HOMEWORK, Guest post David Greene
My suite at the St. Regis is adequate. The butler they provide for guests willing to pay their exorbitant fees for shelter has unpacked for me and taken a couple suits to be pressed. I have my pot of Prince of Wales, and a tray of assorted sandwiches, crusts cut off, bread perfectly fresh, just the way I demanded. Down to work.
I deliberately avoided the Birken offices in Manhattan. I'll make an appearance there, of course, but for now, I want my quiet time in the subdued luxury of this fine old hotel. Downstairs, the King Cole Bar beckons, but I'm being good. I'm working. Well, if you could label this work. Spread out before me are photos from my dossier on Brian A. Kinney, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, more recently transplanted to civilization in New York.
His resume has been confirmed by my fact checkers. Every award, every degree, every client, every fact is absolutely accurate. No puffery there. Good. I despise self aggrandizing. His criminal record is clear, save a few traffic violations. His credit history is stellar. He is, of late, over extended in his purchase of a building in this city. The building is being converted at no small expense to become his new offices. I find it interesting that he's using the Markham firm to do the renovation design, a very upscale, international force. Kinney's kept his Pittsburgh operations in tact, smart move. Income steadily drifting in, even while his Manhattan branch is under construction.
Modest beginnings, it would appear. He borrowed money to go to college, and paid it all back. His marks were high, according to the honors he earned at university. He's never been married, but he has one son, who does not share his last name. And now the photos. One of him in a football, they call it soccer here, uniform. Nice legs, lean look of a man who runs. One is of him receiving an advertising award, while dressed in an Armani suit. One is the cover of a local magazine in Pittsburgh devoted to area movers and shakers. The interview was interesting. He was deliberately vague when questions about his personal life were asked. He obviously has a belief in the importance of keeping one's private life private.
However, my own fact checkers supplied additional information and photographs, mostly candid and on the street. Often with the same blond man. Often showing them in an affectionate pose. Partner? Perhaps. I asked for more. They reported: "Kinney was well known on the gay scene of Pittsburgh, living in the part of town where homosexual clubs and businesses prosper. He frequented those establishments and worked in favor of defeating an anti-gay mayoral candidate. His reputation in the community was that of sexual predator, promiscuous and disconnected from attachments. However, for the last few years he has been linked with a steady partner, Justin Taylor, 22, an artist. They live together and Taylor moved to New York with Kinney and is believed to own an interest in Kinnetik."
I smile. Twenty-two? Brian, you bad boy.
Well now. This little bit of information could finish him with Birken. The luddites at the home office in Scandinavia are all for the wholesome family image to sell their boring little cars. They've been on a homo hunt since the new CEO was empowered. It seems to be a particular issue for him. Which always tips me that someone has been having naughty little dreams about boys with big hard cocks. Anyway, this could ruin it for Kinnetik. Fools. They just don't get it. They're trying to sell a breakthrough product, the first interesting automobile they've come up with in decades. To do that, they need a complete break with their old image. They need to show this motor is not about boxes and families. It's about sex. It's about getting laid. It's about power. And I have a gut instinct that Brian Kinney knows a lot about those things, from his own personal experience.
Something about his eyes fascinates me and then I see what it is. Not just the fire in his gaze. Not just the intensity. But one eye is slightly greener than the other, or maybe it's gold, not sure. But just slightly off in hue. Why do I like that? I have the same affliction. White cat with one green eye, one blue, that's me. I run a fingertip down the image of his perfect, straight, prominent nose. I like his face. I cover up half of his image with my palm, then the other half. The two spheres of his face are perfectly matched. A mark of absolute beauty.
In two nights, we dine. I anticipate that moment with high expectation.
What we do for money. What fun. What a game. And what will he do? I suppose that remains to be seen. As does what I will ask of him. As does what the home office will do when they find out more about Kinnetik and Brian Kinney, the man. If they do. If I let it get that far. "We're about to find out just how clever a boy you are, Mr. Kinney," I mutter with a smile.
I love my job.
Power is indeed an aphrodisiac.