First Year
September
They were lying on the big platform bed, the new sheets, the dark red ones were on for the first time and the two of them were resting after the evenings first round of love making. It was early, maybe ten thirty; there was plenty of time for—whatever.
The trip up to Canada had gone well after the conversation with Jennifer that she and Brian had and things relaxed considerably afterwards. He did tend to take his cel phone out on the dock and have long mysterious conversations with God knows who, but Justin knew he was still conducting some business while they were on vacation, so he left him alone.
The two girls would blush and giggle whenever the two men would so much as hold hands, so they would make a joking show of sprawling on top of one another on the couch or kiss noisily between dinner and dessert.
The day they had music playing and Brian swept Laurie up into his arms for a dance, kissing her cheek and holding her chastely, but firmly about the waist had brought on a fit of blushes that continued whenever she looked at him. She, too, had fallen under the Irish charm he wielded with such efficiency when he chose.
Getting up for a moment, Brian walked down to the kitchen, returning with two bowls, one larger than the other, both of which had been warming to room temperature on the granite counter.
"Lie down." Justin looked at him, but obeyed.
"Shit!" The sauce poured onto his stomach was still cool and smelled tangy.
"Quiet." Brian took something from the second bowl, ran whatever it was through the thick liquid he had just put in Justin's navel. "Open your mouth."
Lying flat, not knowing what he was about to swallow, Justin looked him a question but obeyed.
"Shrimp? Brian, you know I'm allergic to everything on the planet—you could have killed me, asshole."
"You put shrimp in the jambalaya, asshole. I knew you could eat it."
The snack continued, Brian finding new and creative places to scoop sauce from, Justin finding difficulty in not laughing so hard that the sauce would drip down his sides and stain the imported cotton he was lying on. The evening had another pause while the two of them hit the shower to remove the starting to dry and crust sauce from both of their bodies. "You know, sometimes I wonder what the neighbors think of you as a neighbor—between hundreds of tricks over the years..."
"Thousands"
"Excuse me—thousands of tricks over the years, the occasional orgy, loud parties, people coming and going—oh shut up—at all hours, Gus crying sometimes. I would think you being a sedate married man would be a major relief to them."
"I believe that they planned to send a gift basket to thank me...or you."
He smiled; they were quiet for a few minutes. "I got a letter today through the school. Take a look at this." Justin turned on the reading light on Brian's side of the bed, handing him a piece of paper he'd had on his nightstand.
"Dear Mr. Taylor, September 6th
It is with great pleasure that I have the privilege of asking if you would be interested in being one of a group of five young artists we hope to showcase in next month's "New Talent" series, The show is scheduled to run from Friday, October 3rd to Thursday, October 30th with set up being scheduled for the Wednesday and Thursday immediately prior to opening night.
We would like to hang eight pieces of your choice. It has been our experience that small to medium canvas' sell the best and we take 40 of all sales as a commission. You are responsible for the costs of transporting your work and for any insurance during transportation. We are, of course, fully covered for any piece of art while it is on our premises.
Over the last thirty-four years, our "New Talent" series has become a much looked forward to part of the fall gallery openings, generally garnering a fair amount of coverage, reviews and foot traffic and has, if I may say so, become something of a benchmark for both the new season and new careers as well.
Your work more than meets our standards and I confess to being quite excited at the prospect of being able to bring it to a wider audience.
I would greatly appreciate your prompt reply and look forward to meeting you in person in a few weeks.
Sincerely,
Fred Gormley
Shadyside Galleries
537 Madison Ave,
New York, NY 10087"
"God, Brian, I almost shit when I read this. This is like the most prestigious gallery for new artists in like the entire country and this is their major show of the year."
"You know you're good, now other people will clue in." He kissed Justin's hand, ran his fingers through his hair before pulling him down for another series of kisses. "I'm proud of you."
Justin looked at him, happiness radiating from him. "You've never said that before."
"Yeah, well, now I have." Brian went back down to the kitchen; Justin heard the fridge open, some glass clinking. He retuned carrying a bottle of champagne and two flutes.
The top popped, the wine was poured, the glasses touched. "Did you call this guy to accept?"
"I wanted to tell you first. I wasn't sure if the offer, the percentage and all that shit was fair."
"You twat. A lot of galleries take 50 and you covering the cost of transportation is standard. The offer is fine, this is an up and up place. You're not getting screwed."
"No, that was an hour ago."
"And an hour from now."
"And now."
The next morning Justin called Fred Gormley at the gallery, thanking him for his offer and formally accepting the invitation. The contracts would be sent to him that day. He was to sign and return them as soon as he could. When Justin asked the man how he had known that Justin even existed, he was told that they routinely sent out feelers to the major art schools and his name had come up, a request for slides of his work had been filled and the committee had been impressed.
Thanking the man, he hung up. Damn.
"Brian? I called, they're sending the contracts today, he said he was going to overnight them—will you take a look at them tomorrow? I can bring them to your office."
"Sure, no problem. I thought that we might go out to dinner to celebrate, sound good?"
"Great, where do you want to go?"
"It's your fucking accomplishment, you twat, you decide and make a reservation. I'll be home around six-thirty."
Just as he hung up the phone, Cynthia buzzed him. "Excuse me, Mr. Kinney, there's a Mr. Taylor here. He doesn't have an appointment, but he was hoping to see you. You do have that meeting at two."
Brian looked at his intercom. Cynthia never called him 'Mr. Kinney' and she knew damn well who fucking Craig Taylor was. Craig must be assholing again. Shit—and today had been going so well. Oh, and his two o'clock had been cancelled. She knew that, too.
"Send him in."
"Brian." He sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. The office door was open.
"Craig, or should I say 'Dad'? To what do I owe the pleasure?" He leaned back in the big leather chair, his hands laced in front of him.
"Jennifer told me that you and Justin went up to Canada with her and Molly and one of her friends last month."
There seemed no point on commenting on a simple fact.
"She also told me that the two of you were practically—copulating in front of them all. I won't stand for that sort of shit. You've ruined Justin; you're to stay away from Molly. Do I make myself clear?"
He just looked at Craig, bored. "I'm a perv and a child molester who's destroyed your family and ruined the lives of everyone I've ever come in contact with. I think we've established that, now can we move on?"
"Don't pull your shit on me, Kinney. Jen told me that you and Justin are having problems already and that they're serious. If you had any decency in you, you'd end it with him and let him move on."
"So he can join the country club and take up golf?"
"Stay away from my daughter."
"Molly and I are friends. I give her soccer tips and that's as far as intimacy goes between us—she's not my type."
"Stay the fuck away from her."
"Like you're staying away from your son?"
"He's the one who refuses my calls—your influence, no doubt."
"I'm not his caller ID, Craig and the number you have is his private number. If he won't answer your calls, that's his decision."
Vance appeared in the doorway. "Brian I wanted to go over—excuse me, I didn't realize that you were busy."
Brian stood, Craig following his lead. "It's alright. Gardner Vance, this is Craig Taylor, my father-in-law. Craig, this is my partner, Gardner Vance." The two men exchanged nods, Craig slightly startled.
"When did you make partner?"
Vance answered, covering the fact that he found it odd Brian's own father-in-law wouldn't know. "Brian was made partner when I bought this company almost two years ago. Best decision I've made in a long time. I've met your son several times, Mr. Taylor, he's a remarkable young man."
"...Thank you."
"You wanted to see me about something, Gardner?"
"It can wait until you're finished."
"We are."
"Think about what I said, Brian."
"Call Justin at home later this evening if you want to talk to him. We have dinner plans, but we'll be there later."
"Yes, I will." Nodding at Vance again, he left.
Vance placed a couple of paste-ups on Brian's desk. "Family problems, Brian?"
"You've been married, Gardner. Did you ever have in-laws?"
"Say no more."
Justin had made reservations at Roma's, his favorite Italian restaurant and one Brian would usually avoid because of the calories and the carbs. He allowed himself the indulgence tonight.
"The Dean called me in to congratulate me on getting that gallery show. He said that I'm the first PIFA student to make their cut."
"Have you decided which paintings you're going to show?"
Justin was just chewing his chicken parm. "I was going to ask Lindsay to help me decide. She knows what sort of shit they like." He took a drink of the wine. "I have to get a crate made to ship them to New York."
"You could, or we could borrow the munchers wagon and drive them there ourselves. That might be a safer way to move them."
He nodded, thinking it over. "You're right, that would be better—do you think they'll mind?"
"Lindsay would cream for a chance to drive the corvette."
"I'll have to get them framed, too."
"The school should be able to help you with that sort of shit, either that or Lindsay's gallery will know where to take them."
Justin had a look about him that Brian couldn't place, though it looked familiar.
"Bri?"
He never called him by his nickname; Justin always called him 'Brian'. "What?"
"It feels like this is going to be really good—the show. It's like a first step, you know?"
Brian reached across, brushed his fingers against his hand. "It is a big step. It's your first New York show. You're going to do great."
He caught Brian's hand as he started to move it away from his side of the table. "Do something for me? If no one buys anything, promise that you won't get them to make me feel better."
"Why would I do shit like that?"
"Because you did it at the GLC a couple of years ago. I love that you did it, but don't, OK?"
Brian looked down at his plate, caught. "OK. I won't. If you sell anything, you do it on your own."
Justin squeezed his hand in thanks.
When they walked into the loft the phone was ringing.
Justin glanced at the caller ID. "It my father."
"He was in my office today. He wants to talk with you."
"And you're fucking telling me now? What the fuck does he want?"
"He wants to reestablish some contact with you. He'll probably ask to meet with you. Do you want me to take it?" The ringing stopped only to start again in less than a minute."
"Jesus, Brian. A little warning, maybe?"
"Do you want me to answer?"
"No. I'll talk to the fucker." He picked up the phone, Brian going to the couch, not even pretending that he wasn't listening to every word. "Hello?"
He went up to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, talking softly, maintaining his temper and wishing that Brian wasn't twenty feet away.
"...Yes, I'm here...I said I'm here...Why did you see Brian today?...That's such bullshit...It is. You know you hate him...Well, if you want to see me then you see him, too...Because he's my husband and part of this family, that's why...A Hell of a lot more than you are...Only if you'll be civil to him...I don't know...Because I don't know...When?...I can't then, I have a class...I don't know, I'll ask...Brian? Are you free for dinner on Wednesday?...Yes, Wednesday is fine...No, come here around seven...Fine."
Justin walked down to the couch, sitting next to Brian.
"I take it your father is joining us for dinner on Wednesday at seven. You caved in quick." His only answer was a filthy look. "It's the right thing to do. You need to find out if you two can fix things."
"He needs to fucking understand that we have a life together and if he doesn't choose to accept us we're alright without him."
"He knows that. Give him a chance."
"He's an asshole."
Brian put his arms around the smaller man, holding him. "I know that. But if you don't give him a chance, you are, too."
"Quoth the asshole."
"Fuck you."
Wednesday night, two days later, Justin was in a major pet over everything concerning the dinner—he agonized about the table settings, the meal—steak and potatoes—the wine, the choice of music, his clothes. This was alternated with him declaring that he didn't give a shit what his father thought. There would likely be a blowup of some sort with the mood Justin was in.
Finally, wearing his usual khakis and a long sleeved tee and with Brian in jeans and a cashmere top, Justin buzzed his father in.
It was his first visit to the loft, despite his son having lived there, off an on for about three years. He was as impressed as everyone was. Brian hung back and got the steaks under the broiler while Justin gave the tour, Craig's eyes unconsciously lingering on the large bed, the mound of pillows, the velvet duvet and the KY tube left on the nightstand.
Shit, he'd meant to put that away.
They ended up by the kitchen area, Brian pouring wine while he and Justin cut things up for the salad. It was a pretty typical evening for them. They weren't putting on a show. They spoke casually about their days, Justin talked about his classes, his teachers, his classmates, Brian about clients and a large presentation he had in the morning, a trip he had to take next week out to Seattle. It was relaxed and comfortable.
"I didn't know that you're a partner. You're young for that, aren't you, Brian?"
"I suppose."
"Are there many partners?"
"Him and me. He's senior."
"Brian's the only one at the entire company who didn't get fired in the takeover, other than his assistant. Now Vance is worried that he'll break off and become competition."
"Are you thinking of starting your own place?"
"I think about it, but the overhead and startups are prohibitive right now. I'm fine where I am for a while."
"He gets headhunted all the time, too." Justin leaned over and kissed him, they exchanged a smile—mutual pride obvious. Craig averted his eyes.
When Brian had turned the meat he said, "Justin has his first show in New York next month."
"Really?—That's something." He was clueless, dropping the ball Brian had just handed him. "Do you see your mother much?" Justin looked disappointed.
"A couple of times a month or so. Brian has been helping Molly with her soccer. He was all state in high school and college; they even gave him a scholarship for it. We go to some of her games." Craig looked over at Brian, he had that sort of body, long and lean but strong. "Unlike you." Justin's voice brought him back. Justin's mood had turned with having his first show blown off, he wasn't going to play the polite son.
"Your mother asked me not to go, Justin."
"Bullshit. You've cut Molly off just like you did me. The only difference is that you don't have the excuse that she's a lez."
"Your mother and I agreed..."
"That you have no children and the last twenty years never happened, right?"
Brian let him go, made no effort to stop him.
"You screwed Mom and us, you're banging your little arm candy bitch girlfriend every chance you get. You would have been fine if Mom had ended up living back with her parents or something and you didn't give a shit when I was in a coma because I was with my fag lover when it happened. You never even had the balls to thank him for saving my fucking life."
Craig started to say something, but instead simply stared at the counter.
"You spineless shit, say something."
"He ruined your life, Justin. Even if—you'd be gay anyway, he's the one who encouraged you to goad that boy at the dance. He's the one who brought you into this and cut you off from a normal life. You're in this mockery you call a marriage. He's the reason you've become so..."
"What? So queer? You forgot something. He's also the one who showed me what two men can do together—right up there" He pointed to the bed with his chin. "You want to hear how it happened?"
"Justin, that's enough. I'm not going to listen to this..."
"To what? You could almost pretend that we were 'just friends' until you saw the bed, is that about it? You don't want to know about butt fucking and blow jobs and hand jobs and what we do in the shower."
"Justin!" Craig had taken about enough of this. He was still his son and damn young at that.
"But if Brian was some stupid twat, that would be just fine, wouldn't it? If he was a woman I could bang him all night and you'd slap me on the back and everything would be just fine. Well, screw you." Brian put his arms around Justin, holding him in the familiar hug he used when he knew Justin needed it.
"I think I'll take a rain check for dinner." He got his jacket from the back of the chair it was lying on. "Justin, please let us try again when you're ready. Please."
He was still enfolded in Brian's arms, holding on. He said nothing.
"I will call you again." He let himself out.
They stood like that for several minutes. Finally Brian spoke, "He was trying. He's going to take time, Justin." He kissed the youngsters forehead.
"He's a fucking asshole. I hate him."
"He's still your father."
"You hated your father. You never saw him. You didn't even cry when he died."
"Yeah, I did." Justin raised his head, looked up at him. "And he didn't love me—yours does. Try again when you're ready."
"Brian? He's..."
"Don't piss it away."