Brian

“It’s a business trip, I’ll be in meetings the whole time.”

“But Brian, we could have dinner together at night, and besides, you said your meetings are only on Thursday and Friday, couldn’t we stay for the weekend?”

Actually I’d thought about taking Justin with me to San Francisco but I’d discarded the idea for several reasons. Partly because he’d be a distraction – these scheduled client meetings are going to take every ounce of my energy and determination to bring off successfully. I need to stay focused.

“Maybe you just want to be free to fuck around while you’re there.”

He’s right of course; that’s another reason. What queer doesn’t want to sample the guys in San Francisco? But damned if I’ll confirm it; instead, I remind Justin, “I can fuck around anytime I want.” That’s part of our agreement. Or will be. When we make an agreement. If we do.

“I wouldn’t distract you,” he insists. We’re having a late Sunday dinner at Chez Clarisse so Justin is limited to vocal pleadings, he can’t throw his body against mine, can’t try to bump-and-grind me into submission.

I lift my wine glass and look at him over the rim. “Your ass is a major distraction.” He doesn’t laugh, he looks down at his plate and concentrates on forking pommes frites into his mouth. I can tell by the set of his shoulders that he’s given up badgering me, and I feel surprised that the battle’s over so quickly.

There’s a long pause and then I say, “Besides, I thought your summer classes start this week.”

Justin looks up and says, “No, summer term orientation is this week, I’m a continuing student so I don’t have to go through that. Classes begin next week.”

There’s nothing to say about that so I just nod and brace myself for another onslaught. It doesn’t come.

“I was going to work extra hours at the diner this week anyway,” Justin adds with a shrug. “I need to save money, there’s a new graphics software package I want to buy for the computer.”

Looking at his face closely to check for signs of pouting, I don’t see any. Which surprises me in a way, because as mature as Justin can be at times, at other times he seems about ten years old. Apparently, he’s going to let it drop and because of that, contrarily, I reconsider taking him. He’s been working hard at school this term, and putting in long hours at the diner, he deserves a break.

"I don't think there's any major art museums in San Francisco," I mention casually as I concentrate on cutting my steak.

That was a test and predictably Justin answers, "Yeah there are, a couple of them, the Modern Art Museum is downtown and there's another one in a palace overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge."

"You've been surfing the internet." It's not a question.

"Of course."

Of course. I take a bite of steak and just a morsel of baked potato; I really have to watch the carbs since I'm not back full-strength in the gym yet.

"I like to check things out," he continues. "And someday I will visit San Francisco so I want to know all about it."

"Do you want the rest of my baked potato?"

"Sure. But not the part that has blood on it." He points at my medium-rare steak leaking juices. "Eww." He holds his plate toward me and I transfer half the potato, then I sit back and watch him eat.

Holding my wine glass and savoring a mouthful of the full-bodied burgundy, I think about the practicalities of taking Justin with me to San Francisco. It's true that he would be a distraction, but if I could compartmentalize him till after the Thursday and Friday meetings, it might be fun to play tourist in the city on the weekend.

He catches me staring at him. "What? Did I spill something?" He glances down at his shirt then back at me. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"Brian, next time we go out, it's my turn."

"To be on top?"

He says quickly, "Sure, okay!" and he laughs then adds, "Actually, what I mean is, it's my turn to take you out. For a change."

"You mean, like a date?" I mock him gently.

"A real date. I'll pick you up and everything."

I set down my glass, take another bite of steak. "And where would you take me?"

"There's this place called Bogey's over on the east side, it's decorated like a nineteen-forties bar, palm trees, and everything, it's really cool."

"Sounds awful." I can't help it, it does sound awful.

"Yeah." He sighs, looks away. "It's not your kind of place. There's no back room."

Setting down my fork, I hazard a guess. "Were you there with him?" He doesn't ask whom I mean so I ask, "Were you there with your teacher?"

"Brian, so what if I was? I just wanted to take you someplace different. I haven't been to very many places, I wanted to do something different than Luigi's or the diner or the deli. And I can't afford places like this - I'll bet dinner here costs more than my tuition."

I feel myself getting annoyed and I try to push aside my feelings about that damned teacher. He's gone. Out of the picture. Cancelled.

"Brian, where else could I take you - pizza and a movie? You'd laugh at me."

"Why would I laugh at you?"

"Wouldn't you?"

I probably would have but at least now I've been warned. Instead, I say, "Pizza's fattening. But a movie would be okay."

"Really?" Justin's grinning. "How about Wednesday?"

"Not till I get back from San Francisco. I've got too much prep work to do - I should be home working on my presentation right now."

Justin rests both arms on the table and leans forward to whisper, "Does that mean there's no time for fucking tonight?"

"Hunh," I curl my lip at him. "There's always time for fucking. Are you finished?" He must be, there's nothing left on his plate, he even ate the flower-shaped tomato garnish. "Want dessert?"

"I'm kind of full," Justin admits, sitting back in the chair.

"Crème brulee," I remind him, he always orders it when we eat here.

"Okay." And he gives me that dazzling smile. Maybe I'll take him to San Francisco after all.



Justin

I should have gone home, in fact, I tried to get up and go home but Brian stopped me. Just by pulling on my arm, urging me to get back in bed with him, wrapping his arms around me and whispering in my ear, “Stay.” Of course, I stayed.

I want to stay forever. At least I think I do. We haven’t talked about living together again, sometimes I feel like we’re both holding our breath, afraid to cross that line. We’ve been together six times in the past two weeks, since the night Brian took me to dinner at Deb’s. I knew then that he was making a declaration to the family and maybe to me at the same time. And maybe to himself. But we haven’t taken the step of having me move in with him. Haven’t even talked about it yet.

Often Brian urges me to sleep with him, stay overnight. At least now that spring semester has ended I don’t have to rush off early in the morning, get home and change clothes, pick up my stuff and hurry to campus. Instead, we get up with Brian’s alarm clock and take a shower together, he says he doesn’t have a meeting till ten so why don’t we go have breakfast at the diner?

That’s a kind of declaration too. Because the guys will probably be there, some of them anyway. Maybe Brian’s trying to get them used to seeing us together. But they’re Brian’s friends and I guess they won’t ever be my friends. I used to think they were but I discovered when I went off with Ethan that people take sides. Nobody wanted to be friends with me then, not the guys anyway. Lindsay and Mel stayed in touch, but nobody else. So even though I agree to go to the diner I’m not very enthusiastic.

“Don’t tell me you’re not hungry?”

"I'm always hungry." I turn away to pick my jeans up off the floor and step into them, then sit on the edge of the bed to pull on my socks. I'll have to search for my shoes, I think I kicked them off over by the door. Brian's buttoning his shirt, a deep mauve color that has a matching tie, and he strolls over to stand in front of me.

"Tell me."

I look up at him and decide to tell him the truth. The only way things will work for me this time is just, to tell the truth instead of trying to figure out what Brian wants to hear. "I'm just not crazy about seeing the guys." When he silently cocks an eyebrow at me, I go on, "They're your friends, not mine. They don't like me very much."

"Of course they do, don't be fucking stupid." He's annoyed, turns away and pulls his tie from the hanger, expertly looping it around his neck and tying it in a perfect knot. "In fact," Brian adds, "They like you way more than me, hadn't you noticed?"

"Oh they pretend not to like you," I say over my shoulder as I go searching for my shoes, "But they all took your side when - " I stop abruptly; I don't want to go there.

Brian joins me at the door, shrugging on his suit jacket. "When you fucked me over," he finishes my sentence smoothly, his face expressionless.

I feel my shoulders droop. "Brian - "

"Hey," he says conversationally, picking up his wallet from the desk and pocketing it, "If we're going to do this at all, we're going to do it honestly."

'Honest' and blunt' mean the same thing to Brian.

"Okay," I agree, swallowing my protests, "But what do you mean by 'this?' You said, 'If we do this at all.' What are we doing? Are we ever going to decide what we're doing?"

"Justin, you don't want to start a conversation like that on Monday morning before I've had my coffee."

I'm crouching down to tie my shoes and when I stand up, Brian puts a hand on the back of my neck and leans down to touch his forehead to mine. "I have no idea what 'this' is, and you've already told me that I can't work it out on my own. Remember?" When I just nod, Brian kisses my mouth briefly, then says, "Now let's go eat. At the diner. And if you think people are sitting in judgment of you, just tell yourself 'Fuck 'em all.' Works for me."

"Okay," I agree reluctantly.

Brian pulls open the loft door, then stops and turns to regard me for a moment. "Justin, do you know what 'projection' is?" I sort of do but I shake my head, no, so he continues, "Projection is when you project your own feelings onto other people. You feel guilty for fucking me over, so you imagine everyone is blaming you. Right?"

"Maybe."

"You do feel guilty, don't you?" he asks seriously.

Looking him in the eye, I answer, "Yes."

"Good," he says, maybe he's joking but I'm not sure; then he leans down to kiss me again. "Now get in your car and meet me at the diner." He pulls the door shut and locks it and together we walk downstairs.



Debbie

When I come out of the kitchen carrying an armload of breakfast plates, who do I see coming in the door together but Brian and Justin. Brian walks over to the boys' table and sits down next to Ted, Justin trailing behind. Justin's just sliding into the booth next to Emmett when I arrive and deposit steamy-hot plates of bacon and eggs, and I can't resist leaning down to kiss Justin's cheek and his happy smile tells me that he needed that kiss.

"Hi Debbie," he says, then Brian mimics him, "Hi Debbie, where's my kiss?" I smack him lightly on the side of the head with my open palm and he laughs. I used to try kissing Brian but almost always he pulls away. I know the big lug loves me, but he's pricklier than a porcupine most of the time.

"Coffee first?" I ask Brian and he growls, "Fuck yeah."

"Sunshine?"

"Coffee, please. And orange juice. And milk."

"Coming right up," I promise, and I'm glad to hear Ted and Emmett start talking as I turn to leave. Some folks don't know quite how to take this development with Brian and Justin. Everyone can tell it's not business as usual, not the relationship those boys used to have. Maybe that's good. Maybe it's good that the whole thing was put to the test. If they can work through the bad stuff now, maybe they've got a better chance this time.

Michael's another story. Big surprise. He was so mad at Brian when he showed up with Justin at dinner a couple weeks ago. He'd kept insisting all along that Brian only let Justin stay at the loft after the accident because he needed taking care of, so when the boys kept getting together after Brian returned to work, Michael was pissed. Now he says it's because he doesn't trust Justin not to hurt Brian again, but of course, it's more complicated than that.

When I come back to the table balancing juice and milk glasses and a coffee pot on my tray, Michael's just come in and he approaches the table, we arrive at the same time. If I can feel the annoyance sparking off Michael's face in waves, everyone else can too. "Hey Mikey," Brian says, reaching out to grab Michael's hand, "Come sit next to me, Ted can scoot over. Scoot over, Ted."

Ted obliges but Michael's shaking his head and frowning. "No, I'm in a hurry anyway, I'll get something to go."

Brian doesn't insist, instead, he drops Michael's hand and turns over his coffee cup so I can fill it. I glance at Justin and he's not looking at Michael, instead, he's staring at the table.

They were becoming friends, Michael and Sunshine, before the breakup. Now they remind me of nothing so much as two terrier dogs circling carefully around each other, growling quietly in the backs of their throats. Brian's the bone they're fighting over and Brian's ignoring both of them.

Or maybe he's not. When I turn away and walk behind the counter to return the coffee pot, I see that under the table, Brian's rubbing his knee against Justin's leg. In a way it's funny to watch the man who loudly proclaims he doesn't give a fuck about anybody, playing an awkward sort of referee between the two men who love him.



Brian

Cynthia's in my office and we're going over my schedule for the week. She's made all the arrangements for my trip to San Francisco, and I ask her if it would be difficult to make some changes.

"What kind of changes?" She's pulled a chair up close to my desk and we're comparing calendars.

"I might want to stay through the weekend."

"Hmm," she smiles slyly, "Going to give the Damron Guide a workout?"

Ignoring her question as well as her smirk, I ask, "Can you change my reservations?" She nods but adds that there might be a surcharge, Liberty Air gives the agency a discount but last-minute changes are extra. I don't care about that, which she knows well enough. She stands and gathers her calendar and papers and prepares to leave the office, and when she reaches the door I say, "Oh and by the way, Cynthia?"

She turns and waits.

"Make the plane reservations for two. And bump me up to first class, if you can." Vance is a cheap shit and only pays for cabin class for business trips. Most of the time I don't mind, usually, I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork and God knows I don't eat airplane food, though I always have my quota of drinks. Sometimes I'll pay extra for first class for a longer trip, or if I need the quieter atmosphere, the extra space to spread out.

"I'll call the airlines right away," Cynthia promises. I've turned my back to her and I'm concentrating on my computer screen but I'm not really surprised that she hasn't left the office. I'm also not really surprised when she asks, "Is this Justin's first trip to California?"

"Fuck off," I say mildly, without turning around.

"Is that a yes?" Cynthia's nothing if not persistent.

"Yes. But don't say anything if he calls for one of your gossip sessions, he doesn't know yet."

"Ooh," she coos, "A surprise! I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

Then I turn around and give her my chilliest glare. "Now fuck off and call the airlines, or you're fired."

She laughs. "Yessir, Mr. Kinney."

I'm busy all morning and it's two o'clock before I'm able to break free and call Justin on his cell.

"Hey, wassup," he greets me; I can hear loud voices and banging sounds in the background, he must be at work. "Let me go out for a smoke, it's quieter in the alley." I hear him shouting to the cook that he's taking a break, and a moment later I hear the whoosh of the back door and then he's back with me. "Hey," he says again, "Wassup?"

"In less than six months you won't be a teenager anymore, when are you going to stop talking like one?"

"Oh sorry," Justin says quickly, "Good awffternoon." I can hear the flick of his lighter and the sound of quick inhaling and exhaling.

"Who'd you steal cigarettes from?"

"Sometimes I buy them," he says quickly, defensively. When I'm silent, he adds, "Tony gave me a couple."

Tony's the cook, he's always slipping Justin little treats and he teaches Justin how to cook some of the diner specials. He's bald, overweight and over fifty, so I don't think he's teaching Justin anything else. Though I'll bet he'd like to.

"What's your schedule today?"

"I was supposed to work till four but Gloria wanted the afternoon off, so I volunteered to stay till eight tonight." Justin hesitates, then asks, "Were you wanting me to come over? Or something?"

"No, I'll be working tonight but I might come by the diner for a minute. I need to talk to you."

"What about?"

"When's your break?"

"I'll probably eat about six. Why don't you come by for dinner?"

"No time. I've only got a day and half to finish this presentation. I'll come by at six and park in the alley behind the diner, come out when you can get away."

"Okay," he says, then adds, "Brian, what's this about?"

"See you at six," I repeat, then hang up and clear my mind of everything but the work at hand.



Justin

I click off the phone and know that I'm going to worry all afternoon, though I don't know what I'm worrying about. Brian sounded kind of serious. Somehow I manage to make it through the afternoon, and at six o'clock I'm out the back door; sure enough Brian's parked on the other side of the narrow pavement. When I climb into the jeep he asks, "What's that?"

"Dinner." I turn to put the brown paper bag on the back seat. "I promise you'll like it - rosemary chicken and orzo with spinach. I asked Tony not to put butter on the orzo so you can eat all of it."

Brian opens his mouth and closes it. I'm sure he was going to say something negative like he didn't want any fucking dinner and I'm prepared for that, so when instead he just leans over to kiss me and murmurs "Thanks," I'm surprised.

"Why'd you want to see me?" I ask; I can't wait any longer to find out what's going on.

"Justin, did you already commit to working all this week?"

I shake my head no. "I told Tony I want to, but I didn't sign the schedule yet. Oh my God." Suddenly I'm almost shaking. "Oh my God, Brian - are you taking me with you to California?"

Unconsciously I've grabbed hold of his leather jacket and he gently removes my hands. "You're crinkling," he objects mildly. "And I MIGHT take you with me, if you can promise to leave me alone till my meetings are over on Friday. You'd be completely on your own till then and - "

"Brian! Brian, I promise! Brian - we're going away together!"

"Only technically, till the weekend," he insists, "We'll be on the same plane Wednesday night, but you can't jabber at me, I'll be working on my laptop the whole time. And you can't bother me before the meetings are finished."

"I will speak only when spoken to," I promise seriously and Brian snorts.

"Fat chance." He shakes his head. "I know I'm going to be sorry."

"Oh, don't say that." I lean across the seat and slip my arms around him underneath his jacket. Our faces are one inch apart, we're staring cross-eyed at each other and finally, he relents. I feel his body relax and his arms go around me and hold me tight.

"Okay. I'm only PROBABLY going to be sorry."

"You won't be sorry," I promise and then he kisses me. He kisses me very thoroughly for about ten minutes, till we're both almost popping at the seams. When we pull apart to take a breath, I whisper, "Can I please come over after work?"

"No," Brian says, kind of breathlessly. I'm happy to know I've made him breathless but when I slip my hand up the inside of his thigh and squeeze his hard cock he says "No" again, more forcefully. "See, you're already bothering me."

"Oops." Pulling my hand away, I slide backward over the seat toward the door. "Your cock is safe tonight."

"Go back to work now," Brian tells me. "And come over my place Wednesday afternoon, the flight leaves at eight o'clock. Do you have a suitcase?"

"No. But I can borrow one from my mom."

"Oh great, Barbie luggage. I'll loan you one of mine."

I'm sitting still by the door, unmoving, and Brian says, "What?"

"Do you think my mom's like, a Barbie doll?" I try not to let it show on my face, but for some reason, I'm slightly upset.

Immediately Brian reaches out and grabs my hand and squeezes. "No," he says seriously. Brian never explains himself and yet this time he's explaining. "Justin, absolutely not. I have a lot of respect for your mother."

"Because," I can't help saying, "She's done a lot for me and for Molly. She's had a hard time since she left my dad."

"Justin, I know all that. And you should remember that I've told you before, you're lucky to have a mother like that."

It's true, he has told me that, more than once. I nod my head.

Brian leans over and pushes his face close to mine. "I was joking that her luggage might be pink and femmy. Like Emmett's. That's all. Okay?" When I say okay he kisses me again. "Now I've got to go, so get back to work."

Pulling open the door I slip outside, but before closing it again I remind Brian, "Don't forget to eat dinner." He just nods and when I smile and give him a little wave, he nods again, starts the car and drives off. Then I feel myself getting excited about our trip. I'm going to California with Brian!



Brian

Justin has the window seat for take-off, his nose pressed to the glass and almost quivering with excitement, he says he loves to fly. I'm relieved that he's not one of those white-knuckle types though I should have guessed he wouldn't be. I'm tempted to switch places with him later, as I'm sure he'll be climbing over me a dozen times during the flight and I need to stay focused on the presentation I'm still fine-tuning on my laptop. But with my long legs I really need the aisle seat and when I ask him, he promises to stay put and not distract me. Of course, he distracts me just sitting nearby, but I'm not sorry that I brought him along. At least I'm not sorry yet.