Chapter 22 - AdMan Stuff.

Kevan was having so much fun with his new game this morning.

He was sitting in his bouncy chair which The Papa had put high up on the counter in the room where all the milk came from - well, at least the milk that didn’t come out of the The Daddy directly, which he preferred, of course, but when you were a hungry five-month-old baby you didn’t really care where the milk came from sometimes. Right? Anyway, while he was sitting and bouncing and watching The Papa and The Daddy moving around the Milk Supply Room doing all sorts of unexplainable Big People Things, like they did every morning, he’d discovered this amusing new game. It was really simple but endlessly entertaining. See, he’d found that when he spit out the stopper thing that The Papa always put into his mouth, it would fall down towards the floor and make a really interesting clattering noise. And then, after the clattering noises stopped, The Papa would pick the stopper thing up, run water over it and put it back in Kevan’s mouth.

Kevan rather liked the cool, wet feeling of the stopper. It was different. So, after the first time this happened, Kevan decided to try it again and see if The Papa would make the stopper wet again. And he did! Kevan wasn’t sure though if this was going to happen all the time or not - he still wasn’t really clear on the whole concept of cause and effect, and so he felt it was his duty to test these things repeatedly in order to ensure that they’d happen in the same order every time. But that was part of the fun, right? He didn’t really mind the testing part of the game, so he spit out the stopper again. And again. And again!

Boy was this fun! Kevan could make The Papa wet the stopper every time! What a stupendous, inspiring discovery! It was almost miraculous.

Of course, just when Kevan thought he’d figured out an immutable rule of the Universe - stoppers that were spit out would fall, make noise, be picked up by The Papa, made wet and reinserted in his mouth - then the whole thing went to doo-doo.

About the sixth time Kevan tried his little experiment, The Papa picked up the stopper . . . and put it down on the counter!

Dang! Another immutable universal principle of Kevan’s World was just disproved.

Well, if The Papa wasn’t going to continue the game by putting the stopper thing back in his mouth, Kevan could always practice his crying. He was working on a new higher-pitched wailing noise that he’d found to be most effective at getting The Daddy to come cuddle him. Maybe he should spend some time perfecting that instead?

Good Plan!

At 9:18 am Brian Kinney came barrelling out of the elevator at the Ryder Agency’s offices, his hands full of a screaming baby, a briefcase and a diaper bag that had burst its seams and was leaking baby paraphernalia everywhere.

“Brian! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for the past twenty minutes. The people from Dressing Fifi are waiting in the conference room. Marty’s trying to entertain them but he knows diddly-squat about the account, so if I were you I’d get my shapely behind in there ASAP.” Cynthia demanded, grabbing the briefcase and the remains of the diaper bag from her harried-looking boss.

“Fuck, Cynthia!” Brian zoomed past her into his office and started unloading all the stuff that had fallen out of the torn diaper bag from his suit coat pockets. “Emmett called at 8:30 to cancel on us - he’s got the fucking plague or something and is too busy puking up his guts to leave his apartment. Debbie’s working a double shift today because all the rest of the world - or at least all the Diner’s waitresses and waiters - seems to have the same strain of flu. And Justin’s got two mid-terms today that he can’t miss. Which means that Sonny Boy got to come with Daddy to work for the day.” Brian tried to modulate the tone of his voice so as not to sound too angry since his son was nearby and the more agitated he got the more the baby’s crying escalated, however his assistant could tell Brian was barely holding it together. “Unfortunately, it seems that we’re in the process of getting yet another tooth, which means that, when he isn’t using me as a teething toy, he’s screaming his adorable little head off.”

Brian grimaced at the unending wailing as he unceremoniously handed off Kevan to Cynthia. The elegant woman wasn’t really expecting to have her arms full of caterwauling infant and almost dropped him at first. Which, of course, didn’t do anything to quell the baby’s panicky crying. When she did get a grip on the wriggling, plump little body, and got a good look at the child, she had a hard time holding back her laughter. Kevan was dressed only in a thin cotton onesie with a caption on the front that read, ‘My Daddy Is A Stud Muffin’. He was also sporting a knit hat that made him look like he had a roast turkey upended on his head and, for some unknown reason, one lonely sock. Considering that it was February and not all that warm out, it wasn’t surprising that the baby had been crying at having been dragged out dressed like he was. Of course, it looked like there HAD been a blanket wrapped around the infant at one time, but it was now draped uselessly over Brian’s left shoulder.

Kevan’s daddy didn’t look much more put together this morning. Brian’s dress shirt was rumpled and wrinkled and only halfway tucked in. The pockets of his suit pants were turned out from when he’d been excavating them for the fallen baby toys that had escaped the diaper bag. Brian’s lovely pale yellow silk Armani tie had a large milky-green wet spot on one edge that looked suspiciously like baby spittal. Add to that disheveled hair that, instead of the sexy ‘Just Fucked’ look Brian preferred, seemed to give off more of a ‘Just Fucking Stressed Out!’ image, bloodshot eyes that spoke of a long sleepless night, and a slightly haunted look overall, and you got a picture of a rather panic stricken and thoroughly harassed father.

“Sonny Boy . . . Kevan, please . . . Please stop crying, Sonny Boy. Daddy has to go talk to the nice people who want me to help them sell their ridiculously expensive, high-end clothing for dogs. So you need to be a good boy and stop crying and stay here with Ms. Cynthia for a bit. Okay? Please, baby.” Brian, the always together, ever aloof, frequently unapproachable, business executive was now piteously begging his distraught five month old infant - to no avail whatsoever.

“Never mind that, Brian. I’ve got Kevan. You just get in there and take care of Mr. Spiegel and the rest of the dog fanciers,” Cynthia insisted, exchanging the file for the current clients with the spare bottle that Brian was still holding in one hand. “Kevan and I will be just fine for a few minutes. You go be brilliant as usual.”

Brian tucked his shirt in all the way, snugged his tie tighter and then ran his fingers through his hair while taking a deep breath. Then, with only a brief backwards glance at the still sniffling and whimpering Kevan, he marched out of his office towards the conference room down the hall. Cynthia held Kevan’s chubby hand and helped him wave ‘Bye-bye’ to his daddy.

She hoped nobody else noticed the pair of blue plastic baby pants that were partially hanging out of the back pocket of Brian's suit pants.

Almost an hour later the deal had finally been sealed and Brian was standing at the door of the conference room shaking hands as Ryder and the clients filed out. Despite the unexpected delay and his flustered entrance, once Brian had taken over the pitch everything had gone swimmingly. The CEO and Marketing Director of Dressing Fifi loved the concept Brian had come up with, raving over the superb quality of the photography that they thought showed off their line of ‘designer dogwear’ to it’s best effect.

Brian had been his usual charming self and had somehow managed not to let his contempt for the pretentious doggie clients and their ridiculous duds for mutts show on his face. He did make a mental note to brush up on dog breeds and other topics surrounding the type of pedigreed animals that these clients kept raving about - just in case he ever had to meet with them again. As he gathered up the presentation boards showing three dogs dressed in human clothing, he shook his head again. It seemed perfectly ridiculous to Brian Kinney, but he’d been amazed when he did his research for this client and found out the sheer volume of revenue people were willing to expend so that their dog could wear a matching track suit when they were out walking. But whatever! Selling useless stuff to idiots was what advertising was all about, right?

Brian stacked the boards on top of the table, looking at them critically one last time to see if there was anything he missed before he sent them off to the Art Department to finalize the campaign. He thought the little Yorkie and the chocolate Poodle both looked silly - although the clients had loved them. The little white Highland Terrier wasn’t so bad, though. If Brian had to have a dog, something like that wouldn’t be too annoying. Maybe in a few years, Kevan would like getting a pet? Of course Brian would never allow his dog to be dressed up like one of these, but a regular old dog - one that would fetch balls, do little tricks and entertain the kid - that wouldn’t be so bad, right?

And then Brian realized how lesbionic and lame these thoughts were and mentally bitch-slapped himself. What the hell was happening to him? That was one of those far too domesticated thoughts that just really didn’t belong in the head of Brian Kinney. He really needed to get a grip before his dick shrivelled up and fell off.

Leaving the boards where they were, Brian fled from the conference room and any thoughts about getting a family dog. He was happy to note that there were no longer any wailing baby noises coming from the direction of his office, which meant that Auntie Cynthia must have quelled the teething beast somehow. Thank fuck! Now, what the fuck was he going to do with his drooling, dripping, demanding offspring for the rest of the day while he tried to get some work done, he wondered? He was sure in the depths of his soul that Cynthia would not agree to baby wrangling for the entire rest of the day. And there was no telling when Justin would finally be done at school.

Brian once again cursed Emmett Honeycutt and the advent of cold and flu season.

As expected, Cynthia was waiting for him in his office. She immediately handed off a mostly placated Kevan. The baby looked up at Brian and smiled his little mini-sunshine smile as soon as he realized his Daddy was back. Brian felt his heart melt just a little. When the little monster wasn’t screaming his head off, he really was pretty cute, Brian thought.

Cynthia quickly scooped up the papers she’d been working on while watching Kevan and almost dashed for the door.

“Cyn . . .” Brian spoke up, trying to get a word in before she made good her escape.

“Don’t even bother, Brian,” Cynthia shot a devious smile at him over her shoulder without even slowing her pace. “I’ve got more than enough work of my own. I’m not playing Auntie for you all day. I’m afraid you’re on your own, Daddy!”

Brian scowled at the door which Cynthia closed behind her and through which he could still hear her giggling. “That’s okay. We don’t need her, do we Sonny Boy?” Brian replied, causing Kevan to turn his head towards his father, responding to the sound of his nickname. “So, how are we going to work this, huh?” Brian looked at the pile of papers in his inbox and sighed. “I couldn’t possibly talk you into taking a nap now, could I?”

Kevan smiled at his Daddy and gurgled, causing another freshet of drool to drizzle down his chin. Unfortunately he didn’t seem at all sleepy. But at least he was no longer wailing like a deranged banshee. Brian looked around his desk area, trying to figure out what exactly to do with the kid while he applied himself to his mounds of work. He’d left the car seat down in the car, which meant that he couldn’t use that as a convenient child holder. He didn’t, of course, have any other baby equipment here in his office - that would clutter up the minimalist decorating. He didn’t see the remains of the exploded diaper bag anywhere close by either, so pulling out a blanket or something to put on the floor wasn’t going to happen. Hmmm . . . it looked like Brian would just have to keep holding Kevan for the time being.

Kevan seemed to enjoy this arrangement. It meant he was at just the right height to grab at all the interesting papers and pens and other things on Daddy’s desk. Brian, who was trying to shuffle papers and type on his computer one-handed, all the while pulling things out of Kevan’s grubby fists, felt like he was fending off a baby octopus rather than a rather small human. He was already getting frustrated and was almost glad when his ringing cell phone interrupted him less than ten unproductive minutes later.

“Speak!”

“Hey, Brian!” Michael’s excruciatingly cheerful voice percolated through the phone’s small speaker.

Brian silently cursed himself for not looking at the caller ID before answering. “Mikey, I can’t really talk right now. I’ve got my hands full . . . literally!”

“No problem, Bri. I was just calling you back. I couldn’t answer my phone when you called before - we’re doing inventory at the store and I was up to my armpits in feminine hygiene products,” Michael laughed ingratiatingly at his own joke. “So, what did you need? In your message you sounded a little flustered.”

Brian hesitated to answer his friend. When he’d called and left a message for Michael earlier that morning he’d been at his wit’s end - desperate - and looking for help from anyone he could think of to call. But now that he’d cooled down a bit and the all-important client meeting was over, Brian was rethinking whether or not he really wanted Michael’s help. Yes, it would be helpful if someone would come take Kevan so he could get some real work done. But Michael? Brian wasn’t sure that his extremely immature friend was ready to take on a five-month-old. Now that he thought about it, Brian didn’t think he’d trust Mikey to take care of his houseplants - assuming he had any - let alone his son.

“That’s okay, Mikey. I’ve got everything under control again,” Brian responded finally.

“Oh. Okay. So, what are you doing for lunch today? ‘Cause Woody’s has this new deal - they’re trying to bring in more business during the lunch crowd, so they’re hosting games and have great food specials on weekdays now. Today is strip beer pong! I thought we could check it out.” Michael explained, sounding keen on the idea of watching strippers with his mid-day meal.

“You do know that you’re incredibly pathetic, don’t you, Mikey? Why the hell would I want to give myself indigestion by watching some losers strip and get drunk while I’m trying to eat my lunch?” Brian was rolling his eyes at his friend’s idea of fun and congratulating himself that he hadn’t said anything about the man babysitting Kevan - it was questionable which of the two of them, Michael or Kevan, was the more mature.

“Come on, Brian! It’ll be fun. I’m sure there’ll be at least a couple of decent looking guys there. And I know how you like to get in a little ‘stress relief’ over your lunch hour. Besides, it’ll save you a trip to the Baths after work!” Michael pleaded.

“I can’t, Mikey. Honeycutt’s home with the flu today so I’ve got Kevan with me at work,” Brian finally fessed up. “The thing about parenthood, Mikey, is that you don't always get anonymous sex breaks twice a day. So you’ll have to go watch strip beer pong without me."

“What? Shit, Brian! Why didn’t Justin take the kid for the day? Doesn’t he understand you have to work? He’s so fucking selfish all the time. I mean, you’re not only supporting him but paying for his school and art and shit and he can’t even take care of his own kid for one lousy fucking day? I don’t know why the fuck you put up with him,” Michael started to go off on Justin as usual. “I’m tempted to call the little shit and give him a piece of my mind.”

“Fuck you, Michael! Justin’s got mid-terms today and a big project due for school. He would have stayed home with Kevan if he could, so just shut the fuck up about shit you know nothing about. Now, you go on and waste your day away watching strip beer pong - I’m going to go back to taking care of my kid and doing my job like a real grown up. Have fun, Mikey!” Brian snarled and then hung up the phone before Mikey had time to start with the inevitable whining.

When he disconnected the call, Brian spun around in his chair to find that Marty Ryder was seated in the guest chair in front of his desk with a malicious smirk on his smarmy, florid face. “Well, well, well. The great Brian Kinney reduced to changing wet nappies and playing Peek-a-Boo! Hahaha! I never thought I’d see this day!” Ryder laughed outright at the ‘caught’ look on Brian’s face. “Back when my kids were younger, my second wife used to try and pull this kind of shit on me too. I think she figured that if I had to take the kids for the day I wouldn’t be fucking around on her. Of course, I never let that slow me down for long. My secretary would just order the most recent intern to babysit and then the two of us would head out for a nice looooong lunch. No problem.”

“Yeah, well, first of all, Marty, I don’t have a wife - thank fuck! - and secondly, I’m not at all interested in a long lunch with Cynthia. So it’s really not a problem for me either,” Brian replied, hoping to wipe the condescending look off the bastard’s face.

“Hah! You sound just like every other pussy-whipped husband on the planet - defending the little woman!” Ryder seemed tickled pink at the way he was finally getting Brian’s goat. “Guess things aren’t really that different even if you’re gay. A hen-pecked husband is the same everywhere.”

If it had been anyone other than his boss spouting this kind of shit to his face, Brian would have simply told the guy to fuck off. But, since he didn’t have that option in this situation, he was forced to just sit there and seethe. Kevan, who could feel his father’s growing agitation, started to whimper and wriggle, making Brian even more embarrassed in front of his demeaning boss.

“Not that it isn’t a ‘slice’ sitting here and listening to you belittle me, my partner and our child, Marty, but is there some work-related reason you came in here? Something other than commenting on my ‘little woman’?” Brian prodded, hoping to move this little meeting along and get Marty Ryder the fuck out of his office as soon as possible.

“Actually, there was a reason for me coming in here . . . I have some great news. After ten years of schmoozing their VP of Marketing, I finally got us a meeting with Pittsburgh Steel.”

“Wow. Not bad, Marty. They’ve been with the same Madison Avenue advertising firm for twenty-five years. I didn’t think they were even in the market to switch agencies. How’d you manage that?” Brian asked, impressed for once with his boss’ coup.

“Well, Clint MacGregor and I have been friends for years. We belong to the same golf club and have moved in the same social circles forever,” Marty explained. “But, unfortunately, I can’t take all the credit for Clint finally giving us a shot; it turns out that his wife is one of your biggest fans. It seems she read that interview in GQ and has become fixated on you - Clint’s words, not mine. Once she found out you were in advertising she started hounding her husband relentlessly to let you take a stab at their advertising. From what he said, I take it he wasn’t going to be ‘getting any’ at home until he gave in, so you, my boy, are on. You’ve got an appointment with their marketing team today at 2:00.” Ryder practically crowed over this unprecedented opportunity. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

As he stood up, Marty grinned deprecatingly and flicked his finger at a spare baby pacifier that had been sitting forgotten on the edge of Brian’s desk, sending the binky flying across the room. “And, Brian, leave the baby binkies - and the baby - at home, huh? I’ve wanted PittSteel in my portfolio for years and I won’t be forgiving if you screw this one up, Kinney.”

Brian smiled facetiously at Ryder’s back until the older man had closed the office door. “Fucker!” Brian whispered in the direction Ryder had left, again trying not to raise his voice and thereby set off another crying spree in his already agitated son. “Shit, Sonny Boy. What the fuck are we going to do now? What, exactly, does Daddy’s asshole of a boss think I should do, huh? Oh, right, his idea of good parenting is to have me park you with one of the brainless interns he’s hired so I can go out, fuck my secretary and then, when I’m done there, go win the PittSteel account for him. What do YOU think of that plan, kiddo?” Brian noticed that Kevan was no longer looking happy or smiling, so he kissed the infant’s chubby cheek reassuringly and bounced the baby on his knee a little. “Yeah, I’m not a big fan of that plan either, Sonny Boy. In fact, I think there’s probably a good reason why Marty’s got three EX-wives. And I don’t think your Papa is the ‘little woman’ type - no way would he let me get away with that kind of shit. We’re going to have to come up with a Plan B, Sonny Boy.”

Brian got up and started pacing around the perimeter of his office with Kevan in his arms. However, despite of the fact that pacing almost always helped Brian think, he wasn’t coming up with any good ideas this time. The only alternative he could think of was Michael and, after the phone conversation earlier, Brian didn’t think he could trust the childish man with his child.

The longer Brian paced without arriving at any real solution, the angrier he became. Why the hell was this kind of shit happening to HIM? He hated how fucking complicated his life seemed these days.

Brian was almost as excited as Ryder about getting the chance to pitch to PittSteel. It was the largest company in Pittsburgh and had an almost bottomless advertising budget. After the Armani coup last summer, if Brian could win PittSteel, Ryder would HAVE to finally offer him that partnership he’d been dangling in front of him for so long.

But it was just his luck that when the opportunity of a lifetime came along, Brian was stuck playing Nanny for the day. How the hell had this happened to him. When did his life get so off track?

Brian looked at the child who was now almost asleep in his arms and sighed. He loved his son so much . . . but sometimes he resented the hell out of him too. If it weren’t for Kevan, Brian’s life would have been so much simpler. For one thing he wouldn’t be so busy worrying about childcare issues that he didn’t have time to think about the pitch he had to give to PittSteel in just over three hours. And, while Brian didn’t really WANT to turn into the kind of cliche that would be out fucking his secretary during his lunch hour or wasting his time watching a strip beer pong tournament, it still sucked that he was chained to the office with an infant in tow. A year ago, Brian wouldn’t have even thought twice before spending his lunch hour at the Baths or in the steam room at the gym letting some nice looking trick have the honor of helping him relieve his stress.

And now look at him. He was a mess. He had spit up on his fucking tie and his hair looked like shit today. It had been so long since he’d gotten a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep that he didn’t remember what it felt like NOT to be exhausted. He felt utterly pathetic.

Brian knew that he shouldn’t put any stock in the drivel that Marty Ryder or Michael Novotny had spouted - and his reasoning mind had already rejected it all - but it was hard not to let it seep into his subconscious anyway. Somehow, he still felt like a poor dick-whipped house-husband. And even though he knew, logically, that Justin really had needed to take these tests today and couldn’t help it, he felt like his son’s other father had somehow abandoned him to this pitiable fate.

Fuck! He hated feeling so fucking domesticated. So trapped. So NOT Brian Kinney. He hated the fact that he’d lost his independence. He hated that his ‘Fuck-em-all’ lifestyle had evaporated in front of his very eyes. He hated that he couldn’t do jack squat without feeling like he was letting someone down. He hated that he couldn’t even go out and trick these days. And he hated the fact that he was starting to hate his life, resent his partner and begrudge his son for the time the boy took away from other parts of his life.

If something didn’t let up soon, Brian felt like he might explode. Or worse, turn into his bitter, resentful and bellicose father. Which scared the fuck out of him and made him even more angry since he didn’t want to fall into the same trap his hateful father had complained about all his life. In Brian’s mind, turning into his father was the absolute worst thing he could imagine.

And it looked like that possibility wasn’t as unthinkable as he’d once assumed it to be.

Right about the time Brian had reached nearly full boil, his internal ranting was interrupted by a quiet knocking on the door. He was still pacing and holding a sleeping Kevan, who was now propped against his Daddy’s shoulder happily drooling all over Brian’s brand new Zegna dress shirt, so Brian didn’t call out to tell whoever was knocking to come in. Before he could cross the room to open the door, however, it creaked open and Justin came tromping through the previously silent room with a very exuberant, “Hey, boys! Papa’s here to save the day!”

When Kevan startled awake, already in full cry, Brian growled and then quickly shoved the sobbing little body into Justin’s equally startled arms.

“It’s about fucking time! But did you have to wake him up just when he’d finally stopped with the fucking noise-maker impression?” Brian snarled, having to raise his voice in order to be heard over the squalling infant.

“Fuck you, Brian! I got here as soon as I could,” Justin yelled back even as he was patting and shhhing Kevan in an attempt to quiet his son’s caterwauling. “Instead of screaming at me and scaring the shit out of our son, you could try thanking me for skipping the rest of my classes for the day in order to rush over here and save your sorry, bitchy ass. I even managed to get my sculpture professor to give me an extension on my midterm project - which, by the way, involved a humiliating amount of groveling - because I knew you’d be stressed out and that, as a good, considerate partner, I needed to get here as soon as possible instead of taking the time to finalize my project and turn it in on time. Although, now that I’m here, I’m starting to wonder why the fuck I bothered.”

“What-the-fuck-ever, Justin. I’ve got to get ready for a new client presentation that Ryder only gave me three hours notice about,” Brian replied, the anger and stress and fear he’d been feeling boiling over before he could even think to control it or aim it somewhere other than the unsuspecting man who’d walked through his door. “I don’t have time to pat your shoulder and thank you profusely for doing the fucking job that we agreed you would do. Or did you forget that the whole reason I agreed to you and I living together was because you swore you’d take care of Kevan? Well, fucking do it then! I don’t have time to listen to your nagging or play nanny. I’m the one supporting all of us and paying for not only the house you live in but your fucking school too! Now, fuck off so I can work already and take the little wailing parasite with you!”  

Justin was simply too stunned by Brian’s unexpected and aberrant attack to think of any response. The younger man had seen his partner pissed off before. He’d seen Brian being sarcastic, cutting and sometimes even purposefully hurtful before. He’d even witnessed a few times when the brutally honest man had been intentionally cruel, especially when he had a point to make or thought he was acting in his victim’s best interest. But Justin had never been on the receiving end of anything quite so vitriolic and downright vicious. And he NEVER thought he’d see Brian take out his anger on their son this way. What the fuck was going on here? Where the hell was Brian Kinney? This couldn’t be the kindhearted man and doting father Justin thought he knew. The man who’d just called the child he adored a ‘parasite’ couldn’t be the same Brian Kinney.

Justin was so shocked that all he could think about was getting away from this angry stranger and taking Kevan somewhere far, far away from here. Somewhere they’d be safe. And so Justin basically grabbed Kevan and ran out of Brian’s office without looking back.

!!!!!!!!!KDTK!!!!!!!!