Chapter 15 - Missing!
Justin didn't have time to dwell too much on Brian's suddenly overturned emotions, though. He realized almost as soon as Brian had left that it was almost nine o'clock and he was going to be late for work. He jumped in and out of the shower, staying only long enough to make sure all the Cheerios were washed off, and then grabbed the first clothing he could find before running out the door. Even running at top speed, he was five minutes late and completely out of breath when he arrived at the gallery. Mr. Vilhm gave Justin a stern look but didn’t say anything. It was likely to be a busy day at the gallery and he needed the help more than he needed to reprimand Justin.
Everything after that went smoothly for the most part. Since the holiday season was well underway, the gallery was much busier than it would be on any other average Saturday. Justin was kept running by the gallery manager, getting purchases ready to be shipped off to their buyers. Justin was more than glad to be so busy since it mostly kept his mind off Brian and whatever had happened between them last night. Of course, every time he bent over or tried to sit, the twinges in his sore ass made it impossible for Justin to forget some particulars of the night before, and he had a hard time not smiling when those memories surfaced in spite of how crazy things had turned out this morning.
By mid-afternoon, though, Justin was starting to feel the effects of getting so little sleep the night before. He was definitely flagging. He was hiding out in the stockroom, sitting with his feet up and his eyes closed, when the gallery manager rushed in calling his name. Justin was so startled that he almost fell off the stool where he’d been resting. Tricia didn’t seem angry about finding him dozing though - she seemed too excited to care.
“Justin! Justin, come out here, quick! There’s someone interested in YOUR painting,” Tricia squealed and bustled over to help Justin to his feet and rush him out to the main show rooms.
Justin tried not to run, not wanting to seem overeager, but he did sort of trot over to the rear of the gallery where there was indeed a woman in her fifties or so standing and looking over his picture. “Hello,” Justin said shyly. “Is there something I can help you with.”
The stately older lady turned to greet Justin and offered her hand. “Hello, young man,” she said in a crisp upper-crust british accent. “I was told that this gallery was showing some pieces by Justin Taylor. Is this the only one you have?”
“At the moment, yes, that’s the only piece here by that artist,” Justin said, clearly lost as to how this sophisticated woman had heard about HIS work.
“It is lovely,” the woman said, turning back to examine the painting. “There’s definite potential here. I wish there were a few other pieces, though. I’m not sure about the subject matter of this one. I was looking for something new for my office but this piece is a bit too, shall we say ‘exuberant’ for an office setting.” She muffled her laughter with her hand, unable to hold it back altogether at the thought of the reactions she’d get from hanging this piece in her office.
Justin had to admit that the piece, which was an abstract depiction of two men lying entwined together, definitely was a bit outre for your typical office.
“You do have a point there,” Justin chuckled as well. “If I may ask, though. . . I’m curious - how did you find out about this painting in the first place?”
“I’m the Director of the Art Department at Kennedy & Collins. One of my ad execs brought in some fabulous contract work the other day and when I asked him about the artist, he told me about this gallery. I simply had to come over here today and check it out. Do you think that there’s any possibility of seeing more of this artist’s work?”
“I think there’s a definite possibility, ma’am,” Justin was about to come clean to the customer when Tricia officiously strode up to the pair.
“Justin! I hope you’re taking good care of this customer,” Tricia bubbled sycophantically. “The gallery is so proud to have such a promising young artist working here for us. I can tell you that there has already been quite a lot of interest in this piece, even though it's the first that we’ve shown here. But, our Justin is so talented, I’m sure he’ll go far.” The manager put her arm around Justin’s shoulders possessively as she gushed about him to this obviously loaded potential customer.
“YOU are Justin Taylor?” the woman seemed taken aback at the disclosure. “Well, it’s so good to meet you. I just had no idea that you were so . . . well, so young. Please, let me introduce myself, I’m Anita McMillan. I oversee all the artwork for the agency and I was simply thrilled with the work you did for Brian Kinney. The campaign he came up with for that silly little travel agency was brilliant. When I told him how impressed I was, he immediately said that more than half the credit was due to you. Kinney really couldn’t have had more praise for your work, young man.”
“Well, thank you, so much. I’m glad you liked my work,” Justin was already blushing uncontrollably at the heaps of praise. “I had a lot of fun creating those prints and I agree that Brian’s ideas were excellent. I’ll have to make sure I thank Brian for telling you about me when I see him.”
“Well, thank YOU for doing such wonderful work for the firm,” Ms. McMillan returned. “Now, young man, tell me about what other work you’ve done and we’ll see if we can’t finagle the gallery manager here into selling me something I can display in my office without embarrassing my co-workers and guests.”
An hour later, thanks to the gallery owner having scanned and saved copies of several other works from Justin’s portfolio, Tricia and Anita McMillan had worked out a very nice sale for two of Justin’s paintings which he agreed to get to the gallery the next day so they could be framed. Ms. McMillan was thrilled with her acquisitions and confidently predicted that she would be rich once Justin was discovered and his works started being sold for their true value. All Justin could do is smile and nod and thank everyone profusely. When all was said and done, even after the gallery’s commission, he’d be getting almost $500 out of the deal. For the young artist who’d been hard pressed to find enough money to buy himself lunch two days ago, this seemed like riches beyond belief. And, again, he owed it all to Brian Kinney.
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There weren’t any lights on in the apartment when Justin finally made it home after work. It wasn’t that late so he hadn’t expected Brian to be off on his nightly rounds of the bars and clubs yet. Justin was bursting to tell Brian his big news and thank him for recommending Ms. McMillan to the gallery, but there was no sign of Brian in either the main room or his bedroom. Justin didn’t really think much of it - they had never kept track of each other’s comings and goings before, and he hadn’t expected it now just because of last night. Brian was probably still at the office working on the presentation for next week, or else he’d gone out earlier than usual. Justin was a little bit disappointed but wasn’t going to let it get to him. He still didn’t really know how things with Brian would turn out, and he wasn’t going to overreact this early on.
The boy was far too tired though to wait up for Brian. He managed to finally get a real shower and then curled up with his sketch book in bed. It didn’t take long before Justin was snoring away, his dreams filled, only partly against his will, with images of Brian Kinney.
Sunday was the only day of the week that Justin got to sleep in a bit. The gallery wasn’t open until 1:00 pm on Sundays. He usually didn’t even emerge from his room until well after ten. This week, though, Justin was too excited to sleep in. He was up by eight and just itching to go wake up Brian. He was able to keep himself in check until just after 8:30, but then couldn’t take it any longer and quietly knocked on Brian’s closed bedroom door.
There wasn’t any answer. Justin waited a full minute and then knocked again, more loudly this time. There still wasn’t any answer. Eventually, Justin couldn’t take the suspense any longer and just went ahead and cracked open the door. . . to find Brian’s room completely empty and his bed made.
‘So what if Brian had spent the night elsewhere’, Justin told himself. ‘He doesn’t owe me anything. We just slept together that one night. I didn’t really think that anything would change, did I?’
Justin tried to resign himself to what he thought was inevitable - Brian obviously didn't want more of a relationship. From now on, Brian would be avoiding him and they would only interact in limited, awkward situations. Justin tried to tell himself it was silly to get upset and that it was exactly what he’d expected. That brief appearance of a sentimental, tender Brian had just been a mirage. Justin knew what he was getting into and if he’d ignored his own better judgment when he jumped into bed with the man, he didn’t have anyone else to blame. Justin sighed and pulled Brian’s door shut behind him. Time to get on with life.
Justin and Daphne had lunch together before he started work that afternoon and he reluctantly brought his best friend up to date on everything that had happened between himself and Brian. She squealed, claiming she’d known it was going to happen from that first day they met Brian. She wasn’t nearly as understanding about the fact that Brian had apparently skulked off last night and slept somewhere else, though. Daphne was ready to track the man down and relieve him of his balls when she heard that part of the story. Justin barely restrained her from getting up that very moment. However, Justin was able to calm down his little defender eventually and then they agreed to get together for pizza that evening - Daphne ready to use the excuse so she would be ready for a Brian intervention when the man finally did show up at the apartment.
One large pizza, a six-pack of beer and several hours later, Justin and Daphne were passed out asleep on the couch and there was still no sign of Brian. Daphne was probably more disappointed than Justin was when Brian hadn’t shown up for a second night, since she was really itching for a confrontation. And again, when there was still no sign of Brian on Monday morning, both the youngsters bitched him out, maligned his character in general and then put it out of their minds while they hurried off to their respective studies and final exams.
Justin finished his last final on Tuesday. The only thing he still had left to do was to turn in his final Graphic Arts project - which he couldn’t do, because Brian still had all the prints. At the beginning of the week he’d been mostly just pissed off at Brian, thinking that the man was a coward for avoiding him like this. Assuming the Furry Friends' presentation had gone as well as they thought it would, Justin had really expected Brian to show up that night to celebrate and possibly share the triumph. However, he was starting to get just a tad bit worried when he still hadn’t seen Brian by Wednesday. And, it wasn’t just because he didn’t have his project to turn in. Justin was, by now, getting seriously worried about where Brian had disappeared to. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his roommate since the man had run out of the apartment half-dressed on Saturday morning. Justin couldn’t be sure, because he’d been working long hours and studying whenever he wasn’t working so he hadn’t been home much either, but it didn’t seem like Brian had been home at all the entire week. By the time Wednesday afternoon had come along and there was still no sign of the missing man, Justin started to freak out.
Justin had to admit that, despite living together for more than a month, he really didn’t know that much about Brian yet. Brian had never talked about his family much and, except for telling a few humorous stories about his friends back in Pittsburgh, Justin didn’t know anything much about Brian’s friends either. He didn’t think Brian had had enough time to make many friends here in the City, but if he had, he hadn’t talked about them. For some reason, Justin had never even gotten Brian’s cell phone number from him. Which meant that Justin really had no idea of where to start looking when he finally decided it was time to start worrying.
Obviously, the first place to start would be Brian’s work. Finding that phone number was simple but Justin really didn’t know what to say once he did call. All he found out was that Mr. Kinney was out of the office when he phoned and then he was shunted through to Brian’s voicemail. Again, since he really didn’t know what to ask and didn’t want to say anything that might cause Brian problems at work, Justin immediately hung up without leaving any message.
Justin begged Daphne to come over to the apartment on Wednesday evening after work to help him snoop through Brian’s stuff in an effort to find the names or numbers of someone who might know where the man was. They started off by going through Brian’s portion of the desk - finding nothing more exciting than paid utility bills. There did appear to be some paperwork about an apartment in Pittsburgh that a management company was supposed to be renting out but Justin didn’t see how that was going to help him find Brian here in New York. The only other thing of interest was a file of paperwork showing that Brian had already set up a pretty substantial trust fund for his son, Gus. But, again that didn’t help them find the missing man.
Justin and Daphne finally decided they had no other options but to search Brian’s bedroom. After rifling through the closet and all the drawers in the bureau, Justin was about to declare that this idea was a bust too. Then, just when they were about to give up, Daphne discovered a shoe box pushed to the very back of the closet shelf that was full of memorabilia. The two amateur detectives took the whole box with them out to the couch and began to snoop in earnest.
There wasn’t much in the box other than pictures and some small mementos that didn’t seem to have any connection to each other. None of the pictures were labeled so it wasn’t really possible to put a face to any of the names from Brian’s stories. The only picture that Justin was sure of was a snapshot taken of a smiling Brian sitting on a picnic bench next to a small boy. The boy looked so much like a younger version of Brian that he just couldn’t be anyone other than Gus. Justin was touched by the look of pride and happiness that shone from Brian’s countenance. His arm was around Gus’ back and the boy was laughing and smiling too. It was a beautiful picture. Justin couldn’t stand to put it back in the box. He put it aside, thinking that he might try to paint that scene sometime later.
“Finally!” Daphne shouted, digging around in the dregs at the bottom of the box. “I found an old address book with phone numbers, Justin.”
Unfortunately, ‘old’ was the most important descriptive term for this little book.
Justin remembered Brian saying that Gus’ mothers’ names were Lindsay and Mel. Luckily there weren’t a lot of names in the book and only one listing with the first name ‘Lindsay’. Justin decided to start there. If anyone would know where to find Brian, Justin thought it would be the mother of his son. However, all they got when they tried that phone number, was a recording that said the number was no longer in service.
The only name on the ‘K’ page was for a ‘Claire’ - no last name - but that number was disconnected too. Justin and Daphne began trying random numbers from the book, most of which weren’t working. The one time they did get through to a real person, the guy who answered said he’d never heard of a Brian Kinney and had only got this phone number last year. It seemed hopeless. Then, finally, Daphne got through to one more number listed in the book and she quickly handed the phone over to Justin.
"Little Debbie's House of Pasta!" a cheery voice said from the other end of the phone line. "If that's you, Michael, calling to tell me you're going to be late again for dinner, you better have a damn good reason. My baked ziti is about to burn because of you!"
"Um . . . Hi there! I'm not Michael. My name is Justin Taylor. I'm trying to locate Brian Kinney. You wouldn't happen to know how to get a hold of him or know where he is tonight, would you?"
"Brian? Sweetie, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Brian Kinney moved to New York a couple of months back. You're barking up the wrong tree if you're still trying to hook up with Brian, Honey," the voice said kindly but with with an edge of anger to the words.
"Uh, well, I know that. See, I'm his roommate here in New York. But I haven't seen him in almost a week and I was starting to get a little worried about him, so I was calling his friends to see if he'd checked in with anyone," Justin explained haltingly.
"Oh, well sorry, Sweetie. I didn't know Brian had a roommate. In fact, I haven't heard from the little asshole since he left the Pitts. I'm afraid I don't have a clue where he is right now. If I know Brian, he's probably out at some bar getting his dick sucked. I wouldn't worry about him too much, kid. Brian Kinney's never been exactly predictable. He used to up and disappear without word to me for days, too."
"Okay, well . . . Um, thanks anyway. Bye!" Justin was a little disconcerted by the derogatory way the woman had been speaking about Brian so he hung up quickly.
"Now what?" Justin asked his best friend as he sank into the couch in defeat.
"Shit! I don't know," Daphne admitted, pacing around the small room, now almost as worried as Justin. "I guess we start calling hospitals maybe? Or file a report with the police? You could try Brian's work again too - you said you never left a message and you only really talked to the receptionist, right? Maybe you need to talk to his boss?"
"I guess I'll have to. But I can't call Brian's office till the morning. What the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime? I swear, Daph, if Brian's doing this just because he's too chicken shit to face me after last weekend, or if this is his way of blowing me off, I'll fucking kill him." Justin was stuck halfway between worried and angry and not sure how he was supposed to react.
"Well, we might as well get started on calling some hospitals," Daphne suggested seeing as it was the only thing they could do that night. "Just give me a minute or two - I've gotta pee first."
Justin slumped back into the couch cushions, lifting up his feet to rest on the coffee table and in the process kicking aside an empty pizza box that was still sitting there from a couple of days before. If nothing else, the messy state the apartment had reverted to in the past couple of days was proof in itself that Brian hadn't been around even when Justin was out. The neat freak in Brian wouldn't have stood for the piles of dirty dishes in the sink, the empty beer bottles in the living room or Justin's dirty laundry, which had overflowed the hamper and was now cascading onto the bathroom floor.
"Justin, your cat has done something really foul in the bathroom," Daphne announced as she came back into the living room. "Your bathroom smells like a cesspool. What the hell are you feeding that animal? Is he supposed to make smells like that?"
"Sorry, Daph. I guess I need to empty out the litter box. Without Brian around to make a big deal about it all the time, I kind of forgot," Justin confessed.
"Well, go do that right now. It's seriously horrible, Jus. I can't go back in there until you get rid of that stink!"
"Sheesh. What a baby. You're almost as bad as Brian!" Justin complained but got up off the couch nevertheless and slouched off to the bathroom.
Justin had to admit, that the litter box did reek a bit. Since Brian had bought the fancy mechanical litter box and concealing cabinet, Justin had gotten a bit lax on keeping the box clean. Out of sight, out of mind, right? But, it was definitely smelly enough that it couldn't be put off any longer even it you couldn't see the mess. He pulled open the cupboard doors and the odor instantly tripled. Justin pulled the neck of his t-shirt up over the lower portion of his face to act as a pseudo-breathing mask and then bent down towards the machine. It really only took about two minutes to pull open the side panel and remove the plastic baggy that was full of used clumps of litter and other refuse. Justin quickly tied the top of the bag into a knot, set it aside and got out a fresh bag for the machine. He also dumped in a bit more cat litter and that was pretty much all it took to remedy the situation.
Justin pulled his head out from the neck of his shirt and then picked up the bag of cat poo. He wanted to take it straight to the garbage shoot in the main hall so that any risk of further bad odors offending Daphne was minimalized. As he lifted up the bag, though, Justin noticed that there were several pieces of something inside that weren't usually found in cat litter. These things were bright yellow and looked a lot like torn up pieces of one of Brian's annoying yellow sticky notes. The largest piece, which happened to be flush against the side of the clear plastic bag had writing on it.
‘Sunshine, I got. . .
Chicago for a few. . .
Sorry I didn’t get to . . .
Call me, please. .
610-444-32 . . .
I’ll miss yo. . . '
"Aarrrggghhh! Winston!" Justin screamed as he ran down the hall holding up the bag of cat poop containing the damning evidence of the furry critter's most recent crime.
It took Justin and Daphne fifteen minutes to sift through the bag full of dirty litter until they'd retrieved all the pieces. They shouldn't have had to bother - the gist of the note was clear enough from the couple big pieces that were on top - but Justin refused to stop looking until he found the tiny chewed up piece that showed the last two digits of Brian's phone number. It was a nasty, dirty, smelly job and Justin wasn't very fond of his cat by the time they finished.
"Hey, Brian," Justin responded hesitantly as soon as he heard Brian's low sexy baritone say 'Hello'.
"Sunshine. You finally called," Brian sounded happy to hear from him. "I was almost about to give up on you," Brian admitted. "When you didn't call me earlier in the week . . . I thought . . . Well, after the way I ran out of there the other morning, I thought maybe you were pissed off at me. . . I didn't mean to act like that . . . I don't do well talking about that kind of shit. . . But, you're not, are you? . . . Pissed off at me, I mean?"
"No. I'm not angry with you, Brian. If anything, I'm angry at Winston. Would you believe me if I told you that my cat ate your note? I didn't find it until tonight and then it took awhile to piece it back together and I couldn't find the piece with the last part of your phone number on it . . ." Justin started to explain the trials and tribulations associated with being owned by a rather controlling cat.
"The fuzzball ate my note? Why does that NOT surprise me? That damn cat sure has it in for me!" Brian was laughing, thinking about the crazy kitty antics. Then his tone changed, "Listen, Justin, I shouldn't have run out on you like that on Saturday. I just . . . This is all so new for me and I don't even know how to start . . . Fuck. I just can't do this over the phone, Sunshine, it's too . . . But I will explain. I'll be back on Friday morning. Can we talk about this then?"
"Of course, we can talk when you get home," Justin was smiling now and Daphne, who'd scrunched up next to Justin on the couch trying to listen in on the conversation, was smiling too. "I'm just glad you're okay. I was getting worried that maybe you'd been hit by a bus or something when you didn't show up all week."
"Hell, I didn't mean for you to worry," Brian interrupted. "I should have called, but when I didn't hear from you earlier in the week, I thought . . . Well, I was afraid . . . Never mind. See you on Friday?"
"Definitely."
"Later, Sunshine."
"Later!"
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