In His Kiss

Chapter 26

Extraordinary day.


Brian had gone down to the Art Department to check on Sam’s progress on their new project, and had taken his file for the St Blanche winery with him, only to discover Justin’s station empty once again. It was ten-thirty in the morning. Where the fuck was he?

Sam was in the middle of a phone call, and just passed the boards he knew Brian wanted to check to him, while talking. They looked fine and ordinarily Brian would have put them back down, nodded and left, but he wanted to know where Justin was.

After a couple of minutes, Sam covered the mouthpiece of the phone and asked, “Is there a problem? I thought they looked good.“

“They do. Where is Taylor?”

“Sick.” And Sam resumed his phone conversation.

Sick? What did that mean? Had he come in, felt sick and gone home, had he called in sick? Was he home with food poisoning, in the hospital with appendicitis, gone to the nearby pharmacy to get some aspirin? What kind of sick? Brian knew it would look weird to Sam for him to care too much where an intern was, but, fuck. He just stood there glaring.

Once again, Sam covered the mouthpiece. “Anything else you need?”

“Taylor is sick?”

Sam did look at him funny. “Yes, one of his roommates called, he has the flu or something. He is at home in bed.”

Brian turned away and left Sam’s office. The flu or something. He knew he should never have let him take the subway back from the club. Would his roommates take care of him? Did he have all he needed?

Fuck.

He couldn’t call and check on him. Even if he’d wanted too, he didn’t even have his number. He went back to his office, the strange discomfort left over from the forgotten dream back full force, pissing him off.

He plunged back into work with a vengeance, not with the same carefree single mindedness as the day before but with the purpose to keep his mind occupied with more important things than Justin Fucking Taylor.

He was not worried about him. He was concerned about having to delay fucking him for who knew how long. That was what bothered him. And he would just have to wait and see, wouldn’t he. No point in dwelling on it. He worked straight through lunch, eating the wrap and the green apple Cynthia put in front of him right at his desk.

At two-thirty in the afternoon, when Cynthia called, he thought she would be telling him Albadent dental supplies, a prospective new account, had cancelled their three o’clock. She surprised him.

“Brian, if you have a moment, there is a Jessica Hammon out here who doesn’t have an appointment but would like a minute of your time.”

Jessica Hammon. Jessica Hammon. Ah, yes. Justin’s attorney. Fuck. He had never even bothered asking Justin how the contract negotiations had gone. For all he knew, Justin could have signed his life away, or had to agreed to sell their painting.

He got up and walked out to meet her, wondering what she was doing in his office. She was not at all what he’d expected. She was dressed in a long grey knitted dress that emphasized her very trim figure and perfect posture, with a wide green leather belt and matching green ankle boots, a lighter green Pashmina shawl draped artfully over a shoulder.

When she looked up at him he saw the scarf perfectly matched her eyes. She was a least 70 if she was a day, but striking, and beautiful in the way of a woman who has been gorgeous her whole life.

“Mrs. Hammon, I’m Brian Kinney. What can I do for you?”

Her penetrating gaze as they shook hands made him feel as if she could see right through his professional demeanor.

“Mr. Kinney, I came to Plexus to see the Justin Taylor painting in the lobby. I have taken an interest in his body of work, and was told by the receptionist that you harbor another of his pieces in your personal office. I came up on the off chance it might not be too intrusive for me to see that one as well. If this is an inopportune time, I beg your pardon for my intrusion.”

“Not at all. Your timing is impeccable. I was just about to have a cup of coffee before my 3:00 o’clock. Please tell Cynthia what she might bring you, and join me.

“Thank you. Cynthia, could I bother you for a cup of plain Earl Grey, please?”

“Of course,” said Cynthia, appreciating someone who could phrase an order as a personal favor.

Brian opened the door to his office and let Jessica pass ahead of him, exchanging raised eyebrows with Cynthia.

Jessica Hammon walked in a few steps, and stopped, staring at Justin’s painting. A slow smile came to her face.

“Oh… I like this one. I like it a lot.” She turned to Brian. “Great idea re-upholstering your chairs. It makes one feel as if one could sit there forever, becoming one with the picture.”

Brian wondered how she could have known about the re-upholstering. “Thank you.”

Cynthia came in with his espresso and her tea, in the porcelain cups they hardly ever used.

Jessica Hammon thanked her by name, making eye contact and smiling. Brian recognized the behavior of someone who, like him, knew how to inspire loyalty and influence people. She sipped her tea, her eyes on the painting again, and Brian left her to enjoy it quietly.

“The artist is a remarkable young man,” she finally said, “unassuming, naïve in some superficial ways, but extremely mature in his art and in his interpersonal relationships. I like him very much. I understand you have met him?”

Jason Kintzer had seen him at Justin's studio, and knew Brian worked with Sam.

“Yes, he is an intern in our Art Department.”

She looked at him, without comment, but Brian could not help but feel she was somehow amused. Unusually for him, he found himself needing to fill the following lull in the conversation.

“His internship has been very successful. His designs are extremely creative and intelligent. He seems to have an innate understanding of how to affect and influence people visually.”

Jessica smiled, her eyes again on the painting. “Indeed.”

“His time with us, regretfully, is coming to an end. His internship is over in two days. He’ll be missed.”

“Will he.” Once again, without any particular expression or behavior that could lead him to that conclusion, he felt she was laughing at him. Aside from being irritated at being the cause of her amusement, he wished he could pinpoint how she was doing it. It could be unendingly helpful professionally. And he wished he understood what she meant by it.

“It’s a shame he has to be ill on one of his last days,” she said, carelessly. Brian was still trying to process how she could possibly know that when she added, “I just came from his bedside. He has a high fever, and feels weak as a kitten, but I’m quite sure it’s only some 24-hour bug. He is very lovingly watched over. His roommates are very caring. I’m sure he will be back on his feet by tomorrow.” She looked at him, her eyes twinkling, “not to worry.” Everything she said sounded like a double entendre, though Brian was sure it was his imagination.

She got up, picking up his empty cup as well as hers. “Well, I must be on my way. Thank you for indulging my curiosity.” Once again, a possible double meaning: Curiosity about the painting, or about him? She obviously had no way of knowing his designs on her client. He was projecting.

Brian opened the door for her again and followed her out. She deposited the china on the corner of Cynthia’s desk. “Excellent tea, thank you, Cynthia.” She turned and she and Brian shook hands again. “Goodbye.” She picked up the most beautiful sable coat Brian had ever seen from a chair in his waiting area and headed for the elevators, the door opening as soon as she pressed the call button, giving the impression that even the machinery understood whom it was dealing with. And she was gone.

“Who in the hell was that?” asked Cynthia.

“Justin Taylor’s attorney.”

“Justin’s Attorney? Where did he find her? The board of the New York City Ballet? My god, did you see that coat?”

Brian just shrugged.

“Did she really come here just to see his paintings?”

Brian rolled in his lips, and shrugged again. “Your guess is as good as mine,” and he went back to his office, feeling like he must definitely have missed something. He mentally shook himself and read his notes on Albadent again, to get his mind back where it needed to be for his coming meeting, which was not on Justin Taylor and his advocate.

He left the office at seven, fully intending to go home, and then out again, maybe to Gillian’s, but ended up giving the taxi Justin’s address.

A very puny Asian girl opened the door, smiled at him and asked, “Are you here to see Justin?”

“Yes.”

“Up the stairs and to the right.” Just how many visitors had he had today?

Lilah was lounging on Andrew’s bed, and her face lit up when she saw Brian.

“It’s so sweet of you to come,” she said. “I’m going to grab some dinner. Make yourself comfortable. When he wakes up, Jessica said to first give him a glass of water, and then to feed him a bowl of the hot soup. It’s in the thermos, inside the insulated bag. It really seems to be working. He’s so much better already. See you later!”

Before Brian could say anything, she was gone. What the fuck was he doing here? He’d just wanted to check on Justin, not play fucking nursemaid! He looked at Justin, who seemed deep asleep, eyes moving under his lids, his lips slightly parted, his skin a little flushed and the hair around his face moist with perspiration. So beautiful. Wasn’t he supposed to be sick? No one sick had any right to look this tempting.

Brian took off his overcoat, his gloves and his scarf, and set them on the seat of Andrew’s chair. He removed his suit jacket and tie, put them on the back of the chair, opened his collar and cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, took off his shoes and socks, and made himself at home on Andrew’s bed. He rested his computer on his lap, and started working. Once in a while, he looked at Justin for a bit then went back to his screen. He could hear the muted noises of a house full of people, feel a cool stream of air coming from the barely open window, and faintly smell Justin’s scent, his shampoo, maybe. He was amazingly comfortable.

He’d been there for almost two hours when he heard his name.

“Brian?”

Justin looked so adorable in his surprise at seeing him there, he couldn’t help but smile. As instructed, he gave the patient his water and soup, though he was quite sure the hand job had not been on the prescription. Justin looked so damn beautiful when he came, he’d never get tired of watching him. He couldn’t wait to fuck him slowly, making him come again and again, and watching his face in ecstasy.

Justin went back to sleep. By one in the morning, Brian, pretty sure Justin would sleep through the rest of the night, put his clothes back on and headed downstairs. Andrew was sleeping on a fold out couch in the living room. Brian went into the kitchen to call a cab, not wanting to wake him. The kitchen was spotless. Somebody had done Justin’s job.

He looked at the white board where the housemates left messages for each other. ‘Cassie, your mom called, P.’ ‘Please remember to highlight your long distance calls on the phone bill, and pay me by Tuesday, A.’ ‘Rory, I borrowed your green jacket. You should just give it to me. It looks better on me anyway! C.’ ‘Andrew, I made up the couch for you. Brian is sitting up with Justin, L.’

The phone vibrated in his pocket, and he left, making sure the latch caught behind him. On the way home, he thought about Lindsay, and their college years, how he had slept in her bed to hold her while she cried after that bitch Carol had dumped her, how she would always have extra room for some of his clothes in her loads when she did laundry. He thought of Mikey, sharing his Mom with him when they were kids, pretending not to know he was crying when Brian had been too scared of his Dad to keep him from hitting his mother. He thought of Ted who trusted him to pull the plug if he was a living dead, of Emmett who called his bullshit, and he really looked forward to Christmas, to seeing them all again.
 

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