A few weeks later, Justin caught up on his sleep and actually accepted a couple of invitations out, when production was held up for several days after Alan went into rehab. It was too late to replace him; suspending production to rework the schedule would actually be easier and cheaper in the long run. Still very expensive, but not exorbitantly so.

Brett was ready to kill. “That asshole couldn’t wait five months to have a nervous breakdown and OD, no! He had to do it smack in the middle of filming!” He snatched a pencil from his supply, and marked a huge cross through the calendar that lay across his desk. “Fuck!”

“He did almost die,” Justin reminded him, hoping that this would calm the guy down. The story had reached Justin’s ears as soon as he hit the set. Alan and a bunch of the extras at the Mosh Pit, doing lines off the table. Lots of drinking. Did anyone know what Alan had been doing before arrival? No one claimed to have been witness to the actual intake, of course. Convulsions in the bathroom, luckily someone who gave a shit was with him when they started. Ambulance ride, hospitalization, stomach pump. Rehab and recovery, at least a week. Brett had been awake since three a.m., trying to keep the story from hitting the press. He had phoned every contact he had in the media; the best he could get them to go along with was exhaustion. Of course, the tabloids weren’t going to cooperate, but thank God there had been no photographers around. That was just shit luck.

“And he could die for all I care, but next year, after Rage is wrapped! Fuck! Fuck, fine, where’s Tom? We need to figure out which shots we can manage without JT in them. And then get that together. What about the Zephyr shots, can’t we shoot those…”

“We’re shooting the Rage/JT shots because Mark is playing Hamlet on the Common in Boston for the next week,” Brendan, Brett’s assistant, reminded him.

Brett threw his hands up in the air. “Go find me Tom, Brendan. Bring him back here.” He turned to Justin. “Jesus, this sucks, you got any ideas?”

“Well, most of the movie involves the three main characters, but I’d think you could probably get some of the club shots, filler stuff. And Rage brooding and beating up straight guys.”

“Yeah, yeah, we could do that. Good idea.”

Brendan and Tom came into the office. “Okay so,” Brett started without greeting. “We can probably get Rage shots at the club without JT…”

“Uh uh,” Brendan shook his head.

“What do you mean, no?”

“You might want to talk to Alison, but she told me that the club we’re using for the long shots won’t let us in until Mondays and maybe Tuesdays, during the day.”

“So, find another one.”

Tom actually squawked. “And totally rework the reproduction of the bar we’ve already built to match something new?”

“Besides,” Brendan answered, “hiring hasn’t even started on the extras. It’ll take until at least Monday to find and set up new place, even if we can manage to get them to accommodate an earlier shoot…”

“Well, shit, just grab people off the street…”

“You know damn well we can’t just do that. Besides, the foreground extras, including the big dance sequence thing…”

“I thought it was an orgy scene,” Justin raised his eyebrows.

Brett looked somewhat uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, there’s no way we could get that by and still maintain an R rating, and NC-17, we all know, is the kiss of death. Rage is going to be kind of tough to keep out of that rating as it is.”

“Because it’s gay sex?”

“It’s a miracle we’re getting by with it at all in a feature film,” Tom put in. “Anyway, we can’t exactly pull together a hundred extras in a day, block out the scene, to say nothing of the fact that today’s Wednesday and we won’t have the club for what, five days anyway. If next week at all.”

Brett was silent. “Okay, how about this. We shoot a scene of Rage establishing his sexual dominance over some other guy besides JT in the loft…”

“Yeah, but where are you going to put it in the script?” Justin asked. “The only scene with another guy, JT’s there, it established his loss of naïveté. Rage isn’t cruel, he’s got integrity, it’s just kind of fucked.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Tom bit off, “when it comes to hundreds of thousands of dollars, integrity kind of takes a back seat.”

Justin frowned, looked over at Brett, but Brett was staring down at his calendar. “Shit, don’t tell me we’re going to have to work a script change,” he muttered. Then he looked up, saw Justin staring at him. “Yeah, I know. But think of it this way. If we don’t compromise some, save some of what the losses are going to total, the producers will just cancel the whole thing and take it as a tax write-off. Happens all the time.” He returned Justin’s stare.

Happens all the time. Shit. Justin studied Brett’s face, searching for some reassurance he did not find. Instead, Ben’s warning rang in his words. Why, exactly, hadn’t he and Michael retained creative control? A tweak in the script here, the loss of an orgy there… what exactly would this thing look like in the end, anyway? He had a sudden, uncomfortable conviction that it wasn’t going to be at all what he had imagined.

But what would he have done if he had retained creative control? Would he have told both these guys that there was no way they’d be tampering with the original script they’d all agreed on? Halted production and pushed back the original schedule? This was hardly art school, where he could get taken out with the flu and then go ask his professor for an extension on a project that couldn’t be worked on for three days. “How about the ad agency, then?” he suggested. “Shoot those scenes now.”

Brett looked over at Tom, who raised his eyebrows. Then he turned to Brendan, who had been sitting by, waiting for instruction. “You think you can talk to um, what’s her name at Millenium…”

“Linda.”

“Yeah, Linda, do you think she’ll go for turning her office into a movie set a month early?”

“With the amount of money they’ll be collecting handling publicity?” Brendan smirked. “Yeah, I think she’ll go for it. If we stay on schedule for a Saturday/Sunday shoot.”

Brett rubbed his lip. “Yeah, okay… see if you can line up the club scene and the dance shoot on Monday and Tuesday, and talk to Linda about this weekend down at the office. If not this weekend, then the club scene. If not that, then Millenium for the weekend following, and don’t tell me, for fuck’s sake, that we’re going to have to consider anything beyond a delay of more than a week and a half. ‘Kay?” He glanced over at Tom. “Think we can do this?”

“Sure, not much set up is needed for the office. But someone’s going to have to get the script to Connor and tell him why he needs to learn a different scene in two days.”

“Oh, fuck. That guy…” All four men glanced at each other and shook their heads. Then three pairs of eyes zeroed in on Brendan.

“Yeah, yeah, fine, I get it.” He stood up. “I’ll go get a copy of the scenes and go deal with him.”

“In the meantime, we’re shutting down for at least a couple days, send people home, I’m not gonna pay for them to loaf around. Justin, that includes you, go get some sleep.”

Justin stood up. “I don’t know how you do it, Brett.”

“Oh, he’s a madman,” Tom said dryly.

Brett just laughed.

***

So technically everything was settled; they were just shifting scenes around. But Justin still had a bad feeling two days later, when he found himself sitting with Robin and a bunch of other film people on a café terrace looking out over the Pacific. The sun was on his face, he had caught up on his sleep, he’d be working on the movie again tomorrow, and he had spoken to Brian that morning. Brian said he might be coming back to California sometime soon, so everything was fine.

So why did he feel so uneasy?

That damn contract. No definitive creative control. Brett still deferred to him, but mostly because he believed in the project. Millions of dollars did a lot to sway belief.

Justin sipped on his beer and eyed the beautiful men walking by on the sidewalk that fronted the beach, just across the road from where they sat.

“Hey, Justin!”

“Uh, sorry?” He turned his gaze back

“See anything you like?” Robin teased.

“Pretty much everything,” Justin replied with a slight smile.

“A little better than out in Pittsburgh, huh?” This from Gail, who Justin remembered from the sets; for the life of him, he had no idea what she did. There were so many people crawling around the lot that he couldn’t keep track of anyone.

“All but one,” Justin agreed, vaguely annoyed at the casual dismissal of his home city by these people who had never actually been to Pennsylvania. Still, as a particularly toned young man strolled by, his blonde hair accentuating his tan – and he wasn’t even the best of the bunch out there – Justin found himself inclined to agree with the assessment.

“Yeah, that real Rage guy is beautiful. That why you haven’t let Connor fuck you?” This from Steve. Connor had made more than a couple, unsubtle passes at Justin, once on the set, actually telling him, fairly loudly, that he should come blow the big star. Justin had declined. Humorously, of course. Tom had a bit of a temper. After that, Robin had informed him that there had been a bet set up among everyone else on the set – who could get a blow job from Justin? Justin had gotten a couple of blow jobs, but he had yet to return the favor, and that’s what the gamblers were betting on. Robin hadn’t told anyone she’d told Justin about the wagering; she was too busy making money betting against people. Justin let her, since she gave him a cut of her take. And he hadn’t let Connor touch him, no way, and not just because he was making money through refusal. That guy’s personality did absolutely nothing to make Justin want to fuck him again.

“Brian,” Justin supplied, in response to Steve’s comment. Brian was not “that real Rage guy.” Somewhere along the line, recently, Brian had stopped being Rage for him. He wondered why, even as he knew without doubt it was so.

“Yeah, Brian. If he’s Rage, you’re hardly monogamous. Details?” Gail demanded.

Justin shrugged. Brian was not simply an object to be shared, not even in absentia, fuck you very much. Brian himself might disagree and find the presumption amusing. Justin did not.

“Oh, please, I practically walked in on you with Garrett on his knees in front of you. And you’re withholding now?’ Robin chided him.

“Hey, Robin, you’re not exactly one to talk,” Gail snorted. “At least Justin was in an office with the door closed.” Justin rolled his eyes at Robin, who had obviously told everyone she could find about the Garrett thing. Gail continued, “I’m still not thrilled about walking into Rage’s lair and seeing you on all fours with that guy…”

“Robbie, the best boy,” Robin supplied. “But he was only pretty good, not the best.” Everyone groaned at the pun.

“So, Connor’s not everyone’s type. I can see why Justin would want to save his ass for Brian,” Grace, another assistant, thought she was helping Justin out. Damn, Justin had hoped the conversation would get away from his sex life. He certainly did not want to discuss his relationship with Brian with anyone right now, especially not these people. Gossip was like a sport of choice around here.

“Really?” Steve asked. “I thought Connor was everyone’s type. I mean, I know why he doesn’t appeal to me, but that’s only because I prefer pussy. Didn’t stop him from trying with me, though.”

“Let me tell you, Justin, you’re not missing out on much. ‘Ooh, Gail, lick it harder, oh, God, you’re so good, you’re the best baby…’” Everyone laughed at that, even Justin, who remembered pretty much the same soundtrack, insert your name here. Connor was an equal opportunity fucker.

“Nah, I’ve just been adjusting. Working. Catching up on sleep. How does everyone do it around here? Work all day, then party all night?”

Grace supplied, “Brett’s just weird like that, but he’s the exception. A freak of nature. He only needs like, three hours of sleep. He just works, and parties to network. The rest of us, we just pop a little helper when necessary. How else would you work without falling asleep constantly?”

“Hey, you think that’s part of what put Alan into a coma?” Robin asked.

“He didn’t go into a coma, he just went into convulsions,” Steve returned. “Besides, Rox told me he was doing speedballs like a madman before they went out to the club. You think after River Phoenix, they’d know better…”

Robin said, “Yeah, well, Justin’s apparently not quite up to speed,” she emphasized the last word, “But I’m sure we can hook you up. That way, you won’t need to wait for another delay in filming to catch up on your energy.”

“Another delay?”

“Oh, please, we’re talking Brett here. He’s a genius, but tends to sweat every detail. If it isn’t perfect, exactly what he wants, we all wait around. You haven’t noticed that yet?”

“I know Tom sure loves to micro-manage,” Justin grumbled. That guy would make him go over the brands of yogurt he planned to choose if Tom sent him to pick up his favorite afternoon snack. Which he was not above doing.

“Yeah, that guy’s an asshole, but he’s good at his job,” Robin added, sipping her beer. “Just let us know if you need an extra kick.”

Justin shrugged. “Well, thanks, but I can’t do that shit. I’m allergic to like, everything. The things I can take are not conducive to work.”

They all laughed at that. “I’m sure we can get that other stuff for you too!” Grace returned.

“Just keep it away from Alan,” Robin finished dryly.

“You think if you take his drugs away, he’d be able to keep it up? Alan doesn’t really fuck anyone, too into upper, downers…”

“Sidewards,” Robin finished. “But is he gorgeous or what?”

“Don’t forget rich,” Grace added, signaling for more drinks. “If he does clean up, I’ll take a shot at that dick. Or is he pure gay?”

“Is there a term for sexually attracted to narcotics?”

Justin felt tired again, and suddenly very, very bored. His gaze turned away from the people at the table and skimmed over all those beautiful bodies littering on the beach, before moving out over the ocean, reaching past the horizon for something that was not there.

***

“Oh, God, Brian, thank you so much for doing this for me,” Lindsay said for the twentieth time, putting in her earrings and looking at herself in the mirror over the sink.

Brian put Gus down on the floor in front of the television, and moved toward the bathroom, watching as she retouched her lipstick. He leaned against the door jamb. “You look fine, Lindsay, now come have a drink and calm down.” He walked back out into the living room, and crossed into the kitchen.

He had not been sure what to expect, and was gratified at how beautiful her apartment was. The living room, kitchen and eating area were all in one big, open area. On the walls hung a variety of art deco pieces, and at least one Sam Auerbach work that had to be worth a fortune. The furniture was slate colored – Brian supposed this was a nod to Gus, picking a color that could absorb spills. The art on the wall and the pillows on the couch were magnificently colorful, offsetting the darker grey of the furniture and the light grey of the walls.

Brian opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of Chardonnay, and filled the two wine glasses he’d found in the cabinet to the right of the sink. Right where they belonged, child safe and logical for guests.

“Glad you got away from that ‘all Pottery Barn, all the time’ look,” Brian commented, coming back to the living area and handing her a glass.

Lindsay took the wine from him, gratefully taking a sip. “Well, that was Mel’s preference, actually. I just went along with it because…” She stopped, laughed slightly. “Well, it was just easier. But thank you. This is much more me.”

“And is dating men much more you, too?” Brian reclined in the chair across from her. He shoved Gus’s books aside to clear a space for his bare feet on the coffee table, its funky metallic frame supporting a surface of grey, white and black stonework.

Lindsay didn’t answer him immediately, but just took a longer sip of her wine. Then she said, “You know, I don’t know.” She watched Gus pick up a plastic hammer, before he started pounding the oddly shaped plastic pieces into place on his toy work bench. “I’m a lesbian. I know that. But I started wondering if I was just saying I was to keep the peace with Melanie. I fucked up with Sam, I did, but part of me… he was right. I wanted more, more for myself. So much of what I said in that last month was just a continuation of the same old song, making sure no one was upset, making sure I was the right partner, the right daughter, the right everything.” She groaned, put the wine glass down on the coffee table and buried her face in her hands. “Why am I dating, at all, anyway?”

“Because you need to discover who you are,” Brian said dryly.

Lindsay spread her fingers and peeked out from between them with a scowl. “Couldn’t I have just been satisfied with the new apartment for at least a few months? Or even years?”

The intercom signaled that someone was at the front entrance. Lindsay jumped. Brian didn’t. “Hey, invite him up so I can meet him.”

“Yeah, somehow, I don’t think so,” Lindsay said, standing, grabbing her wrap, and bending down to kiss Gus on the top of his head. “Bye, baby,” she said, heading for the door.

***

She returned four hours later, collapsed into the chair and eyed Brian’s sleeping frame. “Brian. Brian!”

He opened an eye, then two, then he yawned and sat up. “Hey.”

“How was Gus?”

“I ate him. Want the leftovers?” He lifted his arms overhead, and stretched. “He’s fine, of course, didn’t cry, sleeps like a rock. How was your man? Get laid?”

Lindsay rolled her eyes, stood up, and walked to the second bedroom to peer in on Gus. When she came back, Brian had two beers in front of him, and was busy popping the caps. Lindsay took one gratefully before she sank down onto the couch.

“God, what is wrong with men?” she moaned, after downing a good third of the bottle’s contents.

Brian raised his eyebrows. “Well, someone really has joined the other team, you’re reciting the anthem of straight women everywhere.”

“Hate to tell you, Brian, but that’s a line for all women, not just the straight ones.”

“So, did you get laid?”

Eye roll in response. “No. But I’m thinking I definitely prefer women.”

“Ah.”

“Seriously, what is wrong with men? He spent the entire night talking about himself. I mean, this guy is a major art dealer, so yes, I’m interested in the subject matter, but were we ever going to talk about me?”

“You let people run over you. You need to stick up for yourself.”

Lindsay’s mood was not exactly conducive to what she perceived as an attack. “Oh, bullshit, Brian, just because I’m considerate doesn’t mean I have no sense of self. Maybe I’m looking for the person with whom it won’t be a competition for dominance right out of the gate.”

“People shove until you shove back.”

“Excuse me, men do that until you shove back.”

“And Mel didn’t do that to you?”

“What, are you saying I was with Mel because I really wanted to be with a man?”

Brian raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t thought that at all, but if she wanted to pursue the idea, hey, who was he to stop her?

“That’s just great, now you think I’m just looking for a man in a woman's body.”

“Or maybe,” Brian said, wanting to steer this conversation away from female anatomy, “you want a woman who’s going to be the kind of woman you need, not a man at all.”

Lindsay lowered her beer bottle, and looked over at Brian, really stared at him. That stopped her from the rant that had building up in her throat. Damn. She had been so ready to take out her frustration and misery on the man sitting across from her. “You know, just when you seem to be needling for no good reason but the sheer perversity of it all, you come out with these truly perceptive statements.”

“Too bad so few hear them.”

“I know, I am exceptional,” Lindsay grinned. Brian laughed slightly, not expecting that. Usually Lindsay was so modest. He credited himself, of course. He should have been hanging out with Lindsay and Mel, all along. Providing the good influence.

“I am off; my words having been received, my job here done.” He stood, looked around for his shoes.

“Going home?”

“Michael called, I think I’ll grab a drink at Woody’s.” And maybe a blow job. He doubted Lindsay would want to hear about that. But did she read that last thought from his head? She was looking at him so oddly. “What?” he asked sharply. It always annoyed him when he couldn’t read other people’s thoughts in return.

“Nothing,” she said softly, looking away.

He shrugged, pulling on his socks, and then his boots.

“It’s just…”

Oh, god. He hated any topic that started out with that.

“I just worry about you, Brian. You offer helpful words to me. I know I shouldn’t say anything…”

“Either say it or don’t,” he clipped off.

She set the now empty beer on the coffee table. “I just worry, with Justin in Hollywood. About you… and Michael.”

Brian laughed. “What, you think Michael’s going to swoop in and plant his flag on my vacated ass?”

She shook her head. “Not that necessarily. It’s just that you have this picture of Michael as this innocent, lonely kid, Brian, and he isn’t. Michael has his own agenda. What’s good for other people doesn’t necessarily get in the way of that.” She looked away. “Maybe I’m just reacting in the extreme because I’m facing a pending divorce, I seem to be seeing the downside everywhere…”

Brian just shrugged, patting the pockets of his jeans to be sure his car keys were there, and hadn’t slipped out while he slept on the couch. “Michael’s married, with kid. He’s got what he always wanted. There are no hidden motivations, he’s way too transparent for that.”

Lindsay shook her head, but shut up. Brian always was an idiot when it came to Michael; he had a blind spot there. But she was not about to pursue this tonight. She was not the person to undo twenty years of a slowly increasingly dysfunctional friendship, she had too many of her own fucked-up relationships to deal with. She had a feeling Brian could handle Michael on his own; he always had. But she wished he would do a little fighting for his relationship with Justin. But how can you fight when you don’t see the opposition? But then, maybe she really was just being cynical, seeing danger lurking behind every lovers’ pairing because of the breakup of her own. She accepted the kiss on her cheek that Brian left her with, and turned on the television, picking up the half-empty beer Brian had left behind. Oh, hell, why waste it?

***

“So, how ‘bout that guy?” Michael gestured with his glass, and Brian glanced over his shoulder at the pretty, dark man bending over the pool table. He shrugged, turned back to face the bar, took a sip of whiskey. Had it always been so fucking loud in here?

“Had him already,” Brian said shortly.

“Oh, well, so what? He’s hot, and Justin isn’t around to enforce that rule,” Michael urged.

“Hey, how bout you go after him yourself? He’s hot, and Ben isn’t around.” Justin had nothing to do with it. Brian just didn’t do seconds. Justin was not the rule enforcer, just the exception to the rules.

“Yeah, right,” Michael returned. “I’m married, remember? You’re not, and it’s not like you’re ever going to do the faithful thing.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. Well, that was probably true. About the physical stuff, anyway. On the other hand, he hated anyone telling him what he would and wouldn’t do. Knee jerk reaction, Brian knew, and he dismissed his immediate flare of annoyance, taking another sip of whiskey instead.

“How ‘bout him?” Michael nodded to a sandy-haired kid who had taken a seat at the end of the bar.

Brian took one look, and laughed. “Yeah, what is he, like ten?”

“That never stopped you before,” Michael pointed out, not naming names, of course.

“And how is your faithful family life?” Change of subject. Brian had thought he wanted a blow job, and was surprised that once he got here he had had no real desire to actively pursue anyone. Force of habit had him eyeing the goods, and of course, as usual, they were all eyeing him back. Michael’s encouragement used to be all he needed. Hell, he hadn't needed any encouragement at all. But the audience he played to these days wasn’t around, and it sure as hell wasn't Michael. A great deal of the thrill had left the state with Justin. “Well?” Brian asked, definitely needing to change the subject. And the line of thought that had come with it.

“Huh?”

“How are things at the Novotny-Bruckner home?” God, it drove him nuts that Michael had not pushed to keep own surname in the dominant position. Nope, had to be Ben’s name. Ben sure loved that, Brian had no doubt. Not that there was any doubt, if Brian ever faced that kind of a decision, where his surname would go. Definitely Taylor-Kinney, Justin would just have to… well, fuck me. What the fuck. What the fuck was he thinking!?!

He ripped his attention back to Michael. “Well?”

“Actually, it’s the Marcus-Novotny-Bruckner home these days.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Melanie asked us to move in, and since there’s a lot more space, we’re moving in this weekend. I was going to ask you to help with moving, but Ted said you were headed back to California.”

Remind him to thank Ted for that lie later. Or maybe it wouldn’t be a lie, not if he wanted to spend the weekend in a non-stop fuck fest… shit. He would not go running off to Justin every five minutes. The kid had an entire life of his own going on, on a far-off coast. Justin had made his choice. Fuck if Brian was going to run after him. “You’re moving in with Melanie?”

“Yeah, she needed help with the baby.”

“So Lindsay's help was out of the question? Isn’t that her child, too?”

“But they split up!” Michael gazed at his friend in astonishment.

“Yeah, like five minutes ago.”

“It’s been months, Brian. It isn’t easy, being a single mother…”

Brian groaned. Loudly. “Maybe Mel wouldn’t be a single mother if she had to ask Lindsay for help? Maybe it might be better if Linds and Mel had the option of trying to work things out.”

“Better? Better for who?”

Not for you, Brian thought. So this was what Lindsay had been trying to tell him earlier. That conversation made a lot more sense now. “Hey, I gotta go,” he said, throwing down a twenty on the bar.

“But you just go here!” Michael protested. “It’s not like you have anyone to get home to.”

“But you do, so why aren’t you with them?” Brian bit off, before turning his back and heading out. Apparently Michael had found a situation where he could come and go at will. There would always be someone around to take care of Jenny, and Michael could play up close happy dad while still meeting his supposed best friend out for drinks to remind him of everything he, Michael, now had surrounding him, while said best friend went home alone to an empty loft. Mikey no more, Michael Marcus-Novotny-Bruckner, thank you very much.

Brian shook his head, getting to the Corvette and sliding in for the drive home. Michael wasn’t that manipulative. He, Brian, was that manipulative, and obviously capable of projecting his own deviousness onto Mikey, who was just clueless sometimes.

Brian certainly wasn’t about to admit feeling pissed off. Just another knee-jerk reaction, it meant nothing, and would pass.

On the way home, he called Justin’s cell. There was no answer, and he hung up on the answering service.

***

“So, here are the contracts for Buzz Stanhope.” Ted finished his proposal regarding Drew Boyd’s replacement. He set down the paperwork concerning Buzz with a flourish. “Browning Investigations gave an all clear – the guy’s not married, and has a very active sex life with pretty much the entire straight female population of the Bay area. Not kinky, just plain old straightforward fucking, in his own home, or hers. A bit promiscuous, but always discreet. He likes them gorgeous, blonde or the occasional redhead, preferably mid-twenties, but occasionally up into the thirties. No scandal.” He smiled slightly as Brian looked over the papers. “And, his agent says he is thrilled to be given the opportunity.”

“Yeah, of course, they all say that.”

“Okay. Well, since it’s my first gushing suck-up, I’ll take it before I devolve to blasé. If I ever do. Who knows when anyone will kiss my ass again. Oh, and the numbers are nicely crunched on page four. I think we’re all set,” Ted finished.

“Good work, Ted. Oh, and excellent work telling Michael I’d be out in California to finish this up, as if no one on the West coast has faxes.”

“Hmph, well, actually, you’re welcome, but I did it as much for me as you. For the record, we are out in California getting the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed.”

Brian glanced up from the contract, surprised. Ted had gotten a set somewhere along the line. Maybe the spirit of Brian’s own eliminated ball had permeated the air at the agency. The Ghost of Testicles Past. He smirked at the thought. Too bad Justin wasn’t here to take that idea to the next level, he would definitely elaborate on the possibilities… fuck. He was thinking about him again.

“Just be sure to stay out of the clubs Saturday night. Keep to Grindr. Or maybe you can go to Lindsay’s, I’m sure she won’t rat you out. Unless she has another date…”

“So you know all about Lindsay’s dates, then.”

“Well, when you actually were out in California, she needed someone to sit for her because she had some art gallery thing. She called me since her usual babysitter canceled at the last minute and no one else was around. Said a guy’d asked her out, and if I was maybe free the next weekend… shocked the hell out of me. I guess she and Cynthia can have a few conversations now.”

What the fuck did that mean? “I don’t think Lindsay’s gone straight,” Brian responded, annoyed now. Lindsay was going through something. Maybe Melanie wasn’t her soul mate, but fuck if that meant she should throw in the towel on women. By her own words, she considered herself a lesbian. Fuck, she just liked rolling over and taking bullshit, a lot more than was good for her, so she gravitated toward more masculine types. At lest she was starting to see it. So what, she was supposed to suddenly give into the life of a straight woman who sought out jerks, doomed to that fate? Fuck that.

“No, I mean because Cynthia plays for both teams.” Ted caught Brian’s sudden look. That got his attention. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?” he chuckled. “The topics of business and pleasure only mix when the subject is horny men, not horny women? Well, far be it from me to chide you for that. Horny women like me, it’s a curse.”

“I’ll bet,” Brian replied smoothly. “Thanks for the contracts, Ted, I’ll be sure to look these over before our weekend get-away.” He shuddered, imagining sitting on a plane next to Ted for eight hours.

Ted got the hint. “All right, let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

***

“Hey, Brian, you wanted to see me?”

Brian looked up at his secretary. “Yes, I did, Cynthia.” He paused to give her the once over. She was very different from Melanie. That would probably be good. She was still a pretty tough chick. Had a masculine energy. But she knew when to back off, when to accommodate. God knows she read Brian perfectly. “How long have we known each other? Five years?”

“Seven,” Cynthia answered him, starting to get nervous. Oh, god, what had she done wrong? Her mind flashed back through the morning, the week. Should she try to remember back a month? Shit, Brian would have screamed bloody murder long before this if anything had gone bad that long ago. Unless he was planning a murder… nah, not that. Well, maybe.

“And in all that time, I haven’t asked you about your personal life at all. You’re single, though, right? You do date.”

Okay, what was this? had she gone out with a rival ad person recently? She couldn’t think of anybody in the same field from whom she’d sat across a dinner table recently in a non-work capacity. Maybe one of the rival agencies had sent in a decoy to try to pry their upcoming campaigns out of her with liquor and sex. Not like it hadn’t happened before. And hell, she’d gotten free liquor, food and a couple of satisfying fucks out of those deals without giving anything up. That must be it; Brian had caught wind of that incident when they were at Vanguard, two years ago…“I’m sorry, what?” She had missed what he was saying.

“What I’m about to ask you may be… unusual, so feel free to tell me to fuck off.”

Oh. So she was way off track here. He would have just told her to stay away from whomever it was that was trying to get her drunk and into her head. Not that she ever talked about current projects outside the work place. She wasn’t an idiot. “Um… let me sit for this one.” Cynthia pulled up a chair, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You are single?”

“Uh, at the moment, basically.” She frowned, trying to figure this out. Then the look on her face turned much darker. “Please, please tell me you aren’t expecting me to whore for accounts now, Brian, that’s going a bit far, even for you. There are limits to what I’ll do for you, you know…”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Brian reassured her. Then he cocked his head to the side, in a way that Cynthia found completely bone-melting, that fucker. He had to know how he looked, the effect that look had on, well, pretty much everyone. She would not be surprised to learn he practiced in a mirror. Or on Justin. Probably not on Justin, every look from him turned Justin on. She shook her head from turning her mind’s eye to some of her favorite mental pictures of walking in on the two of them. Yum, yum. But no. This conversation was getting downright weird, she needed to focus.

Brian allowed that look to sink into her bones, and then asked her, “Would you whore for an account? There’s this orange juice company I’ve got my eye on, the owner’s just divorced… Cynthia, I’m kidding,” he added quickly when she started getting up. She sank back into the chair, and crossed her arms again. Her teeth were starting to clench.

Well, fuck, Brian thought, why am I doing this again? “Seriously. You know Lindsay?”

“Yeah, blonde, mother of your child, married to Melanie, arty type, Justin loves her. I know her.”

“She and Mel broke up.”

“Oh, wow. That’s too bad. What, you want to find the right consolation gift, sort of, sorry you’re sleeping alone, get her one of those giant plush teddy bears to sleep with at night? Rub up against?” Cynthia actually smirked.

“Or something…” Brian muttered. This was really, really stupid. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you know, I know I haven’t really asked which side of the plate you swing on…”

Cynthia’s mouth almost dropped open. Brian, using worn-out clichés, really really tired metaphors to get at her sexual preference? What the fuck did this have to do with Lindsay?… and then light dawned, and she almost laughed. The horrifyingly pained look on his face stopped her, but it was close. “Brian, are you trying to set me up on a date with the mother of your child?” Poor Brian, he had no clue when it came to doing this sort of thing for his friend, showing his family-oriented side. She had always done this type of work for him, bought gifts for him to give Debbie, Lindsay, Gus even. How cute was this? Normally, he would have handed the "set up a date for my friend" job to her. He was just so awful at this sort of thing, showing that he gave a shit about someone else, putting himself out this way. And being Brian, if he couldn’t be the best at something, well, why bother even working to improve? So here he was, fumbling. Brian. She'd never seen it. It was adorable.

Brian looked away, muttering, “Yeah, I knew this was stupid.”

But Cynthia was laughing. “Are you kidding? Lindsay’s totally hot. I’d love to date her. So how’d you find out?”

“Find out what?”

“That I’m bi.”

“You are, then.”

“Well, I actually do prefer women. But hey, nothing wrong with a good hard dick every so often.”

“I’m certainly not going to contradict that. I haven’t actually asked Lindsay, you know, I wanted to feel you out first.”

Yeah, I wish you wanted to feel me up, er, out first, Cynthia thought. Some days she really wished she were a guy, usually when Brian was in the kind of mood he seemed to be in today. Actually, she wished she were Justin, sometimes. But then Brian would start demanding the impossible, and become a complete pain in the ass in the face of all logic, decency and common sense, at least once a day. She thanked god she only had to deal with it at work.

“Sure. Have her call me. If she’s interested. I’m assuming you have some fabulous date tickets available?”

“How about Rent tickets?”

“That’ll do. They better be good seats,” she finished. “And reservations at one of those fancy Italian places you like so much. On your tab? Just to get us started out, of course.” She stood up. “That all?”

Brian handed her the contracts Ted had dropped off earlier. “Can you fax these out to Buzz’s agent?” She grinned and saluted before turning her back and leaving the office.

Brian shook his head, wondering what the fuck he was doing, and then turned back to work. So much easier to handle.

***

Justin called while he was driving home.

“Hey, what’s up in Pittsburgh?”

“It is the first absolutely gorgeous summer day of the year.”

“Birds singing, sun shining?”

“You got it.”

“Every day’s like that out here.” Justin’s tone was more wistful than gloating.

“You don’t seem so thrilled, something wrong in La-La Land?”

“Not really. Well, there’s a problem with one of the actors, and the set had to be shut down for a few days. They had to re-work the shooting schedule. It played havoc with the budget, but I got a couple of days off.” Days that were stretching out into more than a couple.

“That why you didn’t answer your phone last night? Too busy finally working your way through the clubs?”

“The guys here are unbelievably hot.”

“Yeah, I saw them. So, how many blow jobs did you get?”

“Two blow jobs, and fucked two other guys, in three clubs. I think my dick was ready to fall off. I should have gotten more sleep instead. How ‘bout you? Between Woody’s and Babylon, how many?”

“Actually, I was babysitting Gus last night, and I've had a ton of work.” There was a pause. At Justin’s silence, Brian laughed slightly. “I didn’t realize that was a conversation stopper.”

“No, I just… miss the little guy. How’s he doing? How’s Lindsay?”

“Well, he misses you. He seems to think we’re a set, he asked me three times last night when you’d be over.”

“Oh. What’d you tell him?”

“I told him that Justin was off having a most excellent adventure, and he would see him when he was back in town.”

“Oh.”

Shit. The question begged to be asked, when are you coming back? And Brian would never, never ask it. Justin had his own reasons for coming, or going, or telling him anything. It was his life.

Brian was almost tired of that phrase’s repetition in his head. Even if it was the truth. He cleared his throat. “By the way, did you know Daphne blind copied me on that last email she sent you?”

“What? She bcc’d you?” Justin thought back to that email, which he had responded to a bit sharply. He felt bad about that; he’d been tired, but she had been pushy.

“Yeah, can you tell her that you’ll be home when you’re good and ready? It’s getting old.” And too much of a reminder of the futility of trying to push Justin to do anything when he had his own ideas of what he wanted in life.

“I already did. If I had known she’d cc’d you, I would have copied you in my reply. I can still forward you what I wrote to her.”

“Unnecessary, I felt like an eavesdropper as it was.”

Justin paused. He really wanted to ask if it were true, what Daphne had said in the email, that everyone missed him, especially Brian who was too much of a shithead to admit, even to himself, just how much. He could imagine Brian’s reaction to that; good thing it was email and not face to face. But then, Brian already thought Justin should go back to PIFA and get his education, and since that was the substance of most of the email: “Even if you don’t miss us as much as we miss you, you are doing yourself a major disservice by not completing your education. PIFA is one of the best art schools around, and you may be blinded by the money you’re making, the bright lights and all, and even all of the hot beautiful bodies out there, but you know the expression, beauty fades, dumb is forever. And don’t tell me that part of Brian’s appeal isn’t just his fucking unbelievably beautiful face and spectacular body, he’s also smart as they come – and that’s in part because he’s well educated. Think about it, who’d you rather be talking to at a cocktail party, who’d you rather take to your first art opening attended by the WELL EDUCATED art elite of New York - physical appeal aside, Brian or Michael?” Justin assumed Brian had forgiven the “shitthead” comment in the balance with that last part. He laughed.

“What?” Brian asked.

“I’m just thinking about how much you must have enjoyed that last part, Daphne’s going off on your spectacular beauty and wisdom.”

He didn’t want to discuss the end of that email. “Look, Justin,” she’d finished, “If you’re going to be that rich Hollywood mogul Brett keeps saying you got a shot at, it’s going to be for your ideas and your work as an artist. And you ain’t gonna develop those running coffee for some asshole on a grungy movie set. You’ve proven you’ve got the talent by selling Rage to the movie people, now get back here, develop Rage further and come up with the next awesome idea of your own, with or without Michael. And you know you can only do that by building a base starting with a good education, by learning what the big ideas are in the art and entertainment world – so get back here and get on with your life!”

“Hey, Daphne’s a perceptive girl,” Brian responded to Justin’s last comment. “She knows both gifted and gorgeous when she sees it.” There was a pause, and Justin waited. The question was begging to be asked. Daphne’s email hovered between them, the real substance unmentioned but palpable in the not-said. Justin waited. Come on, Brian, damn it, he thought. Just fucking once, unbend.

“Well, I gotta run,” Brian finally said. “Although I would certainly love to discuss my gorgeous brains, which are not threatened by your catching up with them anytime soon.”

That was as close as Brian would get to saying he agreed with Daphne.

“Yeah, we’ll see. You getting out this way again anytime soon?”

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can do. Later,” and the phone went dead.

“Later.” Justin ended the call. He propped his leg up onto the wall that separated the walk from the beach, and watched the setting sun. He ached to sketch the emptying beach, the open water, the huge sky, all the open vistas stretching out before him. The tiny little people, to capture their smallness against the spectacular, overwhelming land and sea shaping this part of the earth. He hadn’t sketched anything since he’d gotten here. He’d been too busy. And it was just as easy not to; his hand always needed to rest.

“Hey, Justin, we’re off to this cool new place downtown, you’re coming, right?” Gail pulled him away from his contemplation of the water. He put his phone into his back pocket, turned toward the others, and plastered a smile on his face. Sure, the clubs waited. He wondered if Robin could score him some E. Sure, he’d go along for the night. Not much else to do.