Second Year
February
February in Pittsburgh is cold and gray and depressing. The snow is dirty and everyone is tired of winter and you just slog through the days—or so it seemed to Justin.
Brian had three more business trips in January, after the stupid one-day thing to Mexico City for Leo Brown. He had renewed the contract so Vance was happy, but Brian was back to the killer schedule they had argued about through most of the previous year and still didn't see each other nearly enough. Between work and school and family shit, neither one of them was what you would call jolly and it often seemed to Justin that Brian was practically a walking zombie. His eyes were shadowed and he seemed to be having trouble keeping his weight up simply because he didn't take the time to eat.
Justin would ask him about it, cajole him, prod and argue, but nothing seemed to make any difference in how he was determined to work or the amount of hours he insisted on putting in. When he finally would get back to the loft, as often as not he'd be either on the phone or the computer past midnight, only to get up at six and start again. Even weekends were given over to whatever he was doing and when Justin asked, was just told he was working, please shut the fuck up. Justin had gone through understanding, patient, supportive and was now edging into pissed. Generally he'd either take a book up to the bed and read, eat something or slam out of the loft to his small studio on campus. Neither of them was too happy with the way things were going. The good feelings of Christmas and the trip to the islands had faded and they found themselves often snapping at one another, even in front of their friends. Something had to give.
The day when Justin stopped into Brian's office with a surprise lunch, he overheard the damn conversation. Standing in the outer room, next to Cynthia, it all came pouring through the closed door. If he hadn't been standing there, he probably never would have found out, but that's bad luck for you.
"How the Hell can you say it doesn't matter? Of course it bloody matters!"
"I got you the Goddamned account, why do you care how I got the fucking thing?"
"I care because it's illegal, that's why."
"There's nothing illegal about it. It was completely consensual between two adults. And I sure as fuck didn't hear you complain when he doubled his advertising budget."
"If there is any fallout from this—any—I will personally eviscerate you. Personally. And make no mistake about that."
The door slammed open, Vance slammed out and they both caught the look on his face as he brushed past on his way God knew where. Justin and Cynthia exchanged looks, hers with the slightest of shrugs and he stepped the ten feet to Brian's open door. He was standing with his back to the room, furious, hands on hips. Justin closed the door behind him.
"No calls." He didn't even turn around.
"I'll tell her."
Brian looked around, his back still turned. "Sorry."
Justin put the bags of food on Brian's desk. "What did you do to get that account?" He didn't really have to ask. He knew. This was Brian. There was no answer, just his hands gesturing a you know'. Yes, he did know. He wasn't even all that surprised. "Who was it?"
"No one. A client."
"Big account?"
"Justin. It didn't matter, you know that."
His head down, yes, he knew. It didn't matter to Brian. The account mattered. He'd likely screwed the guy, or blown him or whatever, gotten dressed and gone home and made love after a nice dinner. This was Brian. It didn't matter. "I brought you lunch."
"Justin, it didn't matter. It doesn't matter."
"Can we talk about this later? At home?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Yeah, it does. We'll talk about it later."
"Justin, it doesn't. You know me, you know this is business." He looked at the bags. "Eat with me."
He shook his head. "I'll see you later."
Shit. Justin had gone, quietly, no drama queening, no tantrums, no scenes. He looked at the food. Evidently Justin had planned a picnic—cheese and crackers, wine, grapes. It was just the sort of thing he would have wanted, that he would have looked forward to with Ethan. Shit. This was going to take some time for him to get over and right now they simply didn't have a lot of time, not between work and school and everything else that was going on. In addition to all the day-to-day things, Justin had gotten a call from Fred Gormley at the Gallery in New York where he'd been part of a group show last fall—his one man show was due to be hung in less than two months and the pieces had to be outstanding. Justin was breaking his back over that and now he thought that Brian was tricking again.
Goddamnit.
He wasn't tricking. It had just been two hours with fucking Marvin in a hotel room. It hadn't meant anything and it had gotten them the account. With the shit that was going on at Vanguard right now, he had to make sure that the clients were on board. He had to. And he had to make sure that they were on board with him, personally and if it took a blowjob or two, then so be it and Justin would just have to understand that.
Christ, it wasn't like Marvin was anything to look at. He was hardly what you'd call a great conversationalist. His body—please. It was just business, nothing more, nothing less.
He got back to the loft about six-thirty, early for him, half hoping that Justin would be there and half hoping that he wouldn't.
He was. Just about all the lights in the loft were on and he was sitting on the couch, not watching whatever was on the TV. Taking off his overcoat, the cashmere one, his scarf and gloves, Brian went over and stood in front of his husband. Justin looked up at him, waiting.
"It didn't mean anything then and it doesn't mean anything now, not to us anyway."
"I know that."
"And…?"
"And nothing. You told me it doesn't matter, that it was just so you could get the account. I know you; I know you'll do anything to get ahead. I know that."
"Justin…"
"How often have you done this? Has it been going on all along?" His expression was mild, his tone quiet.
"I told you when we got married that I wouldn't take the vows if I didn't mean them. This was the only time and it won't happen again."
"…Whatever." He actually seemed not to care, though Brian knew that wasn't true.
"It won't."
"And why should I believe that? Would he pull his account if you don't render the service he wants?"
"It won't happen again because I'm leaving Vanguard. I'm going to start my own agency. Gardner and I talked about it today—all afternoon, in fact. He's agreed to pay off my share of the partnership, which will give me the startup costs. Cynthia is coming with me and a couple of the others."
Justin looked at him like Brian must have thought that he was an idiot. "Why the fuck would Vance let you go and why would he agree to your opening a competing office in the same city? He's not stupid and neither am I."
"I know." Brian knew he was damn smart, in fact. "But a couple of years ago when he agreed to my promotion and had the contracts drawn up he didn't notice that legal neglected the non-competition clause."
"Bullshit. He wouldn't have missed something like that."
"Legal screwed up. I almost missed it myself and I didn't point it out to him until after the fact." Brian gave another of his half smiles. "—He should have fired all of Legal along with everyone else. John Wilson drew up the contract and didn't even tell me that he'd left it out."
"Wilson? The guy you play pool with at Woody's?"
Brian nodded, his half smile in place. "He decided to do me a favor and if Vance caught it, he'd have put it back in."
"You going to hire him?"
"I thought that it would be a good idea."
Justin raised his face slightly. "And what am I supposed to do while you're starting your agency? You promised me that you…oh, screw it." The façade of sophistication and reserve broke. "You're fucking around again—like you expect me to believe that you ever stopped or that you'll stop now. You decided to start your own place and never even said shit to me about it—what else have you forgotten to mention? You have another kid somewhere you forgot about? Maybe you hired Kip Thomas back for nooners? What else, Brian? Why the fuck did you want to get married? You don't give a shit about it—it's just another notch on your belt, another way to keep me around and to get Debbie and everyone else off you back for treating me like shit."
If Brian had any doubts about how badly he'd screwed up, how much he'd hurt Justin, how deeply he'd probably torn their marriage or their relationship, he understood it then. In fact he did love Justin and he had stopped tricking when they had gotten married. This thing with Marvin had been a one timer, nothing more. It wouldn't happen again with anyone. It wouldn't.
He told Justin that, he did. He apologized and swore that he'd drop Telson's account if it upset Justin this much. He swore hat he hadn't been with anyone since before they'd exchanged the damn rings and that he was doing all of this to build a life for the two of them, so that they'd have the money and the security hat went with it for the long term.
"You sound like my fucking father and you're as full of shit as he is. The money—what the fuck good is it if you kill yourself to get it? I never cared about that and you know it. I'm not fucking Donna Reed needing a big strong man to take care of me. I just want—I just want us to be together and you just don't get it. "
"I want to have a good life. I want us to live well and to be able to do the things we want. You know that."
"Based on cars and clothes and what restaurants you can afford? Brian, it doesn't matter. All that's crap, it doesn't matter."
"It does it you haven't grown up surrounded by it."
Sure fine. "…Maybe. I guess." Justin stood up, still quiet. "I'm going out."
"I'll go with you."
"No."
"Are you coming back?"
"Later, yes." Taking his jacket, he left, sliding the door closed behind him. Brian had seen him take the keys to the jeep. Wherever he was going, whomever he was going to talk to—Jenn or Ben or someone, maybe Deb, he'd be a while.
Justin got in the jeep, the one that had replaced the sold corvette, the one Brian insisted was more practical and that they could use for more things. He'd leered when he'd said that and they had both laughed and found out some of the things that it was large enough for. That had been months ago and they'd used it almost everyday since—no not just for that, but they used the damn car everyday and it occurred to Justin that, like almost everything else in their lives, it was really Brian's car. Oh, sure, they called it theirs' and all of that, just like they both called the loft home', but the fact was that Brian footed all the bills and really made just about all of the decisions.
Fuck—and he was Brian's twat, the little woman, the boy toy, the trophy wife.
He pulled up in front of his mother's condo. Shit, running home to mother. What an ass. He was going to put the car back in drive when he saw the condo's door open, his mother looking out. "Justin? I'm so glad to see you, sweetie. Come in out of the cold."
Trapped, fine.
He turned the ignition back off, went inside.
One look at his face was all she needed. "Alright. What happened?" Damn Brian. She put the teakettle on, her solution to everything.
He wasn't going to tell her. Oh, screw it. "He's been...shit. He screwed some client to get an account and when I found out he told me that he's going to start his own agency, that Vance has bought him out and that it's a done deal. He's even rented a space and hired people."
"My God, when did all this happen?"
"I just found out this afternoon and in the meantime, I'm trying to get enough canvases ready for Fred next month and…Goddamnit, he didn't even tell me that he was thinking about all this and he probably wouldn't even have told me if I hadn't overheard him this afternoon. I'm just a fucking afterthought with him."
"What did he say? You must have talked to him, what did he have to say about this?"
"That he's trying to build a life for us, that he's trying to make sure that we're financially secure and all of that shit. He doesn't get that all I want is for us to be together. The rest of all of that doesn't matter."
Well, in fact it did matter, at least to a point. "Honey, he's trying, he's hoping that one day you two will be able to do whatever you want. You know that."
"I just want us to be together, but he ignores me and he'd fucking working himself to death and then he even—Goddamnit."
"Did he say that he won't do that again, about the client, I mean?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe him?"
"…I guess, unless he decides it's important."
Oh, God, Justin was still so young. "And you still want him or you wouldn't be so upset. Honey, your Dad did the same thing, well, more or less. I thought that he'd work himself into the grave when he was trying to get up the ladder. He'd get a promotion or a raise and I'd think he'd relax but he'd just work that much harder. He did it for us, for me and you and your sister. You know how that was."
"And when you two split up he…" He stopped. They both knew what Craig had done. He'd screwed them all.
"And you know as well as I do that Brian wouldn't do that to you." She took a sip of her tea. "Do you think Brian would have told you about his new agency on his own?"
"Eventually, of course." In fact there had been a couple of times in the last couple of weeks when Brian had probably—maybe—been about to tell him, but he was either busy or had picked up another diner shift or something. He had said that he wanted to sit down and go over something, but he'd said it so mildly, so quietly, that Justin had blown it off. Tat would be Brian, though. The things that matter the most would be the things he'd make the least fuss over, afraid of criticism or failure.
"Honey, do you think you two can talk this out?"
He nodded. He'd try. What choice did he have? Move in with his mother? Get a divorce? He knew what Brian was trying to do. It was just that they seemed to be at loggerheads so often lately, not even really arguing, just each going their own way. When they connected it was good, but there were so many times when they just missed, sliding past each other and Brian seemed to busy to notice what was happening.
Brian had wanted his own agency since he was in college. This was one of his dreams.
He shouldn't have screwed the tire king, fucking no, but he'd said he wouldn't so it again and maybe he meant it.
In fact, if he said, he did mean it. You could take that to the bank. This was Brian he was talking about here.
He was trying to build a life for them and he was trying to—he was being Brian, trying to be the top fucking dog, always the alpha, always had to be on top. That was Brian. He knew this. If he had a problem with it then he was in the wrong place because Brian wouldn't change.
No, that wasn't true, either. Brian had changed. Brian had changed a lot. He had stopped tricking, just about, anyway. OK, he backslid, but he'd almost stopped. He probably had stopped, almost. He had gotten married for shit's sake. He had decided to break away and start his own business. He had stopped drinking and drugging, mostly. He worked almost 24/7. He was trying to grow up and he was doing it the only way he knew how.
And he was trying to take care of his husband.
He was trying.
He was.
But this screwing clients was bullshit and he wasn't going to take it. Brian—shit, that was non-negotiable. It was.
Starting a new agency, that meant that he'd be working longer hours than before. He was wearing himself down now and they hardly ever saw one another. Shit. OK, maybe it was just for a while, maybe a year or two, that's what he knew Brian wanted him to believe, maybe it was even what Brian believed, or hoped.
Fine.
He'd give him the time he wanted, so long as he agreed to cut the tricking crap. He could live with it. He didn't like it, but he could live with it for now and, when you came down to it, wasn't that part of his problem? The idea that he was just thought of as an appendage to Brian?
This was his chance to prove that he was more than that.
He had a big show coming up. He was in demand and he wasn't just Brian's twat.
Fine.
When he let himself back into the loft Brian was waiting for him, sitting on the couch Justin had been on a few hours ago. Now their positions were reversed, Brian sitting, waiting to hear what he had to say as Justin stood in front of him.
"Look, you want to take a shot and start your own agency, that's OK. I know you want to do this and I know it's important to you."
Brian looked at him with some apprehension. He knew this was a long way from finished. "But…?"
"But if I hear about you fucking any clients I'm gone. I mean it. Besides anything else, it's just so—God, it's so shoddy. You're better than that and you Goddamned know it."
Brian knew that. He did. He nodded his agreement. This was starting to feel like the rules Justin had wanted after they'd reconnected after Ethan.
"And if you start running yourself into the ground again, you have to slow down. I don't want to go to your damn funeral."
Brian flashed on Justin's grandfather saying almost the same thing to him over Christmas and wondered if Justin had heard it there. He wouldn't out it past him to have been listening at the door or something. It didn't matter. He'd try. It wouldn't be easy with the start up, but he'd make an effort.
"If it starts getting bad and you tell me to back off, I'll try. That's the best I can do with that, but I will try."
Justin nodded at him.
Done deal.
Evidently the conversation was over, at least this part of it. They weren't ones to beat it to death.
"You got a call when you were out." Brian knew damn well he'd been at Jenn's. She had called while Justin was driving home, reamed him out in twelve directions, in fact. She'd told him hat if he didn't clean up his act she'd make sure that things didn't go smoothly for him and somehow he had believed her, much as he was pissed that there were other people aware of what he considered personal business. He hated that they were being discussed. He had always hated shit like that, knowing that people felt sorry for him, wondered if he knew what he was doing and waiting to see if he'd fall on his face.
"Fred's assistant called. Scott? He needs slides of what you'll be showing, even if you have to show him the roughs. I can have them photographed in the morning if you have them ready."
The storm seemed over for now.
"Have you eaten?" In fact Justin was famished, he shook his head.
"Chinese?"
"Fine."
They had a long way to go—in fact they'd come a long way, three years more or less together—and they both knew they weren't there yet.