Presidential Inauguration

Part 1




 

While Brian continued to struggle with his recovery from cancer, the rest of the country continued to struggle with its recovery from President George Bush. Luckily, hope was within sight in the form of president-elect, Barack Obama. The January 20th inauguration of America’s first black president was turning out to be the event of the year. Everybody who was anybody was invited, including Anthony Massey. Tony and the former senator of Illinois were not unfamiliar with each other. The Chicago Hyde Park neighborhood that Mr. Obama called home was near the Massey estate. The two had met on several occasions at fundraisers, where Tony had been a staunch supporter of the charismatic, young visionary.

“These are your tickets, and your schedule of events. You’ll be staying at The Four Seasons-Georgetown. Your limo will pick you and your party up at the airport.” Tony’s assistant, Everlee handed him the anxiously awaited envelope.

“We’ve waited over two hundred years for this. Are you sure you don’t want to come along and witness history?” Tony suggested.

“I’m sure.” Everlee smiled. “I’ll be watching history from my bedroom, in my pajamas, thank you very much. I have every confidence that you’ll represent us well.”

“I’ll be at my best,” Tony promised.

“Is Brian going to be able to make the trip?” Everlee asked.

“I don’t know. He’s had such a rough time with the cancer, and now the radiation treatments,” Tony said.

“How many more treatments does he have left?” Everlee asked.

“Six,” Tony said.

“How is he feeling these days? I know my mom was pretty weak when she was going through her treatments,” Everlee said.

“He’s not himself.” Tony’s mind quickly flashed back to the incident in the shower.

“That’s a shame. The three of you have had such a rocky start. You never even got to have a honeymoon,” Everlee pointed out.

“Oh, we had a honeymoon,” Tony begged to differ.

“I’m not talking about that.” Everlee blushed. “I mean a REAL honeymoon, where you, and Justin, and Brian got to go away, and maybe lay around on the beach, and sip margaritas. That’s what I call a honeymoon.”

Tony stood up from his desk, and placed the tickets inside the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I’d say witnessing history together beats the hell out of margaritas on the beach, any day,” he smiled.

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Back at the loft, the binding member of The Royal Trio was babysitting Pittsburgh’s most difficult patient. “The head of the largest gay civil rights organization has declined an invitation to attend the inauguration of president-elect Barack Obama, because reverend Rick Warren will deliver the invocation,” Justin read from the “Liberty Avenue Voice” newspaper.

“Deliver the what?” Brian lifted his head from the pillow.

“The prayer.” Justin continued, “Reverend Rick Warren is an outspoken opponent of gay marriage, and is for the elimination of current existing gay civil rights…..”

“Is this supposed to be cheering me up?” Brian interrupted.

“I’m keeping you informed on current events,” Justin said.

Brian sat up on the side of the bed. “If you want to be helpful, pass me my bucket. I think I’m going to throw up again,” he said.

Justin handed Brian the kidney shaped emesis basin. “When I voted for Obama I thought I was voting for change,” he said.

“He’s a politician, baby. Politicians are all the same. They’re no different than the guys at Babylon. They tell you whatever you need to hear so they can fuck you.” Brian deposited the remainder of the green Jell-O he had eaten for lunch into the emesis basin, and passed it back to Justin.

“So what are we going to do now?” Justin asked.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going back to sleep.” Brian laid back down.

Justin carefully walked his liquid cargo to the bathroom, and flushed it down the toilet. “You would think that Obama would have more empathy for civil rights,” he said.

Brian buried his head underneath the comforter. “Black, white, yellow…everyone hates fags, except fat girls,” he said.

“What?” Justin laughed.

“It’s true. Fat girls love us. If it wasn’t for us fags, they wouldn’t have any prom dates,” Brian said.

“That’s not true. Daphne’s not fat,” Justin pointed out.

“She will be,” Brian assured him.

Justin returned to the bedroom, and continued his argument as he gathered up the assortment of dirty glasses, and bowls from the bedside tables. “When will WE have civil rights? Do you know that we’re the last accepted prejudice? No one would dare think of calling a black man a nigger…….”

“Not if they want to keep their teeth,” Brian interjected.

“…but it’s ok to still call us fags,” Justin said.

“Not only is it ok to call us fags. It’s ok to beat the shit out of us. It’s even ok to kill us. You of all people should know that by now,” Brian reminded him.

“So what you’re saying is that my fate was decided at birth, that regardless of my talents, or my accomplishments, I’ll always be judged by what I am,” Justin summarized.

“Gay is the new black, baby,” Brian said.

“Well, it’s not fair!” Justin headed off to the kitchen area.

Their poignant discussion was interrupted by a jubilant Anthony Massey. Tony slid the loft door closed behind him, and tossed his overcoat onto the sofa. “Good afternoon, my precious one, and how is Pittsburgh’s worst patient today?”

“Still as surly as ever,” Justin answered for Brian.

“What are you doing here, princess? Why aren’t you in class?” Tony asked.

Justin turned on the dishwasher before walking over to give his lion a kiss. “I finished my project early, so professor Dailey allowed me to leave,” he said.

“I have a surprise for us.” Tony grabbed Justin’s hand, and hurried over to the bed. He quickly pulled the cover off of Brian’s head, and gave his ailing husband a kiss. “Green Jell-O again?” Tony noted the familiar aroma.

“Green Jell-O and chicken soup, that’s all you’re feeding me,” Brian said.

“Well that’s about to change.” Tony pulled the envelope from his pocket.

“What’s that?” Justin asked.

“I hope it’s a turkey sandwich. I’d kill for a smoked turkey sandwich, with no mayo.” Brian said.

“This is better than a turkey sandwich. I am holding in my hand three tickets for us to attend the presidential inauguration,” Tony announced proudly.

“Speaking of turkey.” Brian rolled over, and covered his head again.

“Well don’t everyone get too excited all at once,” Tony said.

“Brian and I were just having that discussion before you walked in,” Justin said. “Do you know that Rick Warren will be delivering the invocation?”

“So?” Tony shrugged.

“Rick Warren hates gays!” Justin said.

“Ok, so we won’t invite him to the after party,” Tony said.

“This isn’t about an after party. This is about acceptance. We’re about to embark on a new era in America. History was made when we elected our first black president, and gay people are sill being left out!” Justin fretted.

“We’re not being left out. I’ve got our tickets right here!” Tony raised the envelope in the air.

“Your princess is having one of his “I wanna be straight” days,” Brian said from underneath the covers.

“I do not want to be straight, but I don’t want to have my rights violated, or taken away from me because I’m not straight!” Justin made the clarification.

Tony sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled Justin close to him. “Princess, I can build you a castle here on Liberty Avenue, but I can’t hide you away from the rest of the world. Gay people only represent 10% of the population, if that. We’re always going to be outnumbered, and there will always be religious fanatics who believe their way is the only way. I refuse to turn my country over to them,” Tony said.

“You don’t have to turn it over to them. They already own it!” Brian came out from underneath the comforter, and climbed up onto his soapbox.
"Stop filling his head with patriotic bullshit, Tony. You know damned well that no one gives a shit about us, but us. It doesn’t matter how liberal a politician claims to be, or how many fundraisers you’re suckered into supporting. Breeders are breeders. They either hate you to your face, or they hate you behind your back.”

“That’s not true, Brian,” Tony disagreed.

“Maybe it’s not true in YOUR world,” Brian snapped.

“My world?” Tony was taken aback.

“Yes, YOUR world!” Brian reiterated. “You’ve been “blending” for so long, you’ve forgotten that you’re just another take-it-up-the-ass-fag like the rest of us. Hell, until recently you had conveniently forgotten that you were black! The way I see it, you’re the only one here with something to celebrate.”

“Brian!” Justin frowned.

“It’s alright, princess,” Tony said. “Brian has his right to his opinion. I just thought that since we didn’t get a chance to have a real honeymoon……”

“And I suppose that’s my fault too!” Brian snapped. “Excuse me for getting sick!”

“No one’s blaming you for getting sick, Brian, but I am blaming you for being a fucking jerk. If you want me, princess, I’ll be at The Plaza.” Tony stood up from the bed, and headed for the door.

“Tony wait!” Justin called to him.

“Let him go, baby.” Brian laid back down.

Justin watched the steel door slam shut behind his wounded lion. “Brian, what the hell is the matter with you? Why would you say something like that to him? You know Tony is sensitive about his background!”

“Fuck him, and his background.” Brian rolled over, and pulled the covers back over his head. As far as he was concerned, Tony was getting exactly what he had coming to him. Brian told himself that this was all for Justin. Poor Justin would be devastated if he found out about Tony and David’s early morning tryst. Everybody knows that Brian Kinney doesn’t do jealousy.

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The Plaza’s Gazebo Restaurant was packed with its usual late afternoon crowd of ladies, and gentlemen who brunch. Tony walked over to the end of the bar, to the corner seat that was usually reserved for him. “I’ll have orange juice on the rocks, Bill,” he ordered.

“Right away, Mr. Massey.” Bill, The Plaza’s senior bartender wiped off the bar, and placed a coaster down. “By the way, Happy New Year to you, sir. I don’t think I’ve seen you this year.”

“The same to you. How were your holidays?” Tony asked cordially.

“Good.” Bill smiled. “The girls and the grandkids flew in to spend Christmas with us.”

“How many grandkids do you have now?” Tony asked.

“Five. The wife and I are glad to see them come, and we’re glad to see them go,” Bill joked.

“Wow.” Tony smiled. “How long have you been married, Bill?”

“Thirty-eight years, this June,” Bill said proudly.

“Good years?” Tony asked.

“I can’t complain,” Bill said.

“So what’s your secret?” Tony asked.

Bill thought for a moment. “It’s all about keeping your eyes open, Mr. Massey, knowing how to recognize trouble when you see it, knowing how to avoid it, and knowing how to get out of the doghouse when you slip up. I’ll go get your juice now.” Bill turned, and walked away.

Thirty-eight years. Tony repeated the words to himself. Thirty-eight years was a long time to be bound to one, even two persons, especially if one of those persons is Brian Kinney. Funny, Anthony Massey never pictured himself as a married man. Perhaps his lawyer, Kenneth Davenport was right. Maybe this was all a big mistake. What the hell was Tony thinking? When did he become so lonely that he would fall so easily for the charms of a younger man? Luckily his marriage license wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. For that Tony was grateful. If he wanted to, he could simply walk away from the fairytale that was rapidly becoming a nightmare.

“Mr. Massey, here’s your drink, sir.” Bill returned and placed a drink on the coaster.

“Bill, I didn’t order scotch. I asked for orange juice,” Tony reminded him.

“The scotch is from the gentleman in the dining area, near the fireplace,” Bill said.

Tony turned, and looked in the direction the wise old bartender was pointing. There, sitting by the cracking fire was trouble. “David.” Tony smiled.

 

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