Second Thoughts

Brian rolled over, still half-asleep, and received a sharp jab above his left nipple. He grunted and flailed out a hand defensively, only to open his eyes and discover he was fighting a book. It was the corner of one of Justin's sketchbooks. He shoved the book away, into Justin's shoulder.

Justin woke up with a surprised yelp. Brian said, "If you don't mind, I prefer to fuck the artist, not the art."

Justin rubbed his hand over his face and looked to see what Brian meant. "Oh," he murmured. "Sorry. I guess I fell asleep while I was sketching."

After their long session of fucking the night before, Brian had fallen asleep immediately, with the light still on. He was surprised that Justin had stayed awake, but pleased. "You were complaining you never have the 'urge' to draw any more." Justin nodded; he had said that only a few days ago. Brian propped himself up on an elbow and went on, "So after I took care of one urge you had another?"

"Yep." Justin yawned.

"I know, I'm irresistible even when I'm sleeping. When you can't fuck me any more, you draw me."

"Sorry to break it to you, but I wasn't doing you again." Brian put on an affronted look. Justin laughed. "I think I was trying to do the lumps in the blankets as a surreal landscape." He picked up the sketchbook and flipped through it to find the page.

Brian did a strange hip wiggle and reached his hand under the duvet. He brought out something which he held accusingly in front of Justin's eyes. "Your pencil almost went up my ass."

"Guess I missed. Want me to try again?"

"You're still dreaming. Let's see this surreal landscape." They both looked at the sketch. Brian's brows drew together. "Shit. You must have been tired."

Justin said in embarrassment, "It's pretty lame, isn't it?"

"Well, at least you had the urge."

Justin settled back among the pillows and smiled up at him. "So do you have any urges now?"

Brian leaned over to kiss him, kissed him again, and then looked over at the clock. "I have an urge to make a living," he sighed. "I have to get going. Sidney's counting on eating more of my money." He had a breakfast meeting scheduled with Sidney Bloom and Lindsay. "He wants to talk about the new show."

"What's the name of it again?"

"Weather Patterns."

"Oh right, I meant to ask you what kind of shit that is. Postmodern snowflakes? Or do you get rained on when you walk in to the gallery?"

"Lindsay said -- " Brian imitated her singsong manner. "'These are works that reflect on the prevailing social climate.'" He kicked off the duvet and stood up.

"Fucking pretentious," Justin pronounced. "I mean the show, not Lindsay."

"Don't you have a shift at the diner?"

"Not until 11:00. I'm going back to sleep." Justin closed his eyes and turned his head into the pillow.

"No, you're not," Brian said. Justin groaned, pretending to be unwilling, as Brian pulled him off the bed and on to his feet.

They showered together, running their soapy hands all over each other until they had to fuck, with Justin braced against the glass. They were quick about it, skipping anything fancy. Even so, Brian stepped out of the stall grumbling about the time. If he arrived late, he knew he'd hear about it. Sidney hated to be kept waiting. Sidney was particular about a lot of things - and Brian had to humor him.

As Justin wrapped a towel around his waist, Brian splashed water into his shaving bowl. He reached for the shaving cream and slammed the door of the medicine cabinet too hard. Justin looked around, read the warning signs and said, "I'll put on some coffee for you." He paused long enough to kiss Brian's bare shoulder and headed to the kitchen.

Brian glared at himself in the mirror. Look at me, he thought. Rushing through a fuck just to be on time for Sidney. Jumping through his hoops . . . Not that I didn't have to jump for the agency clients. Especially Stockwell, the fucker. But I wasn't anybody's toady boy at Ryder's or Vangard. Christ, if Sidney wasn't a breeder I'd probably have to bend over and take it up the ass from him.

The thought brought a dark smile to his face. While he shaved he amused himself with insulting fantasies of how small Sidney's dick must be. It's probably the size of Justin's pencil, he thought.

He wiped his face, smacked on some after-shave, and went into the bedroom. As he opened the closet a sudden burst of tinny music from the floor startled him. He called over to the kitchen, "Your cell phone's ringing!"

Justin came back to the bedroom and picked his pants up off the floor. He fished his phone out of the back pocket. "Hi, Daph," he said in surprise as Brian started to dress. "No, it's okay, don't worry . . . no, really, we weren't fucking. We finished. What's up?"

Brian gave a bark of laughter and crossed over to his computer, grabbing the coffee Justin had left for him on the counter along the way. He stood waiting impatiently for some materials he needed to print out. Should have done this last night, he thought. Guess I was distracted. He glanced over at the new couch, site of his distraction. It had been christened with its first sex session before they moved to the bed.

He had bought it at a famously cheap outlet. He had had to hunch into his jacket and put on his sunglasses before he could make himself walk through the door. Justin had come along, with instructions to stop him from buying more than he was supposed to: he had budgeted only enough for a couch and one chair. So when Brian started to look at coffee tables, too, Justin had tried to pull him away. Brian knew he had been unreasonable; his temper had gotten the best of him. "It's my fucking money, what little there is of it. I'll decide," he had snapped. He was surprised when Justin didn't snap back. Maybe he had realized he wasn't the real cause of Brian's anger.

In the end Brian had bought a couch that was even uglier than Mikey's, a coffee table on special discount because the legs were nicked, and a floor lamp. At least now they could sit and watch TV again (on a set borrowed from Lindsay's guestroom), with Brian's feet up on the coffee table. It was a far cry from the furnishings that had once graced the room, but there was no point talking -- or even thinking -- about that.

The printout was finished. Brian slipped everything into his briefcase and paused, glancing back towards the bedroom. Justin had hung up with Daphne and was making another call. Brian hesitated and then leaned down to the stack of portfolios leaning against the wall. They had been lying around the loft since the day Brian had helped Justin photograph his work. Brian flipped through the first two portfolios, chose a few pieces, and added them to his briefcase.

"What are you doing?" Justin asked suddenly from behind him.

"Nothing." Brian stopped himself from making a startled movement. "Not really."

"What's not really?"

Brian straightened. "I'm going to show Sidney some of your work."

Justin looked at him. After a moment he said quietly, "Thank you, but you shouldn't do that."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Brian, the art shows at school were one thing. But Sidney's running a major gallery. He's not going to put some dropout kid's work on the walls. I'm not at that level yet." He took a deep breath. "Maybe I'll never be."

"Well, there's the power of positive thinking. What happened to all that happy face shit?"

"Fuck you," Justin said angrily, and caught himself. "Look . . . I appreciate that you thought of it, but I don't want you to."

"I'm not expecting Sidney to hail you as the next great artist and mount an exhibition around you. I'm not even hoping he'll include you in the upcoming show. You're right, those are established artists. He'd laugh me out of the gallery."

"So what's the point?"

"I want him to see your work and learn your name. He knows people, he has influence. It's just to make a start, that's all." Justin looked uncertain. Brian said, "It can't hurt, for fuck's sake."

"I guess not."

"I said I would rep you, remember?"

"I thought you were joking." Justin felt a sudden rush of gratitude. He went to Brian and reached up for a kiss, putting his arms around Brian's neck. In between the third and fourth kisses, he asked, "So guess why Daphne called?"

"She wanted an update on our sex life," Brian said, still kissing him. "So who -- " he paused for another longer kiss, and finished, " -- else did you talk to?"

Justin pulled his head back to talk, but kept his arms around Brian. "Daphne said my studio manager called looking for me. So I just called him back and he invited me to come to the shoot they're doing today at some photographer's, even though it's not my work day."

"Yeah? What's it for?"

"Gleam On, that furniture polish campaign. I mean it won't be anything great but I've never been to a shoot before. He said he wants me to see how things work."

"That's good," Brian said. Justin shrugged and stepped back. "No, it is," Brian insisted. "It means he's thinking about you as more than the office boy."

"I'll call Deb and tell her to get Jackie in to take over my shift . . . Oh shit!" Justin suddenly panicked. "Do I have to wear a suit or something? I don't even own one."

Brian snorted. "To a photo shoot? Of course not."

"I have a jacket I was using for interviews."

"No, you don't want to look corporate on a photo shoot, you want to look hip or cool or whatever the fucking slang word is this week. Put on something arrogantly casual, slap a sneer on your face, and you're all set."

But Justin wasn't reassured. A look at his watch told him he didn't have time to go back to Daphne's for fresh clothes, either. He ran back to the bedroom and checked the
one drawer he used in Brian's dresser. Once half the drawers had been Justin's, of course, but now he only kept a few extras at the loft. Brian came over to the bottom of the stairs and watched with hard eyes as Justin pulled out three T-shirts, rejected them, and stuffed them back in the drawer.

Justin turned frantically to the closet, but he had only one pair of two-tone jeans in there. "This?" he hazarded to Brian, holding it out. "With the shirt I had on last night?"

"No. You got it sweaty before I got it off you."

Justin picked it up and sniffed it. "Fuck, you're right."

"That sleeveless black glittery thing you had on at Babylon the other night would be good."

"It's at Daphne's," Justin said impatiently. "All my really good stuff is at Daphne's."

"And why is that?"

"Why?" Justin repeated. "What do you mean, why? Because I live there."

And why the fuck do you live there? Brian wondered yet again. He said abruptly, "Good luck, Cinderella. I'm going."

"Brian! Wait a minute!"

Brian was already halfway to the door. "I can't be late, Sidney can out-pout a drag queen."

"But I want you to drop me off." Justin was yanking on his clothes as fast as he could, settling for the T-shirt he disliked the least. "Wait, wait!"

"I don't have time."

"It's on your way!"

Brian paused at the door to let Justin catch up, fighting down the anger he didn't even realize he was feeling. Justin struggled into his jacket. "Oh shit," he exclaimed. "I didn't shave."

"All the better for the scruffy look," Brian said. "Come on, you can practice your smirk in the car."

 

*****
 

Brian ordered a round of Bloody Marys for the table and checked the menu again. Judging by the price of the omelets, the hens were laying golden eggs. Sidney was looking around the trendy cafe in satisfaction, waving to people he knew. "That's Melinda Johnssen, the sculptor I told you about," he whispered to Lindsay. She smiled and nodded, but she was looking at the prices, too. She was determined to order whatever would cause the least damage to Brian's wallet. "The care and feeding of Sidney is getting too expensive," Brian had commented to her recently. "I'm going to have to start raising my invoices to cover it."

Lindsay had said hesitantly, "Maybe if you sold the car?"

"That would clear another one of my credit cards," Brian had admitted.

"I know you love it, but -- "

"It's only a car," Brian said, giving his standard response. Lindsay smiled. It seemed he had to deny love even when it involved a machine. "But I can't let clients see me driving around town in some shitty Ford. I need something impressive but not too corporate. The 'vette's perfect."

"Perfect," Sidney said now, beaming as he accepted his Bloody Mary. "Well, shall we have a little breakfast toast? To the success of Weather Patterns. And to the wondrous Lindsay."

Lindsay blushed and Brian smiled at her. The Weather Patterns show had been a big event at the Getty in Los Angeles. It was Lindsay who had succeeded in luring the curators to Pittsburgh, outmaneuvering their bitter rival, the JumpDown gallery, for the privilege.

Over breakfast Brian outlined the PR campaign he wanted to launch for the show, and thrilled Sidney with a suggested tie-in to In the Frame magazine's new drive for subscribers. By the time the elegant silver coffee carafe on the table had been drained, Sidney was in a thoroughly good mood.

Brian said, "By the way, Sidney, there's an artist whose work I've been meaning to show you. He's young, not really a professional yet, but you might want to keep an eye on him. He's an up and comer."

"Really? Always glad to look over new talent." Sidney sat back in surprise as Brian began to pull out Justin's work. "Goodness, I didn't realize you had it with you."

"Just a few examples." He held out the pictures and Sidney took them.

Lindsay was as surprised as Sidney was but she said loyally, "This is Justin Taylor's work. I may have mentioned him to you. He's a friend of ours. And very talented. Amazing promise for someone his age."

"Which is?" When neither of them answered at first, Sidney looked up inquiringly.

"Twenty," Brian said.

"Heavens! Young indeed. Well, let's see." As he looked through them, Lindsay recognized the samples as part of a series Justin had completed soon after he began using the computer, not long after the hospital. The images were rough and violent. She remembered Justin telling her that the dean had called them disturbing. Sidney asked, "And where did you come across his work, did you say?"

"Sometimes I come across it on my kitchen counter," Brian said deliberately. If he wasn't open with Sidney now, Sidney would never trust him again. "Or all over my desk. Or scattered on the floor. Or propped up on the windowsills. One time I found a sketch stuck up on my bathroom mirror. And oh, yes. I woke up with one in my bed this morning."

Sidney hadn't known anything about Brian's personal life; he had never cared enough to ask - and Brian had never volunteered. But now he laughed. "I see. Well, I appreciate your candor. Your young man certainly does have talent. But I must say, he seems to live in a dangerous world."

"Don't we all?"

"This has impact, I can't deny that. But he's still lacking in some kind of maturity, wouldn't you say, Lindsay?"

"Well, he's so young yet, Sidney."

"Exactly. Thank you for showing this to me, Brian." He handed them back. "I'll be interested to see more of Mr. - did you say Taylor? Yes, more of Mr. Taylor's work, as he develops. Keep me posted. When he's ready we may be able to do something for him." Brian nodded. It was as much as he had hoped for. "Ah, look, there's George Aalbue. I have to stop by his table and say hello. Excuse me a moment."

"That's refreshing," Brian said to Lindsay as soon as he was out of earshot. "He usually goes to the men's room when the check comes. As if I wasn't going to pick up the check anyway."

"Why didn't you bring some of Justin's more recent work?"

Brian shrugged. "He's not doing much. No urges." He grinned to himself.

Lindsay started to talk about Weather Patterns again. On an impulse, Brian took out a fresh notepad and began scribbling ideas for ads and flyers to promote the show. Lindsay was delighted; within the first ten minutes he had two really excellent headlines, and two more which could be worked into something. She beamed at him in admiration. As soon as Sidney returned to the table she said, "Sidney, look at this. Brian has some great ideas for the advertising for the show."

Sidney didn't sit back down. As if he hadn't heard her, he said, "Thank you for a lovely breakfast, Brian. Get back to me about the Frame tie-in, will you?"

"As soon as I can. Would you like to take a look at these ideas? They're just roughs, but--"

"Oh, no, no, there's no necessity for you to be writing copy, Brian. My agency people will handle all that."

"Of course." Brian put the cap back on his pen.

"Lindsay, my dear, aren't you coming with me?"

Lindsay stood up. "I'll call you later, Brian." He nodded but didn't move. As she slipped behind his chair, she saw him crumple up the paper he had been writing on. She paused and put a hand on his shoulder. When he didn't respond, she sighed and followed Sidney out the door.

 

*****

 

A week later Brian came home with an approved budget from a new client and a pounding headache. He found Justin sprawled flat on the couch with his feet up on the back of it, watching a trash reality show on TV.

"Working yourself to the bone, aren't you?" Brian greeted him. He tossed off his jacket and flipped through his mail, which Justin had left by the computer for him as usual.

"Actually, I was," Justin said. "Come and take a look."

"Thanks, but I get all the reality I can stand," Brian said. He reached into his inner pocket for the small bottle of aspirin he had taken to carrying around and shook out three tablets.

"I meant come take a look at the work I was doing."

Brian walked over to the couch, still holding the aspirin, and put his free hand on Justin's ankle. Something about the angle of Justin's open, lifted legs raised possibilities in Brian's mind. He stroked the top of Justin's bare foot and then slid his fingers inside the leg opening of his jeans. "Did you start a new series?" he asked with guarded hope. Justin shook his head, grinning. "Rage issue?" Brian guessed again.

"No," Justin said. Responding without thinking to Brian's touch, he stretched out his leg, making his hip thrust up a little more. It looked like an invitation. But his mind was still on his work. He motioned to some layout boards on the coffee table. "It's my idea for the Gleam On campaign. It's better than Jake's. You know, the associate art director. I want you to look at it before I show it to the creative director."

Brian dropped his hand. "In a minute," he said. He went into the kitchen for a bottle of water to wash down the aspirin. When he came back, Justin sat up and turned off the TV. He started chattering while Brian lit up a cigarette. "Here, this is what Jake did. I printed out a copy to take home." Justin thrust a layout at him. "But it's not very good, see? The balance is off and this corner's all cluttered. The package visual is fighting with the inset photo. I thought I could do better. Of course, the idea of the campaign isn't mine, and I don't know anything about writing copy yet. But my layout's a lot better. I streamlined everything. Mine's more powerful. " He handed Brian a second layout and waited, confident.

"Powerful," Brian repeated, looking back and forth between the versions.

"You don't think so? Come on, Brian, it looks a hundred percent better, you can see that."

"Sure it does. If you mean visually better."

"Well, what else would I mean?"

"That's what I'm wondering. What **did** you mean?" Justin frowned. Brian sighed and made an effort to be patient. "What were you trying to do?"

Justin took the layouts out of Brian's hand. "I was trying to make it better. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

"No," Brian said. "You're supposed to be selling furniture polish."

"Well, I am."

"No, you're creating a beautiful design. Look, if you can manage to do that while you're selling furniture polish, great. But you have to sell first."

"Fuck, it still sells. I mean it's still an ad for furniture polish."

"Yes, but now it's an ineffective ad for furniture polish."

Justin said stubbornly, "I'm using the same elements."

"The package is not an 'element' here. In this campaign the product is supposed to be the hero, but you've put the emphasis on the model's face. And you've used the headline as a pretty little design element, but it can't be read any more. " Now Brian was using the lecturing voice that had made everyone in Vangard's art department scurry. He realized it and caught himself. When Justin stayed silent, Brian leaned over to nuzzle his ear.

"Stop," Justin said, turning his head away.

Brian sat back. "If I wanted to hang something on the wall, I'd pick yours. But if I'm trying to make money selling furniture polish, I'd pick Jake's."

"Okay," Justin said finally, looking down at the layouts. "I see what you mean. No, I do, really." He tossed them both to the floor. "So I guess that was a waste of time."

"No, it wasn't. You learned something. And you should still show it to your creative director."

"Why bother?"

"Because it shows him you're interested and you're thinking about your work, that's always good. And it shows him your talent, in case he needs reminding." Brian stood up. As far as he was concerned, the question was closed. "I'm going to change. Should we order in or go out?"

Justin shrugged. "I don't care."

Brian stubbed out his cigarette, looking down at Justin. He tilted his head and asked, "Have you ever thought about whether you're really cut out for advertising?"

Justin flared up instantly. "Oh, now you think I'm not good enough?"

"Of course you're good enough. Or you could be, if you really wanted to. The point is do you want to? Is this really what you want to do with your talent?"

"Shit, Brian, you know I -- "

"Why did you even look for your first job at an ad agency? You could have tried another field, something closer to fine art."

Justin stood up to face him. "Because I had already been at Vangard. You remember that, right?"

"Vaguely. Remind me, why exactly did you show up at Vangard in the first place?"

"I told you! I needed the credits, I had to intern. I -- " he broke off. Brian's face was perfectly serious. Perfectly. "I needed -- " he gave up. Suddenly he smacked Brian's shoulder, half-yelling, "Okay, okay!" and started to laugh. "Maybe I had other motivations."

Brian, smiling now, pulled him into his arms. "I don't think wanting to get laid is a good way to choose a career, do you?"

"I wanted more than that," Justin said softly.

Brian kissed his forehead, a wordless way of agreeing. He said into Justin's hair, "So you want to try Vietnamese? I picked up the menu from that new place."

"Okay. Brian?" Justin looked up earnestly into Brian's eyes. "I really do want to make a success of this job."

"All right," Brian said. "Then do it. You can if you want. Just start thinking like an advertiser." He added as if it were nothing, "You have to stop thinking like an artist."

Justin dropped his arms and Brian walked over to the phone. Justin watched him, transfixed, as he shuffled through the take-out menus. He thought, does he really not know what he just said? How could he not know?

"Here it is." Brian scanned the Vietnamese menu. "Christ, I don't know what these dishes are."

"Brian, I -- " For a moment Justin couldn't find the words. "Jesus. Brian!"

Brian, startled at his tone, looked over. "What's the matter?"

"I can't do that. What you said. I can't stop being an artist!"

"Would you relax? Don't be such a princess. I didn't mean forever. I meant, think like an advertiser when you're doing advertising. And think like an artist when you're doing your own art. Turn it on, turn it off."

"But . . . I don't know if I can do that."

"You have to if you want to get anywhere in your chosen-for-the-wrong-reason field." He went back to the menu. "So how about we just try some and hope they're not using cat?"

"Sure," Justin said quietly. He bent and picked up his work, to put it all away.

 

*****

 

Justin had no scheduled shift at the diner the following Saturday afternoon, but as often happened he wound up there anyway, having lunch with Brian and Emmett. Brian was waiting for Lindsay, who was going to drop off some materials from the gallery and hand over Gus at the same time.

"She's going to the doctor with Melanie and Michael to see baby pics," Brian was explaining to Emmett, who was sitting beside him. Justin was across the table. Emmett looked puzzled.

Justin translated, "He means the latest ultrasound. So you're going to do the party for the Weather Patterns show?"

"And it will be the show of shows. Lindsay said she couldn't do without me. The theme's kind of hard, though. I was thinking of snowflakes or rain but she said no."

Brian choked on his tuna sandwich and Justin laughed. "What?" Emmett asked, but they smiled at each other without answering.

The door jangled and Lindsay and Melanie came in, maneuvering the stroller. Debbie called a loud hello from behind the counter, adding, "Don't forget to bring me back some pictures! Where's Michael?"

"He's meeting us there," Lindsay said. They came over to stand by the table and Brian scooped Gus out of the stroller.

"Hey, sonny boy. Want some French fries?" Gus nodded, gave Brian a big smacking kiss, and settled on his lap.

"Watch he doesn't choke," Melanie said. "You know not to give him hot dogs, right?"

"How about grapes?" Brian asked, deliberately choosing a choking food.

Melanie inhaled sharply but before she could say anything Lindsay cut in, "He knows, Mel, he knows. Brian, are you taking him to the park? It's getting warmer out. You better put the stroller in your car."

"That won't fit in the Corvette," Justin said.

"I will walk him to the park," Brian pronounced, "but I am not pushing a stroller. No fucking way."

"Watch your mouth," Debbie said, coming up behind Lindsay. Brian rolled his eyes at the thought of this warning from Debbie of all people, while she cooed at Gus. "How's my baby?" she burbled, and then said to Melanie, "And how's my other baby?" She patted Melanie's rounded stomach.

Melanie smiled weakly and said, "Fine."

"You look good," Justin said to her.

"Thanks, baby."

"Lots of babies around here," Emmett observed to Brian. "And a few hotties, too."

"Where?"

"Right there. Checking you out, I'd say."

Brian and Justin both looked over towards the door, where a handsome young man was standing near the cash register, obviously eyeing them. The women all turned too, and the young man smiled. "Not you, that's for me," Justin said airily to Brian.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Can't say," Justin said, meaning Gus. Brian handed Gus another French fry and put his hands over his son's ears. Justin explained, "I fucked that guy a few weeks ago at Babylon. You were off dancing with somebody."

Brian grinned, surprised. He knew Justin wasn't tricking much, but he was glad he hadn't given it up all together. Emmett asked, "So how was he? Was he good?"

Justin smiled back at Brian and said softly, "I've had better."

Brian's grin widened. Lindsay looked back and forth between them and smiled sentimentally. Melanie said, "It's amazing what passes for sweet talk between you two."

Debbie hooted and held out her arms to Gus. "Want some ice cream before you go?" Gus said yes, nodding vigorously, and she bore him away to the kitchen. Someone at another booth called for service and she yelled back, "Yeah, yeah, in a second!" and kept walking.

"Here's the stuff Sidney wanted me to give you," Lindsay was saying to Brian, handing him papers. "Oh, and I have the list of the artists in the show, do you want to see it?"

Brian shook his head. He wasn't interested, but Justin was. "Can I see? Anybody I've heard of?"

"Yes, it's actually a good mix. A few really well-known people like Goodmeyer -- "

"Wow," Justin said.

" -- but there are also a few newcomers, which is great. The notes said one of them is from Pittsburgh but I didn't recognize his name. It's in here somewhere." She looked through her bag. "Oh, here it is. Have you ever heard of Will Allens?"

Justin froze with the list in his hand. Emmett, peering over Brian's shoulder, asked if there were any photos of the artwork. "Maybe it'll give me an idea for the theme."

"No, these are just promotion plans."

"I'll get you the photos, Em," Lindsay said. She looked again at Justin. "Honey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing." His voice was flat. Brian's head came up to look at him. Justin took a sip of his coke and then said, "I've heard of Will Allens."

"Oh, good. What kind of work does he do?"

"Mostly abstract," Justin said. Brian was still watching him. "He's really good. I like his stuff." He handed the list back to Lindsay.

Brian asked, "Where have you seen it?"

Justin met his eyes. "At the Institute," he said calmly. "He was a senior when I came in but everybody knew about him. Obviously he's graduated. And gone on to bigger things." He added, "Their graduates often do."

They all fell silent for a moment, surrounded by the clatter of the diner. Justin stood up, to prevent anyone from thinking of something cheery and infuriating to say. "Come on," he said to Brian. "I'll go to the park with you. Go rescue Gus."

Brian, still wordless, nodded and went to find his son.

 

*****
 

Two months later Brian's PR blitz was on and the show was about to open. Emmett had convinced Lindsay a literal interpretation of the show's title would be fun, and his opening-night party theme was "Storm & Lightning." Sidney had nearly vetoed the lightning-bolt hors d'oeuvres, because he was afraid they looked phallic if you turned the plate the wrong way, but Brian had reassured him that no one would imagine such a thing.

"Sure you don't want to go?" Brian asked Justin the day before the party.

"I'd rather watch paint dry."

Justin had already looked over the slides of the participating artists, lingering over the work of Will Allens, praising it to Lindsay and Emmett. Brian wasn't surprised he didn't want to see the show in person, especially since Allens himself would be attending, but he had a nagging feeling it would be better for Justin to face it than to stay home.

"You know," Brian said in an alluring voice, "I'm asking you as my date."

There was a time this would have made Justin fall off the couch, then leap to his feet, eager to go anywhere. Now Justin gave him an exasperated look over the top of the magazine he was reading. "Oh boy," he said sarcastically. "That's courageous. Imagine an out queer couple at an art show! I'm sure that's never been done before."

"I didn't mean it as a political statement," Brian said dryly. "Okay, fuck you. Come help me figure out what to wear."

"Your new red shirt," Justin said immediately.

Brian raised his eyebrows at this quick decision but went into the bedroom to get it. He came back out wearing it, saying, "Not too bright?"

Justin put down his magazine. "It makes you look hot as hell," he breathed.

"Really?" Brian asked softly, sticking his tongue in his cheek. A moment later he abandoned all thoughts of trying on more clothes in favor of taking off Justin's.

 

*****

 

The following evening, during the party, Brian wished again that he had been able to talk Justin into coming. He had nagged him for Justin's own benefit - at least he had thought so - but the truth was he missed him. Sidney was pontificating, the art groupies were exchanging profound insights, the champagne was flowing, and people were air kissing each other left and right. Brian had a hundred sardonic things to say and nobody to say them to. He went on making pleasant small talk to his own clients in the crowd and to the richest of Sidney's collector-buddies, glancing again and again at his watch. If he left before ten, Sidney would notice and complain.

Katie, the assistant editor at the Frame, came bubbling up, and he managed to pass an amusing twenty minutes with her. She was an old Ryder client, another ex-advertiser, who had helped him launch his public relations career. Ad people were a little wilder at their parties, they agreed. "Sometimes it gets so stuffy in these galleries, and I don't mean the air quality," Katie whispered in his ear. "Except for the artists, who get to be all eccentric and temperamental. Fuck 'em, I say. Remember that Christmas party you guys gave at Ryder, where the production manager flashed her boobs at everybody?"

Later, when he thought it was safe to slip away, he stopped first to congratulate Lindsay, making sure to kiss her heartily in front of Melanie. He even congratulated Emmett on the success of the party and massaged his shoulder. "Well, well," Emmett said. "Imagine getting a compliment from the great Kinney." But he added sincerely, "Thanks, Brian."

On the way up in the elevator of his building, Brian wondered if Justin had come over to the loft. They hadn't seen each other since the day before, or even called. But it was late; he was probably at home. At Daphne's. Whatever the fuck.

He opened the loft door on to darkness, or so he thought at first. So Justin wasn't here. But as he stepped in he saw there was one halo of light after all, coming from the new floor lamp in the living room. The kitchen and bedroom faded beyond into blackness.

Brian closed the door behind him. It rattled shut and then the loft returned to silence. Subdued and wary, Brian walked over to the couch. Justin was settled deep into the cushions, his feet up on the coffee table, staring ahead at a painting propped in front of the TV. The light from the lamp was trained on it, like a spotlight on a monument.

"Hey," Brian said. His voice was quieter than he intended. He was beginning to resent the gothic atmosphere. "Hey," he repeated more loudly. "What are you doing?"

"I told you," Justin answered calmly, without turning his head or taking his eyes off the painting. "I'm watching paint dry." He motioned with his chin to the coffee table. "There's a beer for you."

He's been waiting for me, Brian thought. He tossed away his jacket and kicked off his shoes. He walked around the far side of the couch, took the beer, and sprawled down next to Justin so that their shoulders touched. "So this is yours," Brian said, meaning the painting. It wasn't Justin's usual style, in fact it wasn't his usual medium - when he created by hand instead of the computer, he preferred ink or charcoal - but Brian knew it was his work. Justin nodded. "When did you do it?"

"Today."

"The whole thing? In one day?"

Justin said, "It just came out of me."

Brian took a swallow of beer, looking at the painting. The colors were so harsh and jangling it was hard to look at. Sun rays were beating down on an acrid barren landscape. The dry earth below was cracked and solitary. Sunshine, Brian thought in secret dismay. Sunshine.

But the sun itself was nowhere to be seen in the painting. Only the harsh, merciless light coming from somewhere beyond the frame. "What are you calling it?" Brian asked.

"Cloud."

Brian snorted. "Nicely ironic." Justin, undisturbed, held out his hand for the beer. "Yeah," Brian said, passing it to him. "Just looking at this can make you thirsty."

Justin smiled a little to himself. Brian watched Justin's mouth wrap around the neck of the bottle, his tongue darting out to the green glass, but there was no answering throb from his own cock. Cloud, Brian thought. So this is how he feels about his talent. Hidden behind a cloud where no one can see it. Beating down to no purpose on dead earth.

Brian slid down deeper into the cushions and leaned harder against Justin. "Being a bit of a drama queen again, aren't you?"

Justin's smiled widened. Now he knew Brian had understood it. "A little," he admitted.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, looking at the painting, passing the beer back and forth. Finally Justin said, "I don't want to stop thinking like an artist, Brian. Not even temporarily. Not even sometimes. I don't ever want to."

"Okay," Brian said. After a moment he added softly, "Good." He slid his hand over to hook a few fingers through Justin's own, so that they were almost holding hands.

They stayed on the couch for a long time, as if they were in deep contemplation of the painting. But they were looking at each other.
 

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