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Chapter 3 - Sale of the Century.
By the time Brian and Cynthia got back into the hall to say their goodbyes, the auction was already well underway. All the more reason to leave, Brian thought. Just as they reached the table, however, the auctioneer announced J327 as the next item up for bidding.
Brian couldn’t help himself. He looked up towards the stage and saw the boy - now gloriously naked since the harness had finally been removed - with his cock still hard from whatever drugs he’d been given, staring down at the assembly as if he was the one in charge. And even though he was shaking with fear and one tear had escaped to roll down his pale cheek, J327 continued to stand there so bravely that Brian was awestruck. This young man was so bold, so beautiful even in adversity, that the entire hall momentarily fell silent. The boy looked defiantly around the room one time, pausing when his eyes landed on Brian and offering the slightest hint of a smile, before his expression went completely blank once again and his eyes dropped to the floor.
Brian felt his legs give out on him. He couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t turn away from this boy. That look made Brian feel like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. When Cynthia tugged at his arm to try and get him to stand up again, he simply waved her off, his attention still focused on the figure up on stage.
“. . . So defiant. You know, I’m really looking forward to tying that boy up to the whipping post I have in my back yard and teaching him some manners,” Brian heard Bellweather bragging to the man sitting next to him.
“Aren’t you worried about damaging him?” Stockwell asked, a little skeptically. “I know you, Howie. You’ve got a pretty heavy hand and, if you’re not careful, someday you’re going to be cited by the PC Regulatory Agency.”
“Fine, Jim. If you think you can do better and still stay within the PCRA guidelines, then you’re welcome to take a turn at the boy later tonight,” Bellweather offered magnanimously, as if trading off the chore of whipping a defenseless teenager was an everyday thing.
The callousness of these men was just too much. Brian refused to take it anymore. He no longer cared what he had to do, but there was no way in hell he would let those stupid brutes get near that beautiful boy.
As the bidding started, there was an initial feeding frenzy of interest in the pretty little blond boy. Brian waited until the bulk of the less serious bidders fell out of the race. Eventually it came down to just Bellweather and one other portly gentleman sitting in the back who looked like he was in his late sixties. When the fat guy shook his head ‘no’ to the auctioneer’s wheedling request for one more bid, and it looked like Bellweather would be the winner, Brian stood up and announced a new bid $75,000 higher than Bellweather’s.
There were gasps of amazement from the audience. Bellweather’s bid had been on the extreme high end of what was usually offered for a PC in these parts. Yes, there had been some high-profile sales in big cities like New York, Miami and Los Angeles that had been higher, but here in podunk little Pittsburgh, for an unknown PC that didn't seem to be anything special, the prices should have been much more reasonable. Brian’s bid was absolutely outrageous.
“What the fuck?” Bellweather roared and leapt to his feet, glaring across the expanse of the table at Brian. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kinney. You knew damn well that I planned to bid on that lot. I announced it to the entire fucking table. How dare you step in and try to steal him away from me?” Brian simply stood his ground, staring Bellweather down and saying nothing. “To hell with you! I intend to have that boy no matter what it takes. So you’re going to withdraw that bid right now, Kinney, or we’re going to have a problem.”
“Hold on there, Howie. Just calm down for a minute,” Lapointe intervened, insinuating his small plump body between the two disputants before turning to confront Brian. “Are you serious about this, Kinney? You really want to buy the boy?”
“Never been more serious in my life,” Brian replied with a challenging glance over to where Bellweather was standing with Stockwell at his side.
Lapointe grinned up at the tall AdExec. “This is excellent! I have to admit, I was a little unsure of you, Kinney. I know you've never owned a PC yourself and neither has your boss, Mr. Vance. And I’d even started to get the impression that you maybe disapproved of some aspects of our industry,” the client looked shrewdly at Brian, who merely shrugged noncommittally. “But I'm really glad I was wrong.” Lapointe clapped Brian on the shoulder in a comradely fashion. “I think buying your first PC through our clearinghouse is an excellent gesture of goodwill. No other ad agency I've met with ever went half that far.” Lapointe held out his hand towards Brian, beaming beneficently. “You've sold me, Kinney. Have your girl send the contracts over to my office in the morning and I'll have them back to you as soon as legal approves them. And tell Vance that he needs to give you a raise. Hell, he should probably make you a partner considering the way you've gone above and beyond. Oh, never mind - I'll tell him myself,” Lapointe chuckled. “Frankly, you're gonna need it to pay off that bid! Hahaha!”
“You're telling me you're going to let this . . . this interloper . . . steal MY PC right out from under my nose?” Bellweather interrupted furiously.
Lapointe just waved the overbearing man off. “Give it a break, Howie. You've already got a hundred others just like this one waiting for you at home. You don't need this one too. Besides, it's Kinney’s first purchase and he seems rather taken with this particular lot. You should be gracious and let him have this one - look at it like an initiation gift to a newbie in the PC world.” When Bellweather still seemed inclined to argue, Lapointe added, “I tell you what, Howie, how about I give you two boys out of the as yet unsold stock for the same price you just bid on this one. Will that satisfy you?”
Brian eyed the belligerent man, sure he was going to continue arguing, until Stockwell stepped closer and whispered something in Bellweather’s ear. “But I was really looking forward to taking the virgin,” he whined, sounding so childish that Brian had to stop himself from laughing out loud.
Lapointe looked down at the auction catalog sitting open on the table in front of him and quickly flipped ahead a couple pages. “How about Z9764 and C23678. They're both virgins,” Walter offered generously, listing off other boys like he was just reading options from a menu. “Come on, it's BOGO night here at the Clearinghouse,” he joked, getting a smattering of laughter for his effort.
Bellweather sighed, looked over his shoulder at Stockwell - who nodded back - and sighed. “Fine. But I'm still not happy about this, Kinney,” the disappointed man insisted. “This isn't how we do things around here. I'm only cutting you some slack cause you're new and because my friends are telling me to let you off easy. Don't cross me again, though. Next time I WON'T be so understanding.”
Brian nodded that he understood, although he wasn't conceding anything to the bellicose windbag, and sat down. Lapointe gestured to the auctioneer who had been standing on the stage next to J327 all this time, waiting for the boss’ directions. As soon as he saw Lapointe’s signal, he announced that the bids were now closed and the current lot was sold to Mr. Brian Kinney from VanGuard Advertising. Sapperstein stepped forward, reattached the leash to J327’s collar, and led the object of contention off the stage so that the night’s program could resume.
“Shit, Brian!” Cynthia mumbled in her boss’ ear. “I hope you know what the fuck you're doing!”
“Not a fucking clue, Cyn. Not a fucking clue!”
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Brian sat quietly at the table for at least twenty minutes longer, while he tried to wrap his head around what he'd just done without letting anyone else around him know how much he was freaking out. The dispute between himself and Bellweather had put the kibosh on the easygoing casual conversation of earlier in the evening. Nobody really seemed to know what to say after that. A couple of the table’s other occupants quietly bid on their own PCs and Bellweather even bought a third boy before Brian decided he was ready to deal with the consequences of his actions. During a momentary lull in the proceedings, Brian rose and genially thanked Lapointe for everything, saying that he was eager to go collect his new acquisition and head home.
Lapointe still seemed oblivious to everything other than his own elation over having Brian join the fold of PC owners. He congratulated Brian again and promised to have his secretary call Cynthia in the morning so everyone could get started on the spring ad campaign as soon as possible. Cynthia forced a smile and then swept out of the hall without saying another word. Brian followed her, dreading the lecture he already knew was coming from his APC friend.
Out in the lobby, they were intercepted by a clearinghouse staff member, who ushered the two of them off to the business offices in the southern wing of the building. Brian followed along quiescently, grateful for the staffer’s presence since he knew it was the only thing preventing Cynthia from laying into him. Not that he didn't deserve it. He knew as well as she did that he'd totally fucked up and this time there was no way out.
“Here you are, Mr. Kinney. A cashier will be with you in just a moment. In the meantime, if you'd like, I can send someone in with something for you both to drink,” the staffer offered as she showed them into a tiny, yet elegantly appointed room containing a comfortable couch, a small conference-style desk with a free-standing computer monitor, and three plush chairs. There were no windows, which Brian instantly regretted as he pushed aside the vague idea he'd had of escaping through one. Brian and Cynthia both ordered double Beam’s. They both needed the fortification. The staffer smiled politely and then left, pulling the door closed behind her. The clicking of the latch sounded very loud and very final in the small space.
“What the HELL were you thinking, Brian?” Cynthia growled at him as soon as the room was clear. “I can't believe you just BOUGHT a PC! And I basically helped you do it! This is so . . . so wrong! You DO know how wrong this is, don't you?” She rounded on him viciously. “How could you, Brian? Tell me! How?”
Brian didn't know how to answer. To be honest, he was just as stunned by his actions as Cynthia was. Brian had never planned on owning a PC. And while he wasn't nearly as adamant about it as Cynthia, he'd always considered himself against the practice in a general way, even if he wasn’t a full fledged APC. But now, somehow, in a thoughtless moment, he'd gone against every principle he'd ever held and actually purchased a PC.
He - Brian Kinney - now owned a Personal Companion.
The entire evening seemed so unreal . . . Maybe it really hadn't happened? Maybe this was all a terrible nightmare? Brian really hoped that was the case, and what he thought he'd done, hadn’t actually happened. But, judging by the way Cynthia was berating him - picking up the thread of her lecture when he'd failed to offer up any explanation and condemning him for enabling such an abhorrent practice - the nightmare explanation seemed unlikely.
When Cynthia paused in her diatribe long enough to take a breath, Brian finally stopped her. “I know it's wrong, Cynthia. I agree with pretty much everything you're saying,” he admitted. “And I know that I'm pretty much fucked without lube at this point. You don't need to yell at me anymore, I'm already yelling at myself in my head for all the same reasons. But, I just . . . *sigh* . . . I couldn't . . .” Brian squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell the incipient headache that had been threatening ever since he'd stood up at the auction. “I just couldn’t let the likes of Bellweather and Stockwell have their way with that kid. He looked at me and . . . And I just couldn't do it . . . You said yourself they were going to basically subject him to a gang rape after Bellweather took his virginity. How could I just sit back and let that happen? How?” Brian looked at his friend, his eyes pleading for her forgiveness as well as her understanding. Maybe even her support, since he was definitely going to need it to get through this.
Cynthia slumped in her chair, shook her head disbelievingly and sighed along with her worried boss. “So what the fuck do you plan to do with him, Brian? You do realize that you're legally obligated to take care of him, right? He's going to have to live with you at the loft. Shit, Brian! I wouldn't trust you to take care of one of my houseplants - how the hell are you going to handle taking care of a fucking seventeen year old kid?” Cynthia complained, prompting Brian to start to protest, until he looked up and saw the smile that told him his friend was only teasing him.
“I admit that I may not have thought this thing through completely,” Brian answered, a smile finally finding its way to his own face. “I really hadn’t planned that far ahead. At the time, I was only trying to stop those two creeps from getting their hands on him. Buying the kid just seemed like the only viable option. But I have no idea what I'm going to do from here on out. I guess I'll just have to wing it.”
“Oh, Brian,” Cynthia groaned in exasperation. “PC ownership isn't something you can just ‘wing’. It’s one of the most highly regulated industries out there. There are so many rules . . .” Brian looked at her expectantly, begging for her help with his soulful hazel eyes. “For example,” she continued, “as you probably already know, it's illegal to terminate a PC contract early, except in very limited circumstances, and even then, you have to have the termination approved by the state and the PCRA. And, since most contracts are written for the full term allowed by law, that means this kid will be obligated under his contract for twenty five years. Which, by the way, is longer than most marriages last these days. Of course, the average life expectancy for male PCs is only thirty years, primarily because the suicide rate among PCs is so high.”
Brian’s frown deepened with each new fact his assistant offered, but that didn't stop her. “You also can't just sell him off without jumping through a ton of legal hoops. Individuals can’t sell a PC privately - they can only be sold through licensed brokerages like the one Lapointe owns. Plus, you won't be able to sell him at all for at least one full year after the transfer of ownership goes through. So, if your plan was to find somebody - hopefully somebody nicer than Bellweather - and offload him asap, better scrap that idea or at least put it on hold.”
The conversation was paused there for a few moments while a waiter brought in their drinks and then courteously withdrew after apologizing for the delay caused by their cashier having to deal with a minor problem for another customer.
As soon as the waiter was gone, though, Cynthia resumed her PC education course. “There are a lot of other limitations on PCs as well . . . they aren’t allowed to obtain any higher education degrees. They can’t be put to work outside their owner’s homes or businesses. And they can’t even be directly hired out for sexual services unless it’s through a fully regulated and licensed PC club that’s owned and managed, at least in part, by the PC’s owner. Which means that it's nigh on impossible for a PC to earn a living for him or herself, even if their owner allowed them that opportunity. Unless, of course, you do hire him out to work in a sex club - which you will NOT do, Mr. Kinney, if you value your balls and wish to keep them,” Cynthia ordered, prompting Brian to raise both hands in a gesture of surrender, letting her know he would never cross her in that way. “So, in essence, you, as a PC owner, are now obligated to take care of this person, who is legally prevented from earning any income, for the rest of his natural life.” Brian let out a little involuntary whine as he contemplated that summation. Cynthia, amused by the look of consternation on her friend's face, couldn't help rubbing it in a little. “Congratulations, Boss. It’s a boy!”
Brian shook his head and half-smiled at her. It was a lot to take in. And he knew that brief synopsis was just the tip of the iceberg. He was sure there would be a lot more involved that even Cyn hadn’t yet contemplated. But when he thought about that look the kid had directed his way, he knew he couldn’t have done any differently. Everything Cynthia had just warned him about was irrelevant. He would figure out what to do with the boy later.
Right now, the most pressing thing was to figure out how the hell he was going to pay for his new purchase. Brian was actually thankful that their cashier had been delayed. Pulling out his cell phone, he hit speed dial #7 - not a number he called very frequently, but one that had now become vitally important. Three rings later, his accountant and sometime friend, Ted Schmidt answered.
“Brian? Did you really mean to dial my number?” the confused voice on the other end of the line said. “If this is some kind of prank, then consider me sufficiently embarrassed already so I can hang up and get back to my dinner.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ted,” Brian responded with the same harshness he always directed Ted’s way, sure that if he ever did treat Ted kindly, the man would probably faint dead away. “I don’t have time to humiliate you right now. I need to know exactly how much cash I have on hand and how much additional money I can raise in the next, say . . .” he looked up at Cynthia who mouthed ‘ninety days’ at him, “ninety days.”
“What did you buy this late on a Saturday night that could possibly cost that much, Brian,” Ted questioned as Brian listened to the sound of a computer keyboard clicking in the background.
“That’s irrelevant, Theodore. Just tell me how much money I have,” Brian ordered.
Ted rattled off a string of numbers, none of which were sufficient to fully cover what Brian had pledged himself for. To make matters worse, the cashier entered right at that moment wearing an obsequious smile and giving the two customers a small bow. Brian covered the speaker of the phone with one hand and looked up at the cashier expectantly.
“How much do I have to put down tonight,” he asked without preamble.
“We require a down payment of not less than twenty percent of the total bid price before you will be allowed to take possession of your purchase, Sir. You have seven business days to gather the necessary down payment funds. The balance of the bid price is due in full within ninety days. If you can’t meet your obligations in those time frames, then your bid will be negated and the next highest bidder will be allowed the chance to step in and complete the purchase,” explained the deferential little man.
Brian didn’t groan aloud, even though he wanted to. Instead he uncovered the phone and told Ted that he needed twenty percent of the outrageous bid price that evening. Ted was stunned into silence for long enough that Brian thought the call might have been dropped.
“Theodore? Theodore! Say something, Theodore.”
“I . . . I’m here, Brian. I just don’t have any fucking clue where you’re going to get that much money in ninety days. What the fuck did you buy? A lear jet? A mansion in the Golden Triangle? A fucking tropical island? What?”
“I bought a Personal Companion,” Brian proclaimed as proudly as he could, realizing that it was useless to try and keep it a secret since, not only would the gang find out about his new purchase the next time they came over, but all PC auction sales were published in the local business news, which Ted himself subscribed to and read religiously.
“Hahahaha! Good one, Brian,” Ted was laughing uproariously on the other end of the phone line. “You really had me going for a minute there, Bri.”
“It’s not a joke, Ted. I need that money and I need it right now. I don’t want to leave the kid here one minute longer than I have to. This place creeps me out and I’m not chained up, naked, in a pen,” Brian admitted, daring the cashier to deny his accusations. The cashier simply smiled back without saying a word.
“Ooooooo-kay!” Ted responded, sounding like he still didn’t totally believe Brian and was just playing along. “Well, you’re going to have to max out both your Visa and your Amex Platinum, but that should be enough for the down payment you mentioned. As for the rest, we can move some funds around, maybe borrow against your retirement account . . . I would hate to see you have to mortgage your loft again when you’re so close to paying it off, but I suppose it’s doable . . . I still don’t think that will be enough, though. I’ll have to work the numbers a bit more and see, but I think . . . maybe if you have a rich uncle who’s about to die and leave you an inheritance, you might just about be able to do it.”
“Fuck you, Theodore,” Brian groused, even though he knew in his heart that Ted was right. “Just do what I pay you to do as my accountant and figure it out. I’ll call you tomorrow morning, and you better have something better to tell me by then,” Brian ordered and then hung up the phone.
Brian pulled out his wallet and handed both his credit cards over to the cashier with a resigned sigh. After all was said and done, Brian had one hundred and fifty two dollars credit left on one card and twelve dollars on the other. He didn’t even want to think about what the minimum monthly payments would be on those two accounts. He realized that what he was doing was completely insane on so many levels that it wasn’t even funny, but he was the kind of person that, once he’d set his mind on a particular course of action, never looked back. He just plowed ahead and figured it out the best he could and dealt with whatever the consequences were. Which was exactly what he was going to do this time as well. The rest of the paperwork was quickly filled out and Brian was handed over the Registration Certificate for J327 along with an Affidavit of Virginity and information on how and where to obtain the mandatory PC insurance policy, documentation of which was required to be filed with the state within thirty days.
Brian handed all the paperwork directly over to Cynthia, not even looking at it because he knew she would handle everything for him and make sure all those annoying dates were put on his calendar. That’s what she did. He was glad too, because if he had to actually think about all those dates and dollar signs, he would probably panic, scream and then run out of the building pulling his hair out.
Unfortunately that wouldn’t help much, since the only way he could think of to come up with the rest of the money he’d need to pay the balance of what he owed for J327 was to win the PC Clearinghouse account so he could get the account signing bonus he’d negotiated with Gardner. Either that, or convince Vance to cover the cost of Brian’s new PC as an expense account advance . . . Nah, Vance was way too much of a tightwad to even consider that option. Either way, though, he now needed to sign this account more desperately than he’d ever needed anything else in his life.
Which meant that running around screaming like a nutcase was not a very good option - not if he meant to keep Lapointe on his good side long enough to get the money to keep the boy he now, tentatively, owned.
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