Shadow of a Doubt

Brian woke up on the floor. Or maybe he woke up when he fell to the floor, he couldn't tell yet. He was on his back. He turned his head to the left and saw a couch looming over him. After a little time he was able to recognize it as Mikey's orange-striped couch. He discovered his feet were up on the cushions while the rest of him was on the rug. So I slid off in my sleep, Brian decided. Glad we got that straightened out.

He closed his eyes to rest for a moment, but that seemed to make his head hurt even more. He opened his eyes again and looked to the right. Michael's coffee table had been pushed away and instead there was Justin, peacefully sleeping on the floor, all rolled up in blankets, with a pillow.

"The fuck," Brian groaned out loud. Justin stirred a little, then was quiet again. A different face suddenly appeared, upside down, standing over Brian.

"How are you feeling?" Michael asked, grinning. To Brian his face seemed to be bobbing like a balloon, near the ceiling.

"Like shit," Brian said. "What 's going on?"

"Not much. We're the only ones up so far. Want some coffee?" Brian shuddered and closed his eyes again. "Aspirin," Michael suggested. "I'll get you some toast and aspirin."

He vanished. Brian rolled on to his right side and discovered that Justin was awake, also grinning at him. Was the sight of him with a hangover really that amusing? "What the fuck?" Brian asked again, pleading for information.

"Can't remember, huh? We came back here after Babylon." Justin yawned. "Remember we went to Babylon with Michael? Okay. Well, afterwards we came over here. We were supposed to have a nightcap or something civilized like that with Ben, because he stayed home with Hunter. But by the time we got you up the stairs, it was pretty obvious your night was finished." He grinned even wider. "I don't know what you took. Michael put you on the couch."

Brian breathed in the dust from the rug and tried to think about it. Finally he asked, "So why did you stay over?"

"Well, I wasn't going to at first, but Hunter kept saying you didn't need to be on the couch. He said there was plenty of room in his bed. Michael told him to fuck off but I figured he'd be back." Now he was really laughing. "I kept picturing him creeping out here during the night and climbing up on you. And I knew a little thing like being unconscious wouldn't stop you from getting a hard-on."

"So you stayed here to save my virtue? I'm touched."

"I stayed here to save your life. If Michael didn't murder you for it Ben would."

"But I would have been the helpless victim."

"Well, as much as I would love to hear you explaining that to Ben, I figured it would be better to skip the whole thing."

"So did he?"

"What?"

"The baby hustler. Creep out here."

"No, but he opened his door and looked out twice."

"Jesus," Brian said. Justin's amusement was pissing him off. He looked again and saw that Justin was in a real sleeping bag. "Where'd you get that? Mikey take up camping?"

"It's Ben's. He bought it when he thought he was going to Tibet. It's really comfortable, I think I was better off than you."

"At least you couldn't fall off like I did," Brian complained. "I hurt myself."

"Poor thing," Justin said with no sympathy at all. He sat up and stretched, looking bright-eyed and lively. Brian contemplated his murder but decided it would take too much effort right now.

"Hey," somebody else said. It was Hunter, also looking down at him, also entirely too lively. Brian, on his back on the floor with a sheet twisted around his ankles, suddenly realized that somebody - Michael or Justin or both - had stripped him to his underwear. Hunter appeared to be enjoying the view.

"Fuck off," Brian said in greeting. Justin wriggled out of the sleeping bag and stood up. He was in his underwear, too, but Hunter never even glanced at him.

"Man, you were so wasted last night," Hunter informed Brian.

"Thanks for the news flash." Brian sat up, carefully and slowly, and pulled the sheet up over himself.

The sight of Brian trying to be modest set Justin off again. He turned his back to pull on his jeans, but Brian could see his shoulders shaking. Brian barked, "Where'd you put my pants?"

"I've got them," Hunter said. "Here." Brian snatched them out of his hands and managed to stand up.

"Good morning," Ben said from the doorway of the bedroom. He was in flannel pajama bottoms, and bare-chested. This was a view Justin appreciated. "'Morning," Justin said, sounding to Brian as if he were chirping. Brian yanked on his pants.

"How about a big breakfast to get everybody back on their feet?"

"Sounds great," Justin said with enthusiasm.

"You have no idea what he cooks," Hunter said. "Ever have a tofu omelet?"

Justin looked alarmed. Ben smiled. "I promise I'll use egg whites. So Brian, how's your head?"

"Still attached. I can tell by the pounding."

"That's a start." Ben headed for the kitchen. Over his shoulder he called, "Hunter, give me a hand?"

"Yeah, yeah," Hunter grumbled, and followed him. Brian found his undershirt and pulled it on, then decided that was enough in the way of clothes for now. He sat down on the couch with the tumbled sheets, and watched bleary-eyed as Justin rolled up the sleeping bag and put the coffee table back in place.

"We were celebrating," Brian suddenly remembered. "Celebrating your new job."

"Oh, very good," Justin said. "Now if you can remember the name of my employer, you win a kiss."

"Fuck you. Ad Alley."

"Correct." Justin made a move to him but Brian waved him off. Justin said, "You're so grouchy when you have a headache."

"You're such a pain in the ass when I have a headache. Why am I the only one who got hammered? You and Michael were drinking, too."

"You were the only one who took Hawaiian Rick's little offering, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Christ. I'll aloha him next time I see him."

"Don't you mean lei him? Move over, let me pick those up." Justin pulled the sheets out from under Brian, folded them neatly on the back of the couch, and piled up the pillows.

"Brian, your toast!" Michael called in.

Brian moaned and put his head in his hands. Justin said grinning, "Better watch yourself, stud. The fast life seems to be catching up to you."

Brian yanked himself up to sit straight, his back rigid. "Wait until you're working and see how well you hold up," he snapped.

He had been putting in long hours, many of them unbillable. He was constantly on the phone or running to meetings, visiting galleries or writing proposals for new PR clients, working late night after night. On top of that Sidney kept calling, demanding immediate attention. Sidney was the boss at Lindsay's gallery and Brian's first and still most important client. He seemed to think the retainer he was paying Brian meant Brian should be available at any time, for any crisis, real or imaginary.

Justin paused, feeling a little sorry. He knew how Brian was driving himself, still trying to stay ahead of his debts and become as successful in public relations as he had once been in advertising. Last night had been their first heavy partying in weeks, maybe months; and Brian had needed it.

He moved to Brian again, and this time Brian didn't pull away. Justin leaned down and kissed Brian's forehead, his cheek, and then his mouth. Brian grunted, barely responding, but his face relaxed. "Now you're our man in advertising," he murmured.

"It's only three days a week," Justin reminded him. "Come have some breakfast." He held out a hand to help Brian off the couch.

Two months had gone by since Michael's homecoming party at Debbie's house. Justin's job-hunting had finally paid off, with a part-time offer from Ad Alley, an agency Brian said did good creative work. They were taking him on three days a week, working hourly with no benefits, but with a promise of a full-time position in a few more months if Justin proved himself.

The market was slow, and by the time he had interviewed at Ad Alley he had been grateful enough for the offer. He had been on many interviews, including one at Hatley Associates, run by a Christian fundamentalist. Although Brian pushed him to go, Justin had been leery of taking a job from a Bible-thumper. In the end he had been spared the decision: Hatley didn't want anyone without a college degree.

He had run into that problem several times, and stuttered through various explanations of why he had left the Institute. The creative director at Ad Alley, an older man more interested in talent than diplomas, had been one of the few who didn't care. He liked Justin's slides and made the offer on the spot. Justin felt confident he could make an impression and work himself into a good spot, maybe sooner than planned. In the meantime he could still work part-time at the diner, too.

Michael was putting plates out on the table. Justin and Brian sat down while Ben served the omelets and poured orange juice. Hunter had disappeared, but he was back in a few minutes with the newspaper. Without a word he placed it next to Ben's plate and went into the kitchen for the salt and pepper. Ben set out coffee mugs and a bowl of fresh fruit, while Michael handed the milk and sugar to Hunter, who brought them to the table.

"Christ," Brian said under his breath, taken aback by this domestic choreography.

"It's kind of nice," Justin said smiling.

"In a sickening way."

"What is?" Michael asked, but they didn't answer. "Here's your toast, Brian. No, eat some of it. Then you can swallow the aspirin."

"Yes, Maw."

"This will work better." Ben, the last to sit down, held out a frothy glass to Brian. "Made especially for you. Come on now."

"What is it?"

"A power shake, full of anti-oxidants. It'll help get the toxins out of your body."

"It smells like an open sewer," Brian protested.

"I warned you," Hunter said.

Brian choked down some of the shake like medicine. Then he took the newspaper away from Ben's plate and scanned the front page.

"Hey," Michael said.

"It's okay," Ben said. "So, Justin, we didn't get much chance to talk last night. When do you start your new job?"

"Monday."

"It's in the art department?"

"Just as an assistant. I'll have to do all the errands and stuff, but the creative director promised to make it a learning position. I'll be able to move up."

"If they like you," Michael said.

"Why wouldn't they?" Justin demanded. "I'm good." Brian opened his mouth. "Shut up," Justin added hastily. Brian, grinning a little, closed his mouth again. Hunter snorted.

"I'm sure you'll do very well," Ben said. "You're talented and you work hard."

Hunter said, "Please, I'm trying to eat."

"Well, as another young man who also needs to go in a new direction, you could do worse than follow Justin's example."

Justin froze. He had never dreamed he would be compared to the baby hustler. Brian held the newspaper higher, to cover his face.

Hunter wasn't pleased, either. "I'm no fucking artist. At least," he added with a smirk in Brian's direction, "not on paper." Brian, pretending to be deaf, turned a page.

Ben explained patiently, "What I mean is, Justin has plans for his future, and he takes practical steps to get there. You need to start thinking like that."

"I better take some steps right now," Michael said, taking a final bite and getting up. "I have to get to the store."

"On a Saturday?" Brian asked. "You're getting to be quite the entrepreneur, Mikey."

"I decided to start opening on the weekend. A lot of my customers are high school kids and they're out shopping on Saturdays. I'll close on Monday instead. It cuts into our time together, though," Michael added apologetically to Ben.

Ben shook his head. "I told you, I think it's a good idea. And maybe Hunter can start helping out at the store on Saturday afternoons."

"I knew that was coming," Hunter said. But when Ben smiled at him, he smiled back.

Brian rustled the newspaper and handed a new section across the table to Justin. "You should start reading this now."

"The business section? No, thanks. And what for? I'm not some corporation."

"You're in the business world now. At least read the advertising news." Justin made a face. Brian said, "If you want to conquer the world, you have to know who to overthrow."

"Sounds bloodthirsty," Ben said.

"Like sharks in the water," Brian said. Justin obediently turned the page, scanning the stock listings. "Not there," Brian said impatiently, leaning over to show him. "Here."

"'Around Advertising,'" Justin read, and glanced down the page. "So they tell you who's moving where, who got promoted?"

"And who has new accounts."

Justin read out loud, "'Lovey Toys moves to McCabe & Jerkins' . . . Oh, I interviewed there."

"Was it a competition?"

"Let's see . . . yeah. They beat out three other agencies. But Brian, I really don't give a shit."

"I do. What else?" Brian held his breath and took another swallow of his power shake. His head felt a little better.

Michael was putting on his jacket. "Are you going to bike?" Ben asked.

"No, it's too cold. Brian can drive me. It's really squishy, though." He laughed. "You should have seen us last night, trying to get three people into a two-seater. I could hardly move my arms to drive. Brian, are you almost finished?"

Justin went on, "'Surprise Move as OutGear Clothing goes to Van - '" he broke off.

There was a silence. "What?" Hunter looked around the table in bewilderment.

Brian asked sweetly, "Would that be VanGARD by any chance? Gardner brought in OutGear? Let's hear it."

Reluctantly, Justin read, "'Ad maven Gardner Vance, formerly of Chicago and Los Angeles, continues his assault on Pittsburgh's oldest agencies, wooing OutGear away from Plymouth, their agency of record for the last decade. Mr. Vance has recently acquired a new partner, Steven Muscarella, in place of the departed Brian Kinney.'"

"Jesus, they make it sound like you're dead," Michael said.

"To them I am." Brian forced a sound of amusement. "I almost feel sorry for Gardner. Tying himself to good old Stealing Steven, a man who never met a campaign he couldn't steal for himself." He glanced down at his plate. A few moments ago he had actually been thinking of trying to eat. "Come on," he said gruffly to Justin, and stood up. "We have to drop off Mikey."

"I'll get your jackets," Michael said.
 

*****
 

After they dropped Michael off at his store, Brian played chauffeur, turning to Justin to ask, "Where to, sir? Home?"

"No, I need clothes, I better go to Daphne's."

"I thought Daphne's **was** your home," Brian said wickedly. Justin flushed and didn't answer. Brian said, "Come back to the loft and maybe we can get some more sleep. I'll take you back later."

"Okay."

Upstairs, the mid-morning sun was slanting through the arching loft windows. With his artist's eye, Justin noticed the pale tones of the woods in the floor, which would deepen in the afternoon. Although still too empty, the loft felt light and airy, especially after the clutter of Michael's apartment. It was peaceful, with the street noise below just an echo. Justin stretched, as if he had just woken up again, and asked, "Want to shower? I feel all grimy."

"In a minute." It didn't feel peaceful to Brian. The answering machine was flashing, and he was afraid he knew who it was. Not Sidney again, he thought, as another wave of exhaustion washed over him. Come on, for Christ's sake. But when he steeled himself to press the button, Sidney's voice boomed out with its usual demanding tone.

"Brian, it's Sidney, are you there? Are you? I've been reading through the New Exhibitions page and I have to tell you, JumpDown is getting a lot of play. More than we had. It doesn't seem right to me, can't you do something? Call me, I'm at the gallery."

Justin asked, "What's his problem?"

"Apparently I'm not only supposed to get him into the newspaper, somehow I'm supposed to keep everybody else out, too."

"Tell him it's called freedom of the press. So are we showering?"

"I need more coffee first."

"Not another power shake?" Justin asked smiling. He went into the kitchen.

The phone suddenly rang while Brian was still glaring at it. "Christ," he exclaimed.

"Don't answer it," Justin called in.

"Have to." Brian picked it up, took a deep breath, and said pleasantly, "Yes?" Then his shoulders sagged with relief. It was Lindsay. But his relief didn't last long. After hurried hellos, she said, "Sidney called me at home a little while ago. He's all worked up about some coverage JumpDown got in the paper. I thought -- "

"He already left me a message. There's nothing I can do about that, what the fuck does he want from me? JumpDown has PR people, too, for Christ's sake." He tried not to think about the expert team handling public relations for this competing gallery. More and more, he was discovering the way PR revolved around personal connections. As he made himself known in this new circle, he was making contacts -- even friends, if they could be called that in this business. But some days it seemed that everyone in the field had been there longer than he had. They had older friends to call on and more contacts at every level.

"It's all right. I reminded him how much more you've been doing for us than his old PR firm ever did."

"Damn right. Of course, they weren't doing a fucking thing in the first place, so almost anybody could have surpassed them."

"Now Brian, don't do humble. It doesn't suit you."

"I'm not being humble," Brian said impatiently. "I meant it wasn't a challenge."

"You better call him."

"I'm not home."

"No, really, just to smooth him down a little. Do you have that media write-up for the next quarter ready? That'll sweeten him up. He really does love what you do, he just forgets sometimes when he's upset. He does the same thing to me."

"I finished it yesterday. I just want to look it over again."

"Good, then you can fax it to him. That'll make him happy. And then," Lindsay added laughing, "maybe he'll leave both of us alone for the rest of the weekend. We're taking Gus to a puppet show. Is Justin there?"

"Yeah."

"Give him my love," Lindsay said, and hung up.

Brian called into the kitchen, "Lindsay. Love. That shit," and switched on the computer. Justin came in with the coffee. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Brian sit down at the desk. "I have to take care of this, it won't take long," Brian said, and he nodded.

"Okay, I want to call my mom anyway. She said she wants to take me out to lunch later this week, to celebrate my new job."

"Take the phone inside," Brian said absently. The media write-up came on the screen. He took a gulp of coffee and tried to force himself to concentrate. This was no worse than the pie charts he had had to do for Gardner, after all. PR was no worse than advertising. Really.

Except that it depended so much on chatting all damn day, smiling and backslapping. "Who you know, not what you know" -- wasn't that the old cliche? It was true in advertising, too, he reminded himself.

But in advertising, cutthroat and malicious as it was, you could win out by sheer talent. Brian had done his share of wining and dining the clients, of course; he had played racquetball and watched more baseball games than he could stand to think about, and he had never been above using any connections he had to get his work on a client's desk. The point was, the work was what counted in the end. Put together the best campaign and the client would forget whether you played golf or knew his wife's cousin.

What work did he have to show here? Sidney's name in boldface in a magazine column?

Justin came back into the room to hang up the phone. "She's taking me out on Thursday, my day off. Molly's got some concert at school so I'll go to that with her." Brian murmured something. "Aren't you ready? Come and shower." He added flirtatiously, "I'll soap you up."

"You go ahead, I'll be there in a minute. I have to print this and fax it over."

But fifteen minutes later Brian was still staring at the screen. Was this really the best way to allocate Sidney's resources? He played with a few variations, and paused, angry with himself for his uncertainty. He wasn't used to doubting his own decisions. How could he not be sure?

In the bathroom Justin climbed out of the shower stall and turned off the faucets with a hard twist, grumbling to himself because Brian hadn't joined him. He padded to the living room on wet feet, water still running in rivulets from his hair down his back, to stand with a towel wrapped around his waist, glaring. Prepared to complain, he suddenly paused, startled by what he was seeing.

Brian hadn't heard him. He was slumped in front of the computer, his shoulders dragged down wearily, staring at the monitor. One hand was on the computer mouse while the other twisted an unlit cigarette between his fingers, over and over. Finally he clicked on something, started to type, and then stopped abruptly. A low hissing sigh escaped from him.

Of course he was hung over, of course he was tired. But it was more than that. Justin thought, He looks so. . . defeated. But why? He's doing well, he's getting new clients every day. Isn't this what he wanted?

If I ask him, he'll never give me a real answer. "Brian," he said, far more gently than he had intended when he stormed out of the shower. "Are you okay?"

Instantly the expression on Brian's face changed. He pulled himself up, wearing the usual sardonic half-smile, thoroughly composed. "Nice outfit."

Justin remembered his annoyance, but it was more play-acting now. "The hot water ran out while I was waiting. Why didn't you get in with me?"

He was making a puddle on the floor, his face petulant. Brian was amused. "I've heard the expression 'mad as a wet hen' but I've never seen it acted out before."

Justin put his fists on his hips, a gesture meant to prove he was going to be tough, but it dislodged his towel. It fell to his feet. Brian said grinning, "And that's an even better outfit."

"The least you could do is come dry me off." Justin picked up the towel and held it out to him.

Brian fed some papers into the fax, hit the send button, and pushed his chair away from the desk. "I can do more than that," he promised.

 

*****
 

"Oh no, I'm getting the low battery signal," Jennifer said, horrified. Justin was sitting with her in the crowded auditorium at Molly's school, prepared to suffer through a chorus concert in a show of brotherly support. Molly had been taking singing lessons, and had a small solo. Jennifer shook the video camera in her hands as if that would help.

"Relax, the extra's in the case." Justin took the camera from her and patiently changed the batteries. Her fretting would have embarrassed him, except that they were surrounded by other parents just as hyper as she was, all fussing with programs and cameras.

"Thank you for coming, honey," she said, repeating herself. "It's really nice for Molly to know you're interested, especially since your dad couldn't make it this time. He usually does show up for her special occasions, I have to admit."

"Does he? That's good." Justin wondered, not for the first time, if Molly would ever do anything so unforgivable -- like turn out to be gay, for example - that she would lose their father's support. Emotional as well as financial.

"Here we go," Jennifer said, as the student tech crew, trying to lower the lights, suddenly plunged them into darkness instead.

For Justin the concert wasn't good enough to be interesting or bad enough to be amusing. He let his mind wander, thinking back over his first two working days. So far, so good, as he had told his mother over lunch. The atmosphere in the "bullpen" where the art department operated was cordial, although not as openly friendly as it had been in Brian's office. Yesterday, when he had followed up on something without being asked, the studio manager had exclaimed, "Thank God, somebody responsible!" and handed him another stack of projects. One of the associate art directors had teased him, saying, "That'll teach you," but it was exactly what Justin wanted.

"Good for you," Jennifer had said when Justin repeated this at lunch. "Wait 'til they see what you can do. You're going to set the world on fire."

"Mom, come on."

Jennifer had smiled. She was still sorry he hadn't returned to school, but like every other decision he had made since he left home, she knew she had to accept it. What choice did she have? She was proud of him for his courage, running out to meet the world head on, but it hurt her that he had to do it when he was still so young. And even though he seemed confident, there was something missing. It nagged at her. She had asked, "You're excited about this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

"I don't know. You just don't sound -- well, enthusiastic. As enthusiastic as you usually get about things. Like your art work."

"Well, this isn't art. It's a job, that's all. My first one, not counting the diner." Justin had added, as if to convince both of them, "The exciting stuff will probably come later."

Molly sang beautifully; she was better than Justin had realized. He congratulated her after the concert and she beamed with pride. Then she hugged them and ran off, to spend the afternoon at a friend's house. "Come home with me for awhile," Jennifer cajoled Justin. "I went to the bakery in our old neighborhood and got that great chocolate cake for you."

"Did you think you had to bribe me?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes." Justin laughed. Once upon a time, when they had visited museums together, their little ritual was to come home afterwards and chat over tea and chocolate cake. It was their time; his father and sister weren't interested in art museums, or the chatting for that matter. Justin realized now how secure those cozy afternoons had made him feel. Secure in his home.

Of course his mother's townhouse wasn't home. He had spent so little time in it that even now it didn't seem familiar. It was hard to remember he had lived here for a while after the hospital, before Brian had taken him in. His mother still referred to the third bedroom as "Justin's room," but he could barely remember ever sleeping in it. But he must have, because he certainly remembered the nightmares.

As he sat down at the gleaming kitchen table he thought back even further -- to the time three years and a couple of centuries ago, when he had found himself exiled by his father before he was ready to leave home, lying awake night after night beside a man he didn't understand yet. At least he had been lucky enough to be with that man, and have his help and protection . . . and at least his mother had gone on loving him.

Not like Brian. Hard as it was to picture, he must have been an uncertain teenager once upon a time, too. Who had he turned to? Certainly not that bitch from hell Joan, or his disgusting sister. Even my dad isn't that bad, Justin thought.

But Brian had had Michael. Or maybe it was Debbie, really, who had given him what Justin was getting now. But with Debbie, Michael came first, of course. Who had ever put Brian first?

"Penny for your thoughts," Jennifer said, handing him a cup of tea.

Justin said impulsively, "I was thinking how lucky I am to have you for a mom." As a startled smile broke over Jennifer's face, he added without thinking, "I'm a lot luckier than Brian. His mother is a total bitch."

Jennifer had been wracking her brain, trying to figure out how to work Brian into the conversation without being obvious about it. Handed what she wanted, she tried not to pounce. "That's a shame." She took a sip from her cup, then asked as casually as she could, "So how is Brian?"

"Okay. He's really getting his public relations work off the ground. He's working like a madman."

"Good for him," Jennifer said with genuine respect. "He must be happy about that." Justin thought of Brian slumped in front of the computer but didn't say anything. "And how are things -- " she paused. "I mean, between the two of you?"

"Fine," he said. Jennifer nodded, and waited. Justin said grinning, "We're fine, Mom. Don't start worrying."

"I'm not worried, I'm a little confused. In all this time, you never told me how you got back together."

"I didn't? I guess I was embarrassed." Justin shifted uneasily. He didn't like her questions, but maybe she had a right to the answers. At least some of them. "Basically, I asked him to forgive me. Not in so many words, but -- "

"Forgive you?" Jennifer was startled. She thought again, as she had over and over, of the way Brian had barked at him at Debbie's house during the party for Michael, ordering him around. "For what?"

"For running off with Ethan. It was a big mistake. Ethan was a big mistake, he was a liar and a fake."

"I didn't realize that. But didn't you -- "

"And I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay?"

"Sweetheart, I'm not trying to pry. But obviously Brian is important in your life, and I'm interested in your life. Would you rather I wasn't?"

"No," Justin admitted. "It's just hard to explain things sometimes."

Jennifer swirled the tea in her cup, thinking. "I know no young man believes his mother knows anything about relationships, about love and passion and all those glorious feelings. I didn't believe my mother knew anything, either." She smiled at him. "Did you know Grandma had a secret lover for years, after Granddad got sick?"

Justin said with amazement, "No shit?"

"No shit. She only told me about it last year. I almost fell off the couch."

A sudden look of alarm crossed Justin's face. "Are you telling me you -- "

Jennifer exclaimed, "No, no, I don't have any dark secrets! Kind of wish I did, to tell you the truth." Justin laughed. "But what I mean is, I've learned a few things in my life. And one of the things I learned is that when a relationship has problems bad enough to make you end it, well . . . " She sighed. "I've seen what happens. Usually even if they get back together, the problems are still there. Now I don't know why exactly you wanted to leave Brian, but are you sure that whatever it was has been solved?"

"Mom, Brian's kind of . . . difficult."

"Yes, I've gotten that impression," Jennifer said dryly.

"But a lot of it was me. I thought I wanted things that - that I found out weren't important. I found out I don't need them. I need what I get from Brian." That didn't sound right. He said more simply, "I need Brian."

"And you think you have a good basis now, for a relationship that's -- " She didn't know what word would be safe to use. Committed, long-term, permanent? " -- that's stable?"

"Yes." When she didn't react, Justin said with heat, "You don't want me with Brian?"

"I didn't say that. I'm not saying anything against him. Of course not, not after all he did for you. For me, too. I've told you that before."

"So what's your point?"

He was getting angry; he wouldn't listen much longer. Jennifer said as gently as she could, "Honey, since I split up with your dad, you figure I don't know what I'm talking about. But remember, we were together almost twenty years. And a lot of those were good years. Do you know anybody, any gay couple, who can say that?"

"There are plenty of gay couples who last, Mom."

"I know that. But you don't meet many of them on Liberty Avenue, do you? Do you personally know any?"

He was forced to shake his head. "Not for that long."

"Then I'm as close to an expert on lifelong relationships as you're going to get. People don't change that much. If Brian is difficult now, he'll always be difficult. In fact, he'll probably get worse. He's not a man who's going to be gracious about aging."

"I'll say." A fleeting grin passed over Justin's face. Then he shrugged. "I can handle him."

"You can, you're strong. But the thing is, when you handle it and handle it and handle it, and the years go by . . . " her voice trailed off. Justin waited for her to finish the thought. Finally she said, "You can get tired, honey. You have no idea how tired you can get. And then you wonder if it's worth it."

Justin wondered how much of this had to do with his father. His disappointing father. When he was younger he would have asked her, just to score a point, but he was a man now. He said with forbearance, "Mom, Brian will always be worth it to me. So what if he's difficult? Ethan was easy. But Ethan wasn't real."

"But your life choice isn't between Ethan and Brian. There are other people - I mean, other men in the world. You could find someone easy like Ethan, but sincere. You're young and talented and incredibly smart, and you have so much to offer. I hate to see you -- " she stopped.

"Throwing myself away on Brian?"

"I told you, I'm not saying a word against him."

"But you are! That's exactly what you're doing!"

"Justin. I know that whatever you go after, you get. You're relentless, you won't ever quit. If you really choose Brian, you'll make it work, I know that. I'm only asking you to be sure of your choice. That this is what you really want. That Brian is what you really want."

Suddenly he remembered standing in the diner one bleary early morning, trying to cheer up Emmett while Emmett tried to cheer him up. And Debbie had said, "Sometimes I have to wonder if Brian's really good for you."

Justin said now, in answer to both women, "I know what I'm doing. And I know what I want."

"Okay." Jennifer said, and cut another slice of cake for him. She knew she would learn to accept this, too.

 

*****

The next day Brian had to stop by the gallery again. He ducked around a partition and swooped down on Lindsay, who was frowning over the inventory ledger. "This is better reading than that," he said, waving something under her nose.

"Brian, hi, Sidney's waiting for you. What is this?"

"Take a look." He leaned on her shoulder, as if to read along.

"It's um, it's just a credit card bill."

"No," he said triumphantly. "It is NOT a bill. That's the point. Look at the balance."

Lindsay found the column. "It's zero."

"Correct. One card down, four to go."

"Oh, Brian! You paid off one of your cards in full? Congratulations!"

"Make that eighty thousand to go." Of course this wasn't true; every day it was more. With the interest on the other cards still mounting rapidly, Brian wasn't sure he was really making headway. But it had felt good to open the envelope and see that zero.

"Ouch." She winced at the number. Then she kissed him and said wryly, "I hope you can still eat."

"Well, there are always lemon bars at the diner. I think I can still afford them."

"You know, Mel was saying that you should try to consolidate your debt into one payment."

Brian grimaced. "And fill out more fucking paperwork? No thanks. Where's Sidney, in the back?"

"Yes. But how did you -- "

"The Frame took me on as an outside consultant for their fall promotions, with a nice little advance."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Your new career really is going well, isn't it?"

Brian said in a flat tone, "Oh yeah, fucking fantastic," and went off to find Sidney.

 

*****
 

Later that same afternoon Justin was alone in the bullpen at work, looking over a few things. Most of the art department had been invited out to a fancy lunch by the creative director, as a thank-you for finishing a big project early. "Mind holding down the fort?" the studio manager had asked Justin. "Just take messages, and if Mr. Wellman calls tell him the boards will be ready by 5. Sorry, but that's what happens when you're the new kid in town."

"It's fine," Justin had agreed. He was secretly glad to be alone for a little while.

The front desk buzzed through. A crisp voice said, "Pick up line three," and he obeyed.

"Hello? I mean, art department."

"You're the entire art department?" Brian's voice asked.

"Hey," Justin said in surprise. It was the first time Brian had called him here.

"Is the indentured servant allowed to take calls?"

"Sure. I mean, I think so. Anyway, I'm the only one here right now."

"So you're sitting on your ass?"

"For your information," Justin said self-righteously, "I'm looking at the advertising news." He read out at random, "Did you know Leslie Mannes was promoted to VP at Slater & Slater?"

"Good luck to her."

"Where are you?"

"I just left Sidney's. He gave me some tickets to a private exhibition tonight. Downtown. It'll probably be boring as hell but I have to take a look at it. Want to come?"

"Sure," Justin said, brightening. "It can't be that bad. Shit, I've been looking at a campaign for furniture polish all fucking day."

"You don't like it?"

"Would you?"

"You're the one in advertising now."

"And you're the one with art show invitations." Justin added ruefully, "We must be doing something wrong, Brian."

"Life's little ironies. I'll meet you at the loft. I don't want to park the 'vette down there, so we'll take a cab."

Justin hung up and tried to return to the trade magazine. After a while his eyes wandered, trailing along the package mock-ups on the windowsill, the light table and the color wheels tossed here and there, and the line of humming computers and half-finished concept boards.

He picked up the trade magazine again and restlessly turned the pages. At the back were the job ads. Well, at least I don't have to bother with that any more, Justin thought. Then his eye was caught by the out-of-town listings. For some reason, he found himself looking at the Account Executive positions.

 

*****

Brian found the exhibition just as boring as he had feared. The "cutting edge" new artist was a twat who thought a warmed-over Warhol imitation was a contribution to Western culture. Within the first hour he started trying to get Justin to leave. But although Justin agreed the artist was pretentious, he was enjoying pointing out all the things he was doing wrong; or maybe he just liked the atmosphere. Brian tried hard to be patient, which lasted another fifteen minutes. Then he had had enough. He told Justin he had an early meeting at the Frame offices in the morning.

Justin began too loudly, "Just because you think the work is shit -- "

Brian shushed him mid-sentence, but it was too late. The artist's representative had heard him. The rep scowled at Brian and turned away.

"Nice going," Brian said. "I need to be on good terms with that guy."

"Then you shouldn't be walking out on his client's show. It's not my fault. Fuck it, let's go."

They stood silently in the cold outside, trying to flag down a cab. None were in sight. "We should have taken the car," Justin said. "What's the point of having one if you're afraid to park it anywhere?"

"Shut up, here's one."

They settled into the cab's back seat, looking out opposite windows. As they headed out of the neighborhood, Brian said, "Let's go to Woody's." He leaned forward, about to tell the driver.

"No," Justin said with mounting irritation. "You said you were tired and had to have an early night, so let's go home."

"Home?" Brian asked sweetly.

"Okay, the loft! The loft! Fuck."

They didn't say another word in the cab. As soon as they got to the loft Brian headed for the liquor cart and poured out Jim Beam. Justin stood by the door, kicking his foot absent-mindedly on the floor. Brian looked around at him in surprise. He hadn't even taken off his jacket.

"Coming in?"

"Brian, maybe my coming over was a mistake." He paused. Brian didn't say anything. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Why would I want you to leave?"

"Because we're mad at each other!"

"So?"

The question was genuine. Brian looked at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer. Justin heard everything he meant by that one word: So was this the first time they'd been angry with each other? No. Was it going to be the last? No. Then so what?

"So nothing," Justin said out loud. He couldn't help smiling. He had thought that when he made up his mind about the big questions -- Does Brian really love me? Do I want to be with him? -- there would be nothing left to argue about.

Well, really, what was there to argue about?

"C'mere," Brian said, and Justin went to him. After only a few brief kisses, Brian turned him to face the wall between the windows. Justin braced himself, looking at the city lights, while Brian went for the lube and condom.
.
The fuck was fast and hard, which suited Justin's mood. But there was also something mindless about it -- it was too much like a backroom fuck. A trick fuck. Somewhere under his pleasure a little fear began to nag at him. But then Brian ran his hand up Justin's neck into his hair, playing with it with his fingers. He leaned down and kissed Justin softly behind the ear. "So you do know who it is," Justin whispered, arching back against him as if somehow they could get closer.

"I always know when it's you," Brian murmured in his ear.

Later they went to bed and fucked again, gently this time. Brian's forcefulness, which always inflamed Justin, was even more arousing when it was held back. The strong hands stroked him, demanding nothing and giving everything. As familiar as it was, Brian's tenderness still surprised and moved him.

Afterwards they lay in a tangle under the orange light. Justin was tired but not sleepy. His mind centered on the same image, over and over: Brian slumped in defeat in front of his computer. "Brian," he said tentatively. "I've been thinking."

Brian shifted, nuzzling into Justin's neck. "Try and correct this fault."

"The thing is, now that I'm at Ad Alley and I'm watching what everybody does . . . I remember how it was at Vangard. I saw you . . . "

When he didn't go on, Brian said, "Well?"

"I saw how good you were. I mean, we always knew. You had all these awards, all this money. And besides," he grinned up at the ceiling, "you always made sure to tell us all how good you were."

"Just being honest."

"To see it for myself was different. So I don't really understand now. I want you to tell me."

"Tell you what?" Brian yawned.

"Why you didn't stay in advertising. I know you said that after being a partner, you didn't want to work for somebody else again. That you wanted to work for yourself. And I thought -- I thought maybe you wanted to change fields, that you were sick of advertising." He waited, but Brian stayed silent. Justin persisted, "But now it seems more like you had to. Was it because of Vance? Or Stockwell? I mean, it's total crap, but would another agency owner think you had more or less betrayed a client?"

"Nothing more or less about it. That's what I did."

"So you thought no one else would hire you? That's the real reason you changed?"

"I'm out of it now. Who cares?"

"I care that you're walking away from something you're good at." Brian made a sound of annoyance and pulled away from him to fall on his back. Justin said softly, "You wouldn't let me give up something I was good at, remember?"

"There are no PT exercises to fix a career. Or software programs, either. Forget it."

"Brian -- "

"Besides," Brian purred, changing tactics, "there are other things I'm good at. Right?"

"You don't need me to tell you," Justin said. Brian slid back over and began running his hand down Justin's body again. His mouth followed. It would be just like him, to start up a third round of fucking to keep from talking. Hurriedly, before his own cock could betray him, Justin gave up all the preliminaries and blurted out his real question. "Do you ever think about going to New York any more?"

Brian's head came up. "New York?"

"You've heard of it," Justin said encouragingly. "Big place, millions of people, tall buildings? You wanted to go there when you turned 30." He lifted his head to kiss Brian's nose. "I wanted to kill you, I was so mad that you were leaving."

"You should have killed yourself. Much more poetic."

"And you told me you'd forget all about me, you shit. But you wouldn't have."

"You're so sure of that."

"Yes, I am. Anyway, what about now? If you can't work in advertising in Pittsburgh, maybe we can start over in a new city."

"We?" Brian sat up and reached for a cigarette.

Justin stifled his impatience. "I'm just starting. I could do that in New York, too. Do you have any contacts there?"

"A few." Brian lit the cigarette and took a deep inhalation, then blew out the smoke for long maddening seconds. Finally he said, "We were planning to open a New York office. Gardner and I. And I was going to head it up."

Justin twisted towards him in surprise. "I didn't know that."

"That's why landing Stockwell was such a big deal. With all his fat cat friends, I'd have had the perfect client base to open the new office."

"Oh." So Stockwell as a client had meant even more to him than Justin had known. Along with everything else, Brian had given up his ticket out of Pittsburgh. "Shit," Justin said. Then, as he thought about it, an absurd panic rose in his chest. While he had been off playing house with Ethan, Brian could have been gone. And that would have been that. He was appalled. "I always thought you were - you were going to be here."

"Waiting for you to finish fiddling?"

Justin winced; Brian had read his thought. "I didn't expect you to be waiting around for me to come back."

"Good, because I wasn't."

"But I'm glad you didn't go," Justin said softly. Brian gave a crooked half-smile, glancing at him sideways. Justin persisted, "So isn't New York a good idea now? You could get an advertising job there, couldn't you? Vance's reach can't go that far."

There was a moment's silence. Justin thought with resignation, I should stop. He hates talking like this and it's not doing any good.

But before he could suggest they go to sleep, Brian suddenly burst out, "Not like this. I'm not going to crawl there with my tail between my legs."

Justin's jaw dropped. He repeated, "Crawl there?"

"The way it is now, I'd have to beg some second-rate agency to take me on. At a half-price sale for a salary. And I'm up to my ass in debt, I couldn't pay rent on a Manhattan closet." He stubbed out the cigarette and looked down again at Justin, who was staring at him. "Relax, it's not a tragedy," Brian said. He added with a touch of bravado, "When I do get to New York, I'll be riding in on my 'vette. On top of my game. The new king of the hill."

Justin smiled. "Like those big parades they give, with the confetti coming down out of the skyscrapers?"

"Something like that," Brian said.

Justin felt a pang. After all, Brian was hardly a dreamer. It seemed cruel that the one wish he permitted himself never seemed to come true. "Maybe someday," Justin said. He held out his arms, offering whatever comfort Brian might find there. Brian came down to him and settled against his shoulder. The conversation was over. Justin closed his eyes and relaxed, starting to drift off, stroking Brian's arm. Jesus, he thought again, if Brian had stuck with Stockwell .. . and Stockwell had won the election . . . Brian would have gotten the big clients . . . set up the new office . . .

He jolted back awake, as the realization came to him. He thought, But Brian **did** stick with Stockwell, for a long time. Even after we -- after we --

"After we were back together," he said out loud. Sudden chills ran down his arms and legs, as if he were starting a fever. "Oh God. "

"What?" Brian, half-asleep, lifted his head. Justin slid away from him and sat up. "What's the matter?"

"When we got back together, you were still working with Stockwell. You were still -- " Justin seemed to be gasping for air. His voice cracked upwards. "You were still planning on going to New York."

"Well, what the - what are you -- "

"Fuck you, Brian. Fuck you!"

"Christ." Brian was dumbfounded. "What's going on? What crazy fucking thing do you think you're talking about?"

"You never said anything! You never told me you were going to leave!" Justin hugged his knees to his chest. "Oh God, I can't believe this. I thought everything was different, I thought all that shit was behind us."

"What shit?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Brian glanced away, as if the answer might be out in the dark loft somewhere. "Why would I?" he demanded impatiently. "You were with your fiddler."

"I mean after that. When I was with you at Vangard. You were still working for Stockwell, you must have still be planning on opening a New York office. And you never said a fucking word to me!"

"I -- "

"Were you going to leave a post-it note behind for me? A change-of-address card?"

Brian looked at him. Justin's eyes were blazing with anger, but that was nothing; Brian wasn't afraid of his anger or anybody else's. But the sudden doubt in Justin's face twisted his gut. That doubt, that uncertainty, that gaping need on his open face was sickening, especially coming from someone who was born to be arrogant and ballsy. He looked like he had just gotten out of the hospital again.

Something had to be said. Something had to take that look off his face. "I wasn't keeping it some big fucking secret." Justin didn't answer. Brian rubbed a hand over his face fretfully. "Fuck! Look, I made the plans to go to New York when you weren't here, and then later I thought -- " he broke off. He had put off telling Justin at the time, because he hadn't wanted to say what had to be said. Now they'd never go, but here he was, forced to say it all the same. "Since you're so interested in my useless outdated plans, my plan was to ask you to come with me."

Justin closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push away the hurt long enough to think. He knew Brian might evade and pretend, but he wouldn't tell him a flat-out lie. So why is it so hard to believe him? Justin wondered.

His mother had said, I'm not saying a word against Brian. I want you to be sure. Justin said carefully, trying to think it out, "I was still in school."

"And I was going to point out there are other, in fact even better, art schools in Manhattan. I bet I still have brochures from some of them somewhere."

"Really?" Justin's voice became wistful. "So I would have transferred? Where were we going to live? Were we going to live together?"

Brian sat back and folded his hands on his stomach. He felt as if he were settling down to tell a bedtime story to Gus, except he didn't usually do that naked. "Since you would have had to leave your job at the diner, yes, I expected you to live with me. You couldn't afford your own place in New York anyway, not while you were in school. I was thinking of TriBeCa or maybe Chelsea. I hear there are huge loft spaces around there, if you can pay for it. I saw some on the 'net. I thought I'd be making money hand over fist, and we could get something good, maybe with a studio area for you." He paused. When Justin said nothing, Brian added, "You could have been checking out the art circles while I was getting the office up and running. And I don't have to tell you the clubbing beats anything in fucking Pittsburgh, do I?"

Justin found that the ground had stopped shaking. He was beginning to feel solid earth under him again. As his fright and anger drained away, he was able to picture Brian's fantasy. "It would have been wonderful," he admitted. Brian shrugged. Justin smiled sadly. "But you made all these plans without even talking to me about it. Like I was just the tagalong, following you."

"I wasn't ready to ask you, that's all. And then - well, none of it happened, so what would be the point?"

"You weren't ready?" Justin demanded, his voice sharpening again. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"You were enjoying the Institute, your classes and your internship and all that shit." Brian made it sound like an accusation. "And you kept saying you liked having your own place, that you didn't want to live with me."

Justin was taken aback. "I didn't mean that exactly. Jesus. You didn't really think I'd say no, did you? Come on. I would have been over the moon if you had asked me."

"Well, you're not taking it very well now."

"Brian."

Brian sighed. Justin used his name so often, usually scolding, or maybe laughing at him. Sometimes he said it as a plea in bed, when he needed some touch too badly to wait any longer. He would moan out Brian's name and Brian always knew what he wanted. He knew what Justin wanted now, but it was hard to give. Fucking was so much easier.

"Brian."

In the other time, before all that screeching violin music, when something was too hard to say, Brian simply hadn't said it. It was different now; it had to be. He took a deep breath and forced words out. "I waited because - because it wasn't definite yet. And you had just come back and we -- " he stopped. Finally he said in a flat voice, "I didn't know if you'd come with me. I thought you would but I wasn't sure." Justin went on staring at him, eyes wide. Still waiting. Still wanting. Voracious. "And I wanted you to," Brian spat out, almost angry. "Okay? Is that enough?"

Justin made a small noise, exasperated or maybe amused. He considered it. "Yes," he said finally. "Yes, that's enough."

"Hallelujah, call out the band. Now can we quit having all this fucking drama over something that didn't happen and is never going to happen, and get some sleep? I told you, I have to get up early." Without waiting for an answer, Brian rolled himself up in the duvet. Justin wasn't surprised that he turned away, on his side. After what he had said - after everything he had admitted - he'd have to retreat into Kinney isolation for awhile.

Justin reached over to turn off the orange light and slid back down into the bed. He thought of the warm tangle they had been in together just a few minutes ago. Now there was a mile of cold sheet between his body and Brian's back.

I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, he thought. But for a minute it felt like the way it used to be. Like falling back in time. Back to before I knew that he does love me.

But Christ! he thought. If he had just told me what he wanted to do at the time! It would only have taken a few simple words, how hard is that? Of course he knew the answer: for Brian, very hard.

If he's difficult now he'll always be difficult, his mother had said. I can handle him, Justin had answered.

Well, I can, he thought defiantly. Whatever it takes. He eased himself across the bed, to rest his side gently against Brian's back. Brian made a noise in the back of his throat but didn't move away. Justin smiled to himself, and was able to sleep.

In the morning he was vaguely aware of Brian's alarm going off. But whether it was because of the late night, the exhaustion of his emotions, or even all the fucking, he had fallen back asleep immediately. By the time he opened his eyes again, it was mid-morning and the loft was empty. Brian had showered, dressed, and left, and Justin hadn't heard any of it.

He stretched and yawned, rustling his hands through the sheets, wishing Brian were still with him. Some kind of paper was on Brian's pillow. He left a note? Justin wondered. What for?

But it wasn't a note, it was a brochure from a famous art college in Manhattan. Shit, he thought. So there really was one still around here. I wonder how long it took him to find it. Had he left it as proof?

"I believed you," Justin told Brian's pillow.

But his voice sounded strange in the quiet loft, weak and uncertain. Even the air seemed doubtful. Justin wrapped his hands around the brochure, holding on to it as if it were a good-luck charm. He stayed unmoving for a long time, thinking.
 

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