Nowhere We Know
Chapter 2
Shopping with Justin is like performing for a completely unimpressed audience. You’d think that he’d be drooling, and toppling over from his burning desire, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. I don’t think he was kidding when he said he liked me best in jeans and a tee shirt.
“Can you at least pretend to be interested in the clothes? Or at least, my body?”
“I’m always interested in your body, but I hate trying shit on.”
“I’m the one doing all the trying on.”
“Which is like a thousand times more boring.”
“You’re such a twat. I actually took an interest in THREE fucking museums, and you have to bitch about watching me dressing and undressing for a couple of hours?”
“Sorry! I’m just bored.”
“Maybe I could make it worth your while.”
“Oh yeah, how?”
“One guess,” I say, slipping my cock out of my underwear.
“Why do I always have to blow YOU? Why can’t you blow ME when we’re out in public, for a change?”
“Next store’s your turn.”
“Deal,” he concedes, falling to his knees.
We’ve already hit Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Versace. Now we’re in a small, private changing room in Prada. So far, Justin hasn’t been interested in trying anything on, which will change later, when I force him to pick out at least one fucking outfit to wear tonight. Nothing has caught my eye yet, for him that is, but I’m sure I’ll find something. I, on the other hand, have managed to rack up an array of purchases, including a fabulous new deep burgundy suit from Gucci. Normally, I stick with black and gray hued suits, but this one is perfect, and I knew I had to have it the minute I laid eyes on it.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, as Justin pulls my dick deeper inside of his throat, gripping the waistband of my black briefs, forcing my hips closer towards his face. My hands find his hair, and I thread my fingers through them forgetting about clothes for the duration of his mind-blowing first-class blowjob.
One pair of dark brown pinstripe slacks and two button-down shirts in cream and black later, we’re walking over to Madison Ave.
“How many pairs of pinstripe pants can one person have?”
“Pinstripe is classic. You can never have too many classic items of clothing.”
“What. Ever.”
I steer him in the direction of the Calvin Klein store, and force him inside. This is a more Justin-oriented store. There are plenty of selections that would look great on him, so I start piling them into his arms.
We settle into the dressing room, and he smirks suggestively.
“I’ve been hard since we left the last store.”
“And you can stay that way until you try on these,” I say, pushing the clothes at him.
He rolls his eyes, huffs and puffs, disrobing jerkily. It’s amusing to watch him act like he’s only 12.
The first outfit is a pair of tight black jeans, and a red, white, and black striped shirt.
“Keep the jeans, lose the shirt.”
“Brian, I already have a bunch of jeans.”
“And none of them hug your ass enough. You’re getting them.”
The second outfit is a pair of shimmering gray jeans, and a tight plain golden yellow shirt.
“Both,” I say. “You look hot.”
He smirks as he pulls the shirt off, to pull on a button-down sleeveless eggplant shirt.
“And that one too.”
“This is a total you shirt.”
“So what? You look good in it.”
“I do, huh?” he smiles brightly. “Can I get my reward for patience now?”
“I think that can be arranged,” I grin, hooking a finger through a belt-loop, and pulling him towards where I’m seated on a chair.
Slowly, I undo the bottom buttons of his shirt, placing wet kisses on his stomach, as I unzip his pants.
After our adventures in Calvin Klein, we cross the street to DKNY, where we each pick out bathing suits of the tight tiny shorts variety. Then we try on a number of real shorts that actually cover our asses. We mock each other, because we’re both normally averse to shorts. But it is summer, and they may come in handy in cases of abnormally high heat. We end up loaded with shorts, bathing suits, and tank tops galore, and Justin’s mood is once again as light as it was earlier in the day.
“I knew that all you needed was for me to relieve a little tension.”
“Thanks, Brian.”
“For blowing you so well?”
“For buying me all this stuff. Even though I give you shit about your shopping habits and all that, I still appreciate you giving me presents.”
“It’s pretty selfish of me, actually. I’m the one that has to look at you.”
“Will you shut up, and say ‘you’re welcome’?” he chortles.
“You’re welcome.”
By the time we’ve gone through Valentino, and Ungaro, we both have our hands full of bags and packages.
“Are we done yet?”
“Almost. We’ve still got two of my favorites waiting. Don’t get all bitchy on me again.”
“Fuck you.”
Ah, Dolce & Gabbana. I don’t know what it is exactly about their clothes that I really love. I think it’s that they combine the classic with the more hip and modern. It has kind of an alternative twist to it that I admire. This is where I get my favorite halfway get-ups. Halfway between casual, and formal. Stuff I wear to go clubbing, basically.
“Ooh, Brian, you have to try these on,” Justin says, holding up a pair of teal slacks.
“Fine with me, as long as I can get you into those leather pants,” I tell him, pointing at a display across the room.
“Oh my god, I’ve always wanted a pair of leather pants.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that ages ago?” I ask him, poking his butt.
“I told you, I don’t think about clothes much.”
“Tragic.”
The next round in the dressing room proves to be the most fun, despite being blowjob-free. Justin actually deigns to be enthusiastic about not only my apparel, but his own as well. He fusses over a white sleeveless ruffley number that I try on. I call it a fucked tuxedo shirt, because it looks like it started out as one, only to be deprived of sleeves, mussed up with ruffles around the upper buttons, tightened, and cut short, leaving the tiniest hint of exposed skin at the sides. It is definitely gay, and I don’t say that about many things. This is a queer motherfuckin’ shirt. And it’s totally hot.
“I look like a queen,” I admit to Justin.
“You ARE a queen.” I give him an evil look, and he continues, “But you are the butchest queen I’ve ever known. And you look hot in that shirt.”
“I know.”
“Put on the teal pants,” he orders.
“Put on the leather,” I counter.
We watch one another closely, as we slip on our respective garments, and one look at Justin’s ass clad in tight black leather makes my dick more than a little stiff. I force myself to look in the mirror in order to observe what these pants do for my ass, pleased with the fit.
“They fit you perfectly,” Justin praises. “That’s a great color on you.”
The material is a soft, slinky, blend that falls on my legs loosely.
“They’re comfortable too. And your ass looks good enough to eat in those, by the way. I order you to wear them at least three times a week. I’ll even get you a pair in every color.”
“They only have black and red, and I don’t think I’m bold enough to wear red leather just yet,” he says through his laughter, slipping on a dark blue, long-sleeved, low-necked, soft, slinky, lyocell shirt that hugs his body just as delectably as the pants.
“You’re getting that too,” I say, quickly.
After one more stop at Yves St. Laurent, where I buy another suit, we cab it back to the hotel.
“I am so fucking tired,” Justin mutters as we enter the elevator of the hotel.
“You can do what ever you want until a quarter to 10:00. We’ve got reservations.”
“Fine. Don’t try to fuck me, I’m taking a nap.”
“Aw… widdle Justin has had a busy week. I’ll make sure to set you up with your blanky as soon as we get to the room.”
“Fuck you, Old Man. You’re just jealous.”
“What? That I have more energy than you, and I’m ten years older?”
“Twelve years older, Brian. Twelve… long… years… older. Really, really, old.”
“Fuck you,” I grouse, as the elevator dings, announcing the arrival at our floor.
“Not right now, I’m full up.”
“Keep on taunting, Sunshine. See how you enjoy sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“You wouldn’t survive in that big bed without me.”
“Somehow, I think I’d manage,” I reply, trying not to think of the double meaning of this conversation.
“Barely,” he says under his breath, like he wants me to hear it, but not really. Like he needs to say it, but doesn’t want to.
I let it slide, as we slip into the room.
We sit at the end of the bed staring at all the stuff we just bought. I won’t even say how much this little shopping expedition cost me. Not that I mind. If I minded, I wouldn’t have done it. I always have money for clothes. And now that I’ve gotten it out of the way, I won’t be spending much more money on clothes for the rest of the summer. Never mind the fact that most of it will be out of my hands until I get back to the Pitts.
“What are we doing with all this shit?”
“We’re going to pick out some stuff to keep with us, and the rest is being shipped to Cynthia.” I slide down onto the floor and begin going through the bags. “Start picking out the summer stuff. And keep the leather pants.”
“Brian,” he begins, sliding down next to me, “I’m not taking leather pants with us. When am I going to wear them?”
I feel my right eyebrow raise uncontrollably. “Uh, when we go out. Or when we stay in.”
He chuckles shyly. “You really like me in those pants, don’t you?”
“Just a little bit.”
“Fine,” he smiles knowingly, “I’ll bring them.”
“Damn right you will. Bring that purple shirt too.”
Soon enough, we’ve grouped together four piles on the bed, separated according to what’s mine, what’s his, and what we are and aren’t keeping for the summer.
I make a call to the concierge, requesting a box to ship the clothes back in. I give him an estimate of the dimensions the box needs to be, and he tells me he can get one from the mailroom straight away.
“You know what I was thinking?” Justin says from his reclined position on the floor, once I’m off the phone.
“What were you thinking?” I query, lying down next to him.
“I was thinking…” He turns to face me, propping his head on his right hand. “Maybe we could go to some natural outdoor places on our trip. I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon, and I’ve heard some amazing things about Northern California.”
“So you’re getting all earthy on me?”
“Well, we can’t spend all our time in big cities, and plush hotel rooms. What fun is exploring America if we don’t venture out to nature?”
“Plenty.”
“Come on Brian,” he says, nudging me with his free hand. “It would be such a great experience. You’re the one who decided to drive across the country. You really don’t want to do some camping? See some forests, and deserts? I bet you’d love it in the wilderness.”
“Have you met me before? Do you know who I am?” I scoff.
“I do. And I think that you’d really appreciate communing with Mother Earth.”
I give him a sharp look, but we both bust up laughing, and he lets his body fall on top of mine, covering my left side and placing his arm over my waist.
“You know you want to.”
“I’ll think about it,” I acquiesce.
“Excellent.” He brushes a kiss against the underside of my chin, and lays his head back on my shoulder.
I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into. Everything is happening so fast, and yet it seems almost slow-moving. I’ve been having these moments… this is one of them… where it’s almost as if I’m watching the world in slow motion. All I’m doing is staring up at the ceiling, and it looks so slow. Maybe it has to do with the blond attached to my side, I can’t be sure. It usually happens when I’m looking at him. When he smiles… when he’s studying something intently… when he’s rambling on and on about a silly topic. But it’s not really about him. It’s about me. This is all about me. Me trying to find my lost self. I can’t forget that. And just maybe I can find it in him. He knows how to dig past all the bullshit and focus on the good in me. Even if he lost that ability for a while.
I know he trusts me. More than anyone ever has. In a more positive way as well. Most people trust that I’ll fuck up, or that I’ll be an asshole. Sometimes they trust that they can depend on me, but that’s only when they really need and want something from me. They want me to fix their problems. Justin has never wanted that. He always wants to fix his own problems, and deal with his own shit, and it takes a hell of a lot for me to convince him to let me help. That never happens with anyone else. But he trusts that I will always be there for him. No matter what happens between us. If he didn’t trust me, he wouldn’t be here right now. And I guess I need that.
A knock comes at the door, and I head over to retrieve the requested box. Setting it on a chair, I line the box with bubble wrap as if the contents are fragile, and fit everything into it, while still in their bags and boxes. Then I go over and write my office address on a small piece of paper.
“We need to get dressed,” I tell Justin.
“Can we just forget about dinner, and sleep?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Uh uh.”
“Got any speed?”
“No drugs allowed tonight.”
“I hate you.”
“Me too. Now get up.”
I nudge him with my foot, and he rolls over, refusing to get off the floor. I strip down to my underwear, and go into the bathroom to wash my hands and face.
He’s still lying there motionless when I return, so I toss clothes at him. “Put those on.”
After much fussing, he picks himself up, and goes into the bathroom, while I dress.
I love wearing new clothes for the first time. It thrills me in a daft way. I’ve always been a bit of a show-off, truth be told. Not that anyone would have a hard time believing that. I don’t do it in an overt manner, though. I don’t consciously try to be a show-off, it’s just inherent. It’s a part of my persona. I’m a fucking advertiser, so it comes naturally. To me, clothes are an extension of my personality. It’s a form of expression. And I’m always trying to express some variation of sex. Whether I’m in a suit, or a see-through shirt. It’s all about sex.
“Hurry your ass, Justin.”
“Coming.”
We depart soon after, dressed to the nines. Me in my new brown pinstriped pants and a slightly ornate black button-down, Justin in a new pair of black pants flecked with silver and a deep red pinstriped shirt.
“The Pinstripe Twins,” he quips as we walk through the lobby of the hotel towards the concierge’s desk.
“I told you, it’s classic. You look good.”
“So do you.”
“That’s a given.”
“Conceited.”
We reach the desk, and I hand over the box, requesting that it be taped up, and sent to the address on the paper. Then I hand over the two postcards, explaining that they need stamps. I tell him to get everything out first thing tomorrow, so he can bill me before we leave for Chicago.
We bid a hasty retreat, pushing time. I hustle Justin outside, and throw open the door to a cab.
“Get in,” I order, holding it open for him. “Café des Artistes,” I say to the driver once I’m in.
********************
I can’t fucking believe that Brian brought me here. I’ve heard about this place, and how it’s known for being romantic. I personally think it’s swanky in that snobby uptown kind of way, which is fun to be a part of every once in a while. As long as one is just visiting. Visually, it’s pretty great. We’re seated next to a wall displaying a mural of naked women enjoying nature. The lighting is very low-key, and there are lots of candles. It’s an intimate setting.
“This is… amazing,” I state, not knowing what else to say.
“I thought you’d like it. I heard it was pleasing on the eye, as well as the taste buds.”
“You’ve never been here before?”
“No. It’s not exactly my kind of place.”
“So why’d we come here then?”
“Because we’re supposed to be having adventures. This should qualify.”
I let it go. I’d never suggest that he was being romantic. I’m not that stupid.
The waiter arrives with the bottle of wine Brian ordered. I’m sure it cost a couple hundred dollars. The man is the opposite of hesitant when it comes to spending money. I’ve never heard him complain about paying for something. Never heard him gripe about something being too expensive. It’s like a foreign concept to him. He lives in the lap of luxury. Now more than ever. He makes tons more money as a partner at Vanguard. I’ve seen the loft a couple of times since he completely redecorated it, and it looks incredible. I mean, I’m still shocked at that fact that he bought an original Mies van der Rohe coffee table. And he puts his feet on it! That is just absolute craziness.
We place our orders, and every course sounds fancy, but delicious.
Despite the low lighting, I’m no longer the least bit sleepy. I’m too content. And not the kind of content where you smile like a fool, gushing and babbling. It’s the kind of quiet, subdued happiness that warms you up in a comforting way.
“So it’s our last night in New York,” I say.
“Yeah. Are you sad?”
“Not at all. I had an amazing time, but it’ll be good to move onto somewhere new. I’m sure we’ll have just as much fun in the other cities.”
“If we don’t kill each other along the way, sure.”
“We won’t. I’m pretty confident that this trip will be a success. If the past three days are any indication. Wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s been good, but do you really expect to go two whole months without incident?”
“Stranger things have happened. I mean, look at you. You’re on a date, and not fucking the waiter.”
“Remains to be seen,” he smirks.
“Whatever you say.”
Just then, said waiter brings over our salads, and I shake my head as Brian gives him the once over, obviously meant only to amuse me. The guy isn’t exactly Brian’s type. He’s on the short side, slightly pudgy, not very handsome, at least ten years older than Brian, and obviously not gay. I watch Brian’s tongue-in-cheek, I’m-being-funny routine, holding in my laughter until the waiter retreats.
“I’d say I have a decent shot.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re dying to fuck his virgin ass. I mean, drop-dead-gorgeous doesn’t even begin to cover his stunning good looks,” I drone. “I may have to move in on your game. These kinds of opportunities don’t come often.”
“You think you could steal him away from me?”
“It’s always worked in the past.”
“Touche.”
“Maybe, but it’s true.”
I’ve never really thought about it before, but that’s kind of a crazy idea. It IS true though. Every time I’ve tried to take away Brian’s prey, I’ve somehow managed to succeed. I don’t know why that is, but I guess it feels kind of good. Makes me feel a little more on Brian’s level, which I guess I’ve been aware that I have been for a while now. I don’t exactly get rejected. God, am I getting conceited too? Are his pompous notions rubbing off on me? Then again, Brian’s been the biggest influence on me over the last three years of my life, so it’s not a stretch.
“This salad is really good,” I comment, lamely.
Brian just laughs at me.
“Fuck you. You change the subject then.”
“I thought you were supposed to be the one well-versed on dating etiquette.”
“Hardly,” I snort. “I’ve been on like three dates in my life. Only one actually included dinner.”
“I thought you were a dater.”
“You thought wrong. I just see people. Briefly. I don’t really go out on dates much.”
“Ah, you just stay home and fuck.”
“No, I… well, I… Yeah, I guess I do,” I say, laughing.
“Ethan never took you on dates?”
“Ethan couldn’t afford dates. He could afford crackers, and fruit,” I chuckle. “He’s a vegetarian too, so that limited even more the variety of affordable foods that he could buy. We went out to eat once. That was my one and only dinner date.”
There’s a pause in the conversation as our plates are cleared, and the entrees brought over. The food looks even fancier than the descriptions implied. They probably have an artist back there that specifically designs the placement of the food on the plates. My dinner is what the menu described as ‘Soft Shell Crabs with braised garlicky greens, fresh morel mushrooms and a warm tomato vinaigrette’. Brian is eating some kind of steak, and asparagus, and I don’t know exactly what else is going on over there, but it looks good.
“So, what about that guy the other night?” Brian asks, continuing the slightly uncomfortable line of conversation. “What was that all about?”
“What, Troy?”
“I didn’t catch his name.”
Yeah right. “That wasn’t about anything. That was about sex, I guess.”
“So you’re saying, if I hadn’t swooped in and hauled you off to New York, you would’ve sent him on his way?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. That’s not what happened, so what’s the point?”
“You don’t regret it? Even a little?”
“What’s to regret? I hardly knew him. He was an outstanding fuck, and yes, he had other good qualities about him as well. But there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to be with you more than I wanted to be with him. He was just a guy. You have ‘Just Tricks’, and I have ‘Just Guys’. Make sense?”
He studies my face for a long time, before responding. “Yeah. It makes perfect sense.”
“How’s your food?”
“Superb. How’s yours?”
“Exquisite.”
We smile at the fancy wordage, and continue eating.
I don’t know why he’s inquiring about other guys all of a sudden, but it’s a tad unsettling. It kind of demonstrates his insecurities about me. Ones he never seemed to have before Ethan. He needs to learn how to trust me again. I can’t really prove myself to him. I can’t go and make some grand gesture to gain back his trust, I just have to earn it gradually. Just as I did in the beginning. And now that it’s just the two of us, it shouldn’t be all that hard. He knows I still love him. He has to know that. Just like I know that he still loves me. It’s just a given. And as long as we have that, then everything else has a chance of falling into place.
“How do you think everyone’s going to react to us being gone?” I ask him, trying to pick a more entertaining line of conversation.
“They’ll probably go into shock, snap out of it, start inventing off-the-wall love stories, and then die of curiosity before we make our triumphant return.”
“You don’t think they’ll be pissed?”
“In part, yes, but mostly just jealous.”
“You think everyone’s jealous of you.”
“That’s because they are.”
“You’re so modest.”
“I try.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone you were leaving?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to be talked out of it, and I didn’t think they’d understand.”
“Well, I don’t really understand myself. You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with any details as to the reasons you wanted to leave so badly.”
“You probably wouldn’t get it either,” he says, eyes on his plate.
“I wouldn’t? Or you wouldn’t want me to?”
“Justin… I’ll tell you when and if I feel like it, but does it really matter?”
“Not at the moment, no, but overall, yes. Of course it matters.”
“Well, I’ll let you know when I’m in a sharing mood.”
“HA! Like those come around so often.”
“We shall see.”
“Brian?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You really outdid yourself.”
“Which I’ve never managed to accomplish in the past,” he snarks.
“I like you so much.” I’m trying to get in the habit of saying it to him. Until I can allow myself to say the other ‘L’ word. I think I’m more terrified of saying it than he is. It’s just a fucking word, but it’s the single most significant one, isn’t it? What other word out there carries as much weight as that one does? The answer is none. But ‘like’… that one is a lame substitute, but he can read between the lines. I can’t say love, because he doesn’t want to hear it. But I can say like, because it’s harmless. No matter what it infers. And it’s a word he has nothing against. It’s a word that he can say back.
“I like you too. Kind of.”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
After a killer round of dessert, which we split… chocolate mousse, and raspberry cake… we head back to the hotel.
It’s just after midnight, when we return to our room.
“What time are we leaving?” I ask, dead tired, and afraid to show it. I know Brian expects sex after the night we’ve had, but I seriously feel like dropping dead.
“I don’t know. Play it by ear. Shoot for somewhere between eight and nine.”
“Okay.”
I remove my clothes slowly, not because I’m trying to be seductive, but because my reaction time has slowed, and my limbs feel heavy. I gaze at the bed longingly.
Brian walks over to me, pulling my face towards him for a slow, lingering kiss, soft and loving. Almost gentle.
“Go to sleep,” he says, pressing my forehead to his.
I wrap my arms around him, letting my weight fall on him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Go the fuck to sleep. I never want to relive the experience of having you fall asleep on me mid-foreplay.”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”
“No.”
“Evil bastard,” I mumble, raising myself up to kiss him again briefly, before moving over to the bed, and sinking down.
My eyes stay open long enough to watch him disrobe, turn out the lights, and climb into bed next to me. He maneuvers himself over, slipping an arm under my neck, as I settle into his shoulder.
“This does not mean that we’re an old married couple,” he says firmly, disturbing the quiet of the room.
“Don’t worry,” I manage around a yawn, “I’d kill myself before you would if that were the case.”
“Good, as long as we’re clear on that. Suicide, yay. Marriage, nay.”
I laugh quietly, and he joins me. The pleasant, fleeting tickle is the last thing I remember, as I drift away.
********************
The morning is uneventful and yet strangely pleasant. As we pack up our shit, an easy calm seems to hang in the air, enveloping us.
Last night was… really great. In the back of my mind, I’ll admit I was nervous. I didn’t call it a date, but it sort of was. A fucking date. I can hardly believe it. Anyway, it was good. My silent dread, and fear of disaster was allayed the moment we sat down at the table. Justin was pleased, not overly exuberant, which was nice. He used to be easily swayed into over-enthusiastic behavior, but that is no longer the case. And though I miss it in some ways, I’m glad that he’s grown out of that. It’s easier for me to deal with him when he isn’t reeling from some small attention I’ve paid him.
I could tell that he was exhausted when we got back to the room. He’d barely said two words during the cab ride back, and I caught his eyes closing for prolonged periods of time at regular intervals. I could also tell that he was nervous that I wanted to fuck, and he didn’t. Fucking is nice, but I’m not one to take people against their will. Especially not Justin. And to be honest, I was pretty tired myself. It was partially a relief.
First thing after we woke up, we made up for it with a long, slow fuck in the bed, followed by a long, hot shower. In the end, the date concluded properly. With lots of hot sex.
We double-checked the room for any possible possessions that could’ve been overlooked, and then headed downstairs to check out. I waved, and nodded to the concierge on our way out.
When my eyes caught sight of the ‘Vette, I felt the relief wash over me. I hadn’t seen it or touched it in four days, which made me a little nervous. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. I’d murder every attendant in the parking garage.
Once the car is loaded and ready, I put the top down, and we roar out onto the busy streets of Manhattan. Because I’m a nice guy, or at least pretending to be one for the day, I drive towards Brooklyn, instead of I-80.
“Shouldn’t we be headed the other way?” Justin asks.
“Nope.”
Halfway there, he turns to me, realizing my plan.
“You’re so cool,” he says, smiling brightly, and leaning over to give me a lingering kiss as we sit at a red light.
“Aren’t I?”
We ride across the Brooklyn bridge with Justin oohing and ahing at the sights. And I know what he means. New York architecture, and the environment in general is unlike any other city I’ve been to. The only other city that can out-urbanize NYC is probably Tokyo. And I’ve never been there.
Braving the traffic to and from Brooklyn for two passes across a bridge… I’m insane.
“Do you still want to live here?” Justin poses out of the blue, taking out his cigarettes, and lighting one up.
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking one from the pack he offers to me.
“I mean, you’ve always had a desire to get the hell out of Pittsburgh… which you’re doing now, temporarily… but, you’ve always wanted to move on to bigger and better things in a place like this,” he gestures to the surrounding metropolis. “Is that what you really want? To get out of the ‘Second-rate Burgh’ once and for all?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “What about you? You’re young. Just starting out… on your own for the first time. You could go anywhere you want.” And I know that he loves it here. I can tell. His disposition has been sunny for the first time that I’ve seen in a long long time. And I know it has to do with me, and our antics. Us getting out, and doing something together. Something big. But this city… it seems to fit him.
“I’ve thought about it vaguely. But I have so much immediate shit to deal with that I haven’t considered anything seriously. I can barely see myself a month from now, let alone a year, or ten. It seems like the future is just a concept that I don’t understand. Will I move away from the city I’ve lived in all my life? Maybe. One day. But I’d have to really grow a set before I could ever take such giant leaps. You on the other hand… you’re a grown man. You have the means and the will to do whatever you want, if you really try.”
I don’t respond. I don’t really know what to say. I’ve never really been the kind of person to think about the future, either. I mean, I get freaked out every time a year goes by, and I’m a year older, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t change. I don’t do anything. I don’t make plans. I sometimes talk like I’m making plans, but really those are just my fantasies. People don’t think I have those. Like I’m above them or something. Justin doesn’t even know that about me, I don’t think. New York… leaving the Pitts… changing my life around… those are my fantasies. And the nature of fantasies tend to be so unreal and far removed that you never consider them as a real, tangible, aspirations that have a snowball’s chance in hell of happening. They just sit somewhere inside of you, untouched.
Will I ever get to a place where they can be more than that? I don’t know. I don’t if I want that. I don’t know if I’m satisfied with my life. I don’t know anything. All I can do is hope that I’ll figure it out one day. Figure out where that kid went, who was almost like Justin is now. Darker, more cynical, more afraid than he, but somewhat similar. With dreams and hopes, and no concept of future. One day I got what I wanted, and I guess from there on out it was all… coasting. I achieved the rank I always wanted professionally, sexually, socially, and then I just threw everything else out the window and sort of… settled. I never meant to. I never meant to be another typically predictable person, but it just happened. And then time happened. And now here I am. Here’s the future.
I understand what Justin means though. It’s almost like I might as well be that kid again. Because I lost the meaning of it too. Future. Self. Time. Place. All the same fucking thing.
“I guess that’s what I’m doing,” I say out loud, as we enter the highway.
“Huh?”
“I’m just… trying to figure it all out.”
“What? What you want out of life?”
“Does that sound incredibly asinine?”
“Brian fucking Kinney thinking about his life?” he asks rhetorically. “No. Not at all. It sounds like the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
“Are you scoffing at my torment?”
“Torment? You’re not tormented. You’re just… fucking human.”
“Slightly more fucked up than most.”
“Slightly,” he concedes. “But not much. Your biggest flaw is that you’re too hard on yourself.”
“Hard-on? Always,” I attempt to joke.
“You can’t be above it all. You never were. You never will be. You’re a man. And you forget that, I think. I don’t know how one forgets something like that, but I think you do. Maybe you’re starting to realize it again. That you aren’t perfect. That you, maybe, don’t know what you are. Am I making any sense, or am I being a total freak?” he laughs shyly.
“You’re making more sense than you probably know,” I admit to him. Don’t know why I admit it to him, but I do.
“Well… thanks for finally telling me what this is all about.”
“I didn’t tell you shit.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he looks away from me, and then cackles confidently. “Brian Kinney’s just another fucking cliché. Taking that oh-so-fateful road trip across the country to find himself. Only with the added twist that he’s about ten years late, and he took his boyfriend with him.”
“How many times do I have to tell you…”
“‘… I’m not your boyfriend’,” he says in a mocking undertone. “You just said it yourself, you don’t know what you are.”
“Actually you said that.”
“Same difference.”
“Grab my Lou Reed CD.”
“Aw, are you putting on that song?”
“Just give it to me.”
He searches for it, and then puts it in the player, skipping forward to the track he wants to hear. That he knows I want to hear, too. He probably thinks that it has some significance. That it means something. Which is laughable. It’s just a fucking song. A really great one at that, but just a song. A song that for some reason always reminds me of him. But that’s something he’ll never have to know.
‘Just a perfect day… drink sangria in the park
And then later, when it gets dark, we go home
Just a perfect day… feed animals in the zoo,
Then later, a movie too, and then home
Oh, it’s such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day, you just keep me hangin’ on
You just keep me hangin’ on
Just a perfect day… problems all left alone
Weekenders on our own, it’s such fun
Just a perfect day… you made me forget myself
I thought I was someone else, someone good
Oh, it’s such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day, you just keep me hangin’ on
You just keep me hangin’ on
You’re going to reap just what you sow
You’re going to reap just what you sow…’
***********************
Pittsburgh, June 13th, 2003
I’m running late. And I’m never fuckin’ late. I have no reason to be, because I love my job. And let’s face it, I don’t have much of a life apart from it anyway. Some people may find that sad, but those people can go fuck themselves, because I happen to love my life. Even if it is a life spent devoted to other people. It’s just the way I am. I can’t help it, and I don’t want to.
But I’m running late for the third fuckin’ day in a row, all because Sunshine is missing. I haven’t heard from him, or seen him since Saturday, and that was almost a week ago! I am so furious, I can’t even talk about it. I know he’s safe. I know he is, because Brian’s been MIA for the same amount of time as Justin. Go fuckin’ figure. What this means, I’ll probably never know. We’ve all tried contacting them both multiple times, and all we get are answering machines and empty apartments. And nothing is really missing. Their closets are full, their refrigerators are full, their beds are unmade. The only thing missing is them, and Brian’s new fuck-mobile.
I’m worried that they didn’t tell anyone anything about any fucking thing. They just disappeared. Were they fucking stupid enough to think that we wouldn’t find out? I’m just waiting for them to come waltzing into the diner one of these days, and sit there like nothing’s happened. I know they will. And I’ll tear them two nice big assholes and ruin all their chances of good sex.
Those little shits will be sorry they ever met me, once I get my hands on them.
I straighten my hair, tugging it with both hands, so that it stays properly in place on my head. Double check my make-up in the small bathroom mirror, adding a couple more dashes of powder, and head back into the bedroom to pull on my vest, and grab my purse.
“Sis, get down here! There’s something you need to see!”
“Keep your pants on, I’m comin’!” I shout, stomping down the stairs.
Vic’s sitting at the kitchen table in his robe, coffee in front of him, staring down in shock at a piece of paper.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? What is that?”
As I move closer, he holds it up, and there’s a picture of a famous painting on the front. A postcard. Shit.
I snatch it from him so fast I accidentally scratch his fingers with my nails, but I ignore his curses, noticing Justin’s handwriting.
I read the message quickly, at a lost for words for once in my life. I slowly sit down in the chair across from Vic, staring at it in awe, just as he was a few minutes ago. I read it over about ten times, before putting it down.
“Holy shit.”
“My sentiment exactly,” Vic returns, looking at me.
“HOLY SHIT!” I say loudly this time, because the meaning is starting to sink in. The reality.
I get up quickly, and grab the phone off its cradle, dialing Jennifer’s number.
“Justin?”
“No Jennifer, it’s Debbie. I got a postcard from Justin in the mail. He was in New York with Brian, but now I don’t know where they are,” I rush out the words, anxiety building. Jennifer is a sweet woman, who doesn’t deserve this shit from her only son.
“I know, Debbie. He sent me one too.”
“Oh, good,” I say, only slightly relieved. “He hasn’t even bothered to call YOU?”
“No. I doubt he wants to hear anything I have to say. That’s why he hasn’t called. But he promised he would. I just don’t know when it’s going to be.”
“Are you alright? Do you want me to come over?”
“No, Deb, it’s alright. Justin’s gone for the summer. He’s twenty years old now, and I really don’t have much say in his life. It would’ve been nice of him to tell me he was leaving, and I will definitely give him a piece of my mind when we talk, but if he’s happy, I can’t stop him.”
“You’re his mother! Just because he’s independent doesn’t mean he has to act like an asshole like his fuckin’ boyfriend! He still owes you respect, and common courtesy.”
“Did he and Brian… were they back together before all of this?”
“No, sweetie. That’s the strangest part. Those two have barely said two words to one another in months, and then this. They fuckin’ run off together! Surprised the hell out of me and Vic, that’s for sure.”
“Well, maybe this will be good for Justin. Maybe they’ll work things out.”
“You want them to work it out?”
“It’s not about what I want. If it were, things would be far different. But if Justin can start being happy again, even if it is with Brian, then I’ll be happy too. I miss him. He just… hasn’t been himself in a long time.”
“Yeah, hun. I know what you mean. Listen, come and see me soon, okay? We’ll discuss all of this.”
“I will, Deb. I’ll let you know if I hear from him.”
“Thanks, hun. And don’t worry! He’ll be fine. Brian will take care of him.”
“I hope so.”
I end the call, and turn to Vic.
“Call Lindsay. Michael and the boys will be there, but just call them too. Call everyone and have them come to the diner. I’ll leave the car for you.”
“Okay Sis.”
“Holy shit,” I mumble again, walking out the door.
Fuck being a little late, I decide. Just this once, I think I’m allowed to be a lot late. I walk over to Liberty at a deliberately slow pace. My mind is fucking boggled, and the walk doesn’t much help sort out my feelings.
Brian and Justin are together, God knows where, now. I’m happy for them, but I’m angry. Is this any way to go about getting back together? Taking off without a word for two fucking months? Completely disregarding everyone else’s feelings, and just disappearing off the face of the earth? The world isn’t too big here in Pitts, and it is even smaller here on Liberty Ave. And we’re their fuckin’ family! And they pull this shit on us?
I walk into the diner, and slump into a booth.
“Deb, where the hell have you been?” Candy asks. “Is there something wrong?”
“Kind of. I’ll work later. I’ll make it up to you, but I need to talk to my family. They’re on their way here.”
“No problem, honey. I got you covered.”
Five minutes later, Vic is sitting in front of me. And soon, Ted and Emmett arrive, then Michael and Ben, then Linds and Mel. They all look at me expectantly.
“Well?” Michael demands. “Ma, what is it? Did you hear from Brian?”
I say nothing, reaching into my purse, and pulling out the postcard, I hold up the front just as Vic did for me.
And just as I knew what it was, so do the rest of them. A collective gasp escapes, and it’s almost comical, but I ain’t about to start laughing.
I clear my throat, and try to read it aloud, but I can’t, handing it to Vic, instead.
“Dear Gang-
Surely by now you’ve noticed that Brian and I have gone missing. This is a quick note to tell you not to worry. For some crazy reason, Brian decided he needed a change of scenery. For some crazier reason, he decided I should come with him. Surprised? I was too. The plan is to drive the ‘Vette cross-country to the West Coast. We leave NYC tomorrow morning. Sorry for leaving so abruptly, and without warning. Blame it on Brian! We’ll be sending postcards from each city to keep in touch. Brian says: “No calling my cell phone to leave mean messages”. I haven’t seen him mess with the thing once anyway, so… I’ll make him write the next card. See you in August! Hugs to everyone!
Love, Justin
PS To Michael… I’ll send you the Rage drawings soon.”
Silence permeates for a full minute, before Mel breaks it.
“Holy shit!”
“That’s what we said,” Vic and I say in unison.
“August!” Michael bursts out. “That’s TWO FUCKING MONTHS!”
“This is incredible. This is amazing!” Emmett says, getting excited. “This is like the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Michael asks.
The last person to believe that Brian Kinney would do anything remotely romantic in nature is my poor son. I mean, he’s known him the best for almost twenty years, wishing every minute that it weren’t true. That Brian would open up that side of himself, that may or may not exist, and let it out just for him. Which will never happen, of course. He knows that now. He’s not so hung up on his best friend anymore, but I know it still hurts him.
“I’m talking about Brian ‘Insert-expletive-here’ Kinney acting like a lovesick fool.”
“You think THAT was his motivation for disappearing without a single word to anyone?” Michael asks in a high-pitched tone I’ve heard many times over the years.
“Maybe not, but it’s still a simply wonderful romantic gesture from someone so cold and uncaring. If he just wanted to get out of here, he would’ve left alone. But he didn’t, did he?”
“I can’t believe that asshole just left like that without telling us,” Mel began. “What if something happened to Gus? He couldn’t care less! Off on some fucking adventure to screw the whole of America’s male population.”
“Mel, if we need to contact him for an emergency we can go to Cynthia,” Lindsay soothed. “And I’m sure he’ll call us at some point.”
“Who cares if they left without saying anything? I say, good for them. They needed to get away from this god-forsaken place if they ever wanted to get it together. Don’t you think so Teddy? Isn’t it romantic?” Em continues his support speech.
“I don’t know what it is, but it’s unfuckingbelievable as usual.”
“I can’t believe this shit,” Michael gripes.
“Honey,” I say, grabbing his chin so that he’ll look at me. “Do not go taking this fucking personally. It has nothing to do with you, and I know that’s upsetting, but that’s just the way it is.”
“What do you mean it has nothing to do with me?” Here it comes. “I’m his BEST FRIEND! That’s not how friends are supposed to behave.”
“Michael, grow the fuck up. We’re all shocked, and pissed, and even slightly happy about all of this, but in the end it has nothing to do with us. We can be angry that they didn’t say a word about it, but what’s the point?” I don’t know when I decided this, but I’ve finally formed some kind of opinion in my head about all this. A rational one. Somewhat. “My guess is that it wasn’t planned. Justin and Brian barely spoke for how long? You think they got together and planned a summer vacation? They weren’t thinking about us, because it was the least important thing to them at the time. I’m sorry that Brian didn’t think of you… didn’t take you with him. But maybe that’s because that’s not what he needs. So maybe we should all be happy. And see what the fuck happens in August.”
“Here, here,” Ben says, surprising the fuck out of me. Michael will ream him out for that one later.
“And Hallelujah!” sing-songs Emmett, and I smile at him. The first time I’ve really smiled all day.
Everyone starts talking animatedly, but I try to stay out of it for the time being. I look over at Vic, and he meets my gaze, smiling as well.
“Good thing you didn’t react too hastily. Is the pissy mood over and done with?” he asks.
“Maybe. I’m still gonna rip them new ones, but I may be inclined to kiss and make up.”
Suddenly a light bulb goes on in my head. I swat Michael’s arm, getting him to move so I can climb out of the booth. I head over to the bulletin board, and tack up the postcard, writing facing out.
“What’re you doing?” Lindsay asks, sidling up next to me.
“I’m advertising the whereabouts of the most famous couple this fuckin’ street’s ever seen.”
“Isn’t that a little rude?”
“A little. Not as rude as being left to worry about two of your sons for a week!”
“Oh Deb,” she says, wrapping an arm around me. “This will be good for them. It has to be. I can’t imagine all the things they’ll be doing. All the time they’ll have alone, together. They’ll finally get a chance to talk. They’ll get a chance to see each other in a completely different light. No one they know. No place they know. All they know is each other. That has to be a good thing. I’m proud of Brian.”
“I’m proud of him too. And I’m proud of Sunshine. I think he finally got through to him, somehow or another. He’s a living, breathing saint to take Brian on like this after everything that’s happened.”
“They’ll make it. They have the potential to be really good together.”
“They are good together. They’re just a pair of fucking drama queens is all,” I chuckle.
“You’re right about that,” Lindsay laughs back.
“Two fucking months… Do you know how much can happen in two months!”
“A lot.”
“Damn straight, a lot. Maybe too much.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if they never come back!” I yelp, tearing up.
“Deb,” she says giggling at my dramatics, “they’ll be back. Don’t worry about that part. All good things must come to an end, and I’m afraid Brian doesn’t have the means to fund an unlimited vacation ‘round the world. They work here, go to school here, live here… and their family is here. It’s just two months.”
“Just two months! Go tell that to Michael!” I joke.
We laugh and return to the table.
“Well, I hate to be a wet rag, but I gotta get workin’. What’ll it be?”
To be continued…
* Lyrics from “A Perfect Day” written by Lou Reed, from the album “Transformer”
Shopping with Justin is like performing for a completely unimpressed audience. You’d think that he’d be drooling, and toppling over from his burning desire, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. I don’t think he was kidding when he said he liked me best in jeans and a tee shirt.
“Can you at least pretend to be interested in the clothes? Or at least, my body?”
“I’m always interested in your body, but I hate trying shit on.”
“I’m the one doing all the trying on.”
“Which is like a thousand times more boring.”
“You’re such a twat. I actually took an interest in THREE fucking museums, and you have to bitch about watching me dressing and undressing for a couple of hours?”
“Sorry! I’m just bored.”
“Maybe I could make it worth your while.”
“Oh yeah, how?”
“One guess,” I say, slipping my cock out of my underwear.
“Why do I always have to blow YOU? Why can’t you blow ME when we’re out in public, for a change?”
“Next store’s your turn.”
“Deal,” he concedes, falling to his knees.
We’ve already hit Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Versace. Now we’re in a small, private changing room in Prada. So far, Justin hasn’t been interested in trying anything on, which will change later, when I force him to pick out at least one fucking outfit to wear tonight. Nothing has caught my eye yet, for him that is, but I’m sure I’ll find something. I, on the other hand, have managed to rack up an array of purchases, including a fabulous new deep burgundy suit from Gucci. Normally, I stick with black and gray hued suits, but this one is perfect, and I knew I had to have it the minute I laid eyes on it.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, as Justin pulls my dick deeper inside of his throat, gripping the waistband of my black briefs, forcing my hips closer towards his face. My hands find his hair, and I thread my fingers through them forgetting about clothes for the duration of his mind-blowing first-class blowjob.
One pair of dark brown pinstripe slacks and two button-down shirts in cream and black later, we’re walking over to Madison Ave.
“How many pairs of pinstripe pants can one person have?”
“Pinstripe is classic. You can never have too many classic items of clothing.”
“What. Ever.”
I steer him in the direction of the Calvin Klein store, and force him inside. This is a more Justin-oriented store. There are plenty of selections that would look great on him, so I start piling them into his arms.
We settle into the dressing room, and he smirks suggestively.
“I’ve been hard since we left the last store.”
“And you can stay that way until you try on these,” I say, pushing the clothes at him.
He rolls his eyes, huffs and puffs, disrobing jerkily. It’s amusing to watch him act like he’s only 12.
The first outfit is a pair of tight black jeans, and a red, white, and black striped shirt.
“Keep the jeans, lose the shirt.”
“Brian, I already have a bunch of jeans.”
“And none of them hug your ass enough. You’re getting them.”
The second outfit is a pair of shimmering gray jeans, and a tight plain golden yellow shirt.
“Both,” I say. “You look hot.”
He smirks as he pulls the shirt off, to pull on a button-down sleeveless eggplant shirt.
“And that one too.”
“This is a total you shirt.”
“So what? You look good in it.”
“I do, huh?” he smiles brightly. “Can I get my reward for patience now?”
“I think that can be arranged,” I grin, hooking a finger through a belt-loop, and pulling him towards where I’m seated on a chair.
Slowly, I undo the bottom buttons of his shirt, placing wet kisses on his stomach, as I unzip his pants.
After our adventures in Calvin Klein, we cross the street to DKNY, where we each pick out bathing suits of the tight tiny shorts variety. Then we try on a number of real shorts that actually cover our asses. We mock each other, because we’re both normally averse to shorts. But it is summer, and they may come in handy in cases of abnormally high heat. We end up loaded with shorts, bathing suits, and tank tops galore, and Justin’s mood is once again as light as it was earlier in the day.
“I knew that all you needed was for me to relieve a little tension.”
“Thanks, Brian.”
“For blowing you so well?”
“For buying me all this stuff. Even though I give you shit about your shopping habits and all that, I still appreciate you giving me presents.”
“It’s pretty selfish of me, actually. I’m the one that has to look at you.”
“Will you shut up, and say ‘you’re welcome’?” he chortles.
“You’re welcome.”
By the time we’ve gone through Valentino, and Ungaro, we both have our hands full of bags and packages.
“Are we done yet?”
“Almost. We’ve still got two of my favorites waiting. Don’t get all bitchy on me again.”
“Fuck you.”
Ah, Dolce & Gabbana. I don’t know what it is exactly about their clothes that I really love. I think it’s that they combine the classic with the more hip and modern. It has kind of an alternative twist to it that I admire. This is where I get my favorite halfway get-ups. Halfway between casual, and formal. Stuff I wear to go clubbing, basically.
“Ooh, Brian, you have to try these on,” Justin says, holding up a pair of teal slacks.
“Fine with me, as long as I can get you into those leather pants,” I tell him, pointing at a display across the room.
“Oh my god, I’ve always wanted a pair of leather pants.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that ages ago?” I ask him, poking his butt.
“I told you, I don’t think about clothes much.”
“Tragic.”
The next round in the dressing room proves to be the most fun, despite being blowjob-free. Justin actually deigns to be enthusiastic about not only my apparel, but his own as well. He fusses over a white sleeveless ruffley number that I try on. I call it a fucked tuxedo shirt, because it looks like it started out as one, only to be deprived of sleeves, mussed up with ruffles around the upper buttons, tightened, and cut short, leaving the tiniest hint of exposed skin at the sides. It is definitely gay, and I don’t say that about many things. This is a queer motherfuckin’ shirt. And it’s totally hot.
“I look like a queen,” I admit to Justin.
“You ARE a queen.” I give him an evil look, and he continues, “But you are the butchest queen I’ve ever known. And you look hot in that shirt.”
“I know.”
“Put on the teal pants,” he orders.
“Put on the leather,” I counter.
We watch one another closely, as we slip on our respective garments, and one look at Justin’s ass clad in tight black leather makes my dick more than a little stiff. I force myself to look in the mirror in order to observe what these pants do for my ass, pleased with the fit.
“They fit you perfectly,” Justin praises. “That’s a great color on you.”
The material is a soft, slinky, blend that falls on my legs loosely.
“They’re comfortable too. And your ass looks good enough to eat in those, by the way. I order you to wear them at least three times a week. I’ll even get you a pair in every color.”
“They only have black and red, and I don’t think I’m bold enough to wear red leather just yet,” he says through his laughter, slipping on a dark blue, long-sleeved, low-necked, soft, slinky, lyocell shirt that hugs his body just as delectably as the pants.
“You’re getting that too,” I say, quickly.
After one more stop at Yves St. Laurent, where I buy another suit, we cab it back to the hotel.
“I am so fucking tired,” Justin mutters as we enter the elevator of the hotel.
“You can do what ever you want until a quarter to 10:00. We’ve got reservations.”
“Fine. Don’t try to fuck me, I’m taking a nap.”
“Aw… widdle Justin has had a busy week. I’ll make sure to set you up with your blanky as soon as we get to the room.”
“Fuck you, Old Man. You’re just jealous.”
“What? That I have more energy than you, and I’m ten years older?”
“Twelve years older, Brian. Twelve… long… years… older. Really, really, old.”
“Fuck you,” I grouse, as the elevator dings, announcing the arrival at our floor.
“Not right now, I’m full up.”
“Keep on taunting, Sunshine. See how you enjoy sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“You wouldn’t survive in that big bed without me.”
“Somehow, I think I’d manage,” I reply, trying not to think of the double meaning of this conversation.
“Barely,” he says under his breath, like he wants me to hear it, but not really. Like he needs to say it, but doesn’t want to.
I let it slide, as we slip into the room.
We sit at the end of the bed staring at all the stuff we just bought. I won’t even say how much this little shopping expedition cost me. Not that I mind. If I minded, I wouldn’t have done it. I always have money for clothes. And now that I’ve gotten it out of the way, I won’t be spending much more money on clothes for the rest of the summer. Never mind the fact that most of it will be out of my hands until I get back to the Pitts.
“What are we doing with all this shit?”
“We’re going to pick out some stuff to keep with us, and the rest is being shipped to Cynthia.” I slide down onto the floor and begin going through the bags. “Start picking out the summer stuff. And keep the leather pants.”
“Brian,” he begins, sliding down next to me, “I’m not taking leather pants with us. When am I going to wear them?”
I feel my right eyebrow raise uncontrollably. “Uh, when we go out. Or when we stay in.”
He chuckles shyly. “You really like me in those pants, don’t you?”
“Just a little bit.”
“Fine,” he smiles knowingly, “I’ll bring them.”
“Damn right you will. Bring that purple shirt too.”
Soon enough, we’ve grouped together four piles on the bed, separated according to what’s mine, what’s his, and what we are and aren’t keeping for the summer.
I make a call to the concierge, requesting a box to ship the clothes back in. I give him an estimate of the dimensions the box needs to be, and he tells me he can get one from the mailroom straight away.
“You know what I was thinking?” Justin says from his reclined position on the floor, once I’m off the phone.
“What were you thinking?” I query, lying down next to him.
“I was thinking…” He turns to face me, propping his head on his right hand. “Maybe we could go to some natural outdoor places on our trip. I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon, and I’ve heard some amazing things about Northern California.”
“So you’re getting all earthy on me?”
“Well, we can’t spend all our time in big cities, and plush hotel rooms. What fun is exploring America if we don’t venture out to nature?”
“Plenty.”
“Come on Brian,” he says, nudging me with his free hand. “It would be such a great experience. You’re the one who decided to drive across the country. You really don’t want to do some camping? See some forests, and deserts? I bet you’d love it in the wilderness.”
“Have you met me before? Do you know who I am?” I scoff.
“I do. And I think that you’d really appreciate communing with Mother Earth.”
I give him a sharp look, but we both bust up laughing, and he lets his body fall on top of mine, covering my left side and placing his arm over my waist.
“You know you want to.”
“I’ll think about it,” I acquiesce.
“Excellent.” He brushes a kiss against the underside of my chin, and lays his head back on my shoulder.
I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into. Everything is happening so fast, and yet it seems almost slow-moving. I’ve been having these moments… this is one of them… where it’s almost as if I’m watching the world in slow motion. All I’m doing is staring up at the ceiling, and it looks so slow. Maybe it has to do with the blond attached to my side, I can’t be sure. It usually happens when I’m looking at him. When he smiles… when he’s studying something intently… when he’s rambling on and on about a silly topic. But it’s not really about him. It’s about me. This is all about me. Me trying to find my lost self. I can’t forget that. And just maybe I can find it in him. He knows how to dig past all the bullshit and focus on the good in me. Even if he lost that ability for a while.
I know he trusts me. More than anyone ever has. In a more positive way as well. Most people trust that I’ll fuck up, or that I’ll be an asshole. Sometimes they trust that they can depend on me, but that’s only when they really need and want something from me. They want me to fix their problems. Justin has never wanted that. He always wants to fix his own problems, and deal with his own shit, and it takes a hell of a lot for me to convince him to let me help. That never happens with anyone else. But he trusts that I will always be there for him. No matter what happens between us. If he didn’t trust me, he wouldn’t be here right now. And I guess I need that.
A knock comes at the door, and I head over to retrieve the requested box. Setting it on a chair, I line the box with bubble wrap as if the contents are fragile, and fit everything into it, while still in their bags and boxes. Then I go over and write my office address on a small piece of paper.
“We need to get dressed,” I tell Justin.
“Can we just forget about dinner, and sleep?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Uh uh.”
“Got any speed?”
“No drugs allowed tonight.”
“I hate you.”
“Me too. Now get up.”
I nudge him with my foot, and he rolls over, refusing to get off the floor. I strip down to my underwear, and go into the bathroom to wash my hands and face.
He’s still lying there motionless when I return, so I toss clothes at him. “Put those on.”
After much fussing, he picks himself up, and goes into the bathroom, while I dress.
I love wearing new clothes for the first time. It thrills me in a daft way. I’ve always been a bit of a show-off, truth be told. Not that anyone would have a hard time believing that. I don’t do it in an overt manner, though. I don’t consciously try to be a show-off, it’s just inherent. It’s a part of my persona. I’m a fucking advertiser, so it comes naturally. To me, clothes are an extension of my personality. It’s a form of expression. And I’m always trying to express some variation of sex. Whether I’m in a suit, or a see-through shirt. It’s all about sex.
“Hurry your ass, Justin.”
“Coming.”
We depart soon after, dressed to the nines. Me in my new brown pinstriped pants and a slightly ornate black button-down, Justin in a new pair of black pants flecked with silver and a deep red pinstriped shirt.
“The Pinstripe Twins,” he quips as we walk through the lobby of the hotel towards the concierge’s desk.
“I told you, it’s classic. You look good.”
“So do you.”
“That’s a given.”
“Conceited.”
We reach the desk, and I hand over the box, requesting that it be taped up, and sent to the address on the paper. Then I hand over the two postcards, explaining that they need stamps. I tell him to get everything out first thing tomorrow, so he can bill me before we leave for Chicago.
We bid a hasty retreat, pushing time. I hustle Justin outside, and throw open the door to a cab.
“Get in,” I order, holding it open for him. “Café des Artistes,” I say to the driver once I’m in.
********************
I can’t fucking believe that Brian brought me here. I’ve heard about this place, and how it’s known for being romantic. I personally think it’s swanky in that snobby uptown kind of way, which is fun to be a part of every once in a while. As long as one is just visiting. Visually, it’s pretty great. We’re seated next to a wall displaying a mural of naked women enjoying nature. The lighting is very low-key, and there are lots of candles. It’s an intimate setting.
“This is… amazing,” I state, not knowing what else to say.
“I thought you’d like it. I heard it was pleasing on the eye, as well as the taste buds.”
“You’ve never been here before?”
“No. It’s not exactly my kind of place.”
“So why’d we come here then?”
“Because we’re supposed to be having adventures. This should qualify.”
I let it go. I’d never suggest that he was being romantic. I’m not that stupid.
The waiter arrives with the bottle of wine Brian ordered. I’m sure it cost a couple hundred dollars. The man is the opposite of hesitant when it comes to spending money. I’ve never heard him complain about paying for something. Never heard him gripe about something being too expensive. It’s like a foreign concept to him. He lives in the lap of luxury. Now more than ever. He makes tons more money as a partner at Vanguard. I’ve seen the loft a couple of times since he completely redecorated it, and it looks incredible. I mean, I’m still shocked at that fact that he bought an original Mies van der Rohe coffee table. And he puts his feet on it! That is just absolute craziness.
We place our orders, and every course sounds fancy, but delicious.
Despite the low lighting, I’m no longer the least bit sleepy. I’m too content. And not the kind of content where you smile like a fool, gushing and babbling. It’s the kind of quiet, subdued happiness that warms you up in a comforting way.
“So it’s our last night in New York,” I say.
“Yeah. Are you sad?”
“Not at all. I had an amazing time, but it’ll be good to move onto somewhere new. I’m sure we’ll have just as much fun in the other cities.”
“If we don’t kill each other along the way, sure.”
“We won’t. I’m pretty confident that this trip will be a success. If the past three days are any indication. Wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s been good, but do you really expect to go two whole months without incident?”
“Stranger things have happened. I mean, look at you. You’re on a date, and not fucking the waiter.”
“Remains to be seen,” he smirks.
“Whatever you say.”
Just then, said waiter brings over our salads, and I shake my head as Brian gives him the once over, obviously meant only to amuse me. The guy isn’t exactly Brian’s type. He’s on the short side, slightly pudgy, not very handsome, at least ten years older than Brian, and obviously not gay. I watch Brian’s tongue-in-cheek, I’m-being-funny routine, holding in my laughter until the waiter retreats.
“I’d say I have a decent shot.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re dying to fuck his virgin ass. I mean, drop-dead-gorgeous doesn’t even begin to cover his stunning good looks,” I drone. “I may have to move in on your game. These kinds of opportunities don’t come often.”
“You think you could steal him away from me?”
“It’s always worked in the past.”
“Touche.”
“Maybe, but it’s true.”
I’ve never really thought about it before, but that’s kind of a crazy idea. It IS true though. Every time I’ve tried to take away Brian’s prey, I’ve somehow managed to succeed. I don’t know why that is, but I guess it feels kind of good. Makes me feel a little more on Brian’s level, which I guess I’ve been aware that I have been for a while now. I don’t exactly get rejected. God, am I getting conceited too? Are his pompous notions rubbing off on me? Then again, Brian’s been the biggest influence on me over the last three years of my life, so it’s not a stretch.
“This salad is really good,” I comment, lamely.
Brian just laughs at me.
“Fuck you. You change the subject then.”
“I thought you were supposed to be the one well-versed on dating etiquette.”
“Hardly,” I snort. “I’ve been on like three dates in my life. Only one actually included dinner.”
“I thought you were a dater.”
“You thought wrong. I just see people. Briefly. I don’t really go out on dates much.”
“Ah, you just stay home and fuck.”
“No, I… well, I… Yeah, I guess I do,” I say, laughing.
“Ethan never took you on dates?”
“Ethan couldn’t afford dates. He could afford crackers, and fruit,” I chuckle. “He’s a vegetarian too, so that limited even more the variety of affordable foods that he could buy. We went out to eat once. That was my one and only dinner date.”
There’s a pause in the conversation as our plates are cleared, and the entrees brought over. The food looks even fancier than the descriptions implied. They probably have an artist back there that specifically designs the placement of the food on the plates. My dinner is what the menu described as ‘Soft Shell Crabs with braised garlicky greens, fresh morel mushrooms and a warm tomato vinaigrette’. Brian is eating some kind of steak, and asparagus, and I don’t know exactly what else is going on over there, but it looks good.
“So, what about that guy the other night?” Brian asks, continuing the slightly uncomfortable line of conversation. “What was that all about?”
“What, Troy?”
“I didn’t catch his name.”
Yeah right. “That wasn’t about anything. That was about sex, I guess.”
“So you’re saying, if I hadn’t swooped in and hauled you off to New York, you would’ve sent him on his way?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. That’s not what happened, so what’s the point?”
“You don’t regret it? Even a little?”
“What’s to regret? I hardly knew him. He was an outstanding fuck, and yes, he had other good qualities about him as well. But there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to be with you more than I wanted to be with him. He was just a guy. You have ‘Just Tricks’, and I have ‘Just Guys’. Make sense?”
He studies my face for a long time, before responding. “Yeah. It makes perfect sense.”
“How’s your food?”
“Superb. How’s yours?”
“Exquisite.”
We smile at the fancy wordage, and continue eating.
I don’t know why he’s inquiring about other guys all of a sudden, but it’s a tad unsettling. It kind of demonstrates his insecurities about me. Ones he never seemed to have before Ethan. He needs to learn how to trust me again. I can’t really prove myself to him. I can’t go and make some grand gesture to gain back his trust, I just have to earn it gradually. Just as I did in the beginning. And now that it’s just the two of us, it shouldn’t be all that hard. He knows I still love him. He has to know that. Just like I know that he still loves me. It’s just a given. And as long as we have that, then everything else has a chance of falling into place.
“How do you think everyone’s going to react to us being gone?” I ask him, trying to pick a more entertaining line of conversation.
“They’ll probably go into shock, snap out of it, start inventing off-the-wall love stories, and then die of curiosity before we make our triumphant return.”
“You don’t think they’ll be pissed?”
“In part, yes, but mostly just jealous.”
“You think everyone’s jealous of you.”
“That’s because they are.”
“You’re so modest.”
“I try.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone you were leaving?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to be talked out of it, and I didn’t think they’d understand.”
“Well, I don’t really understand myself. You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with any details as to the reasons you wanted to leave so badly.”
“You probably wouldn’t get it either,” he says, eyes on his plate.
“I wouldn’t? Or you wouldn’t want me to?”
“Justin… I’ll tell you when and if I feel like it, but does it really matter?”
“Not at the moment, no, but overall, yes. Of course it matters.”
“Well, I’ll let you know when I’m in a sharing mood.”
“HA! Like those come around so often.”
“We shall see.”
“Brian?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You really outdid yourself.”
“Which I’ve never managed to accomplish in the past,” he snarks.
“I like you so much.” I’m trying to get in the habit of saying it to him. Until I can allow myself to say the other ‘L’ word. I think I’m more terrified of saying it than he is. It’s just a fucking word, but it’s the single most significant one, isn’t it? What other word out there carries as much weight as that one does? The answer is none. But ‘like’… that one is a lame substitute, but he can read between the lines. I can’t say love, because he doesn’t want to hear it. But I can say like, because it’s harmless. No matter what it infers. And it’s a word he has nothing against. It’s a word that he can say back.
“I like you too. Kind of.”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
After a killer round of dessert, which we split… chocolate mousse, and raspberry cake… we head back to the hotel.
It’s just after midnight, when we return to our room.
“What time are we leaving?” I ask, dead tired, and afraid to show it. I know Brian expects sex after the night we’ve had, but I seriously feel like dropping dead.
“I don’t know. Play it by ear. Shoot for somewhere between eight and nine.”
“Okay.”
I remove my clothes slowly, not because I’m trying to be seductive, but because my reaction time has slowed, and my limbs feel heavy. I gaze at the bed longingly.
Brian walks over to me, pulling my face towards him for a slow, lingering kiss, soft and loving. Almost gentle.
“Go to sleep,” he says, pressing my forehead to his.
I wrap my arms around him, letting my weight fall on him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Go the fuck to sleep. I never want to relive the experience of having you fall asleep on me mid-foreplay.”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”
“No.”
“Evil bastard,” I mumble, raising myself up to kiss him again briefly, before moving over to the bed, and sinking down.
My eyes stay open long enough to watch him disrobe, turn out the lights, and climb into bed next to me. He maneuvers himself over, slipping an arm under my neck, as I settle into his shoulder.
“This does not mean that we’re an old married couple,” he says firmly, disturbing the quiet of the room.
“Don’t worry,” I manage around a yawn, “I’d kill myself before you would if that were the case.”
“Good, as long as we’re clear on that. Suicide, yay. Marriage, nay.”
I laugh quietly, and he joins me. The pleasant, fleeting tickle is the last thing I remember, as I drift away.
********************
The morning is uneventful and yet strangely pleasant. As we pack up our shit, an easy calm seems to hang in the air, enveloping us.
Last night was… really great. In the back of my mind, I’ll admit I was nervous. I didn’t call it a date, but it sort of was. A fucking date. I can hardly believe it. Anyway, it was good. My silent dread, and fear of disaster was allayed the moment we sat down at the table. Justin was pleased, not overly exuberant, which was nice. He used to be easily swayed into over-enthusiastic behavior, but that is no longer the case. And though I miss it in some ways, I’m glad that he’s grown out of that. It’s easier for me to deal with him when he isn’t reeling from some small attention I’ve paid him.
I could tell that he was exhausted when we got back to the room. He’d barely said two words during the cab ride back, and I caught his eyes closing for prolonged periods of time at regular intervals. I could also tell that he was nervous that I wanted to fuck, and he didn’t. Fucking is nice, but I’m not one to take people against their will. Especially not Justin. And to be honest, I was pretty tired myself. It was partially a relief.
First thing after we woke up, we made up for it with a long, slow fuck in the bed, followed by a long, hot shower. In the end, the date concluded properly. With lots of hot sex.
We double-checked the room for any possible possessions that could’ve been overlooked, and then headed downstairs to check out. I waved, and nodded to the concierge on our way out.
When my eyes caught sight of the ‘Vette, I felt the relief wash over me. I hadn’t seen it or touched it in four days, which made me a little nervous. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. I’d murder every attendant in the parking garage.
Once the car is loaded and ready, I put the top down, and we roar out onto the busy streets of Manhattan. Because I’m a nice guy, or at least pretending to be one for the day, I drive towards Brooklyn, instead of I-80.
“Shouldn’t we be headed the other way?” Justin asks.
“Nope.”
Halfway there, he turns to me, realizing my plan.
“You’re so cool,” he says, smiling brightly, and leaning over to give me a lingering kiss as we sit at a red light.
“Aren’t I?”
We ride across the Brooklyn bridge with Justin oohing and ahing at the sights. And I know what he means. New York architecture, and the environment in general is unlike any other city I’ve been to. The only other city that can out-urbanize NYC is probably Tokyo. And I’ve never been there.
Braving the traffic to and from Brooklyn for two passes across a bridge… I’m insane.
“Do you still want to live here?” Justin poses out of the blue, taking out his cigarettes, and lighting one up.
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking one from the pack he offers to me.
“I mean, you’ve always had a desire to get the hell out of Pittsburgh… which you’re doing now, temporarily… but, you’ve always wanted to move on to bigger and better things in a place like this,” he gestures to the surrounding metropolis. “Is that what you really want? To get out of the ‘Second-rate Burgh’ once and for all?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “What about you? You’re young. Just starting out… on your own for the first time. You could go anywhere you want.” And I know that he loves it here. I can tell. His disposition has been sunny for the first time that I’ve seen in a long long time. And I know it has to do with me, and our antics. Us getting out, and doing something together. Something big. But this city… it seems to fit him.
“I’ve thought about it vaguely. But I have so much immediate shit to deal with that I haven’t considered anything seriously. I can barely see myself a month from now, let alone a year, or ten. It seems like the future is just a concept that I don’t understand. Will I move away from the city I’ve lived in all my life? Maybe. One day. But I’d have to really grow a set before I could ever take such giant leaps. You on the other hand… you’re a grown man. You have the means and the will to do whatever you want, if you really try.”
I don’t respond. I don’t really know what to say. I’ve never really been the kind of person to think about the future, either. I mean, I get freaked out every time a year goes by, and I’m a year older, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t change. I don’t do anything. I don’t make plans. I sometimes talk like I’m making plans, but really those are just my fantasies. People don’t think I have those. Like I’m above them or something. Justin doesn’t even know that about me, I don’t think. New York… leaving the Pitts… changing my life around… those are my fantasies. And the nature of fantasies tend to be so unreal and far removed that you never consider them as a real, tangible, aspirations that have a snowball’s chance in hell of happening. They just sit somewhere inside of you, untouched.
Will I ever get to a place where they can be more than that? I don’t know. I don’t if I want that. I don’t know if I’m satisfied with my life. I don’t know anything. All I can do is hope that I’ll figure it out one day. Figure out where that kid went, who was almost like Justin is now. Darker, more cynical, more afraid than he, but somewhat similar. With dreams and hopes, and no concept of future. One day I got what I wanted, and I guess from there on out it was all… coasting. I achieved the rank I always wanted professionally, sexually, socially, and then I just threw everything else out the window and sort of… settled. I never meant to. I never meant to be another typically predictable person, but it just happened. And then time happened. And now here I am. Here’s the future.
I understand what Justin means though. It’s almost like I might as well be that kid again. Because I lost the meaning of it too. Future. Self. Time. Place. All the same fucking thing.
“I guess that’s what I’m doing,” I say out loud, as we enter the highway.
“Huh?”
“I’m just… trying to figure it all out.”
“What? What you want out of life?”
“Does that sound incredibly asinine?”
“Brian fucking Kinney thinking about his life?” he asks rhetorically. “No. Not at all. It sounds like the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
“Are you scoffing at my torment?”
“Torment? You’re not tormented. You’re just… fucking human.”
“Slightly more fucked up than most.”
“Slightly,” he concedes. “But not much. Your biggest flaw is that you’re too hard on yourself.”
“Hard-on? Always,” I attempt to joke.
“You can’t be above it all. You never were. You never will be. You’re a man. And you forget that, I think. I don’t know how one forgets something like that, but I think you do. Maybe you’re starting to realize it again. That you aren’t perfect. That you, maybe, don’t know what you are. Am I making any sense, or am I being a total freak?” he laughs shyly.
“You’re making more sense than you probably know,” I admit to him. Don’t know why I admit it to him, but I do.
“Well… thanks for finally telling me what this is all about.”
“I didn’t tell you shit.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he looks away from me, and then cackles confidently. “Brian Kinney’s just another fucking cliché. Taking that oh-so-fateful road trip across the country to find himself. Only with the added twist that he’s about ten years late, and he took his boyfriend with him.”
“How many times do I have to tell you…”
“‘… I’m not your boyfriend’,” he says in a mocking undertone. “You just said it yourself, you don’t know what you are.”
“Actually you said that.”
“Same difference.”
“Grab my Lou Reed CD.”
“Aw, are you putting on that song?”
“Just give it to me.”
He searches for it, and then puts it in the player, skipping forward to the track he wants to hear. That he knows I want to hear, too. He probably thinks that it has some significance. That it means something. Which is laughable. It’s just a fucking song. A really great one at that, but just a song. A song that for some reason always reminds me of him. But that’s something he’ll never have to know.
‘Just a perfect day… drink sangria in the park
And then later, when it gets dark, we go home
Just a perfect day… feed animals in the zoo,
Then later, a movie too, and then home
Oh, it’s such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day, you just keep me hangin’ on
You just keep me hangin’ on
Just a perfect day… problems all left alone
Weekenders on our own, it’s such fun
Just a perfect day… you made me forget myself
I thought I was someone else, someone good
Oh, it’s such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day, you just keep me hangin’ on
You just keep me hangin’ on
You’re going to reap just what you sow
You’re going to reap just what you sow…’
***********************
Pittsburgh, June 13th, 2003
I’m running late. And I’m never fuckin’ late. I have no reason to be, because I love my job. And let’s face it, I don’t have much of a life apart from it anyway. Some people may find that sad, but those people can go fuck themselves, because I happen to love my life. Even if it is a life spent devoted to other people. It’s just the way I am. I can’t help it, and I don’t want to.
But I’m running late for the third fuckin’ day in a row, all because Sunshine is missing. I haven’t heard from him, or seen him since Saturday, and that was almost a week ago! I am so furious, I can’t even talk about it. I know he’s safe. I know he is, because Brian’s been MIA for the same amount of time as Justin. Go fuckin’ figure. What this means, I’ll probably never know. We’ve all tried contacting them both multiple times, and all we get are answering machines and empty apartments. And nothing is really missing. Their closets are full, their refrigerators are full, their beds are unmade. The only thing missing is them, and Brian’s new fuck-mobile.
I’m worried that they didn’t tell anyone anything about any fucking thing. They just disappeared. Were they fucking stupid enough to think that we wouldn’t find out? I’m just waiting for them to come waltzing into the diner one of these days, and sit there like nothing’s happened. I know they will. And I’ll tear them two nice big assholes and ruin all their chances of good sex.
Those little shits will be sorry they ever met me, once I get my hands on them.
I straighten my hair, tugging it with both hands, so that it stays properly in place on my head. Double check my make-up in the small bathroom mirror, adding a couple more dashes of powder, and head back into the bedroom to pull on my vest, and grab my purse.
“Sis, get down here! There’s something you need to see!”
“Keep your pants on, I’m comin’!” I shout, stomping down the stairs.
Vic’s sitting at the kitchen table in his robe, coffee in front of him, staring down in shock at a piece of paper.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? What is that?”
As I move closer, he holds it up, and there’s a picture of a famous painting on the front. A postcard. Shit.
I snatch it from him so fast I accidentally scratch his fingers with my nails, but I ignore his curses, noticing Justin’s handwriting.
I read the message quickly, at a lost for words for once in my life. I slowly sit down in the chair across from Vic, staring at it in awe, just as he was a few minutes ago. I read it over about ten times, before putting it down.
“Holy shit.”
“My sentiment exactly,” Vic returns, looking at me.
“HOLY SHIT!” I say loudly this time, because the meaning is starting to sink in. The reality.
I get up quickly, and grab the phone off its cradle, dialing Jennifer’s number.
“Justin?”
“No Jennifer, it’s Debbie. I got a postcard from Justin in the mail. He was in New York with Brian, but now I don’t know where they are,” I rush out the words, anxiety building. Jennifer is a sweet woman, who doesn’t deserve this shit from her only son.
“I know, Debbie. He sent me one too.”
“Oh, good,” I say, only slightly relieved. “He hasn’t even bothered to call YOU?”
“No. I doubt he wants to hear anything I have to say. That’s why he hasn’t called. But he promised he would. I just don’t know when it’s going to be.”
“Are you alright? Do you want me to come over?”
“No, Deb, it’s alright. Justin’s gone for the summer. He’s twenty years old now, and I really don’t have much say in his life. It would’ve been nice of him to tell me he was leaving, and I will definitely give him a piece of my mind when we talk, but if he’s happy, I can’t stop him.”
“You’re his mother! Just because he’s independent doesn’t mean he has to act like an asshole like his fuckin’ boyfriend! He still owes you respect, and common courtesy.”
“Did he and Brian… were they back together before all of this?”
“No, sweetie. That’s the strangest part. Those two have barely said two words to one another in months, and then this. They fuckin’ run off together! Surprised the hell out of me and Vic, that’s for sure.”
“Well, maybe this will be good for Justin. Maybe they’ll work things out.”
“You want them to work it out?”
“It’s not about what I want. If it were, things would be far different. But if Justin can start being happy again, even if it is with Brian, then I’ll be happy too. I miss him. He just… hasn’t been himself in a long time.”
“Yeah, hun. I know what you mean. Listen, come and see me soon, okay? We’ll discuss all of this.”
“I will, Deb. I’ll let you know if I hear from him.”
“Thanks, hun. And don’t worry! He’ll be fine. Brian will take care of him.”
“I hope so.”
I end the call, and turn to Vic.
“Call Lindsay. Michael and the boys will be there, but just call them too. Call everyone and have them come to the diner. I’ll leave the car for you.”
“Okay Sis.”
“Holy shit,” I mumble again, walking out the door.
Fuck being a little late, I decide. Just this once, I think I’m allowed to be a lot late. I walk over to Liberty at a deliberately slow pace. My mind is fucking boggled, and the walk doesn’t much help sort out my feelings.
Brian and Justin are together, God knows where, now. I’m happy for them, but I’m angry. Is this any way to go about getting back together? Taking off without a word for two fucking months? Completely disregarding everyone else’s feelings, and just disappearing off the face of the earth? The world isn’t too big here in Pitts, and it is even smaller here on Liberty Ave. And we’re their fuckin’ family! And they pull this shit on us?
I walk into the diner, and slump into a booth.
“Deb, where the hell have you been?” Candy asks. “Is there something wrong?”
“Kind of. I’ll work later. I’ll make it up to you, but I need to talk to my family. They’re on their way here.”
“No problem, honey. I got you covered.”
Five minutes later, Vic is sitting in front of me. And soon, Ted and Emmett arrive, then Michael and Ben, then Linds and Mel. They all look at me expectantly.
“Well?” Michael demands. “Ma, what is it? Did you hear from Brian?”
I say nothing, reaching into my purse, and pulling out the postcard, I hold up the front just as Vic did for me.
And just as I knew what it was, so do the rest of them. A collective gasp escapes, and it’s almost comical, but I ain’t about to start laughing.
I clear my throat, and try to read it aloud, but I can’t, handing it to Vic, instead.
“Dear Gang-
Surely by now you’ve noticed that Brian and I have gone missing. This is a quick note to tell you not to worry. For some crazy reason, Brian decided he needed a change of scenery. For some crazier reason, he decided I should come with him. Surprised? I was too. The plan is to drive the ‘Vette cross-country to the West Coast. We leave NYC tomorrow morning. Sorry for leaving so abruptly, and without warning. Blame it on Brian! We’ll be sending postcards from each city to keep in touch. Brian says: “No calling my cell phone to leave mean messages”. I haven’t seen him mess with the thing once anyway, so… I’ll make him write the next card. See you in August! Hugs to everyone!
Love, Justin
PS To Michael… I’ll send you the Rage drawings soon.”
Silence permeates for a full minute, before Mel breaks it.
“Holy shit!”
“That’s what we said,” Vic and I say in unison.
“August!” Michael bursts out. “That’s TWO FUCKING MONTHS!”
“This is incredible. This is amazing!” Emmett says, getting excited. “This is like the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Michael asks.
The last person to believe that Brian Kinney would do anything remotely romantic in nature is my poor son. I mean, he’s known him the best for almost twenty years, wishing every minute that it weren’t true. That Brian would open up that side of himself, that may or may not exist, and let it out just for him. Which will never happen, of course. He knows that now. He’s not so hung up on his best friend anymore, but I know it still hurts him.
“I’m talking about Brian ‘Insert-expletive-here’ Kinney acting like a lovesick fool.”
“You think THAT was his motivation for disappearing without a single word to anyone?” Michael asks in a high-pitched tone I’ve heard many times over the years.
“Maybe not, but it’s still a simply wonderful romantic gesture from someone so cold and uncaring. If he just wanted to get out of here, he would’ve left alone. But he didn’t, did he?”
“I can’t believe that asshole just left like that without telling us,” Mel began. “What if something happened to Gus? He couldn’t care less! Off on some fucking adventure to screw the whole of America’s male population.”
“Mel, if we need to contact him for an emergency we can go to Cynthia,” Lindsay soothed. “And I’m sure he’ll call us at some point.”
“Who cares if they left without saying anything? I say, good for them. They needed to get away from this god-forsaken place if they ever wanted to get it together. Don’t you think so Teddy? Isn’t it romantic?” Em continues his support speech.
“I don’t know what it is, but it’s unfuckingbelievable as usual.”
“I can’t believe this shit,” Michael gripes.
“Honey,” I say, grabbing his chin so that he’ll look at me. “Do not go taking this fucking personally. It has nothing to do with you, and I know that’s upsetting, but that’s just the way it is.”
“What do you mean it has nothing to do with me?” Here it comes. “I’m his BEST FRIEND! That’s not how friends are supposed to behave.”
“Michael, grow the fuck up. We’re all shocked, and pissed, and even slightly happy about all of this, but in the end it has nothing to do with us. We can be angry that they didn’t say a word about it, but what’s the point?” I don’t know when I decided this, but I’ve finally formed some kind of opinion in my head about all this. A rational one. Somewhat. “My guess is that it wasn’t planned. Justin and Brian barely spoke for how long? You think they got together and planned a summer vacation? They weren’t thinking about us, because it was the least important thing to them at the time. I’m sorry that Brian didn’t think of you… didn’t take you with him. But maybe that’s because that’s not what he needs. So maybe we should all be happy. And see what the fuck happens in August.”
“Here, here,” Ben says, surprising the fuck out of me. Michael will ream him out for that one later.
“And Hallelujah!” sing-songs Emmett, and I smile at him. The first time I’ve really smiled all day.
Everyone starts talking animatedly, but I try to stay out of it for the time being. I look over at Vic, and he meets my gaze, smiling as well.
“Good thing you didn’t react too hastily. Is the pissy mood over and done with?” he asks.
“Maybe. I’m still gonna rip them new ones, but I may be inclined to kiss and make up.”
Suddenly a light bulb goes on in my head. I swat Michael’s arm, getting him to move so I can climb out of the booth. I head over to the bulletin board, and tack up the postcard, writing facing out.
“What’re you doing?” Lindsay asks, sidling up next to me.
“I’m advertising the whereabouts of the most famous couple this fuckin’ street’s ever seen.”
“Isn’t that a little rude?”
“A little. Not as rude as being left to worry about two of your sons for a week!”
“Oh Deb,” she says, wrapping an arm around me. “This will be good for them. It has to be. I can’t imagine all the things they’ll be doing. All the time they’ll have alone, together. They’ll finally get a chance to talk. They’ll get a chance to see each other in a completely different light. No one they know. No place they know. All they know is each other. That has to be a good thing. I’m proud of Brian.”
“I’m proud of him too. And I’m proud of Sunshine. I think he finally got through to him, somehow or another. He’s a living, breathing saint to take Brian on like this after everything that’s happened.”
“They’ll make it. They have the potential to be really good together.”
“They are good together. They’re just a pair of fucking drama queens is all,” I chuckle.
“You’re right about that,” Lindsay laughs back.
“Two fucking months… Do you know how much can happen in two months!”
“A lot.”
“Damn straight, a lot. Maybe too much.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if they never come back!” I yelp, tearing up.
“Deb,” she says giggling at my dramatics, “they’ll be back. Don’t worry about that part. All good things must come to an end, and I’m afraid Brian doesn’t have the means to fund an unlimited vacation ‘round the world. They work here, go to school here, live here… and their family is here. It’s just two months.”
“Just two months! Go tell that to Michael!” I joke.
We laugh and return to the table.
“Well, I hate to be a wet rag, but I gotta get workin’. What’ll it be?”
To be continued…
* Lyrics from “A Perfect Day” written by Lou Reed, from the album “Transformer”