies, Brian. I specifically mentioned the allergy issue, but you’re going to have to follow up to make sure you get that list before you leave.”
“Great job, Cyn,” Brian praised her efficacy. However, he quickly noted that she didn’t look all that happy, even though she’d accomplished a lot in just the couple of days they’d had to work on all this. Biting the bullet, he ventured to ask, “so, I get the impression that you’re going to use that trite old cliche that you have good news and bad news . . . why don’t we just cut to the chase and you can choose which you tell me first.”
“Well, the good news is that, while I was calling around to my APC friends for advice on the doctor and stuff, I made some really great new contacts,” Cynthia explained, sounding apologetic even before she explained why she needed to be. “I thought that they’d be really critical, you know, but once I explained the circumstances they seemed supportive, despite the fact that you’re going to be feeding the monster, so to speak, by paying all this money to the cretins running the PC trade. Unfortunately, in the process, I kinda let it slip that it’s going to be difficult for you to come up with the full bid price - I know you wouldn’t normally want me spreading your business around like that, Brian, and I apologize, but these guys seem to really want to help. A couple of them have even set up appointments to meet with you about taking over their marketing. I know that they’re small fry compared to the likes of PC Clearinghouse, but I figure that every little bit helps, right?”
Brian's first instinct was to rip Cynthia a new one for spreading around any confidential financial information about him. He didn't really want it bandied around that he was struggling to pay off Justin's bid. His ego had always relied heavily on the general assumption that Brian Kinney made good money and therefore was comfortable. Even if it hadn't always been true, he liked to give off that air. And even though he truly was in a bit of a jam over this PC contract right now, he really didn't want everyone and their brother to know about it.
On the other hand though, Cynthia was right that a few additional new clients wouldn't hurt. Every additional account signing bonus he could drum up would help. It was also a good idea to expand on their APC contacts, just in case he needed more help finding his way out of this mess he'd gotten himself into. And let's face it, after his limited but distasteful experiences so far with the PC world, it would be a relief to be representing some companies on the other side of the fight. At least these guys wouldn't make him want to gag just from being in their presence - he hoped - which was more than he could say for the likes of Lapointe.
So, after thinking it through, Brian resigned himself to NOT killing Cynthia for this one-time, limited lack of discretion.
His decision must have registered on his face, because after a long, uncertain pause, Cynthia sighed and then carried on, detailing for Brian the potential new clients she'd dug up for him. They sounded promising. One was a medium-sized contractor specializing in moderately priced multi-use buildings and urban renewal projects. Another was the director of a local non-profit that, while that company itself might not bring in much as a client, could potentially hook VanGuard up with their list of big named corporate sponsors. In the end, Brian was happy with the new possibles, as well as the enticement that there might be more where they came from if Cynthia worked this thing right. Brian gave her Carte Blanche to do what she had to with the rest of her contacts as long as they might win Brian similar clients.
“So, if the ‘good news’ was your confession that you've been spreading my financial woes all over town,” Brian continued when they'd finished with that topic, “I'm assuming that the bad news must be really bad?”
“I suppose it could be worse,” Cynthia tried briefly to put a good spin on her next agenda item, but then, after thinking it through, gave up in favor of just plain getting it over with. “The really bad news is that Lapointe has invited you to a dinner party at his Point Breeze home on Friday night.” Brian was already in the process of declining before Cynthia had even finished her sentence. She resolutely held up her hand, though, to quell his interruption. “And you can't say no because that's when Lapointe says he’ll give you the check for the initial account deposit. I tried to get him to just wire the money - I told his assistant it was standard operating procedure to do all payments by wire and I even told him that you were already busy this weekend, but he fucking insisted. According to Troy, the guy I was speaking with, Lapointe said he knew you'd make an exception for him because of how big the account was. Troy also said that Lapointe wouldn't take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Shit, Cynthia! The last thing I want to do is spend another night schmoozing with that scumbag and his buddies! Once in a lifetime was more than enough, but twice in less than a week is fucking excruciating,” Brian protested vehemently. “Fuck it! There's no way I'm doing this shit again. I don't want to get within a mile of the guy ever again in my life if I can avoid it. Vance is the one who had the hard on for this fucker’s account - he can go to the dinner party from hell and get the fucking check himself.”
“Sorry, Brian, but Lapointe doesn't want Vance. He wants you . . . And you're supposed to bring Justin with you,” Cynthia added, cringing as she said the words in such an uncharacteristic way that Brian wondered if she thought he was likely to hit her.
Not that he didn't have the urge to hit SOMETHING. “No. Fucking. WAY!” Brian erupted, vaulting to his feet and knocking his stool backwards with the violence of his movements. “I'm NOT going to some tacky PC orgy party and, even if I were, I'm certainly NOT taking Justin anywhere near that type of thing. Lapointe can shove his fucking account up his overweight ass if he thinks he can condition it on me playing along with whatever sick little fantasies he's cooked up. Fuck him and the sick dick he rode in on . . .”
“Whoa, hold your horses, Boss,” Cyn demanded, stepping in front of where he was pacing and holding up both hands to stop him in his tracks. “I was promised it won't be like that. I asked Troy. He swore that's not what this is about. He said that the wives will all be present, and they wouldn't be planning to attend if it were going to be one of those events,” Cynthia tried to reassure her boss, but Brian was still pretty agitated and not inclined to listen to more. “What I was told was that Lapointe simply wants to help you out by letting you see how they manage their PCs. Supposedly, since you're new to the PC life, he wants to take you under his wing and show you the ropes, so to speak. ‘Welcome you into the fold’ was how Troy put it.”
Realizing that this explanation hadn't helped much, the frazzled woman reached up to grab Brian's arm before he could march angrily away. “I know, Brian. Trust me, I know. That's probably the most condescending and demeaning thing I've ever heard, and that's saying alot considering some of the reprobate clients we’ve dealt with over the years. And I know a staunch APC advocate like myself is the last person you'd expect to say it, but I think you have to do this,” she said with chary conviction. When it appeared that Brian was still going to walk away and refuse to listen any further, Cynthia pulled out all the stops, hanging on to the sleeve of Brian's dress shirt and basically refusing to let go even as he dragged her along the floor. “Brian, please, just stop and think about it. Please.”
Brian frowned and huffed and even stomped one foot but Cynthia was unrelenting. She just refused to let go of him no matter what. When he tried to physically peel her fingers off his arm, she tightened her grip to the point that she almost tore his shirt. That was when Brian realized that he was going to have to at least listen to her, or risk irreparable damage to his brand new Armani shirt. So he turned and stared down at her, his legs splayed and his arms crossed over his chest in the most closed off stance imaginable. But he was at least standing still, so Cyn hurried on to explain her reasoning.
“I know you don't want to do this, Boss. I wouldn't either. But I don't think you have a choice,” Cynthia pleaded. “If you don't go to this dinner, at best you lose the account. At worst you lose the account AND your job once Vance finds out. And neither outcome is going to help you protect Justin,” she flung out one hand towards the boy who was huddled dispiritedly on his stool as he too listened to this explanation.
“I know you want to spare him from having to deal with this. I know it's going to be horrible for him. Lapointe and his friends are likely going to be humiliating and cruel to Justin and probably not much better towards you, Brian. And it's going to almost fucking kill you to have to put up with it. But refusing to attend this silly dinner party just to protect Justin, is only going to put him even more at risk in the long run. Because if we can't somehow come up with the money for you to pay off his contract price, he’ll be back there in that life anyway. And he’ll likely receive even worse treatment from them, in retaliation against you defaulting on your bid, than if you hadn't bothered in the first place.”
Despite how furious this whole scenario made him, Brian was beginning to see Cynthia's point. “I can't believe I’M saying this, Boss, but this is one time you can't just stand on your principles and refuse. Not if you actually care about saving Justin. Because if you don't go to this stupid fucking dinner and find some way to get through it without setting off Lapointe, you might just as well deliver that kid up to Bellweather tomorrow morning with a big red ribbon tied around his ass. If you refuse, that's where he’ll end up anyway.”
Cynthia finally let go of Brian's sleeve and the man took off, pacing the width of the loft with adrenaline-filled strides. He was so furious, felt so trapped by circumstances, he wanted to hit someone, throw things, scream, anything, but knew none of it would help. So he paced, and scrubbed at his face with hands that ended up pulling at his hair in angry frustration, and grumbled. But, after all that, he still had to agree with Cynthia. He didn't have any real choice. He couldn't afford to piss off Lapointe, lose the account or get fired. If he did, then all of this would have been for nothing.
Brian finally slowed down enough to look around him. Cynthia was perched on one barstool, nervously waiting to hear Brian's decision. She seemed vaguely hopeful and confident that they could still resolve this mess. Justin, the unfortunate boy who was mired at the center of this maelstrom, didn't look like he shared Cyn’s cautious optimism.
Justin had turned away from the main part of the loft, his body hunched over the bar, shoulders slumped dejectedly, head down and every line of his body screaming out with hopelessness. Brian hated seeing how defeated the kid seemed. He hated thinking that the sexy little flash of defiance he caught every once in awhile in Justin's eyes could be permanently extinguished. Brian had known the youth for less than three days, but he was able to read him so well - the decided lack of verbal communications notwithstanding - that he knew Justin was already assuming the worst. He was probably already preparing to close himself off, looking for a way to hide inside himself, and ready to give up. It was what Justin had expected would happen from the very beginning anyway, right? Justin didn't have any choice - he would just have to bear whatever humiliation was thrown his way . . . at least until it finally became too much and killed him.
Brian simply could NOT let that happen. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn’t let Bellweather and Lapointe win. He wouldn't let them break this kid. He just couldn’t let that happen. It didn't matter that the thought of sitting down to a meal with the repulsive sons of bitches was abhorrent to him. It just didn't matter. Brian would do what he had to do. He'd dance with the devil, if he had to. Whatever it took. Because, now that he knew Justin, he didn't have a choice either.
Resolved in his own mind, Brian walked over to stand behind the kid’s stool. He laid his hands on the hunched over shoulders, ignoring the way they flinched involuntarily at his touch, and started to rub at the tense muscles he found there. The stress radiating off the smaller body was so strong it was almost visible. Brian hated it. But he was going to find some way to fix it. He had to.
“I know this sucks, Justin. I don't want to do this either. But I think Cynthia's right. We’re going to have to go to this dinner thing and figure some way to get through it - it's the only solution I can think of right now. But I promise you, I won't let them hurt you. We’ll figure something out, okay? I swear I'll fix this. Somehow.”
Brian slid his hands around and down the cringing boy’s chest, pulling the slighter frame back against him and holding on tightly. He didn't let go even though the body in his arms tensed up and then struggled a little, trying half-heartedly to get free. Brian just held on. Not letting go. Until the struggle stopped and the rigid body began to relax. Then he let his chin drop so that it was resting atop the mop of silky blond hair and just stood there, breathing in synchronicity with the frightened boy, until both their heartbeats slowed.
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Brian returned to the office after a long and only minimally-productive lunch meeting with the representative of Liberty Air. Those guys took the concept of the Three Martini Lunch to laughable extremes. Even Brian, who didn’t usually have a problem holding his liquor, felt a little light-headed as he got off the elevator and strolled down the hallway towards his office. Halfway down the hall, Cynthia fell in behind him and followed along.
“How is everything back at the loft?” Brian asked with a bit of apprehension.
“Fine. I left Justin unpacking the half a ton of groceries that were delivered. I also gave him the spare key you had me make for him. I doubt he’ll go anywhere though. Can you imagine him out there alone in a crowd of people on the street? That’s a surefire recipe for disaster if I ever heard of one,” Cynthia replied smoothly, albeit with a hint of some concern in her tone.
Brian wasn’t about to argue that point. He didn’t see Justin voluntarily leaving the loft on his own, but he didn’t want the kid to feel like a prisoner there either. Hence the key, so at least he’d have the option to leave whether or not he chose to exercise that option.
“And the rest? How’d the computer stuff go?” Brian asked, interested to know if his plan to keep the kid busy was going to work or not.
“Great. He seemed really interested to get started on the account you gave him to work on today . . .”
“Why do I sense there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Brian asked as he seated himself in the chair behind his desk. “And I doubt it’s the kinda butt I want to get involved with.”
“No buts - of any kind,” Cynthia reassured with a grin as she took the guest chair across from Brian. “Justin did remarkably well on all the computer stuff. He had no problems at all. In fact, he picked it up faster than anyone I’ve ever seen . . . Which is what made me think - even more than before - that this kid really isn’t the usual type you see ending up as a PC,” she continued. “I tell you, Brian, I was pretty much amazed at how good he is with the basic computer stuff. I didn’t have to show him much at all. Even with the graphics program, he was able to pick it up absurdly fast.”
“From everything I’ve seen so far, I can tell that Justin had to have had a pretty decent education. Which definitely isn’t the norm for a PC. Plus, this kid isn’t just smart, Brian, he’s borderline genius. He took the bare bones ideas you outlined on that account and fucking went to town on them, adding stuff and extrapolating like you wouldn’t believe. I have no doubt that whatever he’ll have ready by the time you get home will be magnificent. And that, along with everything else, made me even more curious.”
Cynthia held out her tablet for Brian to look at. “So, as soon as I got back here to the office, I did a little research. Now that I had a name to work with, it made it a lot easier. And, I found a shitload of information for you, although I’m not sure how much you’re going to like what I found.”
Brian took the tablet and started scrolling through the pages of information his assistant had dug up. Most of it was archived news stories from a year earlier about a teenager who was attacked the night of his Junior Prom by a fellow student. A quick look at the picture of the victim and it was clear that this was, indeed their Justin. Brian already knew that part of the story. What he hadn’t known was that both Justin and the fellow student who’d attacked him had gone to St. James Academy - one of the most expensive private college prep schools in the state. There was even a few references to Justin’s father, one Craig Taylor, who was cited in the article to be a ‘prominent businessman in the community’ and the owner of a chain of retail electronics stores. Brian swiped through one story after another, scanning the rather sketchy facts, and studying the accompanying pictures.
“I looked up this Craig Taylor,” Cynthia informed Brian when he finally set aside the tablet. “He’s pretty well known. And, by all accounts, he’s doing just fine on the financial front . . . There’s no way in hell this guy didn’t have insurance, and even if he didn’t, he should have been able to pay for Justin’s hospital bills.”
She opened up another tab on her tablet and handed it back to Brian. This page showed a picture of your average fifty-something year old man, a little thick through the paunch, with thinning hair that was now more grey than blond, but clearly resembling the boy waiting for Brian at home. The guy was standing in front of what appeared to be your typical big-box strip-mall electronic’s store. The heading on the news article indicated that the picture had been taken at the grand opening of the chain’s brand new flagship store.
The date of the article was less than three months after the bashing incident where Justin had been injured.
Clearly, somebody was NOT telling the truth about what happened to Justin. This was NOT some kid who’s father couldn’t afford the hospital bills to take care of his injured son and was therefore left with no alternative but to contract him away as a PC in order to save his life. Gary Sapperstein either hadn’t had all the facts about the boy whose contract he accepted, or he wasn’t being honest with the potential buyers at the PC Clearinghouse auction when he relayed the boy’s story. Not that Brian would ever take the word of somebody like Sapperstein at face value - he was clearly scum of the earth, no doubt about it - but looking at the picture of Businessman Craig Traylor, there was enough of a smarmy used-car-salesman look to the man that you really didn’t know if he was trustworthy either. Brian suspected there was a lot more to the story than met the eye. Brian didn’t think they’d know what really happened, though, until he had more info, or until Justin was willing to talk. And, even then, he didn’t think there was anything he could do about what appeared, more and more, to be a totally unfair situation.