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Chapter 40 - PC In Art.

It was starting to get seriously crowded in the Bloom Gallery, with people packing into the relatively tiny space shoulder to elegantly-clad-shoulder, and not unexpectedly, Justin was about to completely lose it.

He and Brian had already been standing around waiting for a full hour. Mr. Bloom had asked that they come early in order to check out the disposition of his pictures and also so that any critics who wanted to meet him could do so without being mobbed. It was probably a good thing that they had arrived before the majority of the guests. If they’d only just got here when the doors had opened, he would have bolted before they even got inside. He’d had no idea the event was going to be this well attended. It was not at all what he’d envisioned, and that had been bad enough. This was much, much worse.

“How about I go get us some drinks, Sunshine,” Brian offered, obviously trying to come up with something - anything - that would relax the near-panicky boy.

*Nuh uh* the boy grunted, shaking his head and grasping the sleeve of the man’s jacket in a death grip before Brian could get away.

“Justin . . . You’re doing fine, Sunshine. You don’t need to be this freaked out. Everyone here so far has loved you,” Brian stated, trying to be reasonable. “Let me just go get you a drink - or five - and I’m sure you’ll feel a lot less stressed out.”

*Un uh* the boy managed to vocalize again, his grip on Brian's sleeve somehow getting even tighter.

“Shit, Sunshine. Okay, okay . . . I won’t go anywhere without you. I promise,” Brian agreed as he pried the fingers away from his seriously wrinkled jacket. “But, please, try to relax a little and have some fun. This isn’t supposed to be a painful experience. You’re supposed to enjoy your first art exhibit.” Brian grabbed his hand again, and the boy almost instantly felt better just from the mere touch of skin on skin, irrational as that might be.

“There you are, Justin!” Sidney Bloom’s exuberant and rather loud voice boomed out as the gallery owner walked over to his star artist. “Lionel, Betsy, this is the young man who painted those exquisite abstracts you were just admiring.” Mr. Bloom ushered a tall, austere-looking man in his late sixties and a rubicund, red-headed woman over to the corner where Justin had been trying to hide. “Justin, these are the VanZettens. They've been supporters of the arts for many years, as well as longtime friends of the Bloom Gallery, and Betsy was just asking about you.”

“THIS is your PC artist, Sidney?” the woman chirped in a high-pitched warble that did not match her appearance at all. “Why, he doesn't look old enough to color inside the lines, let alone be a Personal Companion! Are you pulling my leg?”

“No, no. Everything I've been telling you is true, Betsy. This is OUR Justin,” Mr. Bloom boasted, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders while the artist tried his best not to flinch away from the touch.

“Well, I'll be . . . It's SO nice to meet you, Justin. Sidney's been bragging about you all week but he never told us what a little cutie-pie you were. I'm not sure which I'd rather take home - you or your artwork!” the woman teased, guffawing loudly at her own humor and causing the boy to lose his battle with his nerves.

The boy cringed away from the boisterous lady, turning so that he could hide his face in Brian's side. He didn’t care that it made him look like he was a frightened five year old. He felt like a frightened five year old. Why the fuck did everyone have to be so damned loud? And why did they all want to touch him? Fuck Dr. Ruby and all her advice on dealing with moments like this - right then he couldn’t remember anything she’d said and probably couldn’t think straight long enough to do any of the stupid stress-relief exercises even if he could. Hiding his face in Brian’s coat seemed like the only alternative.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m the only one who gets to take Justin home, so you’ll have to settle for his art or nothing,” Brian’s smooth baritone voice commented blithely. “Brian Kinney at your service, Ma’am.”

The boy still wasn’t looking, but he assumed from the ensuing noises that Brian must be shaking both the newcomers’ hands and further introducing himself. The boy had already tuned out all the chatter. He was too busy enjoying the comforting smell of Brian’s cologne mixed in with the faint smell of lanolin from the wool of his suit and that warm musky scent that was all Brian. As long as he concentrated on that enticing melange instead of the whirlwind of chaos going on around him, the boy felt much better.

“I’m afraid Justin isn’t generally the talkative type.” Brian’s mention of the name ‘Justin’ finally got the boy’s attention. “I’m sure you can understand that all this is just a little overwhelming for him.”

“Really? I was under the impression that PCs were a much more gregarious bunch,” the witchy woman piped up. “Aren’t PCs supposed to be much more entertaining? Lionel and I don’t own one, of course - we’re not really into that kind of thing, you know - but I do have several acquaintances with PCs and I can assure you, none of them are at all shy.”

“Now, now, Betsy,” Bloom’s voice interrupted. “As I was explaining before, the boy’s had a rather difficult time the past few years. It’s completely understandable that he’s a little reticent. And I’m sure that not all PC’s lives are easy. From what I understand, many of them end up in quite unsatisfactory situations. In fact, if it weren’t for Brian here, poor Justin might have ended up . . .”

“In one of those situations,” Brian stepped in before Bloom could elaborate on exactly where the boy would have ended up. “But I’m sure we don’t want to ruin tonight by talking about such unpleasant subjects, do we? Let’s just leave it at that and be thankful that the only darkness in Justin’s life these days is what you see in his artwork.”

“Yes, indeed. And such expressive darkness it is too,” Mr. Bloom raved. “You can almost feel it when you look at his stuff. Especially the paintings.”

“That blue one is particularly painful, don’t you think,” Brian replied, his voice taking on that subtle change in octave that Justin now associated with the man’s sales pitch tone. “I think it’s one of his darkest pieces ever. In fact, Justin didn’t even really want to show it tonight. He told me it made him almost sick to his stomach every time he looked at it. He wanted me to burn it, but I just couldn’t. It’s a fucking masterpiece, if you ask me. And I love the one little glint of light and color down in the far right corner. I think that’s the only spot of hope in the whole thing but it’s almost completely overshadowed by the dark. Talk about tortured.”

Then Brian turned slightly toward where Bloom had been standing, his voice asking, with apparent innocence, “tell me, Sidney, why is it that works from an artist’s more tormented periods always sell so well? You know, like Goya or Picasso’s ‘Black Period’? Those seem to be the pieces that appreciate in value over time so much more than their other, happier works, am I right?”

“That blue painting really IS dark,” the woman responded thoughtfully. “You know, I felt the same thing when I looked at it . . . All the pain . . . Lionel, we should go look at that one again, don’t you think?”

And then the pair of pretentious art patrons were gone, off to look at Justin’s ‘dark’ art again. From the sound of his fading voice, it seemed like Bloom was following along behind them, spouting more facts about how well other artists’ more tortured works sold. Brian was quietly chuckling to himself.

“And that, my dear, is how you sell ice to an Eskimo,” the consummate AdMan quietly gloated, squeezing the boy’s shoulders affectionately at the same time. “Hopefully Fred and Wilma’s purchase will start the rest of them buying too. There’s nothing that gets a buyer’s attention as fast as another buyer’s interest. Especially with these art snob types. They’re so busy keeping up with the Joneses they don’t really even care what it is they’re buying most of the time. Which is all the better for us, right, Sunshine?”

The boy didn’t care if they bought his shit or not, he was just glad they were no longer hovering over him and talking about him as if he wasn’t there. Now that he didn’t feel surrounded, he finally lifted up his head from it’s hiding place in Brian’s side and looked around. However, he figured he might have come out of hiding too soon, since he was almost immediately pulled away from Brian and enveloped in a crushing bear hug.

“Sunshine! Look at you! A famous artist! I’m so proud of you!” the boa constrictor twined around him announced in an ear-splitting screech. “Would you look at this turn out? The place is packed! Way to go, kiddo!”

“Debbie, can you please unhand the kid,” Brian pleaded as he peeled the overly-affectionate arms off the boy’s body. “I’m sure his work would sell better if you smothered him to death, but I, personally, would rather have him alive to paint some more first.”

“Oops. Sorry, Sweetie. I’m just so excited for your big night,” Debbie apologized and took a step back. “And thank you, both, for inviting me and Vic. I haven’t been to such a swanky affair in fuck knows how long.”

“Me neither,” Vic added. “Thank you for the invitation, Brian. Justin. Although, it feels strange having to actually get dressed up for a change. I think my fancy clothes have been hiding in the closet for longer than I ever did.”

They all laughed, caught up in Vic’s self-mocking sense of humor. Justin was at least a little more comfortable around these relatively familiar faces than he was with the rest of the crowd, and was able to laugh along with the others in his own quiet way. Vic wasn’t very threatening at all and he really did like Debbie, despite her boisterousness. She was so warm and welcoming all the time. Even if she did startle him every single time he met her and he had to reaccustom himself to her overly-energetic personality at each instance.

“Don’t you look good, Baby!” Emmett cooed, coming up from behind Vic with Ted in tow and giving the boy a one-armed hug, which the artist bore stoically.

“Hey, Justin,” Ted said in a friendly manner, but thankfully without attempting to touch him.

“Well, if it isn’t Rosencrantz and Gildenstern,” Brian greeted his friends with a jibe, as always. “Have you come to distract me from my madness . . . or just for the free drinks?”

“Definitely for the drinks,” Ted confirmed, being the only one in the group who actually GOT Brian’s obscure Shakespeare reference. “We’ll leave you to the ‘To Be or Not To Be’ monologue on your own, Hamlet.” The boy chuckled along with Brian - he found he enjoyed the accountant’s dry, self-deprecating wit more and more the longer he knew the man.

“Well, if you’re heading that way, Theodore, can you please bring Justin a bottle of water and me a double scotch,” Brian directed. “Actually, make that a quadruple scotch? I can use the liquid fortification.”

“I’ll go with you, Ted,” Vic said, still snickering over Brian’s joke. “What do you want, Sis?”

After all the drink orders were taken, the two men headed off toward the bar in the corner. The boy was relieved that Deb and Emmett seemed too busy gossiping about the other visitors to the gallery to fuss over him any further. While they were talking, Michael and David showed up, but thankfully, they were too busy talking to somebody David knew to hobnob with the gang. Brian was busy as well, greeting some other potential buyer who’d come over to get a look at the PC Artist. Luckily nobody seemed to care at all that the artist himself wasn’t talking. Surrounded by all of the Master’s friends, who served as a sort of bulwark against the masses, the boy felt like he was actually able to relax a bit for at least a few minutes.

Until, of course, one more of the Master’s ‘friends’ showed up, despite not having been invited.

“Hello, everyone. Brian, you look quite dapper tonight,” Lindsey burbled with her most WASPy fake smile on.

Predictably, she completely ignored the boy standing next to Brian, not even looking in his direction as she greeted everybody else in the little group. Brian hadn’t returned Lindsey’s greeting and was pointedly ignoring her back. When Ted returned with their drinks, Brian took his, tossed it back, and then paid particular attention to opening up the water bottle and handing it over to the waiting boy. He literally turned a cold shoulder to the chattering art teacher, effectively snubbing her back for snubbing the young artist. Unfortunately, Lindsey just did not give up.

“I’m so thrilled for Sidney - he’s got such a great turnout tonight. The renovations he’s done since Simon came on as his partner are really wonderful. I’m sure the influx of money is just what he needed to rejuvenate the gallery. And, with your marketing help, Brian, their business should just take off,” Lindsey simpered, sidling up as close to Brian as she could get in order to capture his attention.

“Except that I won’t be handling the gallery’s advertising now, will I?” Brian shot back, still not looking at his former friend.

“What? Why not? I thought Sidney told me the last time I was in here that he’d just signed a contract with VanGuard,” Lindsey insisted.

Brian looked over at Ted questioningly. “You didn’t tell them?”

Ted shook his head. “It wasn’t my story to tell.”

“No wonder. I had expected everybody and their brother to be banging down my door by Wednesday morning. Thanks, Theodore.” Brian clapped his accountant, friend and now confidante on the shoulder.

“Tell us what?” Debbie interjected. Brian shot her a pained look that clearly said ‘not now, please’, which she promptly ignored. “What didn’t Teddy tell us, Brian?” Brian growled under his breath but, of course, that didn’t deter Debbie. “You know I’m not going to let whatever this is go, Kiddo. So, spill already. Why aren’t you going to be handling this account?”

“I’m no longer with VanGuard,” Brian stated, spinning his story the way only a seasoned marketing pro could. “I’m starting my own advertising agency. But, since I haven’t yet informed all my former clients - the Bloom Gallery included - I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make a huge fucking fuss about it tonight. Okay?”

“Your own agency?” “Now?” “But this is so sudden?” “When did this happen?” The questions from the group came fast and furious and loud, completely disregarding Brian’s plea not to make a public scene about the issue.

“It just happened this week,” Brian responded. “But not everything is finalized, so I’m not going to get into all the details with all of you. Now, please, shut the fuck up about it.” Then, trying to redirect everyone’s attention away from him, Brian turned to look at the shy boy standing in his shadow. “Besides, tonight is supposed to be about Justin, not me.”

“But, Brian, how can you do something so reckless?” Lindsey pressed, ignoring Justin as well as the withering look Brian directed at her. “You can’t just walk away from a lucrative job at a well established agency in favor of some pipe dream. What about your responsibilities? You have a son now. You can’t just go haring off without thinking things through. At the very least, you should have talked with me about this decision first.”

“Why? What the hell business is it of yours, Lindsey? You and Mel don’t consult with me about your finances or what jobs you’re going to take . . . or when you decide to take extended leave from your job, like you’re doing right now. Do you? And, as Mel so gleefully likes to remind me, YOU’RE Gus’ primary parents, not me. I’m not legally or financially responsible for the kid in any way. That’s how YOU wanted it. So what the fuck difference does it make where I work or what I do?”

That shut Lindsey up - at least in the short term - leaving her standing there with her mouth gaping. The rest of the gang was equally silent. Brian gave everyone his most facetious grin and then hooked his arm through the boy’s and silently led his protege away to a less hostile corner of the gallery.

“Fuck ‘em all,” Brian murmured as they strolled, seemingly casually, away from the group. “Fucking nosy, pushy . . .”

“Brian. Justin. Do you have a minute,” the boy heard Mr. Bloom calling to him again, and was glad for the interruption for once. “Brian, I believe you know my partner, Simon Craswell.” Okay, so he wasn’t all that glad . . . not once he saw the person that the gallery owner wanted to introduce them to. And especially not after the newcomer looked the boy over from head to toe like he was going to be served up for dessert after the gallery closed. “I was just telling Simon all about our newest star artist. Simon, this is Brian Kinney and his PC, Justin.”

“Craswell,” Brian greeted the man gruffly but didn’t offer to shake his hand.

“Kinney! So THIS is what you’re doing with that little tidbit you stole away from Bellweather at the auction? *Hahaha* I would have thought you’d put him and that lovely ass to better use than to have him spend his days slapping paint on canvas. From what I could see, that tight virginal ass of his was a TRUE work of art,” Craswell joked, although he didn’t get even a snicker out of any of the three men he was addressing. “But I guess I'm in the minority in my opinion. From the proliferation of red dots on his art work tonight, a good number of our customers seem to like his shit. So what do I know, right? As long as his doodles sell and I'm making money off him, I suppose I shouldn't say anything. *Hahaha*”

The boy could feel the building rage radiating off the the man standing next to him. Granted, he didn’t much care for the nasty things that this creep was saying either, but he’d heard worse. A lot worse. He WAS a PC after all. Nobody knew better than him that his ass was supposedly his only real asset. It didn’t really surprise him that this PPC advocate would denigrate his art. But Brian, on the other hand, was seriously offended by what the guy was saying. So angry that the boy worried the Master might lose control and actually take a swing at Craswell, which could only lead to trouble.

Trying to diffuse the situation, the boy wrapped his hand around Brian’s right biceps and held on tightly. At least that way, the Master couldn’t throw a punch at Craswell. Of course, he couldn’t do anything to control Brian’s voice.

“If that’s how you feel, Craswell, then I’d be happy to remove Justin and all of Justin’s art from your gallery immediately. Because Justin might be a PC, but he’s still a human being, and if that’s the way you’re going to treat him then you don’t deserve to make a single cent off his creativity.” Brian turned to the other partner of the gallery with a determined look. “Sorry, Sidney, but I won’t put up with anyone treating Justin so disrespectfully. Will you please have all his art taken down immediately. I’ll pull my jeep around to the back and you can load it all in there. Maybe some other gallery in town will be more accommodating and less discourteous.”

“I’m sorry, Brian, Justin. I completely understand,” Sidney replied, surprising the boy, who had expected the man to protest and beg them to stay. From the look on Mr. Bloom’s face and the angry glare he shot his partner, it seemed that he was almost as offended as Brian had been. “Simon, while I’m helping take down the pictures, perhaps you can go deal with the matter of refunding all the purchasers’ money.”

“What the fuck?” Craswell seemed totally surprised by the defiance being shown by not only some artworld nobody like Brian, but also by his business partner. They hadn’t got more than a meter away, though, before Craswell was hurrying after them. “All right. You’ve made your fucking point already. I get it,” he hissed under his breath, trying to avoid making a scene. “What do you want from me?”

“An apology would be a nice start,” Brian suggested angrily, HIS voice not nearly as quiet and consequently drawing the attention of some of the nearby guests.

“Whatever. I’m sorry I was disrespectful to your PC. Happy now?”

“No, I’m not. First of all, you need to be apologizing to Justin, not me. He’s the one you were belittling. And secondly, when you do fucking apologize, you better mean it, dickwad,” Brian growled furiously, garnering even more notice from those around them, much to Craswell’s displeasure.

The haughty elitist looked from Brian to Bloom to the inquisitive guests and then back at Brian. His complexion turned more florid with every second as his anger at being cornered in this fashion mounted. When it seemed that Brian was once again on the verge of leaving, Craswell finally caved.

“Fine,” he conceded, looking at the boy for the first time, albeit with ill-concealed poor grace. “I’m sorry I was disrespectful to you,” he said in clipped tones, not sounding very sincere, but at least saying the words. “I didn’t mean anything by it and I don’t want you to take your artwork to another gallery.” That last part sounded truthful enough, the boy thought.

The boy expected Brian to say something further. He didn’t look at all placated by the half-assed, insincere apology. Before Brian could get up a fully righteous response, though, their tense little group was infiltrated by a nosy, blonde-haired busybody. At least Lindsey’s advent served to diffuse the smoldering animosity, much to the boy’s relief.

“Simon Craswell? Hello there! I wanted to come and introduce myself. Lindsey Peterson,” she grabbed the man’s hand and started to shake it while he was still busy staring Brian down, so it took him a minute to focus on the new arrival. “You probably don’t remember me, but I believe you know my parents - Ron and Nancy Peterson?”

“Oh, yes. I know Ron. He’s in banking, right?” Simon answered, seemingly glad of the timely interruption. “How’s he doing these days?”

“Oh, Daddy’s doing well. He took early retirement last year from Chase and is rather enjoying life these days. He and my mother are in Borneo right now on vacation,” Lindsey answered, all chatty and convivial now that she had insinuated herself into the conversation. “I have to say, Simon, I’ve been coming to this gallery for years - right, Sidney - and I was so happy to hear that you’d bought into it. I’m totally in love with all the changes you’ve made. The place looks great. I was just telling Sidney the other day how impressed I was with it.”

“Thank you, Lindsey. We are trying to modernize and stay up with the trends in the art market,” Craswell beamed at the sycophantic praise.

“There is just one thing, though,” Lindsey carried on, an evil glint coming into her eye as she finally looked directly at the boy for the first time that evening. “I’m not really all that thrilled with your decision to include relatively low quality work from PC trash in your grand reopening show. You do realize that many people, myself included, find this kind of thing completely tasteless, don’t you?”

“Lindsey, stay the fuck out of this,” Brian warned, bristling anew at the blindside attack.

Lindsey turned and focused a withering glare on her old friend with unbridled malignancy. “I won’t stay out of it, Brian. I’ve told you repeatedly what I think about your new whore, but you refuse to listen. And I won’t just sit by and have you shoving this abomination in the faces of upstanding people. If you won’t do what’s necessary to protect your reputation, then I will! I've been your friend for too long to let you sink into disgrace like this. I can’t force you to get rid of your little tramp, but I refuse to have you parading the stupid slut in front of the entire city like this.”

“Fuck you, Lindsey!” Brian snarled at the startled woman who obviously hadn’t been prepared for such a heated response. “I really, REALLY, don‘t know what the hell your problem is, but I’m through dealing with you and your unthinking, blind bigotry. This ends here. Tonight.” Brian moved so that he was right in her face, towering over Lindsey by a good five inches and nearly spitting in her face as he spoke. “If you’re going to make me choose between you and Justin, then let’s just be clear. I. Choose. HIM!” What little the boy could see of the woman’s face over Brian’s shoulder showed that she was pale with anger, her eyes slitted with rage and her mouth pursed up like she’d just sucked out ten lemons. “You and I, Lindsey, are no longer friends. In fact, I’d rather never see or hear from you ever again. Stay away from me - and from Justin - from here on out. Oh, and let Mel know I’ll have my lawyer contact you guys about Gus.”

Brian turned his back on the shocked woman, grabbed Justin by the hand, and yanked the boy after him as he stormed out of the gallery, mindlessly pushing anyone in his path aside.

So, yeah . . . So much for Sunshine's first ever art showing, right?