Chapter Text
Babylon
Shanda Leer skipped down the back steps of the stage so Emmett could help her make a quick change for her final number.
“Listen to them out there. They love you Shanda. I think this is your best act ever!” Emmett squealed as he zipped up the back of Shanda’s dress.
“It’s the hair darling, it’s the hair. Men just can’t get enough of my new, long, fiery-red tresses.” Shanda replied as she dabbed beads of perspiration from her brow and reapplied her concealer and powder.
“You do look like the reincarnation of Miss Rita Hayworth. I think you might actually be channeling her while you’re up there on stage. I tell you honey, you’re an absolute hit.”
“I’m just glad Brian agreed to let me perform here. The lighting is so much better at Babylon than it is at Woody’s. Is he out there? I want to be sure and thank him before I leave,” Shanda replied as she toed on her silver stiletto heels.
“Doubtful. It’s after midnight. He’s never out on the floor this late.”
“Ah. He’s in the backroom, I suppose.”
“The backroom?” Emmett gripped the imaginary strand of pearls around his neck and continued in a scandalized tone. “Oh Shanda, haven’t you heard? Rumor has it that Mr. Brian Kinney hasn’t even set foot back there since the club reopened. Sure, he does a little dancing, hangs out by the bar, but as soon as the clock strikes twelve he goes up to his office and locks the door like he’s lord of the manor.”
“Too good to consort with the peasants of the land?”
“Who knows? One thing is for sure though. That man is not the Brian Kinney of yesteryear.”
Babylon: Brian’s Office
Brian waited in anticipation for Justin to walk into the frame of his web-cam. He mused on the fact that the simple act of turning on his PC in his private office at Babylon caused him to get hard. He let his hand rest on his crotch and tried to wait patiently for the show to begin, despite Justin’s best effort to tease him.
“Hurry up Sunshine or I’m going to start without you,” Brian spoke into his PC mic. Just then, Justin’s arm and torso appeared on the monitor as he adjusted the web-cam to get a clear shot of the twin bed in his tiny room at the East Village Artist’s Co-op.
“Don’t rush me or I’m really going to make you wait,” Justin playfully scolded as he stepped back from his desktop and looked into the web-cam. He wore a pair of low slung cargo pants and an oversized, navy blue hoodie. He smiled at Brian’s image on his monitor and asked, “Okay, where do you want me?”
“On the bed. Kneeling. Facing me.”
Justin turned from the web-cam slowly, giving Brian the chance to take a nice long look at his ass. He walked over to the bed, kneed his way onto it, then waited for Brian’s next command.
“Unzip your sweater. Slowly.”
Justin gave Brian a little grin and inched his zipper down till it fell open, exposing his milky white belly. He licked his lips and tried to imagine that Brian’s heat and scent were with him in the room.
“Show me where you want me to touch you.”
Justin’s eyes fluttered a little. He’d imagined all day where he wanted Brian’s hands, lips, tongue. Justin pressed his fingers at his waist just below his navel and dragged them up his chest to his right nipple. He used his left hand to give his nipple a tweak and his right hand to caress his neck and the soft skin behind his ears. He could feel his co*ck begin to stir, but he wanted to make Brian wait for the main event. Justin let out a sigh as he let his hoodie fall off his arms and pool around his legs on the bed. He slid his hands up his sides and hugged himself a little before he reached up and ran his fingers through his shaggy, blond hair. When his bangs fell over his eyes and brushed against the bridge of his nose, he heard Brian’s moan call out to him through his desktop speakers.
Although he could only see Brian’s face on his monitor, Justin was fairly certain where Brian’s hands were at this moment. It’d been nearly four months since they’d started f*cking each other over the internet. Justin got a true thrill out of the fact that while Brian may be a controlling top in real life, online he could only hold onto the reigns for a matter of minutes before Justin had to take the lead.
“Brian, are you ready for more?”
“Mmmm,” Brian hummed in response.
Justin scooted back farther on the bed and reached into his cardboard nightstand for his lube and the custom made dild* that Brian sent in the mail a mere week after Justin had arrived in New York. He’d teased Brian mercilessly for making such a truly narcissistic gesture, but the truth was Justin couldn’t get enough of the damn thing. Although he did, on rare occasion, bring home a trick to top, he preferred to spend his time alone in his room filling himself with Brian’s pseudo-phallus.
Justin shed his cargos and kneeled sideways on the foot the bed. He situated himself to make sure he gave Brian a good view of both his rock hard co*ck and his perfectly curved buttock. He leered over his right shoulder at the web-cam and said, “I want you in my ass Brian. Do you want me to show you?”
“Yes,” Brian managed to choke out.
Justin slathered the dild* with lube and pressed the tip against his tight hole. He didn’t bother to ready himself with his fingers – he wanted it to hurt. He wanted the feeling of Brian’s co*ck in him to stay with him through the night and into the next morning when he awoke. Justin hissed as he worked the dild* deep into himself. After giving himself the slightest moment to adjust, he began to pump it into him with his left hand as he f*cked the fist he’d made with his right hand. He was able to find an easy rhythm and he soon stilled his hands and let his hips do the work, rocking back onto the dild* then forward into his hand. All the while, with what was left of his conscious self, he concentrated on making sure he gave Brian a good, hard f*ck with his blue eyes. Justin knew the power his eyes had on Brian. They’d saved their relationship on at least one occasion and now they acted as a lifeline over the internet; looking through the web-cam and directly into Brian’s heart, mind and co*ck.
Justin was getting close and he knew that Brian certainly wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer so he asked, "Brian...do you need it like I do?”
"More...show me,” Brian growled.
With that, Justin shoved the dild* in as far as it would go, making sure to drag it across his prostate with each thrust. He fought to keep his eyes on the monitor as he felt his org*sm burst out of him. When he saw Brian’s face begin to convulse from his own release, Justin’s come shot onto his chest as he collapsed onto the bed. He lay there and reveled in the stillness for a moment when he heard Brian’s voice fill the room again.
"Of the several thousand brilliant ideas I've had over the years, getting these web-cams for us has to easily be among the top ten."
"Top five," Justin laughed as he toweled himself off and straightened up the blanket on his bed.
"Why are you bothering to make your bed? The rest of your place is a total sh*t hole," Brian asked as he lit a cigarette and surveyed the dingy 8x6 closet that Justin called his bedroom. Sketch pads, pizza boxes, and dirty clothes were strewn about. Brian recalled that Justin had never been much of a housekeeper.
"Ah yes, but it's my sh*t hole. Besides, I like to get into a freshly made bed after I take my shower. It's a small consolation now that I have to wash my hair all alone," Justin sighed.
"As soon as I can figure out a way to get internet access in our showers you'll be the first to know," Brian replied after blowing a thread of smoke from between his lips.
Justin smiled into the camera then walked over to his desk and put his hand up on the monitor. Brian followed with his own hand as their fingers touched through the screen. The two men were lost in each others’ eyes when a jarring vibrating noise broke the spell. Brian's phone danced across the glass desktop, pleading to be answered.
"What the hell is that? Brian, were you using a vibrator without showing me?"
"You wish. No. It's Michael...again. He called 3 times while we were f*cking," Brian explained in an exasperated tone as he turned the phone off.
"It's late, maybe something's wrong? Shouldn't you call him back?"
"Hardly. The professor has introduced little Mikey to the joys of tantric sex. He’s probably just wanting to regale me with the tale of his latest six hour org*sm. Listen, I gotta close up shop in a few minutes. We should say good night," Brian said, his tone revealing his preference to stay online longer.
"When are you coming?" Justin asked as he tilted his head and fluttered his eyelids at the camera.
"I just did."
"No, I mean to The City. When are you coming to visit me?"
"Christ, you've lived in New York for less than six months and you’re already doing that smug ‘The City' thing. You're not going all Carrie Bradshaw on me are you?" Brian shuddered at his own TV reference. He was going to have to stop hanging out with Emmett so much.
"Hey, you're the label queen. Not me," Justin laughed. "And by the way, it's not less than six months. It's exactly six months. Six months to the day, in fact."
"Aw, Sunshine, did I forget our anniversary?" Brian teased.
"Shut up and quit changing the subject. When are you coming to New York?"
"Interstate 78 runs both ways you know. Or is Pittsburgh too last season for you now?"
"No, but hello, you're the one with the car, not me."
"I offered to buy you a car but you turned me down," Brian said flatly. He really didn't want to be having this conversation. The fact was, he did want to go to New York but lately he'd been working seven days a week to bring in new clients. He had to in order to make up for the revenue he'd lost when Remson Pharmaceuticals left Kinnetik. If Brian Kinney did "regrets" he would have seriously rethought refusing to let Remson use his kinder, gentler boner drug ad campaign.
"You already bought me a house!"
"Britin is an estate, actually."
"Exactly. Brian, you've done enough for me. I can't keep accepting gifts from you."
"It's not a gift. It's transportation to get your ass back here so I can f*ck you properly."
"Good night Brian."
"Later." Brian switched off the PC and looked over at the drawing Justin had sent him as a congratulations present for Babylon's re-opening. The charcoal sketch depicted their bed at the loft. Justin was positioned on his hands and knees. Brian knelt behind him, his hands on Justin's hips. The drawing featured Brian in a mid-thrust action. Justin made Brian swear that he'd only hang it in his office at Babylon after Brian had jokingly suggested they enlarge the sketch to mural size and embed it in the ceiling of the club. The picture was some of Justin's early work -- it had to have been drawn while he was still in high school. Although the sketch captured both men in a frighteningly accurate state of rapture, the work was amateurish compared to the pieces Justin was showing these days.
Brian knew that New York was the right place for Justin. He'd grown so much in his work in the time since he'd left. Lindsay even estimated that Justin's pieces had probably doubled in value since they were originally sold at the Sidney Bloom Gallery the year before. Brian figured that if things didn't turn around at Kinnetik he could always resort to selling Justin's early pieces, such as the Brian Kinney Nude in Repose he’d purchased during the GLC Auction years ago. Hell, a drawing of himself and his glorious co*ck had to yield more than the $10,000 that Michael got for that old Captain Astro comic he'd sold on eBay. The thought of Michael brought Brian back to the present and he packed up his attaché case and left for the loft.
Outside the home of Ben and Michael
"He's still not answering. How the hell I'm I going to get there? I can't ride my f*cking bike all the way down town," Michael shouted out at Ben in frustration. Ben wasn't listening though. He was holding Hunter's hand as the paramedics led him out to the ambulance on a stretcher. "You're sure there's no room for me in there? I could sit on Ben's lap," Michael offered to the paramedic.
"Sorry sir. Only one passenger besides the patient is allowed on board. We could radio a cab company for you if you'd like," The young brunette paramedic suggested as he placed an oxygen mask over Hunter's pale face.
"No thanks, I can call them. You just focus on taking care of my son."
"Why don't you try Deb and Carl?" Ben offered as he climbed into the back of the ambulance with Hunter. The boy was barely conscious, but Ben was doing his best to be strong for his foster son and husband.
"All right," Michael began as he scrolled through his contacts to Ma. “But I don't know why Brian's not answering. I need him." Ben brushed Hunter's hair off his damp forehead choosing not to comment on Michael's declaration of need for his best friend. "I'll be there as soon as I can Hunter," Michael called out as the paramedic in back closed the ambulance bay door. Ben smiled sympathetically then turned his attention back to Hunter.
Debbie, Carl and Emmett's House
"It's two AM in the goddamn morning. Somebody better be f*ckin' dead," Debbie growled into the phone while not bothering to open her eyes.
"Ma. I need you to come pick me up," Michael pleaded.
Deb immediately softened. "What is it baby? What's the matter?" Deb inquired as she sat up. Carl stirred slightly and then continued his melodic snore.
"It's Hunter, Ma. He's real sick. The ambulance just took him and Ben to Allegheny General but there wasn't room for me. I need a ride. Can you come get me?"
"Sure, baby. We'll be right there." Deb hung up the phone then got up threw on a pair of sweat pants and gave Carl a nudge. "Get up. We have to take Michael to the hospital."
"What's the matter with him?" Carl asked with concern. Over the past years he'd grown genuinely fond of Debbie's son.
"Nothing, it's Hunter. He's sick. Come on." She pushed him a little harder this time as she slid her feet into her slippers. "Move your ass."
Just then Emmett popped his head through the open doorway. "Let Carl sleep Deb. I'll go with you. I thought the call was for me so I picked up the line and heard Michael."
"No. No. Em you've got a long day tomorrow. I'll go with Deb."
"You've gotta go catch bad guys. I'm throwing a tea party for the Junior League. Let me go."
"We'll all f*ckin' go. Just hurry. Michael's waiting." The men scrambled to get dressed as Debbie went to sit in Carl's car and wait.
Kinnetik
"When you decide you're going to start ignoring one of your friends, will you please cc me on the memo?" Cynthia chided as she walked in Brian’s office carrying about a dozen pink message notes.
She wore her hair back in a ponytail and had on a black jogging suit. Since Brian's entire staff was in overdrive these days, he'd declared the weekends as ‘casual dress days’ in an effort to stave off a mutiny. Not that any of his subordinates loyalty was in question in the slightest, particularly Cynthia's. She'd been Brian's assistant for over ten years, ever since Brian landed his first account. She'd been by his side through his promotions, his termination and his rise back to power as CEO of one of the most influential boutique-sized ad agencies in the country. Ad Week had even done a side bar story on her when Brian was featured on the cover.
"What the f*ck are you talking about?" he asked, only giving Cynthia half his attention as he sorted through the research his staff had collected on Liberty Air's VP of Marketing.
"Michael..." She dropped the messages on his desk directly under Brian's nose. "...left 10 messages on the overnight voicemail. He's at the hospital. He wants you to come be with him."
"Ben?"
"No, Hunter. One message said something about pneumonia and viral loads or something."
Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. This was the last thing he needed right now. "f*ck. All right. Have Ted lead the nine o'clock meeting with the junior ad execs. Be sure to tell him to scare the sh*t out of them when..."
"No can do. Ted called about a half hour ago. He's at the hospital already with Michael."
"Fine. Christ," Brian said to himself as he gathered up the papers on his desk and slid them clumsily into a manila folder. "Conference me in at nine on my cell. I'm going to rely on you to create the appropriate sense of terror in the room."
Cynthia smiled at him and replied, "Consider it done, boss."
Allegheny General Hospital
Brian made his way down the hallway to room 231. He'd had more than his fill of hospitals over the last few years. It wasn't so much that the place was filled with f*cking sick people as it was the ever present sense of mortality that seemed to put a stranglehold on Brian every time he walked along the sterile, linoleum floors.
As Brian rounded the corner he saw Ben, Ted, Michael, and Debbie huddled around a doctor. Brian chose to hang back and not interrupt but Michael caught his eye, left the group and ran to Brian.
"Thank god you're here" was all Michael said as he clutched onto Brian.
Brian, in turn, wrapped his arms around his friend and stroked the back of his head. Brian could tell that Michael had been crying. "How bad is it? Cynthia mentioned pneumonia," Brian asked plainly, trying not to evoke any more emotion out of Michael than was sure to come anyway.
"Yeah, they tried to drain his lung but, I don't know, something went wrong and it collapsed. They've got him on a respirator now. I don't know what the hell is going on," Michael replied while never letting up on the frantic embrace he had on Brian.
"Listen to me. Are you listening?" Brian asked as he pulled Michael back out to arms length and looked him in the eyes."
Michael nodded and sniffled. "Uh Huh."
"Hunter is a tough kid. If anyone can pull through this it's him. What he needs now is for you to be strong for him and be the kind of father I know you are." Brian furrowed his brow, patted Michael on the cheek and kissed him.
As their lips parted Michael gave Brian a weak smile. "I'm just glad you're here. I know I can't do this without..."
"Hey, thanks for coming. It was important to Michael that you made it," Ben said as he pulled Michael into his arms. Michael leaned back against his husband's chest, but still maintained deliberate eye contact with Brian. Ben turned Michael to face him.
"Come on. Let's sit down for a minute." Ben led Michael over to the visitors lounge area.
Brian followed a couple steps behind checking his watch for the time. The three men took a seat next to Debbie and Ted who was holding her hand.
"So," Ben began. "Hunter's test results are back."
"And?" Michael asked. Ben noticed that Michael grabbed onto Brian's bicep instead of his own.
"His HIV has progressed and his T-cell count has dropped below 500."
"Oh Christ," Debbie gasped then quickly covered her mouth.
Michael shook his head. "That's not possible. He's been on the co*cktail and he's only 18. HIV doesn't progress that fast in kids his..."
Brian's phone sprang to life. "I've got to take this," Brian remarked as he stood to cross over the other side of the hallway.
"Brian! Ben's in the middle of telling us that their kid is dying and you've got to take a f*ckin' phone call?" Debbie shouted.
Brian frowned and waved her off then continued to walk down the hall. "Cynthia. You've got me on speaker?"
"Yes, go ahead Brian."
Episode 601 Part 2
New York
Pierre Poirot Gallery
Justin waited in the lobby with his portfolio. It was his first appointment with Pierre Poirot, an influential art dealer who had made his reputation and a considerable fortune promoting the work of young artists.
Justin really didn't know what to expect from the meeting. Poirot's assistant had dropped by unexpectedly at Co-Op studio the week before. She reviewed his pieces for less than three minutes before asking Justin to bring in some slides for the dealer to look over. Since Justin had arrived in New York, the only work he'd shown had been in the EVACO resident exhibitions. Each of the pieces he'd hung had sold but the earnings went to subsidize his studio space and living quarters. He'd gone through most of the money from the Rage movie option, and his share of the comic sales didn't stretch very far now that he lived in the East Village
Justin hadn't told anyone back in Pittsburgh, and certainly not any of his housemates, about the meeting. He wasn’t ready to let anyone know. In truth, Justin was nervous as hell to have his work evaluated by Pierre. Rumor had it that any young artist who he appreciated was destined for stardom. On the other hand Pierre’s critiques could also be so brutal that even the most determined artist who fell victim to a bad review usually put away his brushes and easel for good.
"Mr. Taylor, how good of you to come meet with me," Pierre said as he extended his hand to Justin.
The sight of Pierre made Justin's heart skip a beat. The man easily stood six foot three. He was lightly tanned and had dark brown hair, with the exception of slightly grey temples that accentuated his silver-blue eyes. His build was solid and muscular, and he filled out his black Hugo Boss suit and cashmere turtle neck quite well. Justin felt his cheeks redden as he realized his faded jeans and grey V-neck sweater didn't give off the air of sophistication that filled the rest of the gallery.
"Thank you for the invitation. It's an honor just to have my work be considered by your gallery,” Justin gushed and then immediately grimaced. He didn't want to sound like he just got off the bus.
"Yes, well, not all of my young foundlings feel that way after they've received my critique but I appreciate the compliment," Pierre replied. He gave Justin a slow once over, beginning at his Puma running shoes and ending at his mass of golden locks.
Justin noticed that Pierre's gaze seemed to linger for just a split second at his crotch. Being inspected in that way by such a handsome, accomplished man gave Justin as slight tightness in his balls.
“Come with me,” Pierre said, then made a quick turn on his heel and led Justin in to a work room behind the receptionist's desk. The space was completely white. White walls, white easels, white work benches, white stools. The room had no windows, but the ambient lighting was as natural as the sun itself.
"So, I hear you attended PIFA?"
"Um, yes sir but only for a few semesters, I didn’t graduate."
"Too eager to join the real world, I suppose?"
"Let's just say I ended up on a path that was different from where school could take me," Justin replied as he unzipped his portfolio and started to pull out his samples but Pierre held up his index finger and waved it at him.
"Bup, Bup, Bup, not yet. I like to take my time and get to know an artist a little prior to examining his pieces. It helps give me the necessary context to see into true meaning of the work."
"Alright, what would you like to know?" Justin asked while trying to maintain his composure. He'd never been good at small talk and was even worse at talking about himself.
"Are you married?"
"Not exactly."
"Meaning?" Poirot pressed, while clasping his hands together and holding them at his waist.
"I have someone in my life but..." How was Justin supposed to define his relationship with Brian in any simple terms? "...it's complicated."
"Isn't it always?" Pierre sighed. At this, Justin smiled and blushed a little more. "And how does this ‘someone' feel about your aspirations?"
"Oh, he's completely supportive. He encouraged me to come to New York." Justin noticed that Pierre wasn't the least bit phased by his revelation that he was gay. Not that many people in New York reacted to his sexuality at all. He wasn't sure if it's because New Yorkers were that much more enlightened than people in the Pitts or if he was just obvious in some way that he wasn't aware of.
"And what's the young man's name?"
"Brian." After all these years Justin still experienced an inner warmth every time he uttered Brian's name.
"Now, he's not the same Brian that came to your rescue after that unfortunate incident you had back in high school is he?"
"Wow, you've done your research," Justin blurted out and then immediately wished he could take it back. "I mean yes, we're still together."
"Justin, I don't think of myself as an art dealer, I think of myself as an artist dealer. It's essential for me to have you thoroughly researched so I can sell you as well as your talents. Besides, your name seemed to have made its way into the news on more than one occasion." This put Justin at a loss for words. He'd had enough of being in the public eye. It had taken months before he could walk down Liberty Avenue without being pointed at and talked about as that kid who got bashed.
"Now, there's also the matter of your impairment. Tell me about how it has affected your work."
"You mean my hand?" Poirot simply nodded for Justin to continue. "Well, I don't really consider it an impairment anymore. I mean, at first it was rough but my limitations actually opened up a variety of new ways to create art that I might never have explored otherwise."
"Like your graphic novels?"
"You're referring to Rage?" At this Justin was genuinely surprised. He really didn't talk about Rage to anyone outside his friends at home and he didn't include it on his curriculum vitae.
"Yes, I took a look at a few of the issues. Quite provocative," Pierre stated as he raised his eyebrow.
"Gay superheroes are a provocative subject, I guess." Justin had no idea where this line of questioning was going. He just wanted to show Pierre his slides, get his critique, and get out of there.
"Is the rumor true that you and your lover are the inspiration for the characters?" Pierre questioned.
Justin had the feeling that the subject of Rage titillated Pierre in a way that made Justin feel truly uncomfortable. "At first, yes. I mean I fashioned Rage and JT’s looks after Brian and me but their relationship has evolved in a completely different way than ours has."
"And how's that?"
"Well, Brian isn't really a super-hero and I don't constantly need to be rescued." Justin knew his comment came off as glib but he was becoming frustrated with Pierre’s questions.
"So you're saying that art doesn't really imitate life?" Pierre asked playfully.
"Not in the case of my comic book." Justin took this as an opening to get the meeting back on track. "But I think my life is reflected in the pieces I've been working on lately though. Would you like to see them?"
"Yes, let's see what I can learn about your life from you current work."
With that Justin set out his samples on the illuminated work benches for Pierre to inspect. Each painting he'd done had been digitally photographed and then put into slide protector sheets for review. Pierre took out a photographer's monocle, took a deep breath and began his evaluation. Justin wasn't sure what to do at this point. Pierre didn't make a sound; he just looked at one piece and then the next. He didn’t comment or gesture in any way that indicated his thoughts. After what Justin felt was an eternity, Pierre lifted his head from the workbench and turned to face Justin.
"Mr. Taylor, for someone so young, you've experienced a great deal of darkness in your life. At the same time, I sense from your work that you're very familiar with the feeling of complete and total ecstasy." Pierre raised his eyebrow and waited for Justin to respond. Justin's mind raced for some appropriate way to address Pierre's comment. He was sure that Brian would know exactly what to say in a situation like this.
"I feel it's important to draw on the breadth of life experience I've had. I believe in living with no apologies and no regrets so I try to convey those ideals in my work."
"Bravissimo, Mr. Taylor." Pierre clapped his hands together a few times then continued. "Your work will not only earn you a great deal of acclaim, but also quite a bit of money for the both of us. Can you be ready for a show in six weeks?"
Six weeks was a maddeningly short amount of time to prepare his work for his first solo exhibition in New York but Justin didn't want to blow his shot.
"It'll be tight since I have to share studio place but I think six weeks is doable," Justin offered.
"Excellent. Now we have no time to waste. I have several people you'll need to be introduced to prior to the show. It's important to create the right buzz. We'll also have to work on honing your back-story for the press releases. Now, Mr. Taylor, start at the beginning."
Kinnetik
Brian stood at his wet bar and poured himself a shot of scotch. The day was getting away him and he still had four proposals he needed to finish before he left for the afternoon. Brian stretched his neck from side to side and scratched the small of his back with his thumb and forefinger. Just then Ted walked into the office with his own mountain of paperwork.
"Bri? You ready to go over the finances?"
"No time like the present I suppose," Brian responded as he crossed over and sat on his white Italian Modo sofa. Ted joined him and set out a stack of bills and three tiered check books on the Mies van der Rohe coffee table.
"Our cash flow is pretty tight these days but we've got the building and vendor expenses as well as payroll covered. Your travel budget is in the toilet though, so you're going to need try and web-cast your meetings with our national clients whenever possible. I think we should save any plane trips for bringing in new accounts," Ted suggested. Brian's mood was souring with every comment Ted made. "And I really think it’s best that you rely on that famous Kinney charm of yours rather than wining and dining your clients at least for time being."
"Wow. Have you got any other great news for me?" Brian asked.
Ted leaned against the back of the sofa and sighed.
"Spill it Theodore."
"It's your personal accounts, Brian. You're stretched real thin. I think it's time you consider making some cuts."
"Such as?" Brian rubbed his face with his hands and rose to pour himself another drink. This time a double.
"Well, you're paying $6600 a month for the Britin mortgage. I know you've only had it for a few months so it hasn't appreciated in value but if Jennifer can sell it for you then that will free up some cash."
"Britin isn't mine to sell."
"I get that you bought if for Justin. But he's in New York."
"I'll never tire of your uncanny ability to state the obvious Theodore. Selling the estate isn't an option. Next?" stated Brian as he began pacing his office.
"Well you're going to have to freeze your account with Armani. There is absolutely no way you can afford the spring line," Ted announced. This was not a negotiable item in Ted’s accountant mind.
Brian plopped into his desk chair feigning disinterest. "That's fine, I'll just stop by the Q-Mart and pick up some new suits."
"And then there are the checks you're sending Lindsay. I know you love her but $4700 a month is little overly generous, don't you think?" Ted tried to ask as softly as possible. Still, he braced himself for Brian's sharp retort that was sure to come.
"Mel still isn't licensed to practice law there and they sure as sh*t can't live on her clerking salary," was all Brian countered with as he rose to continue skulking about from one end of his office to the other.
Brian’s tone was matter of fact but Ted could tell that he was going to need do some convincing in order to get Brian to make any cuts. "Yeah, but you're subsidizing an income for a family of four in addition to paying Gus’s tuition to that private school they’ve got him enrolled in. Brian, you just can't afford it."
"Shift some things around in my stock portfolio, do what ever the f*ck it is you do. Just send the munchers their goddamn check. Do you hear me Schmidt?"
Ted shook his head. "It's not that easy Brian. If you don't sell that house and you keep sending Mel and Lindz that much money you're going to be broke in a matter of months."
"I won't be if you get the hell out of here and let me get back to work at bringing in new business. This meeting is over." Brian stopped in his tracks and looked Ted dead in the eye.
This was clearly Ted's exit cue. He gathered up the bills and checkbooks and headed for the door. Then he turned to face Brian and continued, "I know you think I'm a chicken sh*t most of the time. That I'm a worrier, overly cautious, but please just think about what I've said. I promise you I'm not over reacting."
Brian sat at his desk and gave no acknowledgement of Ted's statement. Just as Ted was leaving the office Debbie came crashing in.
"Debbie, what a pleasant surprise." Brian gave her one of his signature, sarcastic grins.
"Don't you ‘Debbie’ me you selfish piece of sh*t. What was with your 30-second appearance at the hospital this morning?"
"Michael wanted me to come to the hospital. I did. What the f*ck is your problem?" The little patience Brian had left was quickly leaving him. He stood behind his desk and stretched his arms waiting for Debbie's reply.
"My problem, Brian, is that my boy - your best friend - needed you last night and you weren't there for him."
"He's got a husband. I don't have the lead role anymore. I just make guest appearances.”
"You think that because Michael and Ben are married you're off the hook? That your job is done?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was employed by Mikey."
With this Debbie walked behind the desk and stood directly in front of Brian, their chests nearly touching. "Listen here Mister. There have been plenty of times over the years when I wished your presence in Michael's life was limited. That he wouldn't need you. And you're right, he does have a husband now, a terrific husband who will always be by his side. But, regrettably, Michael is turning to you right now, not Ben, and you have a f*ckin' obligation to be there for him." Debbie poked Brian in the sternum with her index finger.
Brian took a step back and slowly blinked his eyes as he felt the venom within him stir. "Hunter's dying. There's not a goddamn thing I can do about it. Besides, Michael knew exactly what he was getting into when he took the boy in. What did he think was going to happen? He relegated himself to the role of nursemaid when he chose to have Hunter...and Ben in his life. And as for obligations, yeah I do have them. To the 57 people I'm trying to keep employed here by making sure Kinnetik doesn't go under. So if you don't mind Deb, I need to get back to work." Brian walked to his office door and opened it for her.
Deb pounded across the floor after him. "You know Brian, for a while there last year, with everything that happened, I thought you had finally grown up. That you'd finally learned to put others before yourself. Clearly I was wrong. You're still the same selfish prick you've always been."
Toronto
Lindsay and Melanie's House
"Your own solo exhibition at the Pierre Poirot Gallery? Justin, that's wonderful! I always knew your art would take you far. I just never dreamed it'd be this fast. Brian must be thrilled for you," Lindsay remarked into her mobile phone as she picked up Gus' and JR's toys off the living room floor.
"I haven't told him yet. We have a regular call at midnight but I couldn't wait to let someone know. You're the first person I thought of to call," Justin explained.
"Well, I'm sure your mother would love to hear the news," Lindsay offered, although she knew she was taking a risk bringing up Jennifer.
"She's probably busy with Tucker. I'll send her an email. Do you think you and Melanie could come down for the opening?"
"Oh, Justin I don't know, I'll have to talk to Mel. With Gus in school now and Melanie studying for the Ontario Bar it's kind of crazy around here. Half the time I don't which end is up. I would love to be there for you though."
"I'd love it too. You know, Lindz if it wasn't for you I might never have taken up my art again after I got bashed. I owe a lot to you."
"Sweetie, I'm just glad you're finding the success that you deserve. It's so hard for young artists to build a career for themselves. You're lucky that you have people like Brian and your mom behind you."
"I know I'm lucky," Justin agreed. "Hey, I've got someone at the door, I need to let you go. Give Mel and the kids hugs and kisses for me."
"I will. Congratulations honey."
Allegheny General Hospital
Michael sat next Hunter's bed watching the machines that were helping the boy breathe. He didn't understand what any of the beeps or lines or anything on the computers meant but he felt like he needed to keep an eye on them nonetheless. Hunter's breathing was labored at best but at least he was sleeping soundly.
"Here." Brian appeared in the room with a large latte and handed it to Michael.
"Thanks." Michael took a sip of the coffee. "He's dying, Brian."
"So was Vic on about a dozen different occasions. Look how many times he pulled through." Brian clenched his teeth. His eyes were wide and intense. He stood behind Michael's chair looking over at Hunter.
"I'm not ready for this, the AIDS. I thought I'd have more time till it came," Michael commented in nearly a whisper.
Brian sat on the arm on Michael's chair and wrapped his arm over Michael's shoulder. "We always think we're going to have more time that we do. That's life."
Michael turned to face Brian, his dark brown eyebrows were furrowed. "That's life? What about Hunter's life? He spent the better part of his childhood being pimped out by his own goddamn mother or hustling for food on the street. What kind of life is that?"
"You're forgetting about the part where you and Ben took him in, gave him a home and a family that loves him. That's more that a lot of people ever get," Brian countered. "Certainly more than most of his friends on the street will ever get. Where is Ben, anyway?"
"He's giving an exam. He's going to miss the evening visiting hours." Michael set the coffee down on the tray next to Hunter's bed and then leaned his head against Brian's side. "Can you stay with me?"
Brian began to run his fingers through Michael's hair and answered, "I'm not going anywhere."
New York
East Village Artist's Co-Op
Justin's Room
Justin opened the door to find Calista, Pierre Poirot's assistant standing in front of him. She held up a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
"Hey, come in."
"Congratulations, Justin. When I found out that Pierre offered you an exhibition I thought we should celebrate. You're my first discovery," the attractive, waifish brunette explained as she started to unwrap the cork of the champagne bottle.
Justin closed the door behind her as she entered the room then he followed her over to his desk. "I'm sorry about the mess," Justin said in a slightly embarrassed tone. Of the countless number of things Justin missed about Pittsburgh, having a cleaning lady come twice a week was definitely near the top of the list.
"Oh don't worry about it. My husband's a musician. I've learned that creative types are not the tidiest of people.” Calista poured each of them each some bubbly and then raised her glass to toast Justin. "To wonderful beginnings."
Justin tapped his glass against hers then they both took a drink of the expensive sparkling wine.
"You know, I've been an admirer of your work for sometime now," Calista began. "When I read that you'd moved to New York I just had to introduce you to Pierre. If there is anything I know, it's his taste in young artists."
"I'm flattered but honestly, I'm surprised you've even heard of me. Aside from the Co-Op shows, I've only participated in one group exhibition and that was back home in Pittsburgh." Justin set down his glass and took a seat on his bean bag.
Calista followed, choosing to sit on the edge of Justin's bed. "Oh no, I've been familiar with work longer than that. We own one your pieces. It's actually the favorite of my modest collection."
"Really? Which one?"
"It's one of the tri-color abstract nudes you did in school. My husband acquired it while he was at student at the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts."
"You're husband went to PIFA?"
"Yes, in fact he says he was a friend of yours."
This perplexed Justin. He’d never been a social butterfly. Plus, he could count on one hand the number of straight guys he knew and none of them were anyone he'd consider a friend. "Really? What's his name?"
"Ethan Gold. Do you remember him?"
