It was after 11:00 before Brian walked through the lobby the next morning. He had not gotten in until well after four, and it had taken him much longer than usual this morning to get up and pull himself together. He couldn’t even remember returning to the hotel last night, not to mention how exactly he had gotten there. He did, however, know fully well from his massive headache and tender dick that he had accomplished exactly what he had set out to do last night – fuck and forget.

He looked up at the front door as he approached it, and swiftly swung around to avoid eye contact with the doorman from the other night, the one who had been leaving him notes, surreptitiously placed, attempting to arrange a repeat rendezvous. Obviously the encounter had been much less forgettable for the hotel employee than it had for him, Brian thought to himself shamelessly.

As he turned, he looked down at the ornate table now directly before him, and what he saw there among the ‘things to do while you are here” literature placed strategically for tourists to peruse immediately stood out and seized his attention.

Claus Müller Gallery cordially invites you

to come and experience a once in a lifetime

opportunity to feast your eyes on the past –

the present –  and the future of the world of art

in New York City.

   featuring Justin Taylor

also showing

Mathias Quinn

Madeleine Twydell

Hachi Martinez

Right there on the cover of the brochure for the event was the very face that Brian thought he would never see again…the one he tried to erase from his dreams, but could not…the one that brought memories too raw to bear…the one that he wished could be there in his arms more than anything else in this entire world. It was as if the universe itself had been conspiring throughout this entire trip to make sure that Justin was never far from his mind. Everywhere he went, it was painfully obvious that Justin was not merely a figment of his past, but flesh and blood, here and now, a current presence right here in New York, real… but not his anymore.

He could barely breathe. His senses dimmed until everything around him seemed to disappear. He became dizzy with the impact of it all as he leaned against the table to keep his legs from giving out beneath him.

Justin. His Justin. He was gorgeous. He’d aged well, although he still had the appearance of someone much younger than Brian knew he actually was. He was successful. It was obvious from the wording on the leaflet that there was little need for an introduction, but rather an interested reader would be expected to be familiar with the artist. He was everything Brian had hoped when he left Justin standing outside his studio five years ago, although the smile he had come to know, and to crave, did not seem to be quite as brilliant as he remembered. It didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes, although Brian knew well how demanding cameramen could be during a photo shoot.

He forced his eyes away from the photo in order to take in the rest of the brochure. The show was Thursday and Friday only, and as he read he realized that it was more for the benefit of unknown, up and coming artists than for Justin himself. According to the text, Justin would only be showing two previous pieces and one never before seen canvas. How very like the blond. He had probably planned the whole thing himself, lending his name and reputation to the event so that other artists could be given exposure that he well knew was difficult to come by at best.

Brian looked at his phone. Thursday. Today. Could he go? Could he not? How he yearned to see Justin face to face, but he knew he wasn’t strong enough to let him go again if he did. This, if anything, proved once and for all that Justin needed to be free, despite the fact that what Brian needed was Justin back in his life, now more than ever.

Grabbing one of the brochures, he strode out through the door so abruptly that he didn’t even notice the huge smile of the doorman, nor was he aware when the man’s face fell in disappointment as Brian completely ignored him on his way out.

/~/

Justin walked leisurely around the showroom floor, intent on finding something nice for his mom’s birthday and then getting out the hell out of there. With his recent thoughts so completely centered around his former lover, everywhere he looked he saw something that would have caught the eye of the brunette who had always loved the finer things in life. The boutique reminded him so much of Brian that he ached - it was almost as though he could actually feel him nearby. He sighed with relief as he looked down and noticed the perfect gift for his mother in the display case directly in front of him at the back of the room. He motioned to the salesman nearest him gratefully. He really had no interest in remaining in this store any longer than he had to.

At the same time, Brian is walking down 5th Avenue, desperately trying to think of a way to see Justin’s show without running into him. He stopped briefly outside a fine jewelry boutique as he grasped his nose between his thumb and pointer finger in an attempt to relieve the pressure once again building up there, trying his best to quell the headache that usually followed. With this back to the display window, he stood there distractedly trying to formulate the idea that had begun as he walked. Had he turned at that very moment, as he continued on his way, that plan would have been a moot point, as he would have seen the object of his obsession standing only a few feet away, completing his purchase. As it was, however, he simply kept walking towards the little storefront he had recently found just around the corner, where he planned to stop and pick up a few gifts for Debbie and Cynthia to take back with him to Pittsburgh.

Pausing outside the exclusive shop, Brian found the phone number to the Claus Miller Gallery and highlighted it on his Galaxy 6. “Call active number”, Brian stated clearly into the phone. A gentleman with a very distinguished baritone voice quickly answered as the call connected, “Claus Miller Gallery, this is Drew Abbott, may I help you?”.  

“You sure can,”: Brian smoothly intoned with a rather aristocratic air. “My name is B. Rian Yennik, art critic with the Brilliant Trends section of Art Daily, online newspaper. I would very much like to have a teeny bit of alone time this evening with Mr. Taylor’s newest masterpiece before he arrives so that I am prepared to discuss it with him during our scheduled interview later. What time are you expecting him?”

“Well, the show begins at six o’clock, however, Mr. Taylor is not anticipated to arrive until seven o’clock, sir. I’m told that it is his normal routine on these up and coming artist exhibits to allow the unknown talent the first hour alone with the public and the media. Once he arrives I have no doubt that he will be the main focus of everyone’s attention for the rest of the evening. Have you seen his work? Isn’t it exquisite?”

Brian thought back to the canvas that he had seen just this week hanging on the hotel board room wall. His mind then shifted to the pieces he still had hanging or stored in his loft back in Pittsburgh, not to mention those at Kinnetik that he had not allowed to be removed, despite the clenching in his gut every time he saw them. “Yes, Mr. Taylor is a rare and beautiful treasure. Um…his talent, that is.”, Brian coughed as he quickly corrected his faux pas. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Abbott. Perhaps I can time it so that I can view the piece on my own, and then speak a little to the artist before I leave in order to best organize my questions and discussion points for our interview later tonight.”

At that very moment, Justin, having finished with his transactions, continued on his way towards his scheduled meeting with Tazlyn before his gallery appearance that evening. They needed to go over last minute details for the show, as well as discuss his upcoming schedule and arrangements to move the pieces from the gallery to their respective destinations once the event was over. He was just crossing the street when the hair at the back of his neck tingled as if a ghost had touched him from behind.  

“You’ve been extremely helpful.” Brian stated pleasantly, turning as he did so to enter the front door of the small shop.

Justin’s head snapped around towards the sound, as he blanched. He could have sworn that It was Brian’s voice, would have sworn it had he been forced to. Yet, as he turned in the direction it had come from, there was no one there he knew. “That’s just great!,” Justin huffed in exasperation. “Now I am hallucinating on top of everything else. Just what I need.” Shaking his head, he continued on towards his appointment.

/~/

The doors to the gallery opened promptly at six o’clock. Having quietly placed himself in position to enter the building swiftly, Brian was already standing, mouth agape with fascination and awe, before Justin’s exhibit by six-oh-five. He didn’t know what exactly he had expected, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was seeing.

The first thing he noticed, of course, was the very same painting he had seen earlier in the week at the Omni. How was this shit even fucking possible? His lips curled in at the irony. Was this really just more of the universe fucking with Brian Kinney? It had to be. Nothing else even remotely made sense right now, not that his theory actually had any kind of logic either, but he was much too nonplused to realize that at the moment.

He looked at the nameplate, Innocence Subdued, and a cold shiver ran through him. Could it be? Was it even conceivable that his initial reaction to the painting, that feeling of being so strangely troubled, was not merely from the fact that the sight was unexpected, but rather because subconsciously he knew, even as he was sure he did not, exactly what that red streak represented, and what this painting depicted?

He forced his eyes away and towards the second canvas, sure that a different explanation would be evident as he did. Instead, the canvas before him nearly brought him to his knees. He was devastated as he tried to come to grips with the fact that somehow this painting, a picture that so clearly represented him as he walked out of Justin’s life, could be a companion piece to one representing the bashing. As he looked at the nameplate for this second work, he read the title, Promise Extinguished, and then for a moment he could see nothing more as his eyes filled with unshed tears that blurred his vision. Seeing these two picture next to each other, same size, same feel, same emotional composition, it suddenly hit him. There was no doubt in his mind that the inference here was that for the artist who created them, these two events were equally hurtful, and by the same token, equally damaging. The impact of that revelation was startling.

He steeled himself to turn and look at the third piece. ‘No, it couldn’t be,’ he thought. Even though he had never seen the other two pieces before, they could have been done a long, long time ago, just after he left maybe. But this, this piece Empty Arms was new. The pain and the loneliness, however, were still there, speaking just as loudly off the canvas, and with tears finally beginning to spill over, Brian suddenly couldn’t get the hell out of there fast enough.

He was gonna’ need another night of fuck and forget, that was for damn sure, although he doubted that his body could hold out against the sheer amount of drinking, drugging and dancing…not to mention abundant fucking, that he would need to reach his goal after this evenings proceedings.

/~/

Justin slid in the side entrance of the gallery, doing his best not to draw attention to himself just yet. His meeting with Tazlyn had taken less time than anticipated, and he knew he was earlier than expected. He quickly slipped into the staff lounge, where a small group of gallery staff had gathered.

“Hey, Justin.” Drew called out softly. He knew the man would not want anyone out in the main gallery to know that he had arrived already. “Your art is making quite an impression already; we were just talking about it.” “Yeah, how’s that,” Justin responded curiously, as he approached the coffee maker on the counter to pour himself a cup. “Well, you just missed it,” Drew continued. “Not five minutes ago some guy was standing in front of your paintings, with tears, actual fucking tears in his eyes, then just high tailed it out of here like his ass was on fire. Never saw a reaction quite like that one. Oh, by the way, some Ryan guy from Art Daily called. He was hoping to get a chance to talk with you before your interview tonight. He said he was going to come in to look at your work before you got here so he was familiar with all three pieces before you met, but I didn’t see him.”

Justin turned to face Drew, one eyebrow raised high in confusion. The artist had often been told that his work reached a place within the viewer’s heart, but why the hell would a perfect stranger be touched so deeply like that? Perhaps the man was dealing with a break-up of his own. Yeah, that would explain it, he guessed. Then – his thoughts pondered the other topic of Drew’s conversation. Ryan? Who the fuck was Ryan. He didn’t know anyone by that name, and he was sure that was not the name of the guy from Art Daily who always showed up at these events. On top of that, he had just met with Tazlyn, and was quite sure he didn’t have any interviews scheduled tonight with the web based magazine. He texted Tazlyn who confirmed that there was no Ryan on his schedule, which he conveyed back to Drew.

“Beats me,” the gallery steward replied. “He said he was a critic. I’m sure that’s what he said. I never heard of him either, but he seemed legit.”  Justin shrugged his shoulders as he finished his coffee and walked out onto the gallery floor. This day had been one odd episode after another. By the time he was finished here tonight, he was gonna’ have to hit a club and let off a little steam.