The Gus Diaries

Part 24

The Tux - Part 2

Wow, I can’t believe how hard math is. It always takes me forever to finish my homework, but I’m determined to get good grades. If I have to I’ll work with Uncle Ted as a tutor, although he’ll probably put me to sleep once he starts talking. I don’t know how Uncle Blake puts up with him…he probably just tunes him out.

Now where was I…oh yeah, we had just finished meeting concert violinist, Ethan Gold, and rather than being bothered by that formerly closeted asshole, MJ and Dad were celebrating by kissing and hugging. They were over the moon about MJ’s painting hanging at the MoMA. I guess Mr. Gold wasn’t worth another thought.

They soon realized they were still in front of Lincoln Center when they pulled apart and MJ blushed. Neither of them are generally into major PDA’s unless it’s on Liberty Avenue or some other gay-friendly location. It’s not that they’re embarrassed, but they just would rather not deal with all the bullshit that some straight people can dish out.

We took a cab back to the hotel and as soon as I got in my bed at our suite I called Jeff, told him about everything that happened and collapsed into a deep sleep. Something tells me that Dad and MJ had much more energetic plans when they went into their bedroom.

There are some things I’d just rather not know about so I went to sleep as fast as I could, knowing that there was a large living area separating the two bedrooms in the suite, so I wouldn’t hear anything I didn’t want to hear.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 

Saturday morning began a very overwhelming day for all of us. Who knew that picking out a tux would become such a major rite of passage but it was really incredible.

When we walked into the Armani store Aldo was waiting to greet Dad and MJ and then finally me. “Ah, Mr. Kinney, this must be the young lad who is about to enter the world of couture design.” I was shocked to discover that Aldo had the strongest New York accent I’d ever heard.

I guess my mouth ran away from me, “You’re Aldo!”

Aldo had the decency to laugh. “Yes, kid, I’m Aldo. Born Albert Dominsky of Russian born immigrants. My father was a tailor on the Lower East Side and he taught me everything he knew and then saved enough for me to go to Parsons’. Then I became a valued employee for Armani so I changed my name to Aldo to fit the image…like Cher.”

Oh fuck, could this guy be any gayer. I smiled and kept my next remarks to myself. I was actually kind of proud that my gaydar was beginning to tune in, although Aldo was kind of obvious. At least it was a start.

“My dear Aldo, my incredibly handsome son is about to attend his first prom, with his boyfriend.”

“Oh my God, that’s wonderful. Proms are such important rites of passage.”

Then I saw MJ practically cringe at that remark. “I’ve heard that said once or twice myself.”

Dad looked at MJ, “You don’t have to stay for this. You can go across the street and have a cup of coffee at Starbucks. There’s one on every corner.”

“No, Brian, I can’t leave.” MJ looked into Dad’s eyes and gently placed his hands on Dad’s shoulders. “I have to stay. Not just for Gus, but for me.” Then he pulled Dad to the side and whispered quietly enough that I barely heard him, “Brian, I need to set the world right once and for all and this is my chance. I hope that doesn’t sound too selfish; it’s just the way I feel. Please don’t be angry.”

Dad’s face took on this incredibly soft look. I’ve rarely seen that look. It’s mostly reserved for MJ when we’re home alone, “Angry, I couldn’t be prouder. And maybe someday, when Gus goes to his own prom, we can act as chaperones and complete the rebalancing of the world.”

MJ pulled Dad down for a kiss. Since we’d been led to a special showing room in the back it wasn’t such a big PDA, just me and Aldo to watch. “Brian, I love you. Thank you for understanding.”

After that was all settled, Dad and MJ refocused, back to the purpose of our visit, and Aldo began to present about 30 different tuxedo styles. I just thought it was a plain black suit with shiny lapels, who knew there were so many styles. Not me, that’s for fucking sure.

Dad started picking out four or five that he thought would look the best on me. I remembered the last big shopping trip we had, when Dad and MJ got into a huge fight, right before I started school. Boy, does half a year make a huge difference. It was obvious that MJ was biting his tongue, and sometimes out and out smiling, while Dad was getting all detailed and specific about every little thing. Points verses curves, one, two or three buttons, and slit or no slit in the back. It was insane!

At one point when I was getting tired of changing clothes and almost resorted to lying on the floor kicking and screaming that I wanted to go home, MJ came up behind me and whispered in my ear, “Pick your battles, Gus. This is your father’s playground, let him have his fun.” I nodded, cooperated and soon found that the torture was over.

Dad placed the order for the tuxedo and all its accessories as well as ordering a pair of coordinating dress shoes.

“Why don’t you two go across the street and get a snack before we head over to the MoMA. I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Sounds like a great idea, Brian. What can I order for you?”

“How about a double shot skim latte and a fruit cup, Sunshine.”

“Okay. Oh and when you also order another suit for yourself, since Aldo also has my measurements on file, you can pick out a navy pinstripe for me, too.” MJ smirked.

Dad mouthed, “Asshole,” to MJ and all I could do was laugh. It’s so cool that MJ can totally predict Dad’s every move…most of the time.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 

After our snack at Starbucks we headed straight for the Museum of Modern Art. MJ had received special passes from his agent and ever since Mr. Gold spilled the beans about MJ’s canvas we all understood why.

With special guest passes hanging around our necks we proceeded through the entrance to the museum. At the front desk, when the passes were scanned we were asked to wait. I hoped that everything was okay and that we didn’t fuck anything up.

Soon a guy, about Dad’s height, built like a football player and wearing a dark suit came to the entrance desk. “Ah, Mr. Taylor, my name is Marshall Randolph and I’m the agent and artist representative at the museum. We were wondering when you would finally arrive to see your work. It’s an honor to have you here to view your first piece in the museum. Would you please be so kind as to sign our special guest book?”

It was obvious that MJ was loving all the attention, but what was more obvious was that Dad was so fucking proud of him. It was strange that unlike all of MJ’s shows in New York City or Chicago or Pittsburgh, this special moment was only shared by the three of us. No one else in the family was here, but in some ways that made this viewing that much more significant.

My father’s work was hanging in the MoMA and I was here to see it with him for the first time.

“Mr. Taylor, are you and your friends ready to proceed?”

“Excuse me for being so rude, I guess I’m a bit overwhelmed. Mr. Randolph, this is my husband Brian Kinney and our son, Gus.”

“Nice to meet you both. You must be very proud of Mr. Taylor.”

Dad nodded slightly, “You have no idea.”

We followed Mr. Randolph to the third floor of the museum. There was a special sign for a new exhibit entitled, ‘Artists of the Future’. As we walked through the first two small rooms of the exhibit we passed a wide array of realistic art depicting bizarre subjects, like railroad tracks across a huge canvas with a break in one of the main rails and a train heading for the break. Kind of gross if you ask me.

There were a couple of interesting sculptures that I couldn’t really figure out from just a glance, but I just wanted to see MJ’s canvas. Finally we reached the third and final room in the exhibit. It was a larger room with much bigger canvases and three low benches across the center of the room.

Mr. Randolph held out his arm in the direction of the wall that showcased MJ’s painting. I started to walk ahead but Dad grabbed my arm and whispered, “Wait.”

I was about to argue with him when I saw Mr. Randolph also hanging back. They were letting MJ approach his canvas alone.

Watching him was kind of surreal. He first looked at the explanation of the artist and his work that was posted next to the painting. He went to touch the bio, but quickly pulled his hand away and looked at Mr. Randolph who nodded.

MJ touched his name and the words that described him and his art. Then he took a few steps back and stood centered in front of the painting, ‘Passion in Olive and Cream’. He stood there frozen for a while. We inched closer and when MJ finally turned around to us he was silently crying. Streams of tears were running down his face.

Dad sprinted the rest of the way and just held him.

“Oh God, Brian, after all the pain of being apart. And the bliss and the struggle of making a life together, not in New York City, it happened. It really happened. I just can’t believe it.”

Dad held MJ tight. “I can believe it. None of the artists in this exhibit can hold a candle to your talent or your genius. You’re a brilliant artist and a loving and emotional man. There’s no way you could miss.”

“Oh Brian, but here, here, it’s, it’s, it’s almost as good as fucking you.” Dad laughed out loud and so did I. A few others in the room turned around. A couple walked away from the crazy artist and the rest just looked on with both amusement and I would imagine envy. Those two really are lucky to have each other…and I’ve got them both!

Mr. Randolph coughed politely to interrupt. “Excuse me, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Kinney.”

“Yes,” Dad looked up. MJ wasn’t quite coherent yet.

“Here are three VIP guest passes to our special dining room. Please be our guests for a late lunch at your convenience. The restaurant is open all afternoon and until the museum closes this evening.”

“Thank you, we’ll use these as soon as we leave the exhibit.” Dad nodded and handed me the passes. MJ was still clinging to him a bit and he didn’t seem interested in letting him go. “Put these in your wallet, Sonny Boy. My hands are kind of full.”

Mr. Randolph chimed in one last time, “I’ll leave you to your own devices. Please take your time and thank you for the privilege of sharing your extreme talent.”

It was shortly thereafter that MJ decided to sit on the end of one of the benches to look at his work. Dad and I sat right behind him. Then I went up to read the explanation next to the art work. It described Justin Taylor, the artist, and then there was an excerpt from an interview he’d had a couple of years before with a reporter from the New York Times, when his first solo show in New York City opened.

‘Many people have asked if I have a muse. I find the concept of the muse a very private one. For some people it takes on one form and for some it takes another. I’ve always been drawn inexplicably to art, but as I developed my painting technique, and honed the craft and the directions I chose to focus my work, my muse and my passion became one. It’s the most powerful entity in my life. You might say it’s like seeing the face of God.’

Wow, that’s some powerful shit. Then I really looked at the painting for the first time…without anyone standing near it or in front of it. For the first time I realized what I was actually looking at.

I turned to my Dad and MJ. MJ’s head was resting on Dad’s shoulder and Dad’s head was resting on MJ’s. Dad also had his hand propped on the bench behind MJ. Yes, I really understood the artwork and how the quote made sense aligned with it.

“MJ, I know you’ve loved my Dad for a long time, but I never really understood just how much until this minute. I don’t think that most couples love as strongly as you two, do they.”

“No, Gus, I would doubt that many people have what your father and I have together.”

“You know, Sonny Boy, I’m not sure how many people could handle what we have, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

“Thank you both for letting me be here to see this with you, experience this with you. I’ll never forget this moment for the rest of my life.”

“Gus, that’s one of the most wonderful things anyone has ever said to me. You really are a special kid and an even better son.”

“I’ve got some pretty amazing dads, don’t I.” I smiled at them both and then turned back to the painting.

Shortly before we were finally ready to get up and leave, Mr. Randolph returned with a photographer and requested a photo of MJ with his painting. After that, a couple of people with programs from the exhibit approached MJ and asked for his autograph. They asked him some questions about his art…where he was showing most of his works, was any of his work currently available for viewing and purchase and a variety of more personal questions that were quite surprising…like if he was single and had any plans for the evening…from both men and women.

Dad and I stood back and I could tell that Dad was enjoying all the attention that MJ was getting. “Gus, enjoy this moment. It’s rare that people get the recognition they deserve. This is Justin’s moment to shine. Someday, I predict you’ll have a moment similar to this one and I hope to be there to enjoy that as much as I’m enjoying this.”

“You know Dad, you’re terrific. But I’ll keep that my secret, wouldn’t want to tarnish your image. One thing for sure, Mem doesn’t know you nearly well enough.”

Dad looked at me and laughed. I have a feeling he knew what I was referring to.

When MJ finished signing autographs and was ready to finally move on, Dad insisted we first take some pictures with our special digital camera…flash free so as not to screw up the art work.

It felt kind of strange leaving the painting behind, knowing that hundreds, maybe thousands would be coming to see it.

Then we went and had an amazing meal at this fancy dining room at the museum. The food was incredible and I had a feeling we were definitely underdressed for the experience but no one bugged us. I guess being a featured artist in the museum has its advantages.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 

The next morning we woke up and packed. Then we checked out of the hotel and had them hold our luggage. Dad insisted on taking us for a stroll through SoHo and the West Village. Between the stores and the restaurants and seeing all the gay couples holding hands in the streets it was really cool. Liberty Avenue was so small compared to this area.

Dad and MJ made sure to show me the location of the famous Stonewall night club where Uncle Vic had participated in the Stonewall riots that would evolve into Pride Marches in the future. I wish I could remember Uncle Vic, but he died when I was a toddler. There are pictures of me with him, with all of us, all over Grandma Deb’s house.

When we went to lunch in a restaurant on Christopher Street, there were a couple of women with a little baby at the table next to us. They were wearing matching wedding rings as they doted on this baby boy. I kind of imagined, and hoped, that this must have been what my moms were like when I was little.

I must have been day-dreaming because I jumped when Dad touched my arm as our food was placed in front of us. He leaned over, practically reading my mind. “Yes, Sonny Boy, your moms really loved you. Everyone in the family did.”

“Especially your Dad,” MJ continued. “I could tell that your father fell in love with you the moment he met you. I could see it in the way he looked at you.” And then MJ looked at Dad. “That’s the moment I knew that I would never get this man out of my heart. No one shows love in his eyes the way your father does.”

“Too bad it took me forever to say it.” Dad put his head down.

“Brian, just long enough.” MJ smiled and then touched Dad’s hand and brushed a finger gently over his wedding ring.

“Dad, you were the one that told me to look at what people do, rather than just listening to what they say.”

“So…”

“So, I thought back as long as I could remember and I realized that I always knew you loved me, even when we couldn’t be together.”

“I hated being so far apart.”

“Me too, but your calls and visits and our summers together were the best. I always knew who my father was and how much he loved me…and not just cause you gave better gifts than Mom and Mem.”

“When did you get so smart, Sonny Boy?”

“Right from the start, it’s genetic.” I smiled and MJ laughed as we both bit into our sandwiches.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 

Our last stop was the Armani store. Dad wanted to confirm the delivery dates of everything he ordered one more time, so that there would be time for additional alterations in case something wasn’t perfect. After all the measurements they took I couldn’t imagine anything not fitting perfectly.

Dad also pulled Aldo aside when he thought I wasn’t listening. “Don’t forget to send those extra accessories we talked about to my office, not my home.”

“I have it all organized, Mr. Kinney. But I just don’t understand why.”

“The ‘why’ is my problem, Aldo, just send the accessories that we discussed to Kinnetik. If everything arrives at the correct location, at the correct time, your thank you note will reflect my pleasure.”

Now what the fuck was that all about? What accessories have to go to Kinnetik? I hate when Dad gets all mysterious because it’s definitely not worth questioning him and I don’t want to alarm MJ. He’s still flying high from our museum visit yesterday and our walk down memory lane this morning.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 

The flight home was uneventful and on time, which was quite welcome after our extremely exciting weekend. As soon as we got home I couldn’t wait to call Jeff. I’d really missed him even though we spoke a couple of times.

“Hey, Newbie, I’ve really missed you and your beautiful body.”

“Me, too! I wish you’d been with us, but I guess…”

“No prob, I made a fucking fortune working double shifts at the diner. The tips were great and all I had to do was smile a little bit extra to get them.” I was relieved that touching wasn’t involved—I know I can be shallow and jealous sometimes. “In two weeks you and I will have the use of a rental stretch limo for the whole prom night.”

“No fucking way.”

“Oh yeah, and Grandmother Taylor took me to get my tux altered and then she insisted on paying for the alterations AND the prom tickets. She’s so awesome.”

“Go, Grandma!”

“So, how does your new tux look, was it worth the trip?”

“I’ll give you all the details about the trip in school tomorrow and then later at the diner if you have time to have a dinner break with me. But just so you know…I have the most fucking amazingly hot Armani tux you could ever imagine.”

“I always make time to have dinner with you, Gus, and I’ll definitely have the hottest looking date at the prom.”

“Well, at least the best dressed date.”

Then we both laughed!

Well, it’s off to bed…I can’t wait for tomorrow.
 

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