Darth
Vader Had It Easy — Happy Birthday,
Gus
Kinney, Say Hi To Your Father
Gus had perfected the art of listening at doors by the age of five. At eight,
he’d discovered the exact spot in his room where the aged airducts in their old
house —not home, never a home -- carried sounds from all the favored “private”
rooms in the house to which his moms adjourned to conduct their low-voiced,
intense battles that Mama always won. As soon as Mom started crying, she lost.
It should be the other way around, and maybe if Lindsay Peterson had entered
into a heterosexual marriage it would have been, Gus used to think cynically,
since he had as little belief in the sincerity of his Mom’s tears as his Mama
did, and with even less respect for most of his gender’s intellect than Mel
Marcus, as he grew older and saw how easily manipulated most males were by
females. But Gus realized at a very young age that Mel Marcus believed in
keeping her head and heart under control, no matter what the provocation.
At least, she didn’t believe in giving in to sentiment.
So he learned to gather the ammunition for other types of manipulation, which
required information. It did not take the type of intelligence he possessed to
realize that Mama Mel felt a different kind of affection for her daughter J.R.
than she did for him and that this difference had a lot more to do with their
different fathers than the fact that he was not her biological son. Mama was not
crazy about Michael Novotny but she hated Gus’ father — he who was not named.
Not when Gus was around. If Gus were given to flights of fancy, which he was
not, he would have thought his father was Voldemort, or at the very least, Darth
Vader, as his best friend, Neesa, was always teasing him, knowing his love for
all things Star Wars related.
By the advanced age of thirteen, well, almost thirteen,
he amended himself, thinking that he would be lucky if he got a cupcake when his
actual birthday came in a little over a week, given how his mothers were
reacting to his early celebration, he’d raised eavesdropping to an art form.
This was how he came to be listening to his two mothers talk about him, from his
bedroom where he’d been confined. Of course, at this point, his skills at
eavesdropping had improved to the point that he didn’t need to leave the comfort
of his futon to be able to hear every word of his mothers’ pitched battle over
his latest escapade. He had long since positioned the futon that was supposed to
be used for the sleepovers that never took place over the useful airduct. Mama’s
tightly controlled tones were easy to distinguish from Mom’s more strident,
high-pitched contributions to the conversation.
“He’s completely out of control, Lindz. We need to take
steps now before he ends up in Juvie.”
“He’s just a child, Mel! Surely there’s no need for
such serious measures! We just need to show him understanding and….”
A loud noise and a squeak from Mom indicated that Mama
likely threw something — probably a book since there wasn’t any sound of a vase
or something breakable shattering. Typical, Gus thought, rolling his eyes. Mama
stayed calm and cool — until the point that she totally lost it. That was when
objects were thrown and Mom starting wailing.
“Are you even listening to yourself much less to me?
Our son has been drinking himself into a stupor on a regular basis with a gang
of boys years older than him, and Lord knows what else he’s been getting up to
with them, and you think all he needs is love? This isn’t going to be fixed by
crooning a Beatles tune to him, Lindz.” Mel was hissing but still her voice
carried — so well that Gus could have listened without resorting to the airduct.
Mel’s was a penetrating type of voice, no doubt an asset for a lawyer. Kind of
annoying in a mother.
“He’s just a boy,” Lindsay responded, which Gus thought
would have gone over better if she had managed not to whine. He sighed. He loved
his mother; he loved both of them. But he didn’t respect either of them very
much these days. To his mind, they didn’t do anything to earn his respect, not
in their treatment of him and his sister, and even less in their treatment of
each other.
“He’s a boy who is making adult sized mistakes and
we’re not capable of stopping him. We need help.”
That statement made Gus perk up his ears. He really
didn’t want to be trotted off to yet another useless counselor or shrink. He
made a face. Mom must have been making the same face because Mama’s next comment
was, “Don’t make that face. We have to be realistic. He needs more than we can
give him, more than the professionals we’ve consulted seem capable of giving
him. He needs….”
“Not juvenile hall! I won’t let you have him go to
prison!” Lindsay shrieked so loudly, it was no longer a matter of eavesdropping,
Gus thought ruefully. The neighbors probably couldn’t help but overhear this
“discussion.” He was glad J.R. was at a friend’s house. She spent a lot of time
at her best friend Amy’s house and he took a moment to feel guilty about that,
knowing it was his fault their mothers fought so much.
Well, partially his fault. The fact that they had
little in common to start with, then moved to Canada where they knew no one and
never regained their financial, professional or social standing, and added to
that the fact that they were both constitutionally incapable of accepting
responsibility when anything in their lives went wrong — those factors also bore
some measure of fault. But still, he felt responsible for J.R. She was his
sister and he loved her, brat that she was, and he hated that she felt forced to
avoid their house, even if he felt empathy for the reasons that made her stay
away.
A thought suddenly made the blood drain from his face —
surely she and Amy weren’t drinking and smoking pot like he’d been at their age?
Fuck. Maybe he should check out what she got up to when she was away from the
house, which he couldn’t do if he was sent away. He started listening again, and
found that he’d missed more of the conversation than he’d realized while he’d
been lost in his own thoughts.
“Then it’s settled. You’ll call him and make the
arrangements?” That was Mama, her voice calmer now that she’d gotten her way, as
always, not that she sounded all that happy. More like she’d won one of those
Pyrrhic victories she used to talk about, back when she still talked about her
court cases.
“I hate calling him out of the blue only to ask a favor
when I’ve hardly spoken to him since we moved,” Mom said. Her tone was difficult
to read, and Gus would have said he knew all of her tones, from coyly
flirtatious, to wistfully guilty, to insanely neurotic. This one was a weird
combination of all of them, and yet none of them. Who was the “him” and why
wasn’t Mama making the ....
Mama was laughing…actually laughing. “Surely you don’t
think he’d take it better if I call? You do, don’t you! You’re incredible.
Avoidance of confrontation, no matter what, that’s you. You’d think for your own
son….” Silence. “Fine, I’ll call the bastard. I’ll say one thing for him, he
doesn’t suffer from your conflict avoidance problem, and he does step up to the
plate when asked. This area is definitely one in which he is an expert and it
isn’t like he isn’t experienced in teen-age boys with issues.” She laughed again
but it wasn’t a nice laugh.
“That isn’t fair,” Lindsay objected meekly. Gus was
busy thinking that his Mama had actually said more than one thing for the person
in question — more like three or four things.
“To whom?” Mama snarked, and his Mom had no answer.
Mama continued in a grim tone. “I’ll make the arrangements, but I want no
complaints from you about how I do it. And that goes for you too, ‘sonnyboy.’
You’ll do as we say, or the next plan will include juvenile hall as I’ve bailed
your ass out for the last time.”
Gus sat up, startled. He understood, even if his blonde
mother needed it explained to her, that he’d been busted. He didn’t know how,
but Mama had realized that he’d been listening in all along. Fuck. It would make
it more difficult to manipulate the situation, especially since he’d failed to
pay sufficient attention to know where they were sending him…and to whom.
Though, now that he thought about it, Mama had been uncharacteristically careful
in her conversation, which made sense now that he knew that she knew about the
odd way sound carried to his room.
Double fuck.
Still, he was never one to go down without a fight, and
he knew how to get to his Mama — her sense of humor. Grinning, he leaned down
and spoke into the airduct. “You got nothing on me, copper. You’ll never take me
alive!”
Predictably, Mel laughed, though Lindsay, never the fan
of old movies that Mel and Gus were, broke into fresh tears.
*****
“Kinney.”
“Hello, asshole.”
Brian stared at the phone. The call had come through on
his private line. Only a very few people knew the number. Justin. Michael.
Debbie. Lindsay. And Mel. Much as he had never liked the pain in the ass who
married his best friend from college, he knew that he could count on Mel to call
him if the situation warranted it. Lindsay almost never used the number,
preferring to send the occasional card with a picture, or to use intermediaries
like Mikey and Debbie to plead her case when she wanted something, usually more
money. He knew that Mel’s innate sense of fairness would make her keep him
posted in case anything big happened to Lindsay or Gus, which is why he’d given
her his private number — just in case. He guessed “in case” had finally arrived.
“What’s wrong? Is Lindz….”
“Still thinking of Lindsay first,” Mel said scornfully.
“She’s fine. As much as possible for her. It’s your son who needs help.”
Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. So Gus was his
son now — the kid must have really fucked up for Mel to be acknowledging that.
He reached for a bottle of water. Although his rational mind told him that
everything was fine, that it was perfectly natural for his son’s mother to be
contacting him about Gus for the first time since the boy had been little more
than a toddler, his gut told him something serious was about to be unloaded on
him. He glanced at the picture on his desk, the one of the smiling, cherub-faced
boy with Brian’s auburn hair and hazel eyes. He hadn’t received a picture in
years.
“You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Brian retorted, and then cleared his
throat and gulped some water to clear the hoarseness from his voice. “How is Gus
and why does he need help?”
“He takes after you in more than his looks, which means
that he’s in terrible shape for a kid who’s not even thirteen yet,” Mel answered
with characteristic bluntness. “He’s in with the wrong crowd and the only reason
he’s not in trouble with the law is because I’ve made a few friends in the right
places. But I’ve called in my last favor up here, and if he gets caught again….”
“What the hell kind of trouble are you talking about?”
Brian felt off-balance and wanted to get control over the conversation. Did she
say Gus was turning thirteen? Christ. Where had the years gone? “Where are you
and Lindz while he’s getting up to the kind of shit that could get him into
trouble with the law? I know you’re working your ass off trying to make a career
up there in the frozen tundra but what the fuck is wrong with Lindz? I send
enough support so she can stay home and make sure the kids are all right, just
like the movie says. And you must come home sometime, at least enough to know if
the kid is getting up to any kind of serious trouble.”
“I knew you’d blame us,” Mel said bitterly. “Which is
why we think it’s time you took a turn with your demon seed.”
Brian’s grip on his water bottle was so tight, the
bottle cracked, spilling the water all over his desk. He bit back a curse,
knowing it was important he maintain a façade of calm. He spoke in his most
reasonable tone, the one reserved for crazy, but rich, clients.
“No one is blaming anyone. Let me correct that, no one
on this end of the line is blaming anyone on your end. The important thing is to
do all that we can to help Gus, agreed?”
Pacified, Mel agreed, and the two of them discussed
plans for getting Gus to Pittsburgh. As soon as the call ended, Brian got up and
walked to his credenza where he kept a full bottle of Beam. He picked it up,
felt the heft of the bottle, held it up to the light and admired the rich color
of the whiskey. Then, he put it back into the cabinet where it had remained,
unopened, since he’d taken his last drink three years earlier. Time to get to
work on solving this problem, not creating any new ones.
“Cynthia!”
Within seconds, the attractive blonde was at his door.
“Yes, boss?”
“Get the gang together — I need their help. ASAP.”
The usually unflappable executive assistant raised an
eyebrow — a sign of deep perturbation. “The entire gang, boss?”
Brian looked at her impatiently. “Did I say I only
wanted part of the gang?”
“No, boss.”
“Then use your head.”
“Yes, sir.” Both eyebrows were up as she left. Within
twenty minutes, she was able to confirm with Brian that the “gang,” which meant
Michael, Ben, Ted, Emmett, Debbie, and yes, Justin, would meet him for dinner.
At the Liberty Diner, naturally. While Debbie was married to Carl now, the
long-suffering detective having finally convinced her not to make him wait any
longer for gay marriage to be legal in Pennsylvania before making an honest man
of him, and Ted was in a long-term relationship with Blake, neither of those two
men were invited, nor would they expect to be.
Justin was a different case altogether. He and Brian
had never completely renewed their relationship after the wedding that wasn’t,
but he was still an integral part of Brian’s life, and vice versa. He was there
every twelve steps of the way when Brian gave up drinking, just as Brian was
there for him when Jen Taylor fought breast cancer…twice. As Debbie often noted,
they were under each other’s skins, and even if they weren’t fucking, at least
not on a regular basis, there would never be any other man as close to either
one of them as the Asshole and Sunshine were to each other.
Which was almost poetic, Ben commented, when Michael
made his usual protest, as he did when Debbie made her customary observation,
after asking if Justin was coming and being told yes by Emmett. They were
waiting already at the Diner, anxiously waiting to find out what new crisis had
occurred in Brian’s life that necessitated his calling them together — none of
them begrudged meeting him, they just knew he hated asking far more than they
would ever mind answering the call.
“Must be important, then, for Justin to come down from
New York on such short notice,” Ted interjected quickly, to forestall a Michael
melt-down. “Has anyone heard anything? Brian hasn’t had any doctor appointments,
has he?”
“Oh Christ,” Debbie whispered. “You don’t think….”
“No, Schmidt never thinks. Otherwise he would never
scare you like that, Ma,” Brian said, bending down to kiss Debbie on the cheek.
Justin, who was right behind him, did the same, before sliding into the booth
next to Ben and giving him a hug. He’d grabbed the first flight down from New
York upon receiving Cynthia’s call, which had been followed by a texted “please”
from Brian, who’d just picked him up at the airport. He’d been filled in on some
of the problem on the ride and was ready to lend whatever support Brian — and
Gus — needed. He couldn’t help feeling a strong sense of empathy for the boy he
once baby-sat, who was seemingly being abandoned by his mothers and dumped on
Brian, a relative stranger. But at least in his case, it had been his choice, he
mused. From the sounds of it, Gus wasn’t being given any choice before being
sent to the father he probably didn’t even remember. If he was having issues
before, this was a sure-fire recipe for disaster, in Justin’s opinion, and he
hated to think of it blowing up in Brian’s face.
“So, what’s up, Bri, why did you call us all here?”
Mikey was first to ask, without even waiting for the traditional ordering of
their meals. Debbie smacked him for ignoring protocol.
“First we eat, then we grill,” she snapped. “Kiki,
menus some time today?”
There were the usual jokes about no one in this group
actually needing a menu since they either had the choices memorized or never
varied their choice. Brian smiled faintly. There was comfort in the old rituals,
which Debbie knew. She winked at him and then she ruffled his hair.
“It will all be okay, kiddo. If anyone can help your
boy, it’s you.”
Brian was surprised. “How did….”
Debbie spoke in an uncharacteristically low voice, her
words intended for his ears only.
“Only a few things would get you this worked up, and
that boy of yours is one of them. Since you’re not sick and Sunshine looks as
good as ever, I’m betting it’s Gus. Plus, I’ve heard a few things over the past
several months that’ve got me worried. It’s a good thing if he’s coming home
where he belongs. You’ll soon have him straightened out and we’ll all help.”
Brian accepted a sloppy kiss from his surrogate mother
and allowed himself to feel better. The warmth in Justin’s blue eyes as he
watched from across the large booth was encouraging also. Maybe this situation
wasn’t as bad as he feared, even if he had no clue how to cope with an almost
teenage rebel without a cause — he hadn’t known what to do with himself at that
age! Thank God for Deb and Mikey. Remembering all that they had done for him, he
let the smile he’d given Justin grow until it encompassed his best friend, and
then took in the rest of his loyal gang.
“Gus is coming to Pittsburgh to visit, without his
mothers or sister.” Brian held up his hand to forestall the excited questions.
“He’ll be staying with me at the loft for the next few weeks, maybe longer.”
“How can we help?” Trust Ben to ask rather than start
making plans, Brian thought. The quiet professor’s question had the effect of
stopping the others from chattering on about plans they wanted to make. Brian
nodded his thanks.
“I’m going to need each of you to help in your own way.
Ben, he’s going to need to be tutored to keep up with his schoolwork. He’s been
kicked out of school back home and before he gets admitted down here he’s going
to need some remedial work.” Ben quickly agreed.
Brian quickly ran down his list of assignments for each
of the gang. Justin would take him clothes shopping, since Brian knew Mel would
send the boy with little more than the clothes on his back; Debbie would happily
keep Gus well fed with home cooked meals; Ted and Mikey would be in charge of
suitable entertainment when he wasn’t making up schoolwork — Ted being an expert
in computers and Mikey being an expert not only in comics but in video games and
all sorts of role playing games that younger people played. As Brian put it,
they both were distressingly in touch with their inner nerds, and while he
shuddered to think of his son being exposed to their worlds, he had to admit it
was better than the explorations into his own world that Gus had been making.
“What about me?” Emmett asked brightly.
“You, Auntie Em, are going to be very busy. You have a
birthday party to plan — a party to please a thirteen year old Kinney.”
The resultant squeal was enough to shatter the diner’s
windows.
*****
Brian was exhausted by the time he got back to the loft
that evening. Justin took one look at his face and it was enough to make him
accept the offer to stay over rather than go to a hotel as he usually did. It
wasn’t that they hadn’t ever slept together since the break-up — they had — but
the trouble was that it required both of them being in an emotional place where
they could pretend that it didn’t mean as much as it did. Justin wasn’t sure
about Brian but he knew he would have trouble pulling off any pretense of being
fuck buddies. Not when he was here because he cared so damn much for this man
who still had such a strong hold on his heart.
Always had, always would.
“You want a drink?” Brian asked. There was a brief
pause while he looked toward the cart by the window, before he walked toward the
refrigerator.
Justin smiled brilliantly. “A coke would be great.”
Brian huffed a laugh. “I guess I’ll have to get some of
the regular stuff in, but for now, will a diet do?”
“Sure.” Justin took the diet coke. He waited a moment,
then asked, “Bri, do you think it’s wise to keep the booze around?”
Brian threw himself down onto his sofa and then sighed
softly. Justin walked over and squeezed in next to him.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he
whispered.
“No, it’s a good question,” Brian conceded. “And
there’s an answer, though whether it’s good or not, I’m not as sure. I just know
that so far it works for me. I figure there’s no way in my line of work that I
can avoid all booze. I can remove the temptation from my office, my home, even
from my socializing to some degree, given my friends’ cooperation, but I can’t
remove it from my life completely. In the beginning, it was really rough, being
around people at those business lunches and dinners who were drinking like fish
and keeping to my seltzer. The contrast between my ‘dry’ personal life and my
150 proof work life was too difficult to maneuver between, so I decided I needed
to find a way to make the transition less jarring. For some alcoholics, it works
to maintain a booze free life. Since that isn’t feasible for me, I needed to
strengthen my resistance.”
Justin nodded. He still had trouble thinking of Brian
as an alcoholic — that word seemed reserved for men like Brian’s father, but
he’d done enough reading on the topic since Brian had called him and told him he
was going into a rehabilitation facility to know that there was no “type” who
was an alcoholic. He now realized that his own father, with his dependence on
his three martinis with lunch and his bottle of wine with dinner, which led to a
bad temper every evening, was just as likely an alcoholic as Brian’s father with
his countless beers at the local pub with his cronies. What he’d learned made
him keep a watch on his own tendency toward addictive behavior.
Of course, his main addiction was the auburn haired man
lying on the sofa, he thought whimsically. He’d never found the drug to equal
Brian Kinney and doubted he ever would.
“How bad has it been with Gus? Could this just be Mel
over-reacting?” Justin asked, pressing closer to Brian and resting his head on
his chest.
Brian was quiet for a long while. Then he spoke in his
softest voice. “I am afraid that this disease…the drinking…the alcoholism…is in
the genes that he got from me. My mother and my father were both alcoholics. I’m
an alcoholic. If I had a magic 8 ball handy, I think we both know what it would
be saying about Gus’ chances of not being a booze hound. ‘Situation not looking
good.’”
Justin decided not to argue that point, but instead
pressed his own. “But what exactly has he done? Broken into the liquor cabinet
and gotten puking drunk? That’s bad but does it really justify sending him away?
Don’t get me wrong,” he quickly added, “I think you’ll be great with him, I just
know that it….” He let his words trail off.
Brian finished the sentence for him, his fingers
carding gently through the soft blond hair. “It hurts when your mother doesn’t
know how to deal with you and seems to give up on you? That’s what you’re
thinking, isn’t it? Jen had her hands full with Craig when she let you stay with
me, and I think that there is a bit of that going on with Lindz and Mel. They’re
not working together when it comes to Gus, and all the fighting over him is
having a bad effect on their younger kid — from what I can glean from the little
Mel said. Mikey’s kid stays away from the house six nights out of seven to avoid
the fighting. As for Gus, he escapes his own way, hanging out with older kids,
and because he is tall and looks older than his age, he can get away with mixing
with kids a good three, four years older. And it isn’t just their liquor he’s
sneaking — he was caught stealing from a liquor store with some of these older
kids.”
“Fuck!”
“Yeah. Mel was able to get him off with a warning but
he almost got caught again. He managed to get away another time but some of his
buddies were caught drinking in the park nearby and Mel knows Gus was part of
it. He was dropped off at their house by an older kid last weekend. When they
found him, he was covered in his own vomit lying in their backyard — it took
them so long to wake him up they thought they were going to have to take him to
the hospital.”
“His so-called friend just dropped him off in that
condition?” Justin was indignant. “He could have aspirated his own vomit!”
“He could have died of alcohol poisoning too,” Brian
pointed out. “They probably figured his parents would see him or hear him and
bring him in. But Mel and Lindz never noticed he wasn’t in his room. It was J.R.
who alerted her mothers to the fact that he was missing from his room.”
Justin felt like he was going to be sick. Brian was
relating these facts emotionlessly, like he was talking about some stranger’s
kid, but Justin knew Brian. He never felt more than when he seemed like he
didn’t care at all. That was one part of the Kinney Manual that Justin had
memorized.
Like he didn’t have every bit of it memorized.
He sat up and pulled off his shirt. “You’ll be there
for Gus. You love him and you already understand him better than the girls do.
It won’t be easy. You’re going to have to be tough on him. And it will be harder
on you than it’ll be on him. But I’ll help, mainly by being here for you —
starting now.”
“That works for me,” Brian murmured, pulling Justin
down onto him.
*****
Gus was the last one off the plane. He would have
preferred to have stalked off first, head high, but despite his height and
ability to pass for sixteen, (at least, he told himself), his ticket proclaimed
him a pre-teen passenger traveling alone, and he’d been consigned to the care of
an older, motherly airline attendant. He fumed the entire trip once he found out
— especially since the Liberty Air employee in charge of him wasn’t the fun
seeming black guy named Dijon — like the mustard — who was very liberal in
handing out drinks and snacks and would have allowed Gus a few of those little
bottles too if the battleaxe he was assigned to hadn’t caught him.
“There will be none of that, Dijon! This is Mr.
Kinney’s son, and he’s just twelve! You wouldn’t want to get written up for
getting a VIP’s minor son tipsy, now would you?”
That led to some embarrassing cooing over just how much
he looked like his father, and even more embarrassing comments about his
father’s looks — Gus really was ready for a drink by the time the plane landed!
But Ms. Battleaxe insisted he had to wait for her to escort him off the plane
and deliver him personally into his father’s hands.
“I know what I’d like to deliver into his father’s
hands,” Dijon stage whispered to one of the other attendants as Gus walked past
with Ms. Battleaxe.
Gus wanted to gag. He made do with glaring at the man,
and was totally perplexed when it made the silly man sigh gustily. Of course, he
didn’t know that his glare made him look especially like his father.
As he rode the small train to where he would be passed
over to his father, he got nervous. He tried to remember what his Pop looked
like, but just had vague memories of a tall, thin man who never yelled. And who
smelled good. Like whiskey and cigarettes. He’d seen enough pictures to
recognize him, naturally, and knew that he took after him, which was considered
a good thing by his Mom and a bad thing by his Mama. But as for what he was
like, that was pretty much a mystery, since his mothers had come to a truce
years ago, agreeing that where they couldn’t agree to say anything nice, they
wouldn’t say anything at all. Even his eavesdropping had never yielded much
information about his father, since any conversation quickly led to one or the
other of his mothers reminding the other of the truce.
Gus wished Neesa were with him. But the truth was,
she’d not been very happy with him for a while now, ever since he’d started
hanging out with Blaine and Greg and the others. She cried when he got in
trouble over the liquor store, but was just mad after this last stupid incident.
She almost didn’t meet him to say good-bye, but gave in at the last minute,
promising to text and Skype, if he was allowed any computer time, that was.
“Maybe your Dad won’t let you on Skype,” Neesa
suggested as they sat on the swings by the old playground where they used to
play when small. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that a lot of drinking
took place there after dark. A part of him was glad that Neesa wasn’t one of the
girls that showed up for the drinking parties.
“I’ll get around him,” Gus had said confidently. That
was then. Now, as he walked slowly down the rapidly emptying arrival area next
to the attendant, his confidence left him. There was one tall, thin,
well-dressed man waiting, and he did not have the look of someone who would be
easily manipulated. He did not look like someone who would be manipulated at
all. Gus swallowed. Suddenly, he didn’t feel all that eager to leave the
motherly woman by his side and be left alone with the handsome, but cold looking
stranger who was talking sharply on his phone and not even looking his way.
“I’m at the right gate and I’m telling you, Schmidt,
that everyone has already….”
As Gus and the attendant came to a stop a few feet away
from the man, he paused and turned toward them, his eyes widening just a bit at
the sight of Gus. With a murmured, “Later,” he ended his phone call and pocketed
the phone. He held out his hand to the attendant.
“Ms. Tallan, thank you for bringing my son directly to
me. I was beginning to worry that there had been a problem.”
“Not at all, Mr. Kinney. Gus has been a perfect
gentleman. I just had to finish my duties on the plane before I could escort
him. Gus, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you have a good time visiting
your father.”
Gus nodded, and got out a word of thanks. He suddenly
felt choked up. He was glad that his father managed to get rid of the woman, and
was leading him over to get his single suitcase, keeping up a quiet monologue
until they got to his car. And what a car! Gus’ eyes grew wide. The valet
brought a green classic Corvette convertible to a stop in front of them. He
couldn’t help himself, he had to say something.
“Wow.”
His father smiled faintly. “You used to love this car
when you were little but your mothers wouldn’t let you ride in it — no room for
a car seat. “
“You had this car before…when I was little?”
His father nodded. “Yep. We would sit together in it in
the driveway of your mothers’ house when I went over to visit you, since I
couldn’t take you anywhere in it. You learned to say ‘Vette’ at a precociously
young age as I recall. Are you still a car nut?”
Gus started to answer animatedly, as in hell yeah, but
remembered just in time that it was not part of his plan to be friendly with
this man — he was here under protest. So he shrugged.
“They’re okay.” He got in without further comment and
then turned to look out the window.
Brian raised an eyebrow but didn’t pursue it…much to
Gus’ chagrin. He was used to people trying to coax him out of his moods. After a
few moments, Brian spoke again.
“I’m glad you’re here, Gus. There are several people
who knew you when you lived here before who are looking forward to seeing you
again.” Gus didn’t react. Brian tightened his lips, and then continued. “But
make no mistake; this is not just a vacation. You’re here because your mothers,
much as they love you, are at a loss at how to deal with you right now. I love
you but I am not at loss at how to deal with you. I will not tolerate a twelve
year old drunk, nor a thief. Those behaviors will stop.”
Gus was angry, furious even, and the fact that he was
having trouble keeping the tears back didn’t lessen his anger. He hated that his
Mama, it had to have been her, had told his father all those stories about him,
and ruined things before he even had a chance. He tried blinking back the tears
but was finding it difficult, which only made him angrier, because he really
hated crying like a baby in front of anyone but especially in front of this man
who had no right to tell him what to do. He struck out, and aimed to hurt,
because sometimes it felt like he’d been hurting for years. He kept looking out
the window though because he didn’t want this stranger, who didn’t even smell
like the Pops he remembered, to see his tears.
“You are not my parent, you know. You’re nothing more
than a sperm donor. That’s what they call you because that’s all you are. The
only reason I’m here is because they don’t want me around and you don’t matter
enough for them to care what you think of me so they don’t care if I screw up
down here. Don’t think they are counting on you to fix me or anything. They
don’t believe anyone can fix me, they just don’t want me fucking up where anyone
who matters will find out.”
Brian swerved the car sharply to the right and brought
it to a screeching halt on the shoulder. He turned toward Gus and pulled him
into a fierce hard hug. “I don’t care what your mothers think of me, never have,
and it’s a safe bet I never will. I do care about you, I did when you were small
and loved cars of all types and I did when your mothers took you away, just when
we were getting to know each other, and I will not stop caring about you no
matter what you’ve done or what you do, and I especially do not care what kind
of shit you say. But you have to get something into your head — I’m not going to
let you use my caring against me. I’m also not going to let you hurt yourself
any more. You’re right, I started out as a sperm donor, but at some point I
became your father. Whether you recognize my authority or not, I’ve got it and I
will enforce it. Understand?”
A nod was the only response but at least it was an
affirmative…of sorts. Brian let his son go and moved back into his seat properly
so that he could gun the engine as he moved smoothly into traffic. He couldn’t
wait to get back to Justin. He wished he didn’t want a drink as much as he did.
Probably should catch a meeting but that would be tricky while Gus was with him,
at least for the first few days.
*****
“So, this is where you live, huh?” Gus walked around
the loft, eyes as wide as they’d been when he’d seen the ‘Vette. It was the
first he’d spoken since the scene in the car but Brian considered any words a
plus at this point. He was happy to act as though the argument in the car hadn’t
occurred — he remembered that at that age, a fresh start was a great thing,
hormones being what they were. He learned from Debbie that forgiveness was
never-ending. From his parents, it was simply…never.
“Yeah. Your room is through that door to the right. The
kitchen is here, obviously. Help yourself to whatever you want.” Brian set down
the suitcase and walked over to the refrigerator. He grabbed a water for himself
and held up a coke in silent offer.
Gus reached for it, then asked shyly, “I have a room?”
“You don’t remember? No, of course you wouldn’t, you
were too young,” Brian answered his own question. He went to his sofa and kicked
his shoes off, then loosened his tie. “You’ve had a room here since you were
two. I expanded into the space next door to add your room, a workout area, and
another bathroom, which you can use. Justin and you painted murals on the walls
of your room. I put a new bed in since you no longer would fit in the old
racecar bed, and there’s a desk now, but I left the murals and bookshelves. In
fact, the rest of the room is the same — it wasn’t that babyish as I insisted
that you had better taste than other kids and that you got enough silly pastel
animals and stuff like that at your mothers’ house, but you might want to change
the décor while you’re here to fit your tastes now.”
“Can I….”
“It’s your room, go ahead.” Brian waved Gus toward the
door. Gus stood still, the coke in hand.
The boy was as skittish as Brian had been at that age
and other than that one hug in the car, which took him by surprise as much as it
had Gus, he felt that too much physical contact would be pushing intimacy beyond
what the pre-teen was ready for. He knew that he wouldn’t have liked it at Gus’
age, and from what he remembered of him as a child, he had been a very shy boy
who disliked being pushed to hug every muncher who came around his mothers’
house, yet did so obediently. At some point, that obedient little boy stopped
taking orders and started rebelling. Brian didn’t blame him; he just had to help
him learn to pick his battles, as Vic once taught him. He felt the trick was to
keep the tone light and let Gus set the pace. Still, a little help might not be
a bad thing. Brian got up and walked over to Gus.
“Let’s just put your bag in your room, okay? You can
let me know if you want anything changed.”
Brian led Gus over but waited for him to open the door,
which he did very deliberately, moving more quickly once he began to open the
door, swinging it wide and stepping inside briskly.
“Wow!”
Brian hid his smile but was pleased by Gus’ obvious
pleasure in the room, which Justin and the younger Gus had worked on for weeks
and weeks. The new, larger bed was the only real change, and that actually fit
in better than the old racecar bed, since the new coverings incorporated the
room’s theme — comic book, book and movie heroes. One wall had the Avengers and
Spiderman, along with Rage, of course, while another had Star Wars characters,
still another was devoted to the Lord of the Rings. Brian wasn’t sure about the
fourth but he knew that Justin and Gus had loved those strange characters with
big hair and orange jumpsuits — he was pretty sure they were from a cartoon. Gus
walked around the room slowly, looking at the pictures, glancing at the
furniture, the computer on the simple desk holding his attention a bit longer
than the rest, but always returning his gaze to the wonderfully detailed
pictures.
“Do you remember any of it?” Brian asked softly.
Gus seemed about to answer but then just shrugged
again. He walked out of the room without saying another word. Brian bit back a
sigh as he followed him out.
*****
Justin let himself into the loft, bringing pizza and Thai with him. He could
hear the shower running — he smiled. At least Brian was relaxing, he thought.
Shame he couldn’t join him. He looked around the loft but didn’t see any sign of
Gus. He must be in his room, he reasoned. He hoped he still liked the comic and
fantasy characters that he’d loved as a small boy. Gus had loved Star Wars and
Hobbits and all the comics they’d get from Michael’s store and read together
even when he was too young to understand the words. He’d had very definite ideas
about who he wanted on his walls.
He hoped it had all gone well between father and son.
Time to let them know he…and the food…were here. Just then, something caught
Justin’s eye — it gave him a cold chill. He walked over to the liquor cabinet by
the window. He knew exactly how many bottles Brian kept there and one was
definitely missing. Fuck. Surely Brian wouldn’t drink now, not with Gus here.
Telling himself not to jump to any assumptions, he put his packages down on the
kitchen counter and headed up the stairs leading toward the bedroom.
“Bri! I’m here! With food!”
Brian continued showering, just poking his head out
long enough to say, “Great, I’ll be out in a few. Did you say hi to Gus
already?”
“Nah, didn’t see him. He must be in his room,” Justin
said. “I’ll go down and start setting food out. Don’t take too long.”
“I’ll be out and dressed in five minutes,” Brian
promised. “There’s salad fixings in the fridge if you’re feeling ambitious.”
Justin walked slowly back down the steps to the main
level. Brian’s voice was normal, sober Brian, not the “just downed a fifth of
Beam” Brian, or even the “drank a good part of a fifth of Beam” Brian. Justin
pretty much knew all the versions of drunken Brian, from slightly tipsy, all the
way to call the paramedics. He could tell Brian hadn’t been drinking. So, maybe
he’d loaned a bottle out to someone? A neighbor, perhaps, who came over to
borrow a cup of whiskey?
Brian came down within the promised five minutes and
his own gaze went pretty quickly to the open cabinet. He looked at Justin, just
to confirm that he wasn’t using a bottle to make some kind of unusual salad
dressing. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to Gus’ door and knocked on it.
“Gus, dinnertime.”
“Not hungry.”
Justin winced at the slurred voice. He bit his lip as
he watched Brian try the doorknob — it was locked.
“Gus, come out here please.”
“Nah hun’ gy, I tol’ ya,” Gus raised his voice. “Don’ I
get.. any…any…damn pri’acee’ here or wah’?”
Brian kept his temper really well, Justin thought.
Either one of their fathers would have been yelling bloody murder by this point.
Brian kept his voice low and calm.
“I told you there would be no drinking or stealing. You’ve violated both of
those rules. Now come out of your room or I will be coming in and that will
leave you with a door that you will not be able to close.”
“You wunna….”
“Don’t test me. I don’t know what you’re used to but I
don’t make idle threats. I give one warning and you’ve had yours.”
“Bullshit.” Well, that came out pretty clear, Justin
thought, feeling hysterical at this point.
“This is bullshit, Sonnyboy, and I’m not going to put
up with it. Move away from the door.”
Brian stepped back in preparation for breaking the door
down. He was barefoot, as was his norm for the Loft, so instead of kicking the
door down, he decided to use his shoulder. As he recalled, the frame wasn’t that
strong. He could pick the lock fairly easily but breaking the door would have
more impact — no pun intended, he thought grimly.
“Wait!”
The door opened. Gus slumped against the doorframe.
Justin was shocked at his appearance. At almost thirteen, Gus was taller than
him, which wasn’t saying much, admittedly, but he appeared to be close to six
feet tall, around five ten or so, but painfully thin. He was pale and his auburn
hair hung limply over his eyes. Justin didn’t know whether he wanted to hug him
or feed him first.
“How much did you drink?” Brian asked, still calm.
“Not enough,” Gus answered, then flinched as Brian
walked forward. Brian stopped.
“I’m not going to hit you, Gus — ever. I’m just going
into your room to get the bottle. Hopefully you haven’t drunk all of it. If you
have, we’re going to have to go to the hospital to get your stomach pumped.”
“No!” Gus’ face paled even more, which Justin wouldn’t
have thought possible. Gus looked at Justin, panicked. “I don’t wanna go to … to
hosp’al…. Wait, I know you.”
Gus might have continued with that thought but his
stomach chose that moment to rebel. Just as Brian came out carrying the half
empty fifth of Beam, Gus bent over and vomited. Justin grabbed the kitchen
trashcan and held it as Brian grabbed Gus and held him steady as he continued to
vomit into the trashcan.
“Is he going to be okay?” Justin asked worriedly.
“Better now that he’s getting most of this out of his
stomach. He can’t have absorbed all that much. I only left him alone for about
an hour.”
“Not true,” Gus whispered.
“What isn’t true, Sonnyboy?” Brian held him close as
the dry heaves seemed to have slowed.
“You left me alone for years and years,” Gus said,
hiccupping.
Justin felt tears stinging his eyes as he glanced up at
Brian — his face looked frozen. Tell him you didn’t leave him, he urged
mentally, knowing how hard it was for Brian to give the words that were so
important to hear. He didn’t know that Brian had already tried once and been
rejected, but even if he had, he would have been urging him to try again.
Brian didn’t need Justin’s urging, he’d already learned
that lesson from Justin years earlier, that sometimes you had to keep trying,
even after being rejected. He tightened his hold on his son and spoke fiercely
to him the truth. “I never left you, Sonnyboy. You were taken away from me. I
told you before and I will tell you for as many times as you need to hear it to
believe it — I love you and nothing will ever change that. And I made a mistake
earlier — you didn’t steal that bottle. I told you to help yourself to anything
in the house, but I should have told you that the booze is something that people
like you and me, we can’t drink it. It’s like our kryptonite.”
Gus raised wide eyes to him. “What do you mean? You
drink, I remember you drink. You always smelled good, like the Beam. And smokes.
But you don’t smell like my Pops anymore.”
Brian winced. “That is cigarettes I’m smelling on you,
isn’t it? Along with the puke. Something else we’ll be talking about. I don’t
smell like that anymore because I can’t drink anymore. And I don’t smoke.
I’m…I’m an alcoholic, Gus. And I spent far too many days, nights, you name it,
waking up in a pool of my own vomit, not to recognize that fact. I don’t want
you to be like that.”
Gus’ eyes, so like Brian’s, were wide, as wide as they
could be. “You? Never. You never fuck up. Even Mama says that.”
Brian and Justin had to laugh, despite the grimness of
the situation.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and some food into you and
we’ll talk about how much I fucked up before I got my act together,” Brian
suggested. “Then we’ll work on how we’re going to get your act straightened out
— together.”
He helped Gus stand up while Justin got a clean cloth
to wipe his face. They decided he could wait to shower and make due with a clean
t-shirt — food was more important. He’d managed to get most of the booze out of
his system but he was really malnourished, Justin thought. He heated up some
soup that Debbie had sent over along with some fresh bread, deciding it would be
easier on his stomach than the take-out food he’d brought.
As they sat eating, opting for the living room, with
the TV providing a comfortable background noise, Gus was quiet for the most
part, but did talk a little bit. At one point, Justin teased Brian and Gus added
to it, then looked concerned, as though he might have overstepped some boundary.
Brian leaned over and hugged both of them. “Ganging up
on me, are you? I can see how it’s going to be,” he lightly answered Gus’ joke,
easing the boy’s concerned expression.
In the next moment, however, Gus’ eyes filled with
tears.
“What is it, Gus, what’s wrong?” Brian was quick to
move closer, as was Justin. They sat on either side of the boy, arms around him.
“No one has hugged me for so long — it feels weird,” he
sobbed. “But good too,” he added, fearful that they would stop.
Brian’s eyes met Justin’s over his son’s head. He was
going to have a lot to say to Mel and Lindsay when he had the chance. Justin
just shook his head gently — this was what was important, the blue eyes told
him. The here and now, with Gus. Sighing, Brian reached out so that his hug drew
in both his boys. He decided that it was past time that he let either one of
them live apart from him. Gus needed him and he needed Justin. And neither of
them needed to drink as long as they had each other — simple as that.
*****
“You’re amazing, Honeycutt.”
“I do my simple best, Mr. Kinney.” Emmett bowed, no
easy feat, given that he was dressed as Princess Leia, complete with those side
hair things and the filmy geisha outfit she’d worn as a slave for Jabba the Hutt
— and Brian only knew that was the outfit because he now lived with two total
Star Wars nerds. The theme for Gus’ party was easy, he’d been assured, Star Wars
being far and away his son’s favorite among several possibilities. He’d even
agreed to be Darth Vader, though he went without the annoying helmet -- most of
the time. It was great for annoying Mikey, who had wanted to be Vader and got
stuck being an Ewok after all the “good” characters were taken since he’d waited
too long hoping Brian would change his mind and switch with him.
Ben, making a totally hot Obi-Wan Kenobi, came over to
him after Emmett wandered away to look after the refreshments.
“It’s a great party, Brian. And Gus is having a
wonderful time. He’s already making friends with the young people from the youth
center. He’s a good kid.”
Brian reached up and touched the hand Ben had placed on
his shoulder. “Thanks, Ben. And thanks for helping him make the adjustment down
here. You were right to have us postpone the party for a few weeks, until he’d
made some friends his own age — a party of all old folks like us wouldn’t have
worked well, no matter how awesome our costumes.”
Ben laughed. “I don’t know, we do look pretty awesome.
Especially Han Solo over there.”
Brian smiled. He thought maybe it was time he rescued
Han from the large teenage Wookie who’d been monopolizing him. But first, he had
a belated birthday present to give his son.
Darth walked over to Luke Skywalker, who was talking
happily to Princess Amidala — a petite girl named Neesa, who was visiting from
Canada, courtesy of Brian, and a few phone calls he’d made with her parents
after noticing that the large number of Skype calls between his home and his
son’s former hometown were not to his mothers’ house.
“Hi kids,” Brian said. “Neesa, do you mind if I borrow
Gus just for a moment?”
“Sure Mr. Brian. I’ll go visit Princess Leia and check
out the snacks,” the small girl giggled. He smiled — she really reminded him of
Daphne — now Dr. Daphne, and still a good friend to his other boy.
“What’s up, Pops?” Gus looked up and smiled. Already he
looked like a different kid. Still thin but not painfully so, he’d lost the
haunted look he’d had a few weeks earlier. He still had a long road ahead of
him, no one knew that better than Brian, but it made all the difference in the
world when you knew you had someone at your back rooting for you.
“Just got word today — wanted to let you know. I am
being granted custody, full custody, Gus.”
“You mean….” Gus’ face lit up.
“I mean,” Brian flipped down the helmet and bent close
as he pulled his son into a tight hug. “I am your father, Gus Kinney! Happy
birthday!”
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