"The court calls Lane Prescott to the stand," the bailiff formally announced, as Justin held his breath. He and Brian had thankfully been able to take their seats before Prescott was brought out into the courtroom. Once again, the man was superbly dressed and perfectly groomed from his dark, wavy hair down to his polished, leather Gucci shoes. There was no outward sign of the man's numerous injuries he had sustained in his scuffle with Brian yesterday; no casual observer would have ever guessed that this poised, elegant man had been in the hospital last night with cuts and bruises all over his body.
Justin and Brian had found seats farther back this time – the last thing Justin wanted, particularly, was to be the subject of his tormentor's scrutiny while he was up on the stand. Even with the relative distance separating them from the witness stand, however, Justin couldn't help feeling jittery and slightly nauseous; he knew the trial was nearing its end and he still was not sure what the outcome would be. It seemed it all was going to hinge on how Lane did on the witness stand, according to Greg's estimation, and how successful he would be during the cross examination. I hope you know what you're doing, Greg, he fervently vowed. I'm counting on you here.
You and Brian, the blond thought, glancing over fondly at his partner, the man who had stood by him through this whole ordeal, the man who had literally again saved his life during that time, twice. His protector. His lover. His soul mate. Justin vowed that when this was all over, no matter what the outcome, he would spend a considerable amount of time letting Brian know just how much he meant to him. As if he could read his thoughts, his partner chose that time to meet his gaze, saying nothing but conveying everything in the tender look and the slight, reassuring smile he gave him.
Both men's attention was redirected toward the front of the room as they heard Sinclair began his questioning: "Will you please state your name and address for the record?" the man asked.
"Lane Prescott, 148 Sycamore Terrace, New York City," the man smoothly replied.
"And what is your occupation, Mr. Prescott?" the attorney inquired professionally.
"I am CEO and Owner of Prescott Sportswear based out of New York City," he answered easily.
"I see. And how long have you operated your business, Mr. Prescott?"
"A little over 15 years now. I actually inherited it from my father," he explained.
"And is your enterprise a successful one?" Sinclair requested.
"Yes, very, if you call a multi-million business successful," Lane answered, somewhat smugly, Justin and Brian both felt.
"Okay. And does your business involve a lot of travel?"
"Yes. I have locations throughout the country, and I'm very hands on, so I frequently travel during the year."
"And did you have an occasion to travel to Pittsburgh on business approximately 18 months ago?" Sinclair probed, approaching the beginning of his client's involvement with Justin. The artist grimaced in dread of having to relive his experience from beginning to end, once again, for all the audience to absorb, including the eager press corps entrenched outside.
"Yes, I did."
"Would you extrapolate as to the reason why you were in Pittsburgh?" Sinclair pressed.
"I was in the city to launch my newest sportswear line, particularly targeting the gay community," the man reported.
"Okay. And during that period were you involved in a business relationship with the advertising agency known as Kinnetik and with its owner, Mr. Brian Kinney?" Sinclair asked pointedly.
"Yes."
"How did you happen to choose this particular agency?"
"I obtained a referral from Leo Brown, a friend of mine and the owner of Brown Athletics, who used Kinnetik for their advertising. He was very satisfied with their relationship," he explained smoothly.
"I see. And did you, indeed, meet personally with Mr. Kinney?"
"Yes, I did."
"So tell me, Mr. Prescott. Did Mr. Kinney make any advances toward you during this meeting?"
Greg instantly rose to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. That question is totally irrelevant to the issue at hand," he protested.
"Sustained, Mr. Matthews," Judge Mason answered. "Mr. Sinclair, please stick to the subject at hand and redirect your line of questioning."
"Yes, Your Honor," the defense attorney replied. Turning toward his client, he asked instead, "Did you decide to use Kinnetik's services?"
"Yes, I did," Prescott verified.
"Okay. Now while you were in Pittsburgh on business, did you happen to become involved with a benefit being held for the Pittsburgh Gay & Lesbian Alliance?"
"Yes, I was."
"And what format did your involvement take?" the defense attorney asked.
"I was asked to showcase some pieces of my new sportswear line during the benefit. I had models wearing several outfits while the benefit was being held," the man explained.
"And did you personally attend this benefit?" Sinclair inquired.
"Yes, I did."
"Okay. While you were there, Mr. Prescott, did you wind up purchasing a painting contributed by Mr. Justin Taylor?" At the mention of Justin's name, Brian looked over at his partner, sensing his agitation and nervousness. Reaching a hand over to grasp the pale, slender one, he squeezed it in silent support as he heard his lover's breath hitch. Brian knew how difficult the next part of Prescott's testimony was going to be; it was only going to get even harder from here on out. He watched as Justin closed his eyes, the experience beginning to wash over him again. Somehow hearing the actual words coming out of Prescott just made it more vivid to them both.
Prescott faltered for a few seconds at the mention of Justin's name; it was the first time anyone could sense any hesitation in his responses. He smiled slightly, as if he was remembering a pleasant memory. "Yes, I did," he replied softly.
"And did you in fact purchase this painting with a stipulation attached?" Sinclair pressed.
"Yes, I did."
"And what was that stipulation, Mr. Prescott?" Sinclair knew he was about to tread into precarious territory. He had to someone make the jury understand that his client's fascination with the talented, blond artist had eventually evolved into an obsession that was so pervasive, it had somehow evoked a condition of temporary insanity in a man who was normally quite lucid and on top of his game.
"I bid on the painting with the understanding that Justin would have dinner with me the next day," he answered, even now his voice taking on a different type of inflection when he said the artist's name in an almost reverent tone.
"And would you say this type of behavior is typical of you, Mr. Prescott?" the attorney asked pointedly.
Lane paused briefly before replying softly, "No, it is not."
"How is it not typical then?"
He smiled, again seeming to take on a smug, almost arrogant air. "Well, usually the other guy is the one pursuing ME," he pointed out, this time finding Brian's stare and glaring at him in a silent challenge. "I'm usually the one being hit on."
"Why do you think that is the case?" Sinclair asked, as if the question even had to be presented.
"Well, I have been fortunate to have accumulated a great deal of wealth, and I'm attractive. Money and looks are always an irresistible pull." Brian had to snort audibly at that comment, an action not lost on Justin; the arrogance of this man never ceased to amaze both of them, even now.
"Okay, so how did you even know you would be interested in this artist?"
"He was standing next to the painting he had created when I overheard him talking to a friend of his, before the auction began that night," he explained.
"I see. So you recognized his painting during the auction and decided to bid on it with the condition attached?" Sinclair asked for clarification.
"That's correct. I was actually more interested in the artist than the artwork," he divulged. Again Prescott smiled at the recollection of the first moment he had seen Justin and how mesmerized he was by the other man. Hell, he STILL felt that way, even after the man's pit bull boyfriend had assaulted him. He only wished he could tell the jury exactly what had happened yesterday afternoon, but unfortunately the judge had made it perfectly clear this morning that as an additional condition of his bail being revoked, he could NOT reveal any information regarding what had happened in the restroom yesterday. Well, he thought, I'm already in jail – we'll just SEE about that, Kinney.
"All right. So we already know by Mr. Taylor's previous testimony that he agreed to have dinner with you after you successfully bid on the painting."
"That's correct," Prescott verified.
"And the courtroom has already been advised that you and Mr. Taylor met for dinner alone at the La Masionette Restaurant Sunday night, the day after the auction ended?"
"Yes."
"Okay. So tell the courtroom, Mr. Prescott, what your impression of Mr. Taylor was the first time you met him."
Sinclair noticed his client's instant change in demeanor, from reserved and detached to emotional, at the mention of Justin Taylor's name. He had already cautioned his client not to be effusive in his comments, but to keep them short and succinct.
Prescott smiled almost dreamily as he answered, "I thought he was fascinating. I was totally captivated," he admitted simply. Even now, Justin continued to have this inexplicable hold on him. No one had ever made him feel the way he felt, and still feels, about this particular man. He reluctantly came out of his temporary daydreaming state as he heard his attorney asking him another question.
"And how did he feel about you?" Sinclair prodded.
Justin cringed at this line of questioning. Why the hell is it important he drag this out? What difference does it make how I felt THEN? That was way before I knew what a creepy, dangerous man Lane was. He also did not like to have to rehash the whole experience with Brian at his side; it just dredged up unpleasant memories of the time when they were apart. We're going to have to work on replacing those memories with some better ones once this is over, he vowed silently to his partner.
"I think he enjoyed my company; in fact, I'm sure of it," he answered confidently. "He agreed to go out with me again the next night. And he let me kiss him while we were dancing in the restaurant, and when we said goodbye." While reliving that wonderful time, Lane couldn't help glancing over where he knew Justin was in the courtroom to take a look; despite the blond's attempt to stay practically hidden from him, Lane knew immediately where he was as soon as he entered the courtroom. There was just something about Justin that radiated from him, despite his attempts to shield himself from the other man. Lane thought he could easily find Justin in a sold-out stadium if he had to.
Justin covered his eyes, partly in an attempt to escape from Lane's pointed gaze, and partly out of shame. Shame from the way he had been suckered into accepting Lane's attention and even encouraging it to a certain extent, and shame that he had given up so quickly on his and Brian's relationship, which at the time was at a standstill. Brian simply stared the other man down, hatred and fury ablaze in the hazel eyes. He continued to lock eyes with the other man for several seconds, two alpha males fighting for dominance, until Prescott finally looked away in partial surrender.
"Mr. Prescott?" Sinclair cleared his throat, trying to get the other man's notice. Inside he was seething at his client for such an overt attempt to get Justin Taylor's attention. You're treading on thin ice here, Lane. Better watch it. Finally, his client reluctantly turned his concentration back toward the attorney, who was trying hard to disguise his disgust toward his client's actions.
"And the two of you went out the next day for dinner and a visit to the New York Museum of Modern Art in New York City, correct?" he asked his client, trying hard to maintain a professional, detached demeanor.
"That's correct," Prescott answered, again smiling at the recollection. "We had a wonderful time," he felt the urge to add, elaborating.
"Please, Mr. Prescott, just answer the question yes or no," Sinclair admonished. He couldn't stand it any longer – he HAD to get his client back on track.
"Sorry," Prescott mumbled somewhat contritely, although he was clearly irritated with his attorney for trying to cut him short.
"Yes. Well, after your second date, you again saw Mr. Taylor briefly for dinner onboard your jet just before your return to New York City, correct?" Sinclair asked.
"Yes, that's correct." Prescott, thankfully, had the foresight to just answer the question, and not expound upon it for a change.
"And during that dinner, did you ask Mr. Taylor to accompany you back to New York City?" his attorney queried.
"Yes, I did," he answered without reservation. You don't know how badly I wanted you to go with me, Angel. Even now, Prescott's pulse raced as he thought about what could have been, if only Justin had agreed to go with him. Everything would have been perfect.
"And what was your reaction when Mr. Taylor declined?" Careful, Lane, think before you answer this one, he tried to silently caution his client. They had spoken about the best responses to several of his questions; he fervently hoped that his client would heed his advice about them as he waited for the other man's response.
"I was very disappointed that he wouldn't agree. I would have given him the world," he whispered longingly. Even now, he had a large lump in his throat as he repeated the same words he had told Justin that evening. He would STILL give him the world, if only he would let him.
"Yes, uh, well….." Sinclair again cleared his throat, partially in annoyance and partially to try and warn his client he was precipitously close to heading in the wrong direction. "What else happened when he told you he did not want to go with you?"
"I'm not sure what you mean." Prescott suddenly answered vaguely this time.
"Well, Mr. Taylor had previously stated in his testimony that he was somewhat afraid of your reaction after he declined your invitation. He alleged you attempted to detain him by taking a hold of his arm." Careful, Prescott, he silently warned again.
"Well, I admit I DID take a hold of his arm briefly, but it was just to get his attention. I NEVER tried to hold him there against his will. In fact, as soon as he indicated he did not want to accompany me to New York, as I said I was very disappointed, but I acceded to his wishes and I immediately let him go, albeit reluctantly," the man insisted, a sad expression of longing on his face.
"That's BULLSHIT!" Brian hissed out loud, trying with great difficulty to not shout it out. It took all he had NOT to stand up and yell it at the other man. He recalled what Justin had told him, and how the blond had been trembling as he held him in his arms afterward; that was NOT the response of a man who had nothing to fear. He knew Justin well enough by now to know that he had been upset and fearful while he hugged him; he had no doubt that what his partner had told him was the absolute truth, and that the man up on the witness stand was lying through his fucking teeth. The nerve of the other man never ceased to astound him, even after all this time.
"So you are saying you did nothing out of line to try and prevent him from leaving?" Sinclair pressed his client.
"That's correct," Prescott answered simply. NOW the fucker decides to shut his trap, Brian snarled to himself.
"Okay. Now let's move on to more recent events. Do you admit that you sent the four gifts to Mr. Taylor with notes signed from a secret admirer?" Sinclair inquired.
"Yes, I did," the man answered without hesitation, as if he were proud of the fact and wanted everyone to know it.
"Okay. And why did you decide after all this time had elapsed to send Mr. Taylor gifts?"
"Well, just because I hadn't seen him in several months didn't mean I had stopped thinking about him. Truth it, I NEVER stopped thinking about him. I thought sending him the gifts anonymously was romantic, and that he would eventually figure out it was me sending them to him. He always did enjoy being romanced," Lane announced, sure of himself. You DO deserve to be romanced, Angel, he thought dreamily.
Again Brian huffed in disgust. The man's arrogance was astounding. Deep down, however, Brian was also tremendously annoyed by the fact that this man could profess to know his partner so well in the relatively short time he had been with him. Fucker – if anyone is going to romance Justin, it will be ME, never YOU, he vowed. Besides, Brian knew he had changed from the man he used to be – before he would have never in his right mind considered presenting his partner with romantic gifts or gestures, but now he found he could actually on occasion come up with a proper gesture of affection on his own. The gestures were purely Brian Kinney, though. To others, buying a new loft for him and his partner to live in together, or coming home the same time every day from work might not seem like a grand romantic gesture to most people, but he knew to Justin it meant everything to him. And he was determined to go on showing the man he loved just how much he cherished him for the rest of their lives.
Brian turned his attention back to the arrogant man still sitting in the witness chair as Sinclair continued. "So you assumed Mr. Taylor would eventually recognize you as the sender of his anonymous gifts?" Sinclair asked his client.
"Yes, I did." Prescott confirmed.
"But he didn't, did he?" Sinclair pressed.
"No, he didn't," Prescott admitted, sounding disappointed that he did not get the proper credit for his creatively unique idea to surprise the man he adored.
"And you actually found out his partner had placed a security system around their loft as a result of him receiving your gifts, correct?" Sinclair asked.
Prescott didn't try to hide his disgust. "Yes, I did," he practically snarled.
"Mr. Kinney, in fact, testified that he did NOT have one of his employees call the security firm he utilized to cancel the security detail he had set up. He claims YOU had a part in that. Is that the truth, Mr. Prescott?" he asked the man pointedly, waiting anxiously for his client's response; they had reviewed this question in depth this morning before they entered the courtroom.
"I admit I did employ the detective, Mr. Kingsley, who has been accused of allegedly installing a wiretap on Mr. Kinney's phone and supposedly obtaining the cancellation code that way. But I did NOT instruct him to do so," he insisted firmly.
"Oh, my fucking God," Brian exclaimed, so loudly that several other spectators turned to him to look. The brunet ignored the pointed stares of the others, turning instead to his partner in undisguised disbelief. "That son of a bitch!" he hissed. "Does he really think anyone's going to believe that shit?!"
"Quiet!" Judge Mason barked. "Quiet in the courtroom! Mr. Kinney, if you cannot contain your verbal outbursts, you will be removed from this courtroom, do I make myself clear?" he sternly admonished him.
Brian sighed in undisguised scorn before letting out a disgusted breath and muttering, "Yes, sir."
The judge continued to stare at him for several seconds before stating, "Very well, then. You may proceed, Mr. Sinclair."
"Thank you, Your Honor," the attorney acknowledged glibly. "So you deny any involvement in the cancellation of Mr. Kinney's security attachment while he was out of town?"
"Yes, I do," Prescott answered. "If my detective arranged for that subterfuge, it was NOT at my direction."
Greg Matthews scribbled down his notes furiously; the man's arrogance and out and out falsifications were unbelievable. Surely he didn't think the jury was going to believe this story? He was eagerly looking forward to his opportunity to grill the man during cross-examination later. Keep putting those nails in your coffin, you bastard.
"Okay. But you DO admit to enlisting the help of two of your friends, Mr. Beldon and Mr. Comisar, to arrange for Mr. Taylor and his partner, Mr. Kinney, to be separated so you could instrument a reunion with Mr. Taylor, correct?" Sinclair asked his client.
"Well, yes, I do admit that I asked two of my oldest friends for a little help. But I simply asked Jack to invite Kinney to Chicago to pitch an ad campaign to him for an opportunity that could result in some highly sought-after business, and I only asked Vince to grant Justin a commission for some paintings that I knew my friend would appreciate, and I knew Justin would be more than capable of fulfilling the request. I don't feel I did anything wrong by just giving the two of them an opportunity to obtain some lucrative business," he stated matter-of-factly.
Oh, my God, Justin thought. He really thinks he's some kind of fucking fairy godfather or something. Looking over at Brian's look of utter contempt, he knew his partner was having similar thoughts.
"Okay, Mr. Prescott. So let's discuss the trip Mr. Taylor and Mr. Comisar made to Lancaster, on the pretense of Mr. Taylor providing some paintings for his restaurants that were being remodeled," Sinclair continued. "You do admit that you arranged for your friend, Mr. Comisar, to request Mr. Taylor's presence at the Chez Laurent so you could ultimately be reunited with him, correct?"
"Yes, I admit that I wanted to see Justin again," he confessed. How could any man NOT want that to be in the company of that beautiful man again? he wondered silently.
"Okay. So you waited in the back room for Mr. Taylor to appear with the concierge, correct?"
"Yes, I recall that," Prescott began tentatively, a seemingly confused look abruptly showing on his face as he apparently tried to recall the events surrounding his much-anticipated reunion with Justin.
"Okay. But Mr. Taylor didn't want to stay to have lunch with you, correct?" Sinclair pressed.
The other man stammered before he said, "I THINK that's correct."
Brian and Justin exchanged puzzled looks; what was this fucker trying to pull now?
"What do you mean, you THINK that's correct?" the attorney asked, appearing to be confused himself by his client's response.
"Well, to be honest, from the time Justin appeared, the subsequent events are very muddled in my mind." Prescott briefly closed his eyes as if he were trying to furiously recall exactly what happened after he finally was reunited with the man who had captivated him so long ago.
"Are you saying you do not recall the events that occurred after you were reunited with Mr. Taylor at the restaurant?" Sinclair asked, sounding somewhat incredulous.
Prescott looked sheepishly at the attorney for a few seconds before replying, "Yes, that is what I'm saying. From the time Justin sat down and I began to talk to him, I do not recall exactly what happened afterward until I found myself in handcuffs on board the police boat a few hours later."
Before Justin had a chance to stop him, Brian erupted, standing up to scream at the top of his voice, "I fucking don't BELIEVE this!" He glared at Prescott now, fury in his eyes as he continued, "You lying piece of SHIT! This is total BULLSHIT!" he screamed. "Don't you see what he's doing?" he cried plaintively, as Justin desperately tried to pull his partner's arm to try and get him to sit down and be quiet.
The judge urgently pounded his gavel on the desk to try and get the room under control, as the courtroom exploded into pandemonium, several spectators loudly commenting on what was happening. "Order! Order!" the judge shouted firmly. "Mr. Kinney! You were warned previously." Motioning to two sheriff's deputies at his side, he instructed them, "Remove Mr. Kinney from the courtroom now! And if you say ONE more word, Mr. Kinney, I will hold you in contempt of court. You are jeopardizing this trial, do you understand?" he continued to lecture the brunet. "Is that what you want?" he asked the other man pointedly.
"Brian!" Justin cried, desperately trying to calm his partner down. "Please," he beseeched the other man frantically. Brian looked at Justin, whose eyes were tear-filled with worry – worry over Brian's welfare and worry that the trial they had endured for so long could be in jeopardy. "Please," he repeated again, grasping the other man's arm in an attempt to pacify him.
Brian's shoulders finally sagged a little as the two deputies approached him. "I'm sorry, Sunshine," he whispered. "It couldn't be helped," he offered as an explanation. I'll be right outside," he told his partner, his eyes conveying his regret at the outburst. He wasn't sorry he had yelled at Prescott, but he WAS sorry that he wouldn't be in the courtroom with Justin while he had to endure the rest of the son of a bitch's testimony. He resignedly walked away with the two deputies as they led him out the back door.
"Mr. Sinclair," the judge stated, finally turning his attention back to the attorney. "You may continue your questioning of the witness," he instructed him.
"Thank you, Your Honor," Sinclair responded. "Now, Mr. Prescott, let me ask you again. Are you telling this courtroom that you do NOT recall any of the events that occurred AFTER you met with Mr. Taylor for dinner at the Chez Laurent?" he pointed asked his client.
"That is what I am saying, Mr. Sinclair," Prescott affirmed.
"So what exactly is the last thing you DO recall about that day?" the attorney pressed him.
"I remember saying hello to Justin and asking him to sit down with me for lunch. Everything after that is all a blur. I only know what others have told me, nothing else. It's as if all the events happened to someone else," Prescott contended.
Justin sat there, totally stunned. How stupid does this man think we are? Does he honestly think everyone's going to believe that? Just when he thought he could imagine every scenario that might occur during this trial, Prescott throws a new one into the mix. Surely the jury is NOT going to buy this, are they? For his and Brian's sake, he couldn't even conceive of the idea.
He turned back to Sinclair as he continued to question his client. "So let me repeat my question, Mr. Prescott. You are testifying that to this day you do NOT recall the events that occurred on that day immediately after you met Mr. Taylor for lunch at your friend, Mr. Comisar's, restaurant in Lancaster? That the next event you recall is when you were being arrested by the Lancaster PD? Is that your response?" he asked the man pointedly.
"Yes, that's correct," Prescott insisted firmly.
Sinclair appeared to let out a surprised breath; whether it was for show or the truth, no one could know. He finally turned to the judge and announced, "I have no further questions at this time, Your Honor."
The judge looked at the clock on the wall before answering, "Very well, Counselor. This trial now stands in recess for the day. We will resume at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow for cross-examination." Rapping his gavel on the desk, Mason left his podium as the spectators stood up for the judge's exit, everyone excitedly murmuring to each other over the surprising turn of events.
As everyone slowly filtered out of the courtroom, Justin, his mother, and his friends all continued to sit cemented to their seats, too stunned to move as they tried to comprehend what had just happened.