Chapter 15

Brian and company froze. He set the bottle of wine down on the desk then quietly entered the conference room. Stacey was holding up the covering over the dog food ad. She let that one drop then went to the perfume ad. Brian sidled up next to her as John, Cynthia, Ted and Ken waited by the door.

"What?" Brian was less than pleased to have been brought down from his high so soon.

"The shoe ad," Stacey began.

"Yes..."

"What if you added a bunch a women's feet and they don't have to be very pretty looking feet. Then the same feet in the shoes. No matter what the foot, the shoes makes the wearer look like a queen."

"Huh," Ken walked closer, "I like it." Brian didn't say anything.

"I love the perfume ad."

"But! I sense a but in there," Brian snarked.

"Make the man holding the bottle more androgynous. It will appeal to a broader spectrum of clientele." Brian remained silent so Cynthia asked the question.

"How broad do you mean?"

"Well, most women will view the ad like she was looking at a fantasy lover. He's tempting her with forbidden fruit. Her curiosity will get the better of her and she'll want to try it. If the model was made slightly more feminine, he/she would appeal to lesbians. A hetero man will take the chance and buy it because it's trendy. He's likely to think he'll get lucky if he bought his girlfriend or wife the latest thing. And a gay man, um, do you have a sample?"

Cynthia handed the sample bottle to Stacey. She carefully opened the bottle and waved it under her nose. A small smile began to curl up on her lips. Stacey boldly grabbed Brian's wrist and daubed a little on his pulse point. She let the alcohol evaporate for a moment then sniffed at his wrist. She then offered Brian's wrist to Cynthia, Ted and Ken.

"Oh my!" Cynthia exclaimed.

"Mmmm," agreed Ken as he took a big sniff then closed his eyes.

"Wow," Ted murmured. Brian removed his wrist from under Ted's nose then sniffed at it. He imagined the scent on Justin and the thought went straight to his dick.

"Point taken," Brian said as he sat in a chair then asked Ted to score him a bottle for his own personal use.

"What about the museum ad?"

"All I would change on that is the font, make it a little less fussy to appeal to everyone."

"And the dog food?" Brian raised an eyebrow. Stacey laughed.

"I didn't think anyone could make pet food sexy but I was wrong. I wouldn't change a thing."

"Well, I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief." Brian got up, went into the adjoining apartment, slamming the door behind him, leaving everyone stunned and Stacey embarrassed that she spoke up in the first place.

"He asked! He asked for my opinion and I gave it. Why would he ask if he didn't want to hear what I had to say?" Stacey wasn't sure what she had done wrong.

"Stacey..." Cynthia started to offer the young woman comfort when Brian slammed back into the room.

"Schmidt, what do I pay junior execs?" Brian bellowed at Ted. Ted quickly took out a pad and wrote down some figures. He passed the pad to Brian.

"And ones with experience?" Ted took back the pad and scratched out another figure. He slid the pad back to Brian.

"Ms. Manning, do you live alone?" Brian growled out the question.

"I don't see where that's any business of yours." Stacey was stunned that Brian would ask anything so personal.

"I think what Brian is getting at, is do you have a roommate or are you lucky enough to have an apartment all to yourself," Cynthia asked gently. She knew where Brian was going with this line of questions.

"I have two roommates. We live in a sixth floor walk up, one bedroom apartment in the 50's."

"One bedroom? And three women!" Ken tsked, tsked.

"Ted, what would the salary be if we added in the rent for the apartment?" Ted scribbled a little more on the pad then handed it back to Brian. Brian nodded then handed the pad over to Cynthia who also nodded. Cynthia handed the pad to Stacey.

Stacey took the pad and did a double take as she glanced at the bottom line.

"Um, what does this mean?" Stacey asked hopefully.

"It means, Ms. Manning," Ted explained, "we're offering you a job, here at Kinnetik N'rgy. You'll be in charge of this office. You'll get to pick and choose the projects you want, with our approval, of course, and you get Kenneth Mann for your artistic talent. You also get us, via computer and phone anytime you need us. All of us, that includes the main branch of Kinnetik, Part Deux and Perspectives. We also are tied in via our own personal pc's or laptops. Oh, and the apartment is yours too."

"Apartment?" Stacey was almost frozen to the spot. It all hadn't sunk in yet.

Brian opened the door to the adjoining apartment. He gently shoved Stacey through the door and allowed John to take over the tour.

"I'm not done with the renovations yet, but it's livable. It should be all finished in a couple of weeks." John was beaming with pride as was Brian.

"This apartment, the whole apartment comes with the job. I don't have to share all this space?" Stacey was amazed.

"Yes, the apartment comes with the job and you get Ken and his partner as neighbors." Brian added.

"Simon's office is next door and our apartment is upstairs. We own the building so you'll have friends here and we'll make sure we upgrade the security system. We want you to feel safe." Ken was very reassuring to the young woman.

"My own Manhattan apartment, wow!"

"So is that a yes?" Brian asked softly.

"How can I refuse, but I have to give notice to both my job and my roommates."

"Understood, if everything goes well, you can celebrate your first Thanksgiving right here!" Brian looked shocked as Stacey jumped and flung herself into his arms.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Ken applauded and John laughed as Cynthia and Ted welcomed their newest colleague into the Kinnetik family.

*****

Justin was painting like a fiend. He had had an inspiration based on Van Gogh's Starry Night. He had huge swirls of color on his large canvas. The colors were mostly pastel with streaks of a deep indigo blue, almost black, to represent the night. He mixed in some of the metallic gold that he had found. He had bought tubes of both gold and silver metallic paint. He had tried them both on some paper but didn't like the look of the silver. It was too dull. He applied the gold on top of some of the swirls on the canvas. It made them glow.

"Yes," he whispered. That was exactly the effect he wanted.

"Daddy!"

Justin continued with his paints oblivious to the little voice.

"Daddy!" Bree said louder.

Justin turned and looked at his sleepy daughter who had been napping on the futon. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Hungry," Bree said rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Thirsty too."

"Can you wait just a minute? I'm almost done," Justin begged trying to finish as quickly as he could. He knew when he was in a creative spurt like this it was best not to stop. He wanted to put the finishing touches on the canvas while the vision was so clear in his head.

Bree waited a few minutes, but Justin made no move to get her something to eat or drink. "Daddy?" she repeated.

"One more minute," Justin mumbled.

Bree waited. She stared at her father wondering what was wrong. He usually gave her a drink as soon as she asked for one. Something was definitely wrong. Getting nowhere by saying "Daddy" she slid off the futon and walked across the room to the table where Justin usually kept some cookies and juice for her. She looked up at the table and couldn't see any of the usual things she got to eat. There were no juice boxes either. She frowned. There was a tube of something that she didn't recognize. Maybe it was the cheese she'd had the other day in the park. It was good. She stretched up to the top of the table and tried to grab it. It was just out of her reach. Standing on her tiptoes and reaching as far onto the table as she could, she was just able to touch it. She sighed in frustration. She really wanted something to eat.

"Daddy?" she said once again.

Justin continued with his painting not even hearing his daughter this time.

Bree frowned. She wondered if she should start to cry, but she really didn't like making her Daddy mad at her. She looked up at the table trying to decide what to do. She noted that the tube was closer to the other side of the little table. Maybe if she went around to the other side she could reach it. She made her way past the chair and squeezed in by the wall reaching up trying to get the tube. Her hand closed around it.

Bree smiled as she brought the tube down so she could look at it. She noted that the top was off and wondered if her daddy had left it there for her. It was on the table where food was usually fed to her so it must be all right. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor beside the table. She studied the tube and then held it up to look at it more clearly. She squeezed, and some of the contents plopped out on her 'I Luv NY' T-shirt. She giggled as she rubbed her hand across the blob hoping to make it go away. It spread all over her hand and the shirt.

"Daddy," she said wondering if she was going to get into trouble for making a mess.

"Almost done, Bree. One more minute." Justin added a bit more of the metallic gold. The painting was going to look spectacular.

"Hungry, Daddy," Bree repeated with a sigh.

Justin worked on.

Bree squeezed the tube and watched fascinated as more of the stuff fell onto her shirt. She really was hungry. She opened her mouth and held the tube up to it. She squeezed hard and felt her mouth fill with the contents of the tube, just like her daddy had done in the park. She coughed as some went back too far down her throat. She swallowed around it and then tasted the bitter, repugnant substance that had squirted out of the tube of metallic silver paint. She immediately tried to spit out the contents of her mouth, dropping the tube and wiping at her mouth with her fingers. She spread the paint all over her face, but could not get rid of the awful taste.

"Daddy!" she wailed not knowing what else to do. "Daddy!" Tears streamed down her face. Making the paint spread even more.

Justin turned around at Bree's frantic cries. At first he couldn't find her, but when she shrieked again, he realized she was under the table. He took one look at her and his heart froze in his chest. He raced across the room and lifted her up setting her onto the table.

"Oh God no! Bree, what have you done?"

He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and wiped her face. He saw the paint inside her mouth as she opened it to let out the next cry.

"Oh, fuck!" He found a clean spot on his shirt and wiped at the inside of her mouth. It got some of the paint out, but the inside of her mouth was still coated with silver. What the fuck was he going to do?

He grabbed his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and dialed 911. The two seconds it took someone to answer seemed like forever. Bree was crying and spitting out what she could of the paint. His heart was beating so fast that he thought he might pass out. But he had to hold on, had to be coherent for Bree's sake.

"It's my daughter. She just ate some metallic paint. I can't get it all out of her mouth. I think she swallowed some. Please help," he told the operator.

Justin tried not to cry as the calm voice said, "Give me your address, sir."

Justin quickly gave the address of the studio. The 911 operator told him to stay on the line. Justin told her that he was going to put down the phone and try to wipe some more of the paint out of Bree's mouth. He did just that, stripping off Bree's T-shirt and using the back of it to wipe at her mouth. His fingers went inside and tried to clean the roof of her mouth and her tongue. She wailed louder.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but we have to get that nasty stuff out. I'm so sorry."

When he seemed unable to get any more of the paint he stopped and picked up the phone.

"Where the fuck is that ambulance?" he demanded.

"They're just pulling up in front of the building. If you have what she ingested, bring it with you," the woman told him.

Justin looked around trying to spot the offending object. The paramedics pounded on the door and Justin picked up Bree and ran to open it. He handed her to the first paramedic saying that she had eaten paint.

"We know, sir. Do you have what she ate?"

Justin looked back at the table and saw the open tube lying under the chair next to the table. He ran over and grabbed it as the other paramedic was getting something ready in a plastic bottle.

"Here it is," Justin said handing it to one of the men.

Bree was sobbing incoherently. She looked at Justin with fear in her eyes.

"Hang on, sweetheart. These men are going to help you."

One of the paramedics read the label of the tube and relayed the information to the other. He squeezed something into the plastic bottle and told Bree to drink but not swallow. "Spit out after you rinse it around in your mouth."

Surprisingly Bree had stopped crying and did just what the paramedic told her. She spit out the stuff onto the floor.

"One more time, honey," he said gently.

Bree repeated the process.

Justin watched all this, feeling so torn and guilty. He wanted to hold Bree and tell her it would be all right, but he needed the paramedics to look after her. He wanted Brian, needed Brian. Fuck! Brian was going to kill him, and he deserved to be killed. How could he have let this happen?

"Sir, sir! We're going to take her to the hospital. Will you come with us?"

The paramedic had Bree in his arms and was starting out the door. Justin followed him down the stairs not even bothering to close the door. The other paramedic gathered up their supplies and the offending tube of paint. He closed the door behind him.

In the ambulance Justin wiped at Briana's forehead pushing the sweaty hair off her face. She looked so small and vulnerable on the big gurney. He held her hand as the paramedics worked some more on getting the paint out of her mouth.

By the time the paramedics brought Briana and Justin to the emergency room, they had removed most of the paint from Bree's mouth. But the concern was with whatever she had swallowed. Like most kids when they taste something horrid, they spit it out and so did Bree. The emergency department pediatrician took the tube of paint from the medic, studied it for a moment then ordered syrup of Ipecac. That tasted almost as bad as the paint and Briana didn't want to swallow it either, but Justin begged, pleaded and cried. When Bree saw how upset her Daddy was, she took the medicine. In a few minutes it worked and whatever paint went down was back up and in a pan. Briana grew sleepy from all of the excitement. Justin was sitting on a chair in the pediatric area, clutching the child to his chest. The doctor and nurses thought it best that they sit there for a while. It was the easiest way to keep Bree under observation. The nurses were patient and kind in reassuring Justin that Bree was fine, but he remained unappeased. Justin was now convinced that he was the most horrible father the world had ever produced.

"Kinney."

"Mr. Brian Kinney?"

"Yes."

"I'm Dr. Wainwright. Are you related to Briana Taylor?"

"She's my daughter. Is she all right? Where's Justin, her daddy?" Brian's voice rose an octave and he was beginning to panic. He had just gotten into a cab heading back to the hotel with John when he got the phone call.

"They're both fine. Briana had a little accident but Mr. Taylor called 911 and your little girl is fine. She's asleep but I'm afraid Mr. Taylor is feeling guilty about what happened. Can you come to the hospital?" The doctor gave Brian the address and he immediately informed the cab driver. They were only a few blocks away. Within minutes Brian and John were in the ER.

"Pediatrics?" Brian asked at the information desk. The clerk pointed toward the Pediatric ED. Brian was running down the hall in a flash leaving John in the main waiting area with his briefcase.

"Briana Kinney-Taylor?" Brian asked the first nurse he could find. The Peds nurse, very attuned to panicked parents gently guided Brian to where Justin was sitting and rocking their exhausted daughter.

"Oh God, Brian! It was all my fault," Justin sobbed. "She was right, I am a bad daddy." Brian wrapped his arms around his spouse and daughter as Justin broke down into sobs.