by Trisky
"Seems your mid-life crisis is treating you well. What with making partner and trading in the brunette for a young blonde. I think that's what she said, isn't it? She was very impressed with young Mr. Taylor." Cynthia manages to stroke my shoulders and stir the pot with only two hands. No wonder he's so impressed by her.
We both dissolve into a fit of giggles at the deadpan expression of disgust on his face. I'm suddenly grateful that he convinced me to get the polo shirt, because the closest thing to him is one plateful of macaroni salad and he wouldn't think twice about me wearing it, if I had on a t-shirt from my closet.
"Remind me to fire her tomorrow morning."
I grab his chin playfully. "Frankly, I think she deserves a bonus. She obviously recognizes your very fine taste. That should be rewarded."
He grabs my hand and smiles to hide his threat. "It will be with a nice severance check, gift wrapped in a pink slip. I'll even sign it from you. How about that?"
"Did I mention what a beautiful couple she thinks we make?"
"He blushed like a schoolboy over that. Ah, young love..." Cynthia sighs. I drop down on the bench between his feet, sitting for the first time in what seems like hours, having been dragged around half the park listening to her give me the lowdown on practically every employee at Vanguard. She's an unbelievable well of information that just keeps churning it out. I have no idea how Brian keeps up with her day in and day out. She's exhausting. "I need to go find some iced tea to pour this Bacardi into. If I leave you two boys alone, do you promise not to do anything fun without me?"
"At this thing? I'm pretty sure that's one promise I can keep," Brian snarks.
"Take that and run because he doesn't make many. Trust me... I know." He pinches the tip of my earlobe hard with his perfect manicure, marking me. "Aaaaahh... shit! That hurt!" I'm sure it will be blood red and sore for the rest of the day. I rub it protectively and feel his fingers lift my hand to make sure he didn't do any real damage. He rubs it with his thumb a couple of times and I feel better already.
"You definitely won't have any trouble entertaining yourselves while I'm gone. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Cynthia trills as she practically skips away.
"That doesn't leave a hell of a lot of room," his voice breaks on a slight laugh.
"Now I know why you like her so much." I crane my head and look at him upside down. Even from this position, he's still beautiful.
He peers down at me. "I tolerate her."
"Riiigghhtt. Same way you tolerate me. Oh well, guess you're stuck with both of us." His eyebrows dance over his shades. I lean my head on the inside of his thigh, feigning exhaustion. "I'm sooo bored."
He hunches over and leans his head closer to mine. "You wanted to come. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Want to get your face painted by a clown?" I ask brightly and cover my ear instinctively.
"You are so fired. Right behind Lucille." He laughs and wrestles with my hand, but I put up a good fight and he backs off.
"I can't be let go from a position I never had. Don't worry, I made sure that lady knew we weren't a couple." He taps his foot up and down a couple of times.
"You don't have to go around explaining yourself, especially to these people." I take my head off his thigh, it occurs to me that it probably wasn't appropriate to put it there in the first place.
"These people thought Michael was your boyfriend all those years. Something tells me... they need things spelled out for them." I bow my head and watch my sneakers dig into the grass underneath them.
"Who gives a shit what they think?" I hear him exhale a long breath, and though I don't feel it, I'm sure his body is tense.
"You do. Or this wouldn't have been such a big deal." I wait for a protest but none comes. "Doesn't it bother you when people assume things about you that aren't true?" My fingers find the tip of my earlobe and rub it mindlessly trying to pool the blood in different directions so it doesn't leave a mark. I watch a couple of little kids fighting over some action figure, mad at myself for ruining what was an otherwise pleasant afternoon.
"Like what? Michael being my boyfriend?" He doesn't even choke on the word. "Are we talking about me or you here?"
I shift my seat a little and my back brushes his calf. I feel it settle between my shoulder blades. My profile is dangerously close to his thigh again, but I keep my distance. "You don't do boyfriends, but it's okay for them to think Michael was one?" This is probably not the time or place to bring it up, but I don't get very many openings.
"As okay as it is for them to think you are." I swear I feel his thigh move closer to my head as if he's squeezing me into a small space, but it could just be the hot August heat getting to my brain after all these hours in the sun. I'm glad for some shade. I'm sure I'm going to look like a lobster tomorrow. I won't have to worry about my ear, it'll match the rest of the crimson stain on my body.
"In that case, I guess it really doesn't matter to you what they think since none of it's true anyway. May as well let them believe whatever they want if you don't care." I try to hide the disappointment in my voice. I suppose it doesn't matter much, because I'm sure it's written all over my face.
He lifts his sunglasses and looks right at me. "The only thing that matters to me is that I know what's true and what's not."
"Fine, then I won't correct anyone else." Now I know for sure his thigh is moving closer to my head because I haven't moved an inch and suddenly my face is resting in it's previous position.
"It'd be a waste of time correcting the truth." His voice is husky and low and his face is close enough to make my heart pound a loud thumping sound. My lips part in a semi-smile for his benefit only and he returns the gesture, tugging on my ear gently.
We seem to both hear the same slight cough at the same time and look in the direction of its origin. He replaces the shades over his eyes and I move off his leg.
"Look who I found, your co-host who's been looking all over for you." Cynthia's mouth sings, but her face twists in disgust as she leads one bald man, in one very expensive watch and loafers with no socks, in our direction. This must be the infamous Gardner Vance.
"I think it's time for you to do a little socializing, don't you?" His accent is like music, hitting every right note. "I think the raffle booth is calling your name."
"I'm sure it can wait." I see both of Brian's hands bunch his jeans at the knee in an effort to keep them busy.
"I'm sure it can't," Vance responds. It might be threatening, it might be nothing. I can't really tell. He gives me a pleasant smile. "We like to keep our employees happy Mr. Kinney." He sips from the styrofoam cup in his hand, his pinkie raised in salute.
"I'll come with you Brian and slay the dragons waiting to breathe fire down your neck." I suddenly picture Cynthia in a Zena costume with a sword and leather strapped sandals up to her knees.
"Fine, c'mon Justin." He nudges my shoulder with his knee.
"You go, I need a break." I move out of the way to let him lift his leg over my head and jump down from the table.
"Gardner? Coming with?" Cynthia asks.
"I need to get my head into the shade for a little while. I don't want any blistering," he laughs heartily. Brian looks warily between Vance and me, unsure if this is a good idea. My chest tightens, suddenly unsure right alongside him.
"If I'm not back in ten minutes come find my body parts so they can identify me."
"Will do. Go, have fun." I chuckle and he gives me one last rueful glance, flashing a look in Vance's direction before he goes.
"Gardner Vance." He offers me his hand for a shake and I oblige. "You must be Justin. The artist, I assume?" He sits down casually crossing his legs so that his pants ride up and I see his bare ankle. "Quite a lovely portrait of that man singing, hanging on Brian's wall. I admire it often."
"Thanks." It's all I can manage after that revelation. I had no idea where that thing had gone and I never asked.
"This must be very boring for you. Maybe next year you can replace that dreadful artist we hired to do caricatures. Assuming you're here next year of course." He leans his back on the picnic table, sloshing his drink around in his cup. His fingers look like little leather talons. Now I know why Brian calls him a snake charmer.
"Maybe. I'm not really into caricatures." I smile politely over my shoulder.
He leans forward and squeezes my shoulder as if we're old friends. I twist my neck and my shoulder follows. "No, of course not. Your tastes are more refined. I wouldn't want to denigrate your talent. Are you an artist by living?"
"Sort of." I don't know if Rage still counts. "Not really. I'm mostly still a student." I squint my eyes even though there's no sun in this section of the park. It's the only one with shade. But I feel a prickling sensation along my spine and it's making me wince.
"Working on your Master's degree?" I suspect if he had an American accent, he wouldn't get away with half of the things he says. Somehow in that mellifluous voice everything seems genuine.
"No actually, my Bachelor's."
"Oh, I see." His voice momentarily drops a register in... surprise? I'm not sure. I feel uncomfortable, and he must read my body language because he smiles, baring all of his teeth, trying to put me at ease. "Please, don't mistake that for judgment. My second ex-wife was significantly younger than I was. She was a dancer." For half a second, he actually seems to be remembering her fondly. "People thought I lost my mind. Maybe I did." He actually seems to genuinely regret whatever happened there, but brushes it off with a chuckle. "She wouldn't be an ex otherwise."
"Maybe it just wasn't meant to be," I say, wistfully.
"Could be so. I just traded up anyway for a better model. So I guess I won in the end." Or maybe he really is just that smarmy. I squirm away an inch. I don't like where this conversation is going. "It's funny Brian's never mentioned the connection between the painting and your..." he fumbles for a word, "relationship?" He intones the word as if to ask for my approval of the label. I'm not about to give him that. Hell, I don't even know for myself if I'd by lying.
"He's a private man." I suddenly appreciate Brian's silence more than I ever thought I would.
"That he is, indeed. Except for all those war stories you hear about him." His voice winks an implied secret between us. "I quite admire his stamina. Keeping up with all those accounts, keeping up with you. It takes real dedication. He's a very dedicated man," he repeats the notion. If he says it enough times maybe he'll convince himself he believes it. "He really earns his reputation. He's a big contributor to our success." The dulcet tones of his accent become aloof and distant. It seems like he's given it a lot of practical consideration and reached that conclusion very, very reluctantly.
"He works hard for what matters to him." The sound of truth stings my ears.
"It's a good lesson to learn, don't you think? That sense of accomplishment. We could all take a page from his book." I actually think he might be sincere about all of this, some slight shade of truth. Maybe he doesn't mean to, but he seems to sort of admire Brian. I feel a sense of pride on his behalf.
"Absolutely. He's always trying to make me believe that about my art." In his own way.
"That's wonderful." He rolls his tongue around the word as if it were dipped in honey. "There's nothing like being the architect of your own destiny. You've got a lot to learn from him."
"I like that, 'architect of your own destiny'." It flows right out of my mouth. My chest relaxes for the first time during this conversation as I try to imagine what I would build if someone told me to create my own destiny. Maybe he's just selling me a concept, the consummate ad-man, but it sounds like something I'd want to buy. There's a reason we're all such suckers for that kind of stuff. I guess we'd like to believe there's a grain of truth, no matter how outrageous the concept. Designing your own destiny doesn't seem that far out of the realm of possibility.
"I look at you and I remember being a starving, directionless student at university. I would have killed to have someone like Brian in my corner to help me along."
"I guess I just got lucky." I grin. I'm sure he doesn't it mean it kindly, but I don't care. I am lucky. If I had to choose my destiny, the one thing I'm certain would be a part of it would be Brian. And my art, definitely my art. What else would it include?
"Mum was on the dole, so it was to up to me to put myself through school. I worked long and hard to get where I am." He looks me up and down, sizing up everything about me. "Nothing is a sure thing except for the investment you make in yourself. Nobody can take that from you. Can't really depend on anyone else." I meet him eye for eye and I think I know now why Brian is so put out by him and why he works so hard to stay on top of his game. He's unnerving. Like Brian, only scary. "Brian knows that, that's why he's so successful. Why I am and I'm sure you will be as well. Make sure you invest wisely."
His words rain all over me, crawling under the skin at the nape of my neck and rattling my brain. "I will." I swallow hard, intimidated by the thought that if someone asked me right this very minute how I intended to do that, I haven't got a clue how to even begin to answer them. "Obviously Brian is good enough, if you invested in him and made him partner."
"I know an equal when I see one..." I feel as big as one of the microscopic ants crawling around the blades of grass at my feet.
"I've had enough!" I've never been more grateful to hear the shrill sound of Brian's disgusted complaining.
"Already? Justin and I were just getting to know one another."
"Well now you can go get to know the cafeteria staff." Brian interjects, standing between our bodies.
Vance leaves his cup on the table, standing and adjusting the waist of his pants, his bald head shining even in the shade. "Enjoy yourselves. It's a beautiful day. Eat, drink and be merry."
"We'll see how merry you are when you have to foot the bills for this little affair," Brian reminds him.
"Justin, it was a pleasure." He pointedly ignores Brian, offering me another cordial handshake instead. I'm inclined to dismiss it, but I'm sure my mother would have my head if I were ever that rude.
Brian climbs back on his perch on top of the picnic table. I wouldn't want to sit in the oil slicked spot on the bench that Vance just occupied either. He plants his feet there instead. "Did he bite?"
I lean my elbows back on the table, watching Vance grow smaller and smaller, the further away he walks. "He was uh... interesting. Gave me all sorts of advice on how to be a manly man" I do my best Austrian musclehead impression.
"Kinky," he laughs. "Did it involve manacles?"
That is so not a scene I ever need to imagine Vance being involved in. "He actually made a lot of sense." I mean, he did. He might be a little creepy, but he wasn't wrong. I should be the architect of my own destiny. I should be making things happen, not waiting for them to happen to me.
"There's a first for everything. Don't let him rattle you," he advises. "I know how he can get."
"Does he do that to you?" There have been so few times I've ever actually see him shaken by anything that it's hard for me to remember that he's just as human as the rest of us sometimes. I don't think he'd want me to anyway.
"He's all talk," he bites down on his fingernail. I don't press him for details because if there's one thing Brian isn't, it's all talk. Maybe that's not such a bad thing sometimes. "So what advice did he give you about being a man?" He snorts a quiet laugh.
"He told me I should be the 'architect of my own destiny'."
"Nice slogan. Bet you could sell a ton of self-help books with that one," he mocks. "Or an investment bank."
I study his face, so full of cynicism and doubt. "Don't you believe it, though? You always tell me the only responsibility you should have is to yourself. That you're the only one you have to rely on." My brain tosses figures around, calculating the price of building the foundation for my investment.
"Yeah. And aren't you always telling me that's bullshit?" he softens. I bounce out of my seat, too frenzied with hope to sit still any longer.
"Maybe it's not all shit. There's something to be said for being your own man."
"Of course," his brow furrows in a deep valley at the bridge of his nose. "But you know you can always ask for help."
"I know... but... maybe I should start repaying people for their help."
"You can start by buying me that new suit," he smirks. I move closer to him, my hands flopping around excitedly in the pockets of my khakis.
"I have something better in mind. Something you're gonna be proud of," I tease.
"Are you planning on telling me, or do I have to guess?" He lifts my chin with his finger.
"This is one of those things I have to do myself. I need to invest in me."
"You seem awfully sure of yourself." I hold both of his knees, and my smile alone could probably blind him in this shade.
"Let's just say I've finally decided to stop relying on the kindness of strangers."
His face grows quizzical, and if we were anywhere else I'd chance a kiss to silence his questions, but we both know I can't do that here. So he stays quiet for once and just lets it go. Let's me go. To design my own future.
The only way to start is to cement your past, put it in its proper corner and hopefully build something new, something better, from there. I know where I'm going to start, with my father. It's time for us to start anew. He helped me get back on my feet and now it's time for me to repay him, free and clear, with all my cards on the table. He took the first step. I owe him that much. I owe myself more.
It's time for me to start walking out of the shade and into the sun on my own.