Second Year
September
"You're absolutely sure that you're satisfied with the contract as it now stands, then, are you?"
"Yes, I am, thank you. I think what we have is fair. Do you have any second thoughts?"
"None, no. I think this will be good for everyone involved."
"Good. As soon as the lawyers have a chance to have a final look at this I think we should tell the combined staffs at a meeting, say next week, and let them know that they will all now be working for BK/Vanguard, Inc, as of next month."
"Yes, I quite agree. Your old office is waiting for you, Brian. We never did find anyone to fill it after you left, you know."
"I know." It was stated matter of factly. He was the top dog on the pile and they both knew it. He was now an equal partner to Vance, his name—well, his initials—were on the door and he had it in writing that he could pick and choose what accounts he would be handling. No more chains of steak houses, if he could help it. He would, they had agreed, spend the majority of his time of the high-end accounts, the high profile stuff, the stuff he enjoyed and was good at.
Vance knew his worth, he knew both their worth, when you came down to it, and he knew where the most money and prestige was to be had.
With Brian back on board, despite what it had cost him in terms of both money and face, he knew they would in a matter of a very few years, if not sooner, be in a position to challenge the really big firms, the ones in New York and on the West Coast. Yes, he'd had to make some concessions regarding hours and wages. He had agreed to take on all of Brian's employees at inflated salaries and full benefits, but he had to admit that Kinney had managed to sign the cream of the local crop when he'd opened his doors earlier in the year and they should prove worth the investment in the long run.
This should work out well.
The merger went through quickly. The two staffs started working together easily and Brian was happy to be able to have the back up of the large agency behind him and not have to take all the heat when ever anything didn't go as planned. He had more time now to relax, as he had wanted. He had insisted that he would rather not work more than sixty hours in a given week, barring emergencies, and he quickly felt the difference both physically and mentally.
OK, there were times when he would be unable to sleep because of some glitch or screw up or question about some account and Justin would get up to find that he'd been on his computer for the last five hours working things out before going to work for the day and it was a rare weekend that they didn't get at least one call from Vance about something, but they would usually be resolved in less than an hour and he usually didn't have to go into the office to deal with whatever the problem was.
He was bringing new accounts, too, big one, ones that any agency would give its eyeteeth for just for the prestige and the visibility involved.
They had the North American Gucci account now, and BASF. They were talking to Tyco toys and Stouffers foods. Big accounts, huge amounts of money and they were being courted by the big agencies on the coasts.
It was heady stuff and Justin stood back and watched it happen knowing that something would have to give sooner or later.
Brian couldn't both step back and build the company that now had his name, OK, his initials, on the damn letterhead.
It wasn't possible to do both unless you were a pushme-pullyou and could alter the time space continuum and even Brian wouldn't be able to pull that off.
Whether he was willing to admit it or not, Brian would have to up some of his free hours or cut his interest in the agency. There was no real choice. It wasn't possible to have it both ways.
The only one who didn't seem to know it was Brian.
He still got up every morning, dressed impeccably in Armani or some such, would go to the office, fight the fight all day and then insist that he had to be gone in time to have dinner with his partner. He would make a point of spending about two hours with Justin eating or showering or simply watching the news then he would remember something that had to be cleaned up before the morning meeting or something and then he'd spend the next three or four or five hours on the computer or on the phone.
He'd make a show of getting that done, they'd go to bed, usually make love, Justin would fall asleep. Around two or three in the morning he might wake up—he didn't every night—and find that he was alone in bed. Looking through the slats in the bedroom wall, through the glass panels, he'd see the desk lamp on and the glow from the monitor. Brian would work for another couple pf ours, crawl back to bed, sleep til the alarm woke him around seven and start all over again.
Sure, he insisted that he'd cut way back, but the truth was that he was working just as hard. The black shadows were still under his eyes, darker than ever and he was still having trouble keeping his weight up.
Nothing had really changed.
Justin would spend his days painting. He also took charge of the house and the food and the domestic side of things. It wasn't so much that he wanted to or was particularly good at it—though his cooking outstripped Brian's even on his worst days—it was just that he knew Brian was doing as much as he could and the shit work like the grocery shopping and the laundry weren't on his radar.
Justin was getting his own work done, despite his worry about Brian. He didn't see his friends as much as he would have liked and he didn't get out of the loft as often as he would have liked and there were too many days and nights when he didn't see Brian all that much, not when they could actually exchange full sentences, anyway, but he was doing the best he could.
The third weekend he borrowed the girl's station wagon, drove to New York and delivered the commissioned pieces. He knew tat it wasn't the really cool way to do it—they probably should have been all crated and shipped and all, but he was excited and wanted to see the looks on the people's faces when they saw them for the first time. He was happy with how they had both turned out and so he decided, what the fuck', picked up the phone, made a couple of calls and did the deed.
He had hoped that Brian would be able to help him with the drive, that they could spent a couple of days without phones or computers, but Brian had to make an emergency trip to Albuquerque and begged off, promising to make it up to him later.
Sure, right, whatever.
When he got back, the clients having loved the finished works and treating him to dinner and promising to recommend him to their friends, he found the loft empty on a Sunday afternoon. No note and no clue as to where he might have gone anywhere. Mentally shaking his head, he took the car over to Lindsay and Mel's, hoping they could give him a ride home. They let him in the front door, asking him for all the details, kissing him, telling him how proud they were and finally pulling him to the back door, fingers to lips to be quiet and pointed the big tree.
Brian was taking advantage of a warm late summer day, blanket on the ground, Gus pressed against him and a pile of Dr. Seuss beside them. Brian was reading what looked like Horton Hears a Who and listening to his son's comments and questions, answering them seriously and fully—or as fully as one can answer a question about a Who.
"They've been out there for an hour."
Justin smiled at the image. The Big Bad sitting reading a children's story with a plate of sliced apples and a couple of juice boxes to make it all go down easy.
"You should have seen the game of tag we had before. It was a classic."
Brian had said that he wanted to slow down. This was the sort of thing he'd meant. Sure, none of his friends would have believed it, but it was. In his own convoluted way, this was what he'd wanted.
"Think he'll mind if I join them?"
"Take out a plate of cookies and you'll be a hero."
Plate and sketchbook in hand, Justin walked out two minutes later. He was welcomed, exclaimed over, kissed and hugged by both Kinney men, declining the offer to read one of the books—he'd always been fond of Mazie, himself, and drawing instead. He managed to capture the two of them, Brian and Gus, father and son, sharing the day, enjoying one another, looking so much alike that it hurt to see them.
The sketches were good one and he knew that they would translate into good paintings later, maybe Christmas presents for the girls and Brian. They'd like that.
In another half hour Gus was asleep on the blanket, now doubled over onto him against any possible chill.
"How did it go in New York?"
"It went well, they liked them. They said I might get some more commissions from them and their friends." A pause. "I wish you could have come."
"Next time."
They rested together, Justin leaning against Brian, just enjoying the day and being together. They held hands.
"You look tired, did you work all night again?"
"I'm cutting back, Justin, you know that."
"Bullshit. You're just at the office fewer hours, you're working just as hard as you ever were."
"That's not true. Gardner wanted me to go to Salt Lake City after I finished in Albuquerque and I refused. He's there now. I came back here." He actually seemed to think that was a big concession. Well, Vance probably did, anyway.
Meanwhile, he was obviously exhausted and Justin could feel the bones of his shoulders stabbing him. He was still losing weight. Last year Justin's grandfather had talked to him, called him on the carpet, really, about slowing down, how if he didn't he'd kill himself and how he didn't want to have to deal with Justin if he was left a widower at the age of twenty-one or so. Brian had seemed to listen, seemed to take it to heart for a while, but that was almost a year ago and he was, well, he was Brian. He needed to be the best, needed to keep proving himself and never believing that he had won, if he'd just let himself stand back and take a look.
"I think I'm almost ready for the show in San Francisco next month. You're still coming with me, aren't you?"
Brian took too long to answer.
"Shit, Brian…you promised that you'd be there."
"I know. I will be there. I'm just not sure if I can spend the whole time we were planning on originally. I'll just fly in the day of the show and then we'll have the rest of the weekend together and…"
"Fuck you. You said you'd help me with the set up and all of that crap."
"The gallery has people to help you, you don't need me there for that, come on."
"I don't need you for the set up, I need you to just fucking be there for me. You're my husband, Damnit, you're supposed to be there for me."
"I said that I would. I'll just be there two days later than we'd planned. Get the fuck over it."
"Jesus, Brian—you gave me this big fucking song and dance about how you wanted to chill out, take time, enjoy yourself, spend time with me and all that shit—you even said you wanted to smell the roses and you're pulling your same old shit again. Goddamnit."
Christ, another princess moment. "You know that Vance and I are still getting the merger working smoothly and you know as well as I do that we have more damage control to deal with after the Stockwell thing—get off my fucking back about this."
"Screw you. You told me that you'd be there."
"I told you that I'd do my best to be there. I will be there, just not on your fucking schedule. I have things I have to do and you know that."
"And we know the Goddamned world revolves around you."
His answer was one of Brian's better glares, the one he used when he was really pissed. They were at a stalemate for a couple of minutes until the back screen door slammed and Lindsay came out, unaware of the argument. "Are you two staying for dinner? Michael and Ben are coming over and Debbie just said that she and Vic can make it, too."
Forcing a smile before Brian could beg off, Justin said, "Sure, sounds great, thanks." Trapped, more or less, Brian kept his mouth shut.
"...Are you two alright?"
"We're fine." Same big innocent smile. She decided not to go there.
Two hours later the family were seated around the muncher's dining room table, the now awake again Gus in his high chair next to Brian, as he'd insisted. The talk was general and it was pleasant enough. Ben and Michael told everyone about how Hunter was at the cabin a friend of Ben's owned in the Pocono's and was having a good time being a normal kid, he was a junior in high school now and was passing every class. His mother had fallen off the map, to no one's surprise. Vic looked like he was doing alright, he was funny and happy. He looked at Brian and Justin, Ben and Michael and said something about how he was glad to see his two spiritual sons happily married and settled down. Sure, it was a joke, but they all knew he was serious.
Brian was quieter than usual during the meal and the ones who looked closely saw that he was pale and obviously exhausted. He didn't eat much, but he never was a big eater. No one said anything, not wanting any unpleasantness on such a nice night.
At one point when they were in the kitchen together carrying plates to the sink, Emmett did lean over and whisper, "Honey, are you alright?" Brian gave a brief nod and that was that, though Em noticed that he put his hand on the edge of the counter to steady himself.
They asked Justin about his new pieces and his new show and he pulled out some snaps he'd brought because he knew they'd ask. They were good and Justin was proud of the reactions his things were getting. Finally Brian stood up, said it had been a long day with the flight and he was going to head home.
He and Justin seemed to have patched up whatever they'd been arguing about earlier and Linds was glad to see it. They'd both been trying so hard.
The two men said good night to everyone, Brian kissed Gus and they went out to the jeep.
Within a minute Justin ran back inside, panicked.
"Brian passed out."
Rushing to help, they found him lying on the sidewalk by the car, unconscious.