Justin always felt he worked best under pressure, and this time was no exception. He had already tentatively sketched out the shell of the painting before he had begun in earnest; now, as he brushed the final touches on, he stood back to observe the finished result. I hope Mr. Comisar will be pleased, he fretted. He was very satisfied with the final product; it was a watercolor landscape of a French countryside, with a stone cottage perched on a hillside overlooking the lush valley below. Not exactly what I would call my standard edgy work, he thought, smirking; that was more his own personal style. But he was confident it was what Mr. Comisar wanted for his restaurant, and if he could derive more business as a result, it would be worth it.
Brushing off his paint-spattered hands on an old rag nearby, he realized it was just about time for his evening check-in with the Lord of the Jungle. Laughing softly to himself, he reached into his pocket for the phone, just as it started ringing. Well, if it isn't Simba himself. "Yes, Oh King of the Asphalt Jungle?" he answered jokingly.
"What the fuck? Do you have all the doors locked and the alarm on?"
"Yes, Simba," he assured him, hastily explaining, "Inside joke." He cleared his throat to change the subject. "How's the pitching going? Has he succumbed to the great Kinney charm yet?"
"Not quite," his partner growled, "I'm STRIKING out! The man's being a total ass. He doesn't like anything I've shown him so far." He explained, "It was a lot easier when I could just fuck the shit out of the guy to help persuade him. You sure do make things a lot more complicated now, Sunshine," Brian continued, this time with a decidedly more tender tone. Despite Brian's attempt at acting irritated, Justin saw right through him. Since he and Justin had moved in together at the Blackbird loft, Brian had been making a concerted effort to stay faithful only to his partner; although, it was times like this that proved to be a major test of his willpower.
"And you wouldn't have it any other way, would you?" Justin asked tentatively, rousing Brian from his musing.
"Maybe," Brian conceded grudgingly. "But it sure makes it lonely here when you can't use the standard M.O. to ease your tensions, if you know what I mean."
"Don't I know it," Justin answered, relieved. "It works both ways, you know." Justin sighed – he hadn't slept well since Brian had left, and he was growing extremely frustrated. Phone sex while you were jerking off could only go so far – he needed the REAL deal. "Any idea when you'll be coming back?" he asked hopefully.
Brian let out a long breath; Justin could envision him brushing back his somewhat shaggy auburn hair from his forehead with his long fingers, mirroring his own frustration. "I wish I could tell you, Sunshine. The man just won't budge – claims he's heard and seen it all before. Nothing seems to interest the man."
"Well, then, he MUST be straight, because no man could resist your charms, Mr. Kinney," Justin purred.
"Justin, don't DO that!" Brian entreated. "You're just making me even more fucking frustrated!" Trying to change the subject to something more impersonal in an attempt to will his body to calm down, he queried, "How's your painting coming along? Did you get that one done for the dance studio yet?"
"Yeah, actually I got it done a few days ago, and they've already come and picked it up; I've already gotten my bonus for getting it done on time," he told his partner proudly.
"Good for you, Sunshine," Brian encouraged him. "I knew my little Picasso could do it."
Justin beamed at the compliment as he heard a loud yawn suddenly interrupt Brian's part of the conversation. "Tired, Mr. Advertising Genius?" he asked gently.
"Yeah, I guess I am. I haven't been sleeping very well without my favorite blanket to keep my warm and my favorite physical activity to wear me out before bedtime," he chided softly, sounding suddenly like a petulant, pouting child.
Justin's body, though, instantly responded to his lover's caressing tone. "Well, I know the long distance method isn't the best, but maybe I could tell you a bedtime story to help you get to sleep, Mr. Kinney. It's most effective if you're lying down and naked, though," he instructed the older man teasingly.
Brian groaned. What this man could do to him, even on the phone! Aloud, he coaxed, "Well, do your best, Sunshine. Have your way with me, then." He didn't have to get undressed; he had already taken care of that obstacle before he called. No sense in wasting time. Smiling, he wedged his phone in the crook of his neck and listened intently to the commands coming from his lover's seductive voice.
It was fortunate that Justin had decided to wait until the following morning to call Mr. Comisar with the good news that he had finished the first painting for his restaurant; after all, a certain hazel-eyed man had kept him occupied until well after 2:00 a.m. last night.
Donning a dark maroon, pullover sweater to finish dressing, he picked up the phone number the restaurateur had provided to him.
"Triangle Enterprises, Ms. Calhoun speaking."
"Hello, this is Justin Taylor. May I speak with Mr. Comisar, please?"
"Of course, Mr. Taylor, he has been expecting your call. Just a moment, please," his assistant answered politely.
There was only a momentary wait before Comisar picked up the phone. "Justin! I'm hoping your call means you've got some good news for me."
"Yes, sir. I've finished the first painting, and it's ready to be framed. Do you still want me to take it to the framer I mentioned to you when we first met? He's done a lot of work for me, and has a good eye for what works best with my style," he advised the man.
"Of course. You already know what type of material and design for the frame, and you know the color theme for the first restaurant. Can he get it framed right away? I'll gladly pay the man a premium if necessary just to get it back immediately. I really want to be able to hang it up this weekend."
"Yes, I've already given him a heads up that it's a rush job, and he knows I'll be coming in this morning. He said he will put everything else on hold so he can get it framed today. I should have it back late tonight. He's going to stay open until he gets it done, and then call me when it's ready."
"Wonderful!" the man exclaimed. "Let me give you my cell number – you can call me tonight when you get the painting back. In the meantime, I'll give my pilot the heads up that he needs to have my jet ready first thing in the morning for the flight to Lancaster. Will that be agreeable to you?"
Justin was anxious to get the painting delivered and get back before Brian returns. "Yes," he said without hesitation. "That will be fine. The sooner the better, actually. I have plans later this weekend." At least, I HOPE I will, he thought fervently.
"Very good," Comisar answered. "I will be waiting for your call, then." Disconnecting from the call, Vince immediately dialed a familiar number to deliver the good news his friend had been waiting for. "Your little artist will be on my jet tomorrow morning heading to Lancaster. I'll call you later tonight once I know the exact time." Laughing, he added, "Better get the tailor ready to adjust my new wardrobe. I'm expecting one of each piece after pulling THIS off."
Lane smiled. "No problem. Your job is to just get him there. Leave the rest up to me."
"I must say, Lane, I'm impressed. You're really going all out for this man. He IS beautiful, but why him, particularly? With your looks and your money, you could have any fucking guy you want. Or should I say you could BE fucking any guy you want. You're not the kind of man to do the pursuing."
"I know. But he's the ONE. I can't get him out of my mind," he confided in his friend. "He's not only beautiful, but he's intelligent, creative, and romantic," he continued enthusiastically. "And I like a challenge. He's one of the few men that haven't tripped all over themselves trying to get me to notice them. Of course, he doesn't NEED to. But when I get done, he won't be able to say no to me," he advised confidently. "You DO remember what I need for you to do tomorrow, right?" he asked his friend somewhat anxiously.
"Yes, yes, I remember. I only hope this guy appreciates what you're doing for him."
"Oh, he will, I'm sure. How can he say no?" he asked his friend, eliciting a laugh from him.
Justin picked at his French toast on his plate; absentmindedly swirling it in the syrup.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" his friend asked him. "You're not eating. That is SO not like you, baby," he said kiddingly.
He smiled at Emmett wistfully. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Deb will have my balls if she notices I'm not eating every bite of the breakfast special. Ever since Brian and I moved to Lawrenceville, she thinks he's not feeding me enough. Says he's exercising me to death, if you know what I mean."
"Well, I'm sure he's just trying to keep those pesky little carbs from invading his man's luscious bubble butt," Em kidded him. "So why are you so glum looking all of a sudden?"
Justin sighed. "I have to go out of town for a day or so to deliver a painting on commission to that client I told you about, and Brian doesn't know I'm going. If he finds out, he's going to be PISSED."
"So why aren't you telling him, Sweetie?"
"Em, you know how overbearing he's been ever since that secret admirer starting sending those gifts. He's practically got me on lock down most of the day, and I'm having to report in morning and night. If he finds out I have to go out of TOWN for my work, then, he's going to blow his top! I love Brian, but he's completely blown this whole situation out of proportion. I'm hoping I can get this painting delivered and back before he even knows I'm gone. I talked to him last night, and he doesn't think he'll be back from Chicago until at least Monday. I'll just keep calling him twice a day from my cell, and he won't know the difference. I'll be back in no time," he assured his friend.
But Em was still concerned. "Baby, do you really that's wise? I mean, didn't you tell me the two of you are trying to build your relationship on trusting each other? How's he going to feel if he finds out you lied to him about where you were this weekend?"
Justin averted his eyes, looking guilty. "I know, Em. I don't feel good about it. But he's being way too overprotective right now; I had to fight tooth and nail just to get him to agree to "spring me from jail" during the day while he's been gone," he said somewhat defensively. "It's just a day or so. I'll be back by tomorrow sometime, I promise. I just have to accompany the buyer to his restaurant and give him my opinion on where I think the painting should be placed. Once that's done, I'll come right back. He's flying me up on his private jet," he said, explaining.
Em knew his friend wasn't going to be dissuaded. "So when do you leave - this morning?" Em asked, stealing a bite of Justin's French toast from the blond's plate.
"Yeah, Mr. Comisar's going to pick me up here in about a half-hour. That's why I had to meet you so early this morning," he explained.
"Comisar? The name DOES sound kind of familiar," Emmett said a little puzzled, trying to remember where he had heard that name before.
"VINCE Comisar. That's the big restaurant mogul I told you about," Justin explained. "He and his restaurants have been featured in several newspapers and magazines over the last few months, especially. Remember – he's the guy who's currently remodeling several restaurants he owns across the state, and he commissioned me to create a painting for each of them," Justin reminded his friend excitedly.
"Oh, yeah, NOW I remember! When I started getting into the party planning big time, I saw his name in a bunch of write-ups in the catering magazines I looked at – his restaurants are all very fancy schmancy." Batting his eyelashes, he asked pleadingly, "Couldn't you take pity on a dear friend and bring me back some appetizer goodie bags?"
Justin laughed. "Em, the restaurant hasn't even reopened yet! Maybe if you're a good boy, though, I can wheedle an invitation to a future dinner out of the guy."
"Ooh, sounds good." He paused several seconds before he realized something. "Sweetie, if you and this guy are flying there, just WHERE is there? I mean, I know downtown rush-hour traffic can be a bitch, but, really…."
Justin giggled. "No, we're not going the George Jetson route. The restaurant's in Lancaster. Not sure exactly how long it will take to fly there, but surely it won't take too long, since it's in the same state….....I think. Just where is Lancaster?" he asked, puzzled.
Em laughed. "I'm not sure, Sweetie." Looking thoughful, though, he asked, "Don't they have a lot of Amish people there? Maybe you're traveling by buggy, instead. But don't worry – you can take your GPS and attach it to the horse's bridle." Justin rolled his eyes.
His friend stood up, slapping a $10 bill on the table. "Must be off; got to go work off some of YOUR French toast. Be careful out there in that big, bad world, baby," he admonished the blonde affectionately, giving his friend a peck on the check as he rushed out of the diner with a short wave.
"Bye, Em," Justin answered, returning his friend's wave. He remained seated at the counter stool for several minutes, impatiently awaiting Mr. Comisar's limo that would take him to the airport for the short flight to Lancaster. Finally, he spied a long, sleek black limousine slowing down and stopping in front of the diner. Walking outside to meet his client, he hoped that everything would go smoothly so he could fulfill his agreement with the restaurateur and return promptly to Pittsburgh to anxiously await Brian's return.