********

Chapter 24 - PC Panic.

Justin had been even more quiet and reserved after they left the therapist’s office. The doctor hadn’t delved too deep into the boy’s problems at that first meeting - it had mostly been about getting some background information and finding out what Justin remembered and what he didn’t. She’d told them that the real work would start the next time they saw her. Brian wanted to get moving on the therapy as quickly as possible so he set up another appointment for them on Friday. And, in the meantime, Justin had been sent home with instructions to draw more pictures about whatever issues he wanted to work on first.

Because of all that, the boy seemed contemplative and maybe even a little depressed, and Brian made the executive decision to keep the kid with him the rest of the day. Sitting home alone in the loft all day just didn’t seem like a great idea for someone already a little down. Instead, Brian got the boy involved in working on some ideas for the pitch he would be making the next day to Simon Craswell.

Cynthia had come up with a lot of information on Mr. Craswell over the past week. The man came from old money and still had a lot of it. He was the CEO of a major publishing house out of New York City but liked to dabble in other interests all over the place. His most recent dabbling had brought him to Pittsburgh where he’d purchased a controlling interest in a local art gallery. Word on the street had it that the gallery owner had fallen on some hard times and been desperate for money. So desperate that he’d let Craswell come in and take over. The New Yorker had put a lot of money into completely overhauling and modernizing the gallery, which was scheduled to reopen in less than a month.

Since they hadn’t yet hired a marketing firm, Craswell’s staff had been handling all the promotions for the reopening in house. They had NOT been doing a very good job, in Brian’s opinion. He was sure he could nail this account without any problems. Basically, anything he came up with would have to be better than what they had now. Not that Brian would ever tolerate giving less than his best on an account. Which is where Justin came in. Brian decided to start him working on some new logo/branding ideas and, depending on what the kid came up with, they’d work a marketing plan around that.

The rest of the day sailed smoothly by. Brian, Justin and Cynthia worked well together, each feeding off the ideas of the others, their ideas meshing remarkably well. Before they left for the day, Brian had three separate logo suggestions ready to present the next morning. Brian was sure that one of them was sure to wow Mr. Craswell.

They stopped off and picked up takeout Chinese on the way home, which reminded Brian that he probably needed to look into the status of the groceries in the loft. Justin would never tell him if they were getting low on something. He thought he’d been doing rather well at keeping his boy fed so far, but didn’t want to be accused of failing in his duties just because he forgot to order more supplies. Thank fuck for grocery delivery services.

They were only halfway through their dinner though when the phone rang. Based on the timing, Brian was about eighty-five percent sure that it was Michael calling to drag him out for the night. Which might not be a bad idea, actually, because Justin wasn’t being very good company and Brian wasn’t in the mood to just sit around and stare at the walls with him. So, he tossed his chopsticks aside and lumbered over to grab the phone before it went to voicemail.

“Hello, Mikey! Where is it you’re going to insist on taking me tonight?” Brian said without bothering with a greeting. “So what? I already met David the other night. He was boring. Old and boring. Why would I want to go out with him again tonight? . . . This is what, your third date, and you haven’t fucked yet? Mikey, have I taught you nothing? . . . That’s just plain wrong, Mikey . . . I’m just saying, how do you know if you want to keep on dating him until you know if he’s a good fuck or not? . . . Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do about it, Mikey. Give him a demonstration in case he’s so old he forgot how it’s done? Hold it for him while you bend over? What? . . . Fine. Okay. I’ll meet you at Woody’s again. But if you can’t get him to fuck you after tonight I’m putting my foot down and insisting you break up with his ass . . . Whatever.”

Brian tossed the phone aside and picked up his box of lo mein noodles again. “Can you believe that? Three dates and David still hasn’t been able to get it up. That’s just pathetic, if you ask me,” Brian was still chuckling as he sat back down on the floor cushion next to Justin. “So, Mikey’s convinced he needs me with him again tonight. Not sure what he thinks I can do.” Brian noted, a little belatedly, that the boy hadn’t resumed eating his own sesame chicken. “You want to come out with me tonight? You don’t have to. You can stay here if you’d prefer,” he offered, concerned about the obvious tension he was sensing from his PC. “Do you want to go with me, Justin?” The boy shook his head ‘no’ very decisively. “That’s fine, then. Just stay here.” But the kid AGAIN shook his head, just as emphatically.

Brian put down his food again and turned so he was facing the boy. This seemed important. He needed to figure this out. Justin didn’t want to go out but he didn’t want to stay at the loft either? As he looked at the boy whose face was dark and stormy, his lips rolled in as if to keep back some strong emotion, and his breathing heavy, Brian could tell that the kid was just barely keeping it together. He didn’t know what was causing this turmoil, though. Maybe it had something to do with their therapy appointment that morning and everything that had brought up?

“I don’t understand, Justin. I can see you’re upset . . .” Brian felt so totally out of his depth at that moment - dealing with emotional twinks was definitely not his forte, but he was trying. “What is it? What can I do?”

Without looking up from his lap, Justin reached out with one hand and grabbed onto Brian’s forearm.

“Stay, please.”

The words were said so quietly that, if the loft hadn’t already been noiseless, Brian wouldn’t have heard them. He would have felt that strong grip on his arm though. It felt like the kid was holding on for all he was worth. Like he was afraid he’d fly off into pieces if he were to let go.

Brian had been asking Justin to trust him. To talk to him. He’d wanted the kid to be able to take some initiative and say what he needed. To take charge. So, now that he had, Brian knew he needed to listen.

“Okay. I’ll stay,” Brian placed his hand over the boy’s, his thumb brushing over the back of his wrist until he felt the grip relent the tiniest bit. “Let me just call Mikey and tell him I’m not gonna meet him. And then we can . . . Well, we can do whatever you want, Sunshine.” A big sigh and a nod were Brian’s only answer but he figured it was enough.

********

The boy had been fighting off the unsettled, itchy feeling all day. It had been there ever since that meeting with Dr. Ruby, waiting just below the surface and threatening to pull him down when he wasn't looking. But he'd managed to fight it. He'd managed to stay busy. To keep his mind focused. To keep himself distracted. It wasn't easy, but he was doing it.

The boy was grateful that the Master had taken him to VanGuard and given him more work to do. Even though his hand was tired and kept acting up all day, it was good to have a job to occupy him. He was also glad, in a way, to be with the Master all that time. The Master’s calm self-assurance as he bustled through his work and ordered everyone around was soothing. And everything was good while they quietly worked together in the office, even if the itchy feeling was still there, hiding around the edges of his mind.

But then it was time to go back to the Master’s loft and the boy got a little worried. There wasn't as much to keep him distracted back at the loft. The itchy feeling got stronger the closer they got to the Master’s home. By the time they were seated on the floor eating the takeout Chinese, the boy was just barely keeping it contained.

Damn that stupid Dr. Ruby. This was all her fault. Normally the boy kept all the itchy, uncomfortable memories shoved down in the blackness inside him where they couldn't hurt him. But she just HAD to go and ask about everything, pulling those memories of the BEFORE time out for all to see. Why did she think this was going to help him. It didn't help. It made his skin crawl.

Why had she wanted the boy to think about those times? What good did it do to bring up memories that only hurt? Yes, he did have memories of BEFORE, even though he'd tried to forget. He wished those memories would disappear altogether right along with the month or so he couldn't remember from right before he woke up in the hospital. Those older memories, from back when someone named ‘Justin’ still existed - a person who'd had hopes and dreams and plans for a bright and happy future - were dim and hazy, as if they belonged to a different person, but they were there. Every single time he allowed them to resurface, though, they killed him a little more. The boy didn't want to remember Justin or Justin's happy life. It just made the life that came after seem that much more bleak.

The boy tried to eat the food the Master had given him, but it was difficult. The sesame chicken tasted like cardboard in his mouth and didn't help with the churning feeling in his stomach. Just sitting there eating wasn't enough to keep his mind occupied. He needed to do something that would distract him and keep the itchiness under control. Keep the upwelling panic back. He scrambled in his mind trying to come up with something - anything - but was already failing when the phone rang and he knew he was lost.

As soon as he heard the Master talking to his friend about going out that evening, he knew it was all over. The Master asked him if he wanted to join them at the bar. No - he didn't want to be surrounded by all those people when he fell apart, that would just make it worse. But the thought of being here all alone when the Master left was even more daunting. He didn't understand why, but he knew that if the Master left him here alone, he'd break apart into a thousand shards which would then scatter into the far reaches of space never to be found again. At least that was how he felt as the tides of panic began to crest.

The boy didn't even realize he'd spoken until he heard his own voice asking the Master to ‘stay, please’. He looked up and saw his hand gripping tightly at the Master's arm but couldn't recall moving. All he knew was that he needed somebody. Somebody to hold him together. He’d been lonely for so long, he couldn't bear to be alone anymore.

The boy held on long enough to hear the words, ‘okay. I’ll stay’ before the blackness that had been creeping up on him overwhelmed his senses. The next thing he knew, he couldn’t breathe, the world around him had gone dark and he couldn’t hear above the rising pulse of ocean waves pounding in his ears. And he really did think he was going to - literally - fall apart, since he was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.

But at the last minute, right before he knew he would have to give up and let himself disappear, the boy felt two strong arms encircling him. They felt big and powerful and secure. They held the pieces together. And then his head was resting against a solid, warm chest. And the arms cinched tighter still. And the shaking was countered by the tranquilizing rhythm of someone rocking him gently while soothing, baritone words penetrated the whooshing of his heart in his ears with their calming cadence.

It took a long, long time before the blackness receded enough that the boy could once again understand what was going on around him. He found himself curled into a little ball in the crook of Brian’s arm, his face buried in the cleft of the man’s neck as he inhaled the man’s warm musky maleness, and his own arms clinging desperately to the broad shoulders. Brian was rocking him and whispering comforting nothing words as he ran his hands through the boy’s sweaty hair.

“Shhh. I’m here. I’ve got you, Sunshine. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this. You’re going to be okay. You can do this. I know you can. You’re a brave little fucker, Sunshine . . .”

Was he? Could he be that? He didn’t think he could ever be ‘Justin’ again. Justin was gone. He’d died when that baseball bat had hit him in the head. The boy that woke up in that hospital room to find he’d been abandoned by everyone and sold into what amounted to slavery was a completely different person. From that point on he’d just been ‘boy’ - lowercase, unimportant, unworthy of a name. ‘Justin’ was some idyllic fairy tale character. He couldn’t ever go back to that. But maybe he could be something more than ‘boy’. Maybe he could be a ‘brave little fucker’.

Maybe he could be this man - Brian’s - ‘Sunshine’?

********

Cynthia and Brian filed into the conference room on Thursday morning with boards and files full of information only to find that they were missing the client they expected to find. Instead of the fiftyish, short, grey-haired Simon Craswell, they found the tall, robust and dark-haired man that Brian remembered from the Lapointe dinner as Sidney Bloom. He cautiously advanced and held out his hand in greeting.

“Mr. Bloom. I didn’t expect to see you. I was waiting for a potential client about some new advertising. Not that it isn’t good to see you. I still owe you my thanks for helping me out last weekend. What can I do for you?” Brian asked, shaking the man’s hand vigorously.

“Actually, I AM the client you were waiting for. Or, at least half of the client,” Bloom laughed at the confusion on Brian’s face. “Simon Craswell is my partner. I’m actually the Bloom from ‘Bloom Gallery’.”

“Oh! Well, that makes a lot of sense. I saw in the file that Craswell had only just recently invested in the company but I guess I just didn’t connect the name of his partner with you,” Brian answered, exceedingly glad to be dealing with this much more congenial man than the acerbic Craswell whom he’d only met the one time at the auction and hadn’t really liked that much to start with. “Have a seat, Mr. Bloom.”

“Please, call me Sidney. Anyone who survived that horrible dinner experience alongside me deserves to call me by my first name,” the man offered as he accepted the seat that Cynthia had pulled out for him.

“Ah. So you didn’t enjoy your time at bizarro-mansion any more than I did, I take it?” Brian asked, cautiously feeling out the man and his position on this PC issue.

“Not really, no. No offence meant - I know you own a PC yourself - but it’s really not my thing,” Bloom explained. “My partner, Simon, is a big supporter of the industry, though. He’s the one that forced me to come to that dinner after he got called out of town at the last minute. I wouldn’t have gone except that he insisted. Walter Lapointe happens to be a huge supporter of the arts and Simon was adamant that we ‘court his patronage’.” Brian seated himself at the head of the table in the seat next to Bloom’s but didn’t interrupt, curious to see what this man had to say. “Actually, my wife’s family are pretty adamantly Anti-PC, so she was very unhappy that we had to attend the dinner. I just barely talked her into it. And, after I told her what happened to your PC while we were downstairs, she put her foot down . . . let’s just say I won’t be attending any more dinners at the Lapointe’s.”

“That makes two of us, Sidney,” Brian chimed in.

“How is your boy? He seemed pretty shaken up the other night. Is he okay?” Bloom asked with what seemed like genuine concern.

“He’s doing better, although Justin was pretty upset after all that,” Brian vacillated a moment, still unsure how much to disclose to this relative stranger, but then decided to trust his gut. “To be honest, I’m not a big supporter of the PC industry myself, despite the fact that I recently purchased one. In fact, the reason I bought Justin wasn’t, as everyone seems to think, because I wanted to impress Lapointe. I did it mainly just to keep the kid out of that monster Bellweather’s hands. I can tell you, I wasn’t at all happy to see Howie again at that dinner. And I was even less happy to find him trying to molest Justin the second I turned my back. So, thank you again for helping us.”

“Hmm. That explains a lot, Kinney,” Bloom nodded and leaned forward so he could speak more confidentially. “I overheard some of them talking about you while we were there. They . . . well, let’s just say that they weren’t sure of you and now I understand why. I have to applaud you for what you’ve done though. I agree with your assessment - Howard Bellweather is slimier than a banana slug. Frankly, even being in the same room with the man while he was talking made my skin crawl. I can just imagine what he would have done to someone like your boy. I’m glad you got him away from there.”

“Me too,” Brian replied with conviction. “But enough about the dubious pleasures of the PC World. If I never have to deal with any of those folks again in my lifetime, it’ll be too soon.” He nodded to Cynthia who started putting up the boards that they’d prepared for the meeting. “How about, instead, we talk about how I can help your gallery re-brand itself now that your new partner has dumped all that money into it?”

The three of them talked for about the next thirty minutes with Bloom going through the various logo suggestions that Brian presented and loving each one more than the last. They finally settled on a very clean and modernistic graphic design of the gallery’s name on a multi-colored background that looked like a nineteenth century impressionistic landscape of blooming flowers. It was perfect for the image that Bloom wanted for the updated gallery. He was more than thrilled with the concept as well as the execution and was ready to sign the contract with Brian there on the spot.

“This is truly extraordinary, Kinney,” Bloom said again after they’d finished plowing through all the paperwork. “I have to say, if you’ve got talent like this in your art department, it won’t be long before you’re the most sought after agency in the country. This board is almost good enough to be shown in my gallery alongside the artists. You have to tell me who created this. I’d love to meet him or her.”

“Well, in point of fact, the guy who created all of these boards just happens to be my PC, Justin. Turns out he’s a pretty amazing artist. I’ve had him working on stuff for me the past two weeks and so far my clients have loved every single thing he’s come up with,” Brian bragged, more than happy to finally be able to give credit to the deserving party, even if he couldn’t do it officially.

“You’re kidding me? That little boy did all this?” Bloom picked up one of the discarded boards, which was nevertheless almost as good as the one he’d chosen for the gallery, and shook his head. “This kid has so much talent, it’s scary. Not that I don’t love what he did for you on my stuff, but he’s wasted here doing ads and making business logos. Does he do other stuff? Do you have more of his work? I’d love to see it.”

“Justin’s only been with me for a week and a half, Sidney,” Brian chuckled at the man’s enthusiasm. “He does draw pretty much all the time though. Unfortunately, most of what I’ve seen so far is pretty dark. He’s got a lot of demons following him around. I’m not sure it’s stuff he’d want anyone else to see.”

“I’d still love to take a look at it. If his drawing is anything like this stuff, he could easily sell his work. And what about painting? Or does he only draw?”

“I have no idea if he paints too. Although, judging by his eye for color, I imagine he’d be just as good at that as he is with drawing,” Brian replied, admiring Justin’s boards again himself and making a mental note to grab the kid some painting supplies from the art department before he headed home that evening.

“Well, please, Brian, find out for me. If he really is as good as I think he is, I’m serious about showing his work at the gallery,” Bloom handed one of his business cards to Brian. “Give him that and, if it’s okay with you, tell him to call me if he’s interested. Now that I think about it, I bet I could market his work pretty easily. Just think of the novelty of owning artwork done by a PC. I don’t think there’s anything out there like that. With this quality and that hook, he could end up being huge.”

Brian was still contemplating Justin’s boards long after Bloom was shown out. The idea of letting Justin do more with his art than just create ads was growing on him. Not only would it give the kid another outlet for his creativity, but it would also maybe help him work through some of the issues the therapy was bringing up. And after what Brian had seen the night before, he would do almost anything to find a way to help Justin through all of that. If Bloom could actually sell some of the stuff, that might go a long way towards helping restore some of Justin’s self-worth. Whether or not there was a market for PC artwork, was a question that he’d leave to Bloom. But Brian had to agree with the gallery owner that the kid had more than enough talent to make it work if only he was willing to give it a try.

“Cynthia,” Brian said as soon as his assistant had returned to the room to gather up all the waiting paperwork. “Find out if there are any weird regulations about a PC selling his artwork.”