All That Glitters/Part 26
All That Glitters/Part 26
The guards cautioned Brian about his behavior, but like most people faced
with an inordinate amount of cash flashed in their faces, they backed off
readily enough. Brian grabbed the first taxi he saw, not even waiting to
pick up his luggage. Not that he had much. And what he *did* have was
crammed into a worn suitcase that belonged to Curt.
*Curt*.
Brian swallowed around the lump in his throat. He had to be okay. Brian
didn't know if he could go on if he wasn't.
*****
When he finally stood in front of the hotel room he shared with Curt,
Brian had to force himself to push open the door. He was afraid of what he
was going to see.
To his relief, however, the bedroom was empty. So was the rest of the
suite.
Brian slumped against the wall, suddenly feeling every bit of the jet lag
he'd been fighting.
He wasn't there.
That was either very good...or very bad.
*****
Curt was well on his way to being drunk. He didn't know why he remained
adamantly opposed to picking up *drugs* again unless...he knew it would
disappoint his mother. Then he remembered why he was getting drunk in the
first place. His mother was gone.
He slid another bill across the counter and said, "Hit me."
"I dunno, man, I think maybe you've had enough," the bartender replied. He
was a kid, barely out of high school, probably a townie, ha, college boy,
he thought, telling him what to do.
"I'll let you know when I've had enough," Curt growled, and the younger
man backed up, taking shelter from the dangerous glint in Curt's eyes.
Dark circles underneath glacial gray eyes only served to enhance the
vaguely desperate look of him, and the bartender shivered inwardly.
"Umm...sure, whatever you say, man."
Curt tipped his head back and swallowed another shot of whiskey. It burned
all the way down and made his eyes water. But that was okay. He *liked*
the feeling. He welcomed the pain with wide-open arms. This was something
he knew and understood.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Curt whipped his head around, his long fine hair spilling into his face,
but not fast enough to obscure his haunted expression. "What do you want?"
Curt demanded huskily.
"I could ask you the same thing."
"I asked you first."
"You didn't come to the hospital," his father said, his tone difficult for
Curt to discern.
"No."
"I thought you cared--"
"I'm..." Curt took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, but his
emotional control was so frayed that it sounded more like a shudder.
"...not having this conversation with you."
"Why not?" his father goaded. "I thought you were *full* of shit you
wanted to tell me."
"N-not n-now," Curt managed before carefully turning his back on his
father. His attention seemed completely focused on the alcohol in front of
him, but he was just as clearly *waiting*. For what, his father didn't
know, but he knew better than to push any further.
Instead he pulled up a stool next to Curt. "Mind if I sit here?"
"Last time I looked, it was still a free country," Curt bit off.
"I'll have what he's having," his father said as though Curt hadn't
spoken.
"Double shots of Jamison's?" the young bartender exclaimed.
The older man chuckled. It was a strange, even foreign sound to Curt and
he couldn't help but give his father a sidelong glance.
"Irish whiskey?" Since when did you start drinking *that*?" he asked
rhetorically, knowing Curt wouldn't answer. At least, not right away.
"It's...an acquired taste," Curt finally said, staring down at the bar.
"Like that boy you brought home?"
Curt's face grew shuttered. His father sighed and studied his drink.
"I...uh...I know I never told you, but...I *liked* him."
"Look, I dunno why you're trying to be nice--" Curt spat.
"Was I? Being nice, I mean?" his father mused. "I didn't know you cared
what I thought about him."
"I don't," Curt declared, his mouth set mutinously.
There was a long pause that could have grown uncomfortable, but it was
eventually broken by the older man. "I don't...pretend to understand what
it's like to be..."
"Gay? Queer?"
"I was going to say *different*."
"Oh, yeah, I've always been different. You know, when I was a kid, I
thought I was adopted. I used to *pray* that I was cause I just knew that
I couldn't be related to any of *you*," Curt said angrily. Then he was
immediately appalled by what he'd inadvertently revealed. The alcohol was
loosening his tongue, and he needed to shut the fuck up.
"You're angry."
"No shit," Curt muttered.
"You think I could have treated you better--"
"I think you could have *believed* me."
His father shifted in his seat. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to
have this conversation either, but he had a feeling if he didn't, he was
going to lose his son forever.
*****