PROMISE
This story picks up where “Be Careful” left off.
Brian
Justin hadn't been gone twenty minutes before the buzzer rang. Totally
irrationally and against my will, my brain jumped to conclusions. Wrong
conclusions. It was Michael. He asked if it was safe to come up.
"Sure,” I agreed, then hurried to grab the broom and clean up the evidence of my
latest ridiculous drama queen performance: only a coffee cup, flung hastily and
angrily at the floor. I dumped the shards of glass into the garbage and had the
broom put away before Michael pushed open my door.
"Mikey!" I greeted him with a big smile, "I was just about to go get lunch, want
to come?"
Looking askance at me, he replied, "Why weren't you at the gym? You never miss a
Saturday." When I said I'd overslept, he asked solicitously, "How's your hand?"
grabbing my wrist and twisting it around.
"Ow! It was better till you pulled it."
"Let's change the band-aids," he said, not letting go.
"Fuck it, Mikey, it's fine, don't fuss at me." I have no patience for
nursemaids, and besides, I was still mad at Michael. Not mad, just annoyed. I
knew I'd get over it, we never stay mad at each other very long. "You hungry?
I'm starving."
"Yeah, okay," he agreed, letting go my hand, I could feel his eyes following me
as I went to grab the jacket I'd thrown on the bed when I came back from the
drugstore. I knew he was aware of my annoyance, and that annoyed me even more.
"Who's minding the store?" I asked, as we descended the stairs and walked into
the garage to get the jeep.
"Brady, that kid I hired part-time. He can't stay long though, so maybe we could
get a sandwich or something to go and eat it at the store?"
"Sure." I started the ignition and the cassette player came on automatically,
blaring Moby loud enough to deafen us both. I must not have heard it last night,
driving home. I don't even remember driving home, it's amazing that the jeep was
parked perfectly aligned in my garage space. I punched the button, ejecting the
tape, grabbed the cassette and tossed it into the back seat. Michael said
nothing.
"Harry’s Hofbrau okay?"
"Okay," he agreed, adjusting his seatbelt and stretching out his legs, 'But
what's wrong with the diner? It's closer."
"Tired of the menu." We rode in silence the rest of the way to the hofbrau,
picked out sandwiches and carried them back to the jeep. At the shop Michael
dismissed Brady with smiling thanks, and I leafed through a comic book as I
watched him walk out the door. He glanced at me over his shoulder, then blushed
and dropped his eyes and hurried out of the shop. He’s young, maybe sixteen,
with very red lips, and with long black hair hanging over his forehead. And a
thick waist and bad complexion. Probably jerks off while reading X-Men.
“He’s got a crush on you,” Michael informed me as I joined him behind the
counter and we unwrapped our sandwiches. “Big surprise. Young kids always want
you.”
"So," I changed the subject, "How're sales of Rage going? Sold out yet?"
Michael became animated then, "Almost! I got a ton of orders on e-mail this
morning, probably more than I can fill. I'll call the publisher on Monday and
order another ten cases."
"When's the new issue going to the publisher?"
Michael's face immediately fell into a heavy frown, making deep creases in his
forehead. I should give him some of my French skin cream, he's going to need it
soon. "There won't be a new issue," he mumbled, swallowing a bite of sandwich
and taking a slurp of soda. "You know that. I won't work with that fucking kid
ever again."
Resisting the urge to defend Justin (and why the fuck I should defend Justin,
I've no idea), I grabbed the soda can out of his hand, making Mikey look at me.
"Why are you mad at him, Michael?"
"He fucking cheated on you, Brian, for Christ's sake!"
"Yeah," I nodded calmly, "He cheated on me. Not you."
"Brian - you're my best friend!" he sputtered.
"I know," I answered calmly, handing him back the can. "And he's your business
partner. One thing has nothing to do with the other."
Michael jumped up and slammed the can down on the counter, crossed his arms over
his chest. "Why are you telling me this? You don't expect me to go on being
partners with that little - "
Glancing at my face, Michael stopped abruptly. I'm not sure what he read in my
eyes, but it was enough to make him back off.
"I don't give a fuck if you're partners or not." I stood up too, tossing my
half-eaten sandwich in the wastebasket. "But I just spent a fortune to launch
your comic, and it could be a huge success - so you're both idiots if you fuck
up this opportunity."
Michael stood glaring at the floor, stubbornly frowning and shaking his head.
"He won't want to do it either. Unless," suddenly he raised his head and glared
angrily into my eyes. "Unless, maybe he put you up to this?"
I shook my head. "Nope. He's probably as determined as you are to be stupid
about the whole thing, throw everything away in a childish temper tantrum. But
you're adults, both of you. So act like it."
Michael looked at me searchingly for a moment, then sighed and sat down again,
took another bite of sandwich.
"Mikey." I put my hand on his shoulder and he looked up at me, then I leaned
down and pressed my forehead to his. "Do whatever you want. Okay?" I felt him
relax, and he smiled at me, so I kissed him. "Now I've got to get going, see you
later."
Jumping up and walking me to the door, Michael asked, "See you at Woody's
tonight?"
"Mmm," I hedged, gave Michael's shoulder another squeeze, and walked off down
the sidewalk to my jeep.
Justin
As soon as I saw Michael come into the diner, I turned around and walked to the
kitchen. I stayed there a couple minutes till I realized how ridiculous it was
for me to try to avoid anybody, I work at the diner, I’m going to see Michael
sometimes. I'm going to see all of them. So I straightened my shoulders and
sauntered back in, and was only slightly surprised when I realized that Michael
had seated himself at the counter, which he had to know was my section. Okay,
I'd wait on the fucker, and he ought to feel lucky if I didn't spit in his food.
Taking a deep breath, I approached him and whipped out my pad and pencil. "Yes?"
I said, icicles dripping off my tongue.
"Hey," Michael's tone was only slightly less chilly than my own. "How's it
going?" I knew he didn't want an answer to that, so I was tempted to give him
one, to tell him everything was going great. Which of course it sure as fuck is
not.
"Ready to order?"
"Justin," Michael thawed slightly, leaned forward with his hands rubbing
together nervously on the countertop. "We - we need to talk."
"No we don't." I could hardly look at him, I sure as fuck didn't want to talk to
him. About anything.
"Yeah we do. Don't be - "
"Look, do you want to order, or not? I have other customers."
"Coffee, I'll have a cup of coffee. But would you - "
I turned my back on Michael and grabbed a cup and saucer, poured coffee and
brought it back to the counter, turning again quickly for a pot of cream and set
it down in front of him. Before I could move away, Michael reached out and
grabbed my wrist.
"Brian said you'd be childish, but - "
I froze, my whole body turned to ice. So they'd been talking about me, Michael
and Brian. "Fuck off, Michael," I told him quietly and tried to pull my hand
away, but he hung on harder.
"Look, Justin, I didn't mean - look, Brian said I was being childish, too. Okay?
He said we both are, and I've been thinking about it, about things, about Rage -
and I'd just like a chance to talk to you about it."
"Rage is over," I answered, feeling full of rage myself at being called childish
by Brian. Even if it were true. Especially if it were true. "And I've got
customers, I can't talk any more now."
"Come by the shop when you get off work. Will you just do that?"
I glared down at his hand and he released me. I moved away, went to the pick-up
window for one of my orders, and continued doing my job, waiting on customers
and giving Michael a wide berth as he sipped his coffee. When he stood up and
moved to the cash register, I was forced to wait on him again, Norma had gone
out back for a cigarette break. He silently handed me a five and I silently made
change and put it in his hand. He took the opportunity to grab my wrist again.
"Just think about it," Michael hissed under his breath. "It won't kill you to
come and talk to me for a few minutes."
"I have nothing to say to you," I murmured, feeling like a bad actor in a bad
play. I felt, in fact, incredibly childish. Brian was right, damn him.
The comic shop was closed and locked when I stopped by, but I could see Michael
in front of the counter unloading some boxes, so I knocked. He raised his head
and glanced at the door, then he hurried over to turn the lock and let me in.
Brian
The knock on the door surprised me, it was after midnight and anybody who wanted
me would be looking at Babylon, or in the alley behind it. When I pulled open
the door and saw Justin standing there, I was even more surprised. I hadn't seen
or heard from him in nearly a week, since he came by after the Rage party to
pick up some clothes. I'd steered clear of the diner, which was easy to do - I
had no desire to see Debbie or any of the guys, I had no desire to see anybody
at all. I was up to my ears in work, and that was fine with me.
"You've got a key," I told him, stone-faced, "No need to knock." I stood back
and waved him inside.
"I saw your jeep downstairs, I thought you might be - busy." Yeah, I could guess
what he thought I was busy doing.
"I am busy."
He glanced around, his eyes going first to the empty bedroom, then to my desk
covered with stacks of papers and reports.
"I'm sorry to bother you, I just need to get some more of my stuff." He stood
uncertainly, his hands clutching his backpack, glancing around the loft. When I
said nothing, his eyes came back to me, and I felt that jolt, that little
electric zap! that just looking into his big blue eyes sometimes gives me. I've
never told him about that, and now I'll never have to.
"It's okay," I allowed my voice to soften slightly, to lose the harsh edge that
was obviously upsetting him. "Take whatever you need. Are you settled somewhere
yet?" Lindsay had already told me, but I feigned ignorance.
Justin visibly relaxed, dropping the backpack and wandering over to his table. I
hadn't touched anything. He began sorting through papers and sketchpads - he has
half a dozen sketchpads going at any one time - and began making a pile. "I'm
staying at my mom's for a while," he said over his shoulder, not looking at me.
"Temporarily."
I walked closer. "You'll need your computer. I can drop it off at your mom's
place tomorrow."
"Oh, no, I can't take the computer." He stopped sorting papers and regarded me
solemnly, folding his arms over his chest.
"Why not? It's yours. I don't need it."
"Brian, I can't. Don't be - nice."
Oh baby, baby. "I'm always nice," I said, thinking I'd get a laugh, but he
looked away and nodded.
"Yes."
"No, I'm not."
"No, you're not," he agreed, finally giving me a small smile. "But sometimes you
are. I just don't feel right, keeping that expensive computer."
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
"You could sell it."
"Disconnect it, and I'll take it over to your mom's tomorrow." I turned away
then, went back to my own desk, sat down and tried to wrap my mind around the
pitch I was preparing for Atlas Paints. How do you make fucking paint sexy? I
tried to pay no attention to the boy temporarily filling up space in the corner.
Soon my dining room would be back to normal, no more clutter and mess. Soon all
evidence of Justin Taylor would be out of my loft, out of my life. Christ.
"I'm going now."
I looked up as Justin approached my desk, carrying his backpack and another of
my blue pillowcases stuffed with lumps of clothes.
"Need a ride?"
He shook his head, but not very convincingly. "It’s late, I'll drive you," I
said, then stood up quickly and went to the closet for my jacket before he could
refuse, but he didn’t argue, just waited by the door while I pulled on my jacket
and picked up my keys. I thought briefly about offering to load up my jeep with
all his stuff, to save him making these trips, but then I wouldn't see him at
all. Which would probably be good, yet I said nothing. In silence we descended
the stairs and got into the car. I tried to stop myself, but I couldn't, for
some reason I couldn't stop myself from reaching over and fastening his seat
belt. He still has trouble with some motor skills, doing the seatbelt is one of
them, and this was a struggle I couldn't bring myself to watch him make.
"I can do it," he murmured half-heartedly, but I ignored his protest and grabbed
the belt, stretching it over him and locking it into place. This brought my body
very close to Justin's, and although I averted my eyes on purpose, I could feel
the warmth of Justin's skin, could hear his tiny intake of breath, could smell
his shampoo and the faint whiff of cigarettes on his jacket. I stopped then,
just stopped, like I was paralyzed in this awkward position leaning over his
body on the car seat.
"Brian," he breathed, and I looked at him then, and his eyes were closed and his
mouth was too close, too near to mine, and I kissed him, not meaning to, not
wanting to, not wanting to at all.
Justin's mouth opened under mine, our lips pushing together, and his hands slid
up my chest, his arms went around my neck, and he pulled me against him. I
grabbed him then, just grabbed onto him tight while we kissed, both of us
holding on so tight it hurt, squeezing each other like hungry giant pythons.
"Stop," he whispered.
"Stop," I whispered back.
And then we laughed, for some crazy reason we both laughed, his breath coming in
my mouth and mine going into his. We pulled away a few inches and stared at each
other.
"Guess that was not a good idea," I managed to say as I pulled away, disengaging
myself from his arms, leaning back to sit upright on the car seat.
"Yes - no," he agreed.
I fastened my own seatbelt and started the jeep, revved the engine a few times
and pulled away from the curb. “Your Moby tape’s in the back somewhere, remember
to look for it when we get to your place.”
We rode along in silence for a few minutes, then Justin said, “We’re going to do
some more issues of Rage. Michael and me. Probably.”
“Hmm,” I grunted.
“I know you had something to do with it.”
“Not really.”
Silence for another minute, then Justin burst out, “Brian, I know you thought I
was ungrateful about the Rage party, but I wasn’t really.”
Damn Michael. “I never said that.” I kept my eyes on the road. “And besides, I
didn’t do it for fucking gratitude.”
“Oh, I know you didn’t.” Justin slipped his hand to cover mine on the gear
shift. “I know you didn’t,” he repeated emphatically. “But can I – can I tell
you why I was upset about it?”
I sighed. We came to a red light and stopped. I slipped my hand from the gear
shift and held Justin’s hand in mine, squeezed. “If you must,” I said at last,
begrudgingly. He knows how much I hate ‘meaningful discussions.’
“Brian, it was because you never consulted me. Or Michael either, but he didn’t
care. I cared.”
“It was a surprise,” I heard the defensiveness in my voice and it annoyed me.
Why should I consult anybody about my plans? I never have and I never will. I
tried to pull my hand away but Justin held on tight.
“Surprises are cool,” he said earnestly, “But this party – all the stuff you did
for Rage – it was so great and yet it was. . .it was like a grown-up surprising
a child. Do you know what I mean? I’m not a child. I’m a grown-up too.”
The light changed and I had an excuse to pull my hand away, to shift gears as
the jeep started moving again. “My plans are always my own.”
“I know,” Justin sighed, and I heard the defeat in his voice.
A few minutes later we arrived at the Taylor condo and I parked and turned off
the lights. “Justin, wait,” I said, before he could open the car door. “Your
next term’s tuition’s due in a few weeks, isn’t it?”
Justin released the seat belt and turned sideways to face me. “So what if it
is?”
“I need to give you a check, but I didn’t bring my checkbook. I’ll bring it
tomorrow when I drop off your computer.“
“No.”
“Then I’ll mail it to you.” I pretended to misunderstand.
“Brian, I’m not taking your money.”
“Who said ‘take?’ We signed a deal for a four-year loan, did you think I’d back
out just because we’re not fucking any more?”
“I can’t – “ he was shaking his head and I quickly interrupted him, my voice
cutting sharply through the air between us.
“Christ, Justin, do you know how fucking insulting you’re being?”
That got his attention. “What?”
“You think I offered the loan only because you were having sex with me?”
“No, of course not, I never said – “
“And we’re not having sex now, so you assume I’m backing out of the deal?”
“Brian – “
“Fuck you, Justin.” I turned abruptly away from him and stared out my side
window. “If that’s what you think of me, fuck you.”
I held my breath, waiting to see what he’d do.
Justin scooted close to me, grabbed my arm and I shrugged off his hand. “Brian,
I never thought that! I didn’t!” he exclaimed earnestly. “I know you always keep
your word, it’s not like that! I just need to – I just need to take care of
things myself now.”
“Okay,” I nodded, still not looking at him. “How are you going to take care of
it?”
“Well, if Rage keeps doing great - “
“It’ll be six months, a year or more before you can count on money from your
comic.” I turned around and Justin moved a few inches backward on the seat.
“What will you do till then?”
It was dark but lamplight from the street slightly illuminated Justin’s face. He
was shaking his head, he looked worried, and I felt myself soften, felt my arms
wanting to reach out and pull him against my chest. Then suddenly Justin’s head
went up and he frowned. Looking me straight in the eye, he said quietly, “My
plans are my own.”
Shit.
With a rueful laugh, I reached out and grabbed the back of Justin’s neck, leaned
my forehead against his and whispered, “Asshole!” He had the grace to laugh,
then I said, “But promise me two things. Will you do that?”
“What?”
“One: Don’t be a go-go boy.” He laughed again and shook his head no. “And two:
If you need money – for school or whatever – you’ll come to me first. Promise?”
“Brian – “
“It’s a fucking loan, Justin, not a gift. You know I can afford it. Promise?”
With a sigh, Justin nodded. “Promise.”
We kissed then, just a brief kiss, just a promise type of kiss. Then I released
his neck and almost pushed him across the seat toward the car door. “Now get
out, before I throw you in the back seat and fuck your brains out.”
Justin opened the door and was halfway out before he turned around and
whispered, “Thanks, Brian.” I just nodded and watched him gather his bags, shut
the door and walk up the pathway. He turned and gave me a wave and I waved back,
then I drove off. Drove off to my quiet, soon-to-be-uncluttered loft, and the
stacks of work waiting on my desk.
At a red light I flipped open the glove compartment, searching for a tape, then
I remembered the Moby tape on the floor of the back seat. Justin forgot to take
it with him. My hand fished around in the dark till I found it, slipped it into
the cassette deck, and turned up the volume full blast.
7/16/02