Part Six



Brian was supposed to be going over the budget for their latest account one Saturday in September. Instead he was watching as Justin put the finishing touches on his fifth portrait using the models Brian had lined up for him. The first, had been very provocative with the two men Justin had selected tangled together, the larger man curled protectively around the smaller man. The second was more innocuous with a single man sitting with one leg crossed and one knee raised, his cheek resting on his knee and looking up through lowered eyes. The third and fourth were individual portraits of women, one pregnant and one of a Latino woman in her sixties, both were posed standing, though the older woman leaned against the brick wall of the loft and the pregnant woman cradled her belly. For this fifth painting, Justin had used two men again, one in his fifties and one in his twenties, along with a boy about seven years old.



That had taken some work to arrange. Justin had agreed that not only would he allow the boy to be covered in the painting, but he would allow him to keep his underwear on at all times during the sittings. The boy’s mother had also insisted that the two men would be covered whenever the boy was present. So they had set appointments for the three together and for just the two men alone, when Justin could flesh out the details. As Brian watched, the boy’s mother sat in a chair near the front of the loft reading some trashy novel.



Of the paintings Justin had done so far, not counting his own, this was Brian’s favorite. The older man was lying on his side, his head propped up with one arm and his knee up. The younger man was sitting cross-legged in front of the older man’s bent knee and the boy was kneeling behind his back. One could look at the picture as father son and grandson, or as stages in the same man’s life. Justin had chosen his subjects well, with the same coloring and similar features.



“Jimmy,” Justin called out to the boy. “I’m done with you. You can get dressed. Mike and John, you can take a break until Jimmy’s gone. There’s water and soda in the fridge.”



Justin walked over to the front of the loft to speak with the boy’s mother while the two models headed for the fridge. Brian hadn’t been allowed to watch any of the earlier sittings, but since Justin had to schedule around Jimmy’s school schedule, the sittings were frequently on weekends and Brian had been present for most of the sessions this time. He knew that Justin tended to treat the models more like friends than employees. Brian supposed it would be hard to be completely detached with someone who was getting naked in your house.



Justin’s confidence in his work was improving, and with it his confidence in his ability to relate to people other than friends and family was improving as well. Brian rarely heard his young lover stammer the way he had in the early days. His speech was still slow and deliberate, but it was less noticeable than before.



Justin had started coming out of his shell. It had begun with working with Steve and continued with the models. Now, Justin usually spent one day a week at the office, working with the art team, giving them creative inspiration and brainstorming ideas with them. Their work had never been better. Justin’s personal work had continued to flourish as well. In between model sittings, he had continued painting still-lifes and had even conned Brian or his mother into taking him out to various parts of the city to photograph and paint cityscapes. He now had a rather full collection of collages. And his graphic work was continuing to evolve as he learned new techniques from the art department at work and incorporated them into the pictures he had in his head.



They hadn’t discussed finding an agent or trying to show Justin’s work since the morning Debbie had come over to find out why they weren’t coming for family dinner. Brian knew that Justin was proud of his work and wanted to share it but was still too nervous to do anything about it himself. This was why Brian had sent snapshots of Justin’s work to a Gallery owner that Lindsey knew without telling Justin about it. He probably should tell him that the man was coming over this afternoon, but Brian was reluctant to interfere with this final sitting. If Justin was nervous about the man’s visit, he might not get everything finished before the end of the session or the way he wanted it.



Brian looked back over to where the men were once again posed under the light of the loft’s back windows. This was one of the things he liked best about being around for the sittings. The view. Even at fifty, the older man was a treat to ogle. And the younger man, while he had nothing on Justin, was well built and sexy. Brian may not have been out picking up tricks for a while, but he still enjoyed the beauty of the male form.



Justin glanced over at Brian and gave him a wry smile before shaking his head and turning back to his easel. Brian grinned and turned back to his own work. The next hour went by quickly and Brian got lost in the details of the new account. When the door buzzed, he was almost as surprised as Justin.



“Are we expecting someone?” Justin asked with a frown.



“I am,” Brian said. “Finish up. I’m sure that Terry won’t mind.” Justin nodded and went back to work while Brian let Terry into the loft. They talked quietly for a few minutes while watching Justin work from across the wide loft space. From where they stood, they had a clear view of the canvas Justin was painting.



“He’s more talented than I imagined,” Terry said. “Those snapshots didn’t do his work justice. I can’t wait to see more.”



Justin put down his brush and stared at the canvas for long minutes before he nodded. “That’s it, guys. You can get dressed. Thanks.”



“Hey Justin, can we see the finished work?” John, the younger of the two, asked.



“Sure,” Justin shrugged and stepped back to let the two men get their first good look at the work they had spent hours posing for.



“Wow,” John said. “When you’re a famous artist, I’ll be able to tell all my friends that I posed for you.”



“It’s really great, Justin,” Mike said with sincerity. “If you ever need a model, call me.”



“I’ll do that. Now go get dressed,” Justin said, blushing.



“Justin,” Brian called once the men were moving toward the bedroom to dress. “Come over here for a minute. I want you to meet someone.”



Justin glanced at his brushes and palette that needed cleaning and sighed. He walked over to Brian and gave the tall older man with him a smile. “Hello.”



“Justin, this is Terry Carpenter,” Brian said. “He’s an acquaintance of Lindsey’s. I asked him to come over to see your work.”



“Terry Carpenter?” Justin said with a frown. “The Terry Carpenter who owns the Pittsburgh Fine Arts Gallery?”



“One and the same,” Terry smiled and held out his hand to shake Justin’s. “Brian sent me a few photographs of you work. I was intrigued and I wanted to see your paintings for myself. I have to say, from what I’ve seen so far, I believe it won’t be long until that young man can start bragging to his friends.”



“I… I… Thank you,” Justin stammered, and Brian could tell that it wasn’t due to the assault, but his surprise.



“May I see more?” Terry asked, and Justin almost jumped.



“Of course,” Justin said. “Um, just let me see John and Mike out and clean up my equipment first?”



“Certainly,” Terry agreed.



“How about a drink while we wait,” Brian offered and led the other man over to the kitchen counter while Justin went to fetch his brushes and palette to clean.



It only took a few minutes to deal with everything, but it was time that Justin had needed to get his mind clear and tamp down the butterflies that were threatening to overwhelm him. Once Mike and John were gone and his equipment cleaned and stored away, Justin was able to calmly call Brian and Terry over to look at his work.



One by one, they viewed and discussed Justin’s work. The six nudes were the most impressive, but the ten still-lifes and half-dozen cityscapes were almost as intriguing in Terry’s opinion. The graphic prints had a completely different feel to them, but they were just as impressive in their own way. Once each of works were examined, they went through them again. By the time Terry and Justin were finished, Brian had given up and went to lounge in the sitting area with a beer and a book.



When the other two joined him Brian looked up expectantly. “I want to feature the entire series of collages with a selection of the graphic prints to round out the show. Justin has said that he does not want to sell the painting of you, Brian, but I would still like to display the work. I usually like to introduce a new artist slowly, building up their reputation slowly, but I don’t think that will work here. Justin’s work is simply too extraordinary. My customers will be clamoring to get their hands on his work.



“I was thinking of reserving the entire main gallery for your show,” Terry continued. “We’ll run through the month of November, and I’d be willing to bet that most, if not all, of your work will be sold by the end. Our gallery takes a ten percent standard commission on all the paintings we sell, so the higher the price we can get for your work, the better off we all are. I’m thinking of starting the collages at seven thousand apiece with the nudes running from ten to fifteen. The graphic prints will be more reasonable at one thousand dollars each.”



Justin’s eyes were wide. “You really think you can get that much for my work?”



Terry smiled. “I’m not one to boast normally, but I run the preeminent gallery in Pittsburgh with the finest clientele. I’ve become the best because I only present the very best artists, artists whose work will increase in value over time. I’m seldom wrong about these things.”



“You’ll have the contracts forwarded to our lawyer?” Brian asked as Terry rose, prepared to go.



“I will,” Terry agreed. “Justin, I look forward to working with you over the coming weeks.”



Justin nodded dazedly, “Yes, thank you. I’m looking forward to it as well.”



BJBJBJBJBJ



The night of Justin’s gallery opening was hectic. Justin spent most of the day at the gallery with Terry arranging each of the pieces. When Brian arrived to take him home to change, he practically had to pry Justin away from the gallery.



“Brian,” Justin whined. “I need to make sure that they get the lighting just right!”



“You need to go home and eat something and get changed,” Brian countered. “Terry is a professional. He won’t let anything go wrong tonight, so stop obsessing.”



Justin pouted the entire way back to the loft, but Brian was fine with that. He was used to Justin’s sometimes volatile moods. When they did arrive at the loft, Justin sulked, but he ate what Brian prepared for them and showered and changed when Brian asked him to do so. By the time they needed to return to the gallery, Justin’s sulk had turned into severe insecurity.



“They’ll hate my work,” Justin predicted once back in the jeep. “I’m going to be the laughing stock of the Pittsburgh art world, not that there is much of an art world in Pittsburgh. But if the regional twats hate me, what shot do I have of ever making a name for myself nationally?”



“The regional twats are going to adore you,” Brian said. “And if they don’t, we’ll take your work to New York. Or Chicago. Or London…”



“Great, so I can be humiliated internationally,” Justin muttered. “I don’t know why I’m even trying.”



“You are trying because you are very talented and the world has a right to know just how talented you are,” Brian countered. “Now shut up and enjoy tonight. This self-pity shit is making me soft.”



Justin laughed at the familiar admonishment, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. “And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”



“I’m sure you don’t want that,” Brian smirked. “I happen to know you are quite fond of my cock. Just look at all the pictures you’ve taken of it.”



“It is quite photogenic,” Justin teased. “It would be a shame to hide it from the world now that you’ve given up giving out free trials to the entirety of Pittsburgh gay community.”



“Only one man gets to sample the goods up close and personal these days,” Brian said as he took Justin’s hand.



“Thank you,” Justin murmured a few minutes later.



“For what?”



Justin smiled. “For being you.”



BJBJBJBJBJ



The show was an unqualified success. The very first night, Terry told him that he had sold two collages and two prints and had interest from three other buyers that he believed would be back within the week to finalize the deal. Justin was hard pressed to keep track of all the people he met, but among the many and varied elite of Pittsburgh society, he did recall meeting several critics as well. Terry acted like it was just par for the course, but Justin had been floored by the attention and had relied heavily on Brian to fill in the gaps where Justin’s brain refused to keep up with the conversation.



When Frank Mason, the critic from the New York Times, seemed a bit put off by Justin’s seemingly aloof attitude, Justin finally admitted the problem. “Please excuse my… silences. Brian speaks for me… because it can be difficult for me… to communicate.”



“It’s fine,” Frank said but he looked confused.



“Justin suffered a brain injury last year,” Brian explained. “As a result, his speech patterns have slowed and he sometimes gets flustered when he’s nervous.”



“I’m sorry,” the man said, now looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t realize.”



Justin smiled. “It’s okay. Most people don’t have… the patience to listen to me…stammer.”



“If it wouldn’t be too rude to ask, how has this affected your work?” Frank seemed to be warming to the subject now that he saw that he wasn’t being snubbed and hadn’t offended the couple.



“Believe it or not, Justin’s work has improved drastically over the last year,” Brian informed him.



“I can’t go to… school or get a job,” Justin said with a small laugh. “I have nothing to do… but work on my art.”



“After we realized that art school was not an option,” Brian said, “we looked into private tutoring. Justin has been training under two of the best professors from Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Art for the last several months.” Brian named the professors and the critic looked suitably impressed.



“They don’t know much about… graphic art,” Justin said. “They mostly help me with… traditional art forms.”



“And Justin takes what they have been teaching him and combines it with his own interest in digital and graphic art and you can see the result,” Brian said proudly.



“It is extraordinary,” the critic agreed. “I don’t believe that I have ever met an artist your age as talented as you. The work you are doing is groundbreaking.”



Justin blushed. “It all started because… I wanted to paint Brian. But he’s unique… and I wanted a unique way to portray him.”



Terry came over just then, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Justin, I need you for a moment.”



Justin nodded and excused himself, leaving Brian alone with the critic. “He’s a remarkable young man,” Frank said as they watched Justin make his way across the room.



“He is,” Brian agreed.



“If it’s not too intrusive, how was he injured?” Frank was very careful about how he broached the subject this time. He could tell that Brian Kinney was not comfortable discussing this, but at the same time, his curiosity was piqued.



Brian nodded and said, “I’ll tell you, but I think we should hit the bar for this. I need a drink.”

Brian led the way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a neat double scotch for himself while Frank asked for a white wine. Once the drinks were in their hands, Brian took a swallow of the amber liquid before speaking. “After his high school prom, a homophobic classmate followed us to the parking garage and took a bat to Justin’s head. I wasn’t fast enough to stop him. The little prick’s in jail now for attempted murder and Justin’s entire life has been changed because somebody decided it was a good idea to teach that it’s okay to hate people who aren’t like you.”



The man looked absolutely sick at this, but he asked his next question anyway. “You said that Justin can’t attend school or get a job. Why? It must be more than his speech problem.”



Brian took another long swallow of scotch and nodded. “The damage was more extensive than that. Justin suffers from almost complete amnesia. I was actually the only person he recognized after he woke up. Justin says it’s because he loves me too much to forget me. The doctors think it was because I was with him right before and after the attack. I’m not sure what I believe.



“Anyway.” Brian said and shook his head to get back to the subject. “Yeah, his verbal skills were damaged, but more importantly, his thought processes have slowed. He’s as smart as he ever was but it takes him longer to process everything and formulate a response. The doctors say that the pathway that most people’s brains use to process information was damaged and now the synapses have to travel a new route which causes the delay. His reaction times are slowed, so he can’t drive. And art classes were impossible because there was not time for him to think things through. If he wanted to go to a regular class, I suppose he could do it. He could use a tape recorder and transcribe all the notes that way, but… Well, it would take absolutely forever for him to do the bare minimum of work to get by.”



“And the same goes for a normal work environment?” Frank asked.



Brian smiled here, “That is true, but Justin has already proven that he can find ways around his disabilities. We own Kinnetik Advertising and Justin works with the director of our art department on improving the overall artistic output of the firm. He has also done several projects for the firm. I tell him all the time that if he ever wants to give up the fine art stuff, he could make a killing doing freelance work in advertising.”



“I believe you,” Frank chuckled. “But I wouldn’t encourage him to give this up. His work really is amazing. He has a bright future ahead of him.”



Brian turned a defensive eye to the critic. “I have always supported his art.”



Frank smiled. “I’m sure you have. I didn’t mean anything by my remark. While I’ve already pissed you off, however, can I ask one more invasive question?”



Brian sighed melodramatically. “The shit I put up with for that twink. If you must.”



Frank laughed again. “How did you and he…? I mean, there is quite a bit of an age difference between the two of you.”



Brian gave an enigmatic grin, “He’s a persistent asshole when he wants to be. We met one night and he decided that I was the love of his life. Then he proceeded to wear me down until I believed it too. We’ve been through hell together, but I wouldn’t trade a minute of that time. We are partners in every way that counts. Now, good or bad, he’s stuck with me.”



“Be careful what you wish for,” Frank joked. “You just might get it.”



“Exactly,” Brian grinned.