This Was Unexpected, Guest post David Greene
A well-dressed couple enters the restaurant in front of me. I peer in through the door, into the lounge, but I don't see him. The view is blocked. I enter, chiding myself for my schoolgirl antics, but this meeting I anticipate. I hope he doesn't disappoint, this Kinney fellow. As I enter, Max walks up to me, greets me, and I tell him I'm meeting a gentleman who is probably already here.
"Yes sir," he informs me. "This way."
I smooth the line of my handmade suit and flip some blonde hair off my forehead. I see him immediately, of course, and he sees me. He stands to greet me. My god, he is even better than I dared hope. "I'm David Greene," I offer my hand to him and he shakes it as he says, "Brian Kinney."
His handshake is firm but not silly. His skin is soft. His cat's eyes are mesmerizing. What a lucky find. I feel exhilarated. I can see him registering my look. My suit, check, my pale blue dress shirt made in Switzerland with just the right fabric and fitted to a mannequin bearing my name which gives it the perfect drape, check, Prada shoes, they make the best mass produced shoe, check, and no jewelry other than my Patek watch and my wedding band, check. I do the same to him. He passes my inspection.
Brian KInney doesn't read gay. But I feel certain that he is. I join him for a drink and he says, "This is a beautiful restaurant. I'm just learning New York. I haven't been here long."
"Yes, moved from Pittsburgh, if I recall correctly. Good move."
"So far, yes."
"What part of town do you call home?"
"No part of town right now. I have a place that's being renovated. In the meantime, I have a sublet. The place I intend to call home is in Tribeca."
Good. Not a professional gay, living in East Village or Chelsea. "I like Tribeca. Very interesting corner of the world."
"And where do you live?"
"London, a place on Palace Green, near Kensington Palace."
"Sounds like a good chunk of real estate."
"Nothing in London is cheap," I reply with a smile. We are led to a nice quiet table on the main floor of the grand dining room. Everything in Daniel's has a peach glow, due to the lighting, the fabrics, and the flowers. It reminds me of stepping back into a scene from a baroque soiree. If only the waiters wore powdered wigs and silken breeches. Amuse bouche is delivered to give us something to enjoy while we study the menu. I bite into the puff pastry filled with warm gruyere chesse. Heavenly.
We get the ordering out of the way. I invite him to select a wine, which is a nice test of sophistication. Taking into account our entrees, he picks a perfect companion. I like the way he gives no consideration to the price. Some would be timid to overload my expense account, but Kinney goes for the right wine, regardless of price. "Tell me about yourself, Brian," I invite. His eyes land on me.
"Which parts would you like to hear?"
"Every part."
He smiles. "Born and raised in Pittsburgh, earned a degree from Penn State, returned to Pittsburgh, worked for an agency that was acquired by Gardner Vance, worked for Vance, and then decided to go out on my own."
"That much I knew. Tell me things I don't know."
"Like if I were a tree, what kind of tree would I be?"
I laugh. He's good. "Like your son. Tell me about him."
"His name is Gus. He's about this tall now. He lives with his mother in Pittsburgh."
"Divorced?"
"No."
"Still married?"
"Never married. Frankly, Gus started life as a donation in a dixie cup. His mother wanted a baby and I was asked to make that possible. What I didn't expect is that I would come to love him and care about him as the unique individual that he is."
"Are you single, then?"
"I have a partner."
I nod. "Male?"
"Yes. Is that a problem?"
"Not for me. For Birken? Quite possibly."
"Why would they care who shares my life? I thought they were a Swedish company. The Swedes aren't prudish."
"Their new leadership is a bit of a prat. I wouldn't say he's homophobic, but he is."
"I don't want to French kiss him. I don't even want to be hired by his company as an employee. I just want to offer you an ad campaign that will help you sell cars. How that's diminished by where I put my dick is a nexus I can't follow."
Our appetizers arrive. The sommelier opens the wine to let it breathe. I respond to Kinney's statement. "These men prefer to associate with men who are like them. They don't want to be tested outside their comfortable little sphere."
"I don't hide who I am or what I am for any gig. It's a game I don't play. However, I don't wear the rainbow armband either. I'm not out to prosyletize the gay agenda. I'm a pro and I'm good at what I do. That's what I'm pitching, not my sexuality."
"Pity," I say with a raised brow and he answers with the same gesture.
We eat in silence for a moment, and then I ask, "Your refusal to conceal your sexual orientation could cost you an account."
"I learned a long time ago that hiding who or what I am costs me a lot more than an account. I'm not ashamed of it, and I don't ask my partner to hide in the shadows."
"A man with convictions. I like that."
"Don't misunderstand me. This account means a lot to me and to my firm. I want this account and I deserve this account. As their marketing leader, I guess the real question is, are you man enough to sell the true talent to the home office regardless of aspects that have no bearing on performance?"
I laugh. I enjoy the way he converted his cross to bear into a test of my own masculinity . Clever boy, this Brian Kinney. I like him ever so much more than I expected I would. "So it's down to me, is it?"
"Isn't that your job? Selecting the best ad campaign?"
"And you think you can beat out BBD&O and other behemoths?"
"I know I can."
"What a fascinating ego you have, Mr. Kinney."
"You can't be a wilting maiden and survive in the shark tank of advertising, Mr. Greene," he responds and I nod. What an evening this is turning out to be. I couldn't be more pleased. Whether his campaign is brilliant or is bullshit, I'll come away from this meeting satisfied. Beautiful, cocky and bitchy. My dream boy. I hope that partner of his isn't the grasping kind. If things go my way, he's about to be sharing his favorite toy.