CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
"Mr. Taylor," Tom Docherty's voice crackled with irritation. "Do you want me to be your legal representative or don't you?"
"Yes. Of course I do," Justin replied, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear as he struggled to get the drawer holding his underwear open.
"Then kindly consult me before you orchestrate any more public spectacles!" Docherty snapped.
"I'm sorry ... it's just ... ow! Fuck!" The drawer came unstuck abruptly and cracked Justin's left shin. He hopped to the bed and sat down, rubbing his leg vigorously. "Sorry. I just banged my leg. What were you saying, Mr. Docherty?"
Docherty let out a long breath. "I am saying that if a case against Stockwell is ever brought to court, we do not want it jeopardised in any way by untimely and unsubstantiated allegations disclosed to the media! I know that you are frustrated and impatient. But please understand; if a future trial is dismissed by a judge on a technicality, then Jim Stockwell is the only one who will benefit!"
"I know," Justin replied, grimacing as he pulled up the leg of his cargoes and surveyed the damage. "That's why we were very careful not to mention anything about Stockwell being involved in any direct way. We checked everything thoroughly with Mel before we went ahead."
"Ms. Marcus is sometimes a little too headstrong for her own good," Docherty said dryly. "However, I'm glad to see you had sense enough to seek some sort of legal advice first. As it is, I'm satisfied that you haven't disclosed anything that Chief Stockwell and the Pittsburgh P.D. can deny, and a little publicity for the case won't do any harm. It should certainly speed up any enquiry. But I cannot stress this enough, Mr. Taylor, do not under any circumstances make any more public statements of any sort without consulting me first. I don't like surprises."
"Yes. Yes, I promise," Justin said. "It was just that Detective Horvath told us that the evidence against Stockwell ..."
"Don't even begin to tell me what Detective Horvath may have disclosed to you!" Docherty said, sounding aghast. "I do not want to hear that! And you'd better make sure you don't mention it to anybody else, Mr. Taylor, or Detective Horvath may find himself abruptly deprived of the peaceful retirement he expects and doubtless deserves!"
"Of course I wouldn't," Justin replied, nettled. "I'm not stupid. But I thought I wasn't supposed to keep anything from you."
Docherty actually chuckled. "You're not. Let's just say there are some things I shouldn't officially hear."
Justin smiled. "Okay. I understand. And I promise to keep you informed in future."
"I sincerely hope you do. Good day, Mr. Taylor."
Justin tossed the phone onto the bed, relieved to end the call. He found himself wondering why, when Tom Docherty was so similar to Brian in both speech and manner, the two men had such differing effects on him. Docherty made him feel nervous and stupid, in very much the same way his father had; but Brian had never made him feel like that, not even from the first. Perhaps it was because Docherty was straight, Justin reasoned; maybe he'd become so conditioned to being despised by straight men like his father and the teachers at St. James he got what amounted to an allergic reaction whenever he came into contact with one.
Still musing, he got up to continue what he'd been doing when Docherty's call had interrupted him; putting away the new clothes he'd bought with his day's tips. Nothing fancy; just some more socks, a couple of long-sleeved t's to supplement his meagre wardrobe and – most important – a pair of ass-hugging black Calvin Klein briefs, which he was planning to model for Brian later. Perhaps he could tempt Brian into trying out some of the toys stashed in the concealed drawer in the base of the bed ... at least, some of the more simple ones. The manacles, maybe, or one of smaller dildos. His dick throbbed at the image of himself stretched out helpless on the bed, entirely at Brian's mercy.
He put his new underwear away and closed the drawer, and turned to hang his t shirts in the closet. He rummaged through the array of shirts, suits and sweaters looking for spare hangers, but they were all taken. Justin stood up on tip toe, running his hand along the shelf at the top of the closet; his fingers touched what felt like metal wire and he hooked it, dragging it towards him. It certainly was a hanger, but as Justin pulled it down it brought a cardboard shoe box with it, which tumbled off the shelf and onto the floor before Justin could catch it. Cursing, he dropped to his knees to rescue the contents, some of which had spilled out; he picked up a couple of photographs, realised they were of Brian, and ended up taking the whole box back to the bed to examine more closely.
If the contents had been personal in any way, Justin wouldn't have looked; but these were mostly just random photographs, mainly of Brian and Michael when they were young, goofing around like they were in the photograph Michael still had in his bedroom. There was only one of them as adults, but it made Justin smile; it was one of those joke photos like they take at fairs, where you have a life-sized figure of a fat lady or whatever with a hole where her face should be, and all you have to is stand behind and stick your own face into the gap. This one had Brian as Captain Astro and Michael as his side-kick Astro Boy, and they both looked like total dorks. Then was a snap of them standing outside some sort of cabin with a much younger looking Debbie and Vic, all of them grinning cheesily at the camera; another of a teenage Lindsay, hair in a pony tail and eating an ice cream; and a couple of shots of the Loft as it must have been when Brian first bought it, with grimy windows and dusty floorboards and rusting pillars. One which really took his breath away was a photograph of Brian holding what could only be a newly-born Gus, all pink and wrinkled; Brian looked shocked and appalled and proud all at once, and Justin smiled to himself. He still believed, given a little encouragement, Brian could be a better father than he gave himself credit for.
The next photo made Justin frown; it was a shot of a glamorous, dark haired woman dressed in a gold lamé gown, obviously part of some parade or other. She was wearing a sultry, come-hither smile and Justin found himself wondering briefly whether she was Brian's sister; but Brian had made it clear he couldn't stand his family and Justin couldn't see him keeping a photograph of one of them. Although, there was something familiar about the woman's eyes and the shape of her jaw ... Justin gasped, and then broke into a fit of giggles. Michael! It was Michael in drag, and Justin laughed harder when he realised that the guy made a far sexier woman than he did a man.
The rest of the contents wasn't so interesting; a pennant for the Penn State University soccer team, an old wage slip from a company called Ryders, a couple of stained, dog-eared school textbooks. Right at the bottom was what looked like a comic, carefully protected by a transparent plastic slip-cover; Justin took it out and stared. Astro Comics No. 1. This must be the fabled birthday present Brian had bought Michael on the night he'd outed him; Emmett had said it had cost a fortune ... and yet Brian had hung onto it. Justin realised that he was holding Brian's memories in his hands - or at least, the only ones that meant anything to him – and Michael figured in nearly all of them. He really didn't need any further proof of how much the guy's friendship had meant to Brian and still did, if the comic was anything to go by.
He was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of the Loft door being opened; quickly Justin replaced the box's contents and returned the whole thing to the shelf where he had found it. He reached the top of the bedroom steps in time to see Brian storming across the Loft, hurling his briefcase and overcoat aside as he came.
"Goddamn patronising piece of motherfucking Limey bastard shit!" he raged.
Justin's mouth fell open. "What's wrong, Brian?" he asked worriedly, hurrying down the steps.
"What's wrong? I'll tell you what's fucking wrong." Brian yanked savagely at his tie, nearly throttling himself in the process. "That fucker ... Gardiner fucking Vance ... that's what's wrong!" He was still struggling ineffectually to remove his tie, but the knot had drawn so tight he couldn't shift it.
"Here, let me." Justin began to work the offending article with nimble fingers. "Your partner, you mean?"
"Ex partner!" Brian was scowling, but he stood still to allow Justin's help. "I told him what he could do with his fucking partnership, and his fucking company!"
Justin's eyes widened. "You've left Vanguard?"
"Not officially. Yet. I'm on leave of absence to, quote, consider my position, unquote."
"Wow." Justin managed to loosen the knot and freed Brian from his tie. "What happened?"
"Stockwell's minions are putting the squeeze on him," Brian snapped, heading for the drinks cart. "Some of Vanguard's accounts are threatening to pull out. Which, of course, is all my fault." He poured a glass of Beam and held it out to Justin before helping himself to a slug from the bottle. "So fucking Vance got cold feet, basically." He took another mouthful. "I have to mend my ways. Stop bringing the company into disrepute. Stop taking personal time. Stop interfering in politics. Christ!"
Justin lowered his head. "This is my fault, then," he said softly. "I'm so sorry, Brian."
Brian slammed down the bottle and turned, putting his hands on Justin's shoulders and leaning their foreheads together. "No, it isn't. This is between me and Vance ... it's been coming a while, Sunshine."
Justin frowned. "But surely he can't get rid of you because of what you do in your private life, Brian?"
"Probably not, technically. But he could make my life a nightmare, and I'm not prepared to spend the rest of my career kissing his fat Limey ass." Brian headed for the sofa and flopped down on it. "Just as well you didn't take me up on that loan. The way I spend money, I can last a couple of months, tops; and that's only if I really cut all the extras." Brian closed his eyes wearily. "Fuck."
Justin slowly sat down beside him. He didn't personally care whether Brian was rich or not; he'd happily go back to living in a box as long as Brian was with him. But Brian ... being successful was so much a part of his character, of his self-image, his pride ... Justin reached out to touch Brian's knee. "And yet you're prepared to give it all up? Wow. That's ..."
"Unbelievable?"
Justin shook his head. "I was going to say amazing, actually."
Brian opened one eye and regarded him sardonically. "Yeah, well, some asshole told me that's what a gay man has to do."
Justin pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile. "If it's really as bad as you say, why not get Vance to buy you out and start your own agency?"
Brian's other eye opened. He stared at Justin. "Doing what? Running ads for Torso? Or the gym? Or Woody's? I don't think they budget millions on advertising, Sunshine."
"No. But what about your existing accounts? You told me you won most of Vanguard's most profitable clients yourself. Wouldn't they be prepared to go with you if you set up on your own?"
Brian blinked. "There's bound to be a clause in my contract. Something about not setting up a rival company within a certain distance, and not being able to poach accounts. Something like that."
"But you don't know," Justin persisted. "Why don't you find out? And even if you had to set up in another city, how would that be a problem? You were planning to move to New York anyway, weren't you?"
"But that was before we ... I mean, what about PIFA and your dreams of becoming an artist?" Brian frowned.
Justin felt his heart leap at the implication that wherever Brian ended up he would want Justin to go with him. This time he didn't attempt to hide the grin on his face. "There are other colleges, Brian. Ones that are just as good."
Brian gazed at him for a long moment. "You really are a persistent little twat, aren't you?"
"Mm hm." Justin placed a kiss on Brian's cheek, and then his eyes brightened as he had a moment of inspiration. "I've even thought of a name for your new company. Kinnetic. With two n's."
Brian raised his eyebrows. "Kinnetic," he repeated slowly, trying out the word. "That's ... good."
"That's genius," Justin corrected him cheekily.
TBC
