In His Kiss

Chapter 17

Showing his art.


Justin tried not to giggle on the way to his room. He didn’t want to disturb his roommates. He made it up the stairs, and crawled into bed fully clothed, having just toed off his trainers. Lying in the dark, he still felt he was flying. Whatever Brian had given him was unbelievable.

He had loved it as long as he was in Brian’s arms. Now it was just weird. His rational mind, way, way in the back of his head, couldn’t believe he had propositioned Brian, at the same time as his horny drugged out self couldn’t believe Brian hadn’t taken him up on it.

He wanted to have sex with Brian more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He knew he was going to bottom for him. He wanted to bottom for him. He had never bottomed for Ethan, or for anyone else. But he wanted Brian’s cock inside him so badly he could taste it. He could imagine looking at Brian’s face, his ankles on Brian’s shoulders, or feeling Brian on his back, covering him.

He couldn’t fathom that Brian had gotten on his knees to catch his spurting come on his tongue. The sudden wet warmth of his mouth had wrenched a moan out of him almost loud enough to be called a scream, one that had sounded a lot like “Brian!”

It felt like he lay there for hours, reliving the past two nights, before he finally was down enough to fall asleep. When he eventually did, it was so deep, he did not dream or stir for nine hours. He woke up at almost one. Andrew’s bed was made, and he was sitting at their desk, working, the radio playing softly in the background.

Justin sat up, and Andrew, hearing some motion from his roommate turned to him. “You OK, Justin? You slept so deeply, I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up! You work too hard, mate.”

“I’m fine. Was tired. Went dancing too late.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “I don’t know where you find the energy. You don’t even look that bad. Are you still wearing your clothes?”

Justin looked down at himself and chuckled. “I guess I am. I need a shower.”

“There might not be much hot water. We all had a go.”

Justin dragged himself to the bathroom, stripped and got under the decidedly cool jets. He got used to the temperature, and took his time, soaping up, washing his hair, shaving, and even brushing his furry teeth under the shower. At the end, it got really cold, and he got out, fully awake but shivering a little.

He toweled himself dry, and collected his wrinkled clothes from the floor. He also stripped his sheets, and got all his laundry out of the closet, putting the bag marked with his name in front of his door for Phuong to collect on her way to her folks. He’d almost slept through the pickup. Her brother came to fetch her at one-thirty on Sundays, and if your bag wasn’t out, you were out of luck.

He remade his bed, wearing nothing but clean underpants, and dressed in whatever was left in his closet. He didn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and his last pair of jeans had known better days. They were torn at the knees and stained with paint on the ass. His sweatshirt was a little small, the original red washed to a paler coral color, and a bleach stain marring the back. Well, at least they were clean.

In the kitchen, he found a stack of pancakes under some plastic wrap, and some scrambled eggs. He warmed the flapjacks in the microwave, slathered them in butter and Aunt Jemima syrup, and ate like a starving man. He was obviously too late for the bacon that had been cooked in the greasy cast iron frying pan on the stove. Oh, well.

He did find a half a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice and drank that, while cleaning the after Sunday brunch mess in the kitchen. Once it was back to its pristine state, with a fresh pot of coffee brewing for his roommates’ Sunday pleasure, he was ready to go.

At 2:45, his two smallest canvasses in a large Macy’s bag (the only paintings that had been remaining in his closet), he went to sit on the stairs outside to wait for his ride. His ass had not had time to chill when Brian’s taxi pulled up. He got in, putting the paintings in next to his legs, and turned to smile at Brian.

He looked… great. He was wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans, his hair finger combed, and small smirk on his lips.

“Hey,” said Justin.

“Hey,” said Brian, his smirk turning into a smile.

“Huh… thanks for huh… You know. Not taking me up on it, last night.” Justin could feel himself blushing.

Brian looked away, and rolled his lips in, and then looked back at him.

“Tell the cabbie which building to go to,” he said, and Justin realized they were at Pratt already. He slid the window in the partition open and told the driver, ”The second one on the right, please.”

They pulled up in front, and after Justin wrestled a little with his Macy’s bag, they got out. Sam was already there, smoking a cigarette on top of the front steps.

“We have to go to the side door,” Justin yelled at him, pointing to the east side of the building. They waited until Sam had joined them, and walked to the weekend entrance. “We have to use this door outside of regular hours,” Justin explained. He entered the door code, followed by his student ID number. “We have to enter out student ID, so they know who’s been in and out.” He guided them through the maze of corridors, classrooms, and offices to the main studio.

He pointed to locked wheeled carts, tucked in under tall lockers. “We all have one of these for our supplies,” he explained, “and the cubbies have our work in progress. We can store four or five in there.” He pointed to a door, at the end of the studio. “We all have a storage locker in there, for our finished work. Why don’t you guys come give me a hand? I got a couple of really big ones.”

They followed him to the storage area. The smell of turpentine was quite powerful. “The ventilation sucks, in here,” he commented, somewhat unnecessarily. He used a key from his key chain to open one of the tall lockers, and started passing paintings to Sam and Brian, who took them to the studio. It took the both of them to carry the last three, a 4X6, one 6X6, and a huge 10X8. Two paintings remained in the locker, but he hated those, and left them there.

It was a little overwhelming to step into the studio, and have all his work on display. Brian was just getting the two small ones from his apartment out of the bag, and putting them on easels.

Some of them he hadn’t looked at for six months, and it was like seeing old friends. He went to a 4X4 that was resting on a desk, and turned it over.

“It was upside down,” he explained, self-consciously. God, he hated being there when people looked at his stuff. “I’m gonna go grab a coke from the machine. You guys want anything?”

“No”

“Nah, thanks.”

He left as fast as he could, and took his own sweet time walking two floors up to the student lounge, getting his drink and reading a couple of the fliers pinned to the announcement board. His drink finished, he stopped to pee, and finally had to make his way back.

He looked in through the window in the door. Sam and Brian were talking, looking at the huge 10X8. Sam pointed to one of the 4X4's and Brian nodded. Then Brian went and stood in front of Justin’s last painting, with its vibrant color, its apricot highlights, and its swirls of pure white. He just stayed there and stared. Sam was talking on his cell phone.

“I’m back,” said Justin, walking in.

Brian turned to him, his expression unreadable. Sam shut his phone, and said to Justin, “My brother-in-law is Jason Kintzer.”

“The Jason Kintzer? The agent?”

“Yes. He’ll be here in half an hour. I told him he would want to represent you.”

“Jason Kintzer? He represents LJ Hiller, and Madeline Bergeron, and like, Steven Hartwick. Their paintings go for tens of thousands. What would he want with me?”

Sam smiled. “It won’t be long until yours are worth tens of thousands too, Justin.”

Justin laughed. “Yes, well I hope so, obviously, but right now, nobody even knows my name…”

“He needs fresh talent. He’s willing to work with new artists if he feels they have true potential. It can’t hurt for him to see your stuff, can it?”

“No, I guess not. I think you’re nuts and that he’ll just laugh, but I appreciate you calling him.” Justin shrugged. Jason Kintzer. Good God. If he represented Justin, it would open so many doors. He didn’t want to think about it. It was never going to happen.

“Justin?”

Brian was standing in front of the 10X8 again.

“Yeah?”

“Sam and I were thinking this would look great in Plexus’s lobby. On the back wall? Where the awards are?”

“Well, the light would be right… But don’t you want to show off the awards?”

“We can put them along the corridor from the elevator. Nobody looks at them where they are now, anyway. This,” he added, gesturing to the painting, “would look much better.”

Justin agreed. The painting was great. It was one of the first ones he’s done when getting to New York, his impression of the city that never sleeps. People, lights, noise, cabs, life just exploding everywhere, and everything moving, moving. Other people would see other things in it, but to him, it was the city.

“Well, I’d love to see it there. But to be honest, I have no idea how much to sell it for. A gallery priced the other paintings I sold. How much do you think it’s worth?”

Brian and Sam both rolled their eyes.

“Justin, you can’t ask the client to fix a price,” Sam said.

“Well, the client would be Plexus, right? You guys are…my friends.” At least you are, Sam, thought Justin. I have no idea what Brian is.

“I think we will save Plexus a lot of money if we agree on a price before Kintzer gets here,” joked Brian. “How about 3000?”

“Dollars?” asked Justin, stupidly.

“No, peanuts. Of course dollars. 3000. What do you say?”

“Yeah, sure! God, 3000! Take it!”

Sam and Brian laughed.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” said Brian.

Justin couldn’t believe it. 3000 dollars! The most he had ever sold a painting for was the one Brian had bought, at 1750. And that had been so expensive already! It hadn’t sold for months!

Sam’s phone rang. He opened it. “Go to the east side. I’ll be right there.” He closed his phone. “Jason’s here. I’ll go open the door for him.”

“And, Justin?” Brian’s voice called him back to earth.

“What?”

Brian walked to Justin’s last painting. Justin joined him. They looked at it together for a moment. Justin loved that one fiercely. He thought it was the best thing he had ever done.

“I want this one,” said Brian.

“I don’t think I can sell it,” said Justin, honestly. “Even for 3000 dollars or whatever. It’s special to me.”

Brian nodded, and before Justin could react, Brian had taken him in his arms, and was kissing him. As usual, Justin’s body responded to Brian before his brain engaged, his mouth opening to the kiss, his body molding itself to the larger man’s. It was so, so good. He was lost in it for a minute. Then his neurons kicked in. He and Brian had never done anything like this outside of Essengy. What the fuck was Brian doing? Justin backed away, breaking the kiss and stepping back.

“What are you doing?” he asked Brian, frowning.

“That’s what your painting feels like to me, Justin. Like when we kiss. Tell me that’s not what it is.”

Justin looked at the painting. It made no sense, yet Brian was right. It was a painting of their kiss. He looked at Brian. “I’m not selling it.”

“It’s already half mine,” said Brian, gently.

“I love it when we kiss,” said Justin, looking away, blushing. Why had he said that? Certainly that was no news to Brian. Twice he had come just from their kiss.

Brian reached for Justin’s cheek, and he ran a finger along Justin's jaw, making him shiver.

“Just don’t sell it to anyone else,” he said. “If someday you do sell it, sell it to me. OK?”

Justin looked at Brian’s face, trying to read his expression, but as usual, it revealed nothing. “Ok,” he agreed.

Sam came in with a handsome man with a very short beard and an embroidered hat, like Muslims wore.

“Jason, this is Justin Taylor, the artist I called you about, and Brian Kinney, one of the partners at Plexus. Justin, Brian, Jason Kintzer”

They all shook hands, and then Kintzer stepped to the paintings and ignored the men. Justin, Brian and Sam started talking about the logistics of getting Justin’s painting to Plexus. They’d have to rent a van.

“Oh,” said Justin, “that may not be necessary. A van is coming tomorrow to pick up some of these for a New Artist Expo I’ve joined. Maybe they could take the big one and drop it at Plexus as well, if I asked. It’s not that out of the way. I meant to tell you, Sam, because they said they’d be here at 1PM, and I was planning on coming here during my lunch hour, but if they’re late, or something, I might not get back on time…”

“Where is the exposition?” asked Brian, but before Justin could explain, Jason Kintzer was back and talking to him.

“I’d love to represent you. My commission is 20%, and I have exclusivity over all your work. You’ll need to come by my office to sign a contract, and bring a legal representative. Say… Wednesday afternoon?”

“Huh… I have to work till five on Wednesdays.”

“Great. Six it is. Looking forward to it.”

“I don’t have a legal representative, either.” Justin felt totally unprepared.

Kintzer laughed. “I can give you a list of names, of attorneys who deal with art and this kind of contract on a regular basis. Why don’t I take you back to my office right now?”

“I have to put the paintings back in storage…”

“Sam and Brian can do that, right, Sam? Let’s go!”

Sam was laughing, and when Justin looked at Brian, he gestured for him to go. Justin took his key off his keychain, and handed it to Sam. “Thanks, guys. See you later!”

Kintzer was already out the door, calling out. ”Justin? Are you coming?” Justin ran to catch up. Kintzer was a true New Yorker. He had parked his Porsche on the sidewalk in front of the side door. He drove like a cabbie, aggressively and as if he owned the road, speaking to Justin the whole time, gesturing with one hand, and looking at him much too often for Justin’s peace of mind.

He wanted to know everything. Where he was from, where he had gone to school, what inspired him, if he had ever sold a painting, all in a thick New York accent, with hardly any time to allow Justin to answer. When they got to his office, in Manhattan, Justin was blown away. Behind the reception was a Pollock, and in Jason’s office itself were an LJ Hiller and a Warhol. It was amazing. Jason turned on his laptop, and printed a list he handed to Justin.

“Try Jessica Hammon first,” he said. “She might be able to take you on. She would love you, and might give you a little more personal attention without charging you for every minute. Plus she has tons of experience, and will look out for your best interest before anything else.”

“Ok, thanks.”

“All right. See you on Wednesday, Justin.”

“Yeah, thanks. And thank you for taking me on.”

As Justin was about to leave, Jason said, “Sam only knows a bit about non commercial art, Justin, so I really came to see your stuff to make him happy. I didn’t hold much hope. But I was wrong. Don’t think I’m taking you on as a favor to him. He is my brother-in-law, but business is business. I’m taking you as a client because in the next ten years, you’re going to make me a lot of money. Your work is very good, Justin, and will only get better, if the progression it shows continues. Your last painting is… breathtaking. I could sell it for ten or twelve thousand, if I recommended it to the right client.”

Justin was amazed. He knew the painting was good, but didn’t think anyone would spend that kind of money on the work of an unknown artist.

“Don’t be so surprised, Justin. My reputation is that I never back a dud. All my clients’ works have increased in value, sometimes by 2000% in a few years. With me as your agent, you enter the big leagues. We're going to do great things together.”

“Huh… What if there is a painting I don’t want to sell? What if I want to keep it, or give it as a gift?”

Jason smiled. “That’s where it’s important for you to have good representation when we sign our contract, Justin. These things are not in my best interest, and I always want what’s in my best interest. Before anything else, I’m a businessman, in the very lucrative but very difficult business of Art. I’ll fight for you, and do everything to make you a success. But it’s because your success means my financial reward. Don’t count on me to babysit you. Get a good attorney, OK?”

He clapped Justin on the back. “A good contract is the basis for a good relationship between us. It would be ugly all around if you grew to resent our association. Be smart about this, and we’ll probably end up being good friends. Now get out of here. I have work to do.”

Justin went down in the elevator, and left the posh building behind. There were people coming and going, obviously working. Apparently Sunday didn’t mean anything to them. He had looked at the directory in the lobby. From what he could gather, the building hosted a modeling agency, and agents for the entertainment industry. There were also numerous attorneys, an accounting firm, and some kind of foundation.

He stepped into the street, and started walking, feeling that his life had just taken a turn. It had happened so fast, he could hardly believe it. Even though it was cold and had started to snow, he chose to walk for a while. He had thought the expo in Pittsburgh was a big break. Now, all of a sudden, he was going to be represented by one of the best agents in the business. It was a little scary. He took out the list of attorneys Jason had given him and his cell phone. He might as well leave a message at someone’s office now, so they could return his call on Monday. It certainly sounded like he was going to need a good attorney.

He left messages at the first two numbers, but was shocked when someone answered the third number. It was Jessica Hammon’s office, the one Jason had recommended.

“Huh… I’m sorry, I expected a machine. I’m looking for an attorney.”

“Yes, that would explain your call,” said a warm voice, one that sounded like it belonged to a habitual smoker. “How did you get this number?”

“Jason Kintzer gave it to me. He… he’s going to represent me? And we have to sign a contract?”

“To whom am I speaking?”

“My name is Justin Taylor. I… paint?”

There was a warm laugh on the line. “Yes. I figured that much. Jason only represents ‘painters’, Justin Taylor. Tell me, how old are you?”

“Huh… I’m twenty-two. I go to Pratt. I am getting a masters in fine arts.”

“Good, good. Since you haven’t asked, I’m Jessica Hammon. I am an attorney. I’d be happy to represent you. You sound like a nice young man.” It sounded more like ’You sound like you need the help,’ and Justin couldn’t agree more.

“When are you meeting Jason for the contract negotiations?”

“Huh… He said we would sign on Wednesday, at 6:00PM.”

“My, my… isn’t he in a big hurry. You must really be something special, Justin Taylor. Well, we need to meet as soon as possible. We have a lot to cover. What are you doing right now?”

“I’m… I’m walking home from his office.”

“Where is home?”

“In Brooklyn, not far from Pratt.”

“Is it only a ten foot square hovel, or do you have space for a table, in that home?”

“It’s a brownstone. I share it with other students, but it’s quite spacious.”

“Well, Justin Taylor, what do you say I meet you there in an hour? Would that do?”

“Huh… I just sold a painting, so I’ll have some money soon, but… I don’t have a lot of cash right now. Are… are you expensive? Does it cost more if you work on Sunday? If you make house calls?”

There came the nice warm laugh again.

“I’m retired, Justin. This is my home phone. Once upon a time, you could not have afforded me, but let’s agree I’ll work the first ten hours for you pro-bono, and then we’ll go from there, OK? You will have to give me a dollar to officially retain my services. I suppose you can afford that?”

Justin laughed with relief. “Yes. I think I can swing a whole dollar. I’m sorry to have disturbed you at home.”

“Not at all, Justin Taylor, not at all. I was bored stiff, so you are doing me a service. I suppose that is exactly why my son gave you my number.”

“You’re Jason Kintzer’s mom?”

“Yes I am… But don’t let that trouble you. You know what they say about attorneys… Heartless bloodsuckers, the whole lot of us. We’ll get you the best contract any artist has ever gotten out of that greedy little bastard.” She laughed again. “So, see you in an hour?”

“Ok!” Justin gave her his address and headed for the nearest subway entrance. He wanted to make sure the dining room was free of clutter, and that there would be fresh coffee on when she got there. Even if she didn’t want coffee, he knew he definitely could use a cup.

***

By the time she left, at around 10:00 PM, Justin was half in love with her. She was probably in her early seventies, but she was gorgeous, in a Charlotte Rampling sort of way. She had the most brilliant green eyes he had ever seen, and her grey hair was cut like a man’s, very short. Her teeth were a little crooked, but very white, which gave a ton of charm to her smile. She had the most beautiful hands, long and narrow, with beautifully manicured nails, painted pale pink. Like her son, she gestured a lot as she talked, but her motions were elegant and graceful. The diamond on her ring finger was the size of a marble, but that was all the jewelry she wore. She had an easy laugh, and a very sharp wit.

She had drunk coffee with him, putting three teaspoon of sugar in her cup, and had partaken of the household habitual Sunday night dinner, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, as if it was what she ate every night. She had arrived wearing the most beautiful fur coat Justin had ever seen, of the most lustrous black fur, sable, according to Lilah. Underneath, she has been wearing jeans and a Yale sweatshirt.

They had discussed in depth what he should get out of his contract, what he wanted, what he could hope for. She had brought up subjects he never in a million years would have thought to address, such as what topics he would accept to discuss in interviews, and what topics were taboo.

They had also spent a lot of time just talking. He had found himself telling her things he would ordinarily only confide in Daphne, and had actually talked to her about Brian. She was an amazing listener and did not volunteer advice. She asked to see the photos of his paintings.

For once, Justin had not felt ill at ease perusing them with her. She’d ask questions about them, and was not afraid to comment about what she liked and didn’t like about them. Afterward, she had put her hand on his cheek, in a very affectionate way, and had said, smiling, “You have amazing talent, Justin. I am honored to represent you.” His throat had closed up, and he had had to look away. No compliment had ever meant so much to him.

He walked her out to the sidewalk, where a car and driver appeared with perfect timing. As she was getting into the car, she turned to him and said, “About that Brian fellow… If I were you, I’d take the one-night stand, even if that’s all you’re going to get. It might smart for a while, but a lot less in the long run than always wondering what it would have been like. Believe this old lady. At my age, you realize you only ever regret the things you didn’t do, never the things you did.” She smiled, got in, and the car drove away.

Justin sat on the stairs, though it was cold and dark and he had to sweep it clean of a thin layer of dry snow. Brian. After the events of today, Justin did not feel like going to the club. He was tired, excited, nervous and happy at the same time. He wished he could be with Brian, that Brian could hold him like he did in the cab sometimes, and just listen to him ramble on about his day until he wound down, and then kiss him and fuck him, and spoon him to sleep.

But Brian didn’t do boyfriends. He believed in fucking. The rational part of Justin, the one that did not pay attention to Daphne’s fantasies, knew this, and knew that what was happening between them was just Brian marking time until he could fuck Justin, until he could have him, and that then it would all be over.

And more often than not, lately, Justin agreed with Jessica. He would take what he could, because otherwise, he would wonder about it for the rest of his life.

He went inside, cleaned the small mess in the kitchen, and went to his bedroom to call Daphne. Andrew was still in the living room reading, so he got to enjoy talking to her while lying in bed, with the light off, reviewing the day. Not surprisingly, she thought that Brian thinking the painting felt like their kiss was the most romantic thing ever, and Justin had to concede that it was ridiculously romantic, even if it was true.

He was glad to go to sleep somewhat early. The next day promised to be a long one.

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