Be Careful What You Wish For

Chapter 2


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Brian snapped his briefcase closed and looked around his office. Everything was in its place and he had all the pertinent material with him that he was likely to need.

"Cynthia," he called.

"Yes, boss," said his pretty blonde assistant as she appeared in the doorway.

"I'm ready to go."

"I still can't believe you're taking a vacation. I've never seen you do that before."

"Don't you think it's about time after all these years we've worked together?" Brian chuckled.

"It may be time, but I still can't get my mind around it."

"Well, you better, because as of now, I'm officially gone."

"I can reach you on your cell?"

"Only if it's an emergency."

"And I don't suppose you want to tell me where you're going?"

"No, Miss Nosey Parker."

"This is the first time I haven't made travel arrangements for you."

"Feeling left out?" Brian laughed.

"As a matter of fact, I am," she pouted.

"I'll be back in a week, so hold the fort for me."

"I'll keep Vance out of your hair, but you'll owe me."

"I've owed you for years," Brian smiled. He knew he could always count on Cynthia.

"Keep me posted," Cynthia ordered as she left the office.

Brian wondered why he hadn't told her that he was going to meet his long lost uncle. Maybe it was because he wasn't sure why the fuck he was doing this in the first place, and he certainly didn't know what he would find when he got to Colorado. Maybe he would just turn around and come back, or maybe he would book himself onto another flight and go for a real vacation. Or maybe he would find someone in his fucked up family that he could finally relate to. Brian smiled to himself. He wondered if that was the real meaning of relate, being related to, having things in common, getting along. That was what had really impelled him to go to Denver. It was what he wanted to discover, if he really was related to someone.

With a last glance around his office Brian headed out. He was going back to the loft to grab his suitcase and close everything up there. Then he would take a taxi to the airport and he'd be winging his way to Denver and whatever awaited him there.

As Brian entered the loft the phone was ringing. He wondered who it could be, since he was rarely at home this early. He let the machine pick it up.

"Brian, it's Lindsay," the voice said on the machine. "I need to talk to you about something. Give me a call as soon as you can."

Brian listened wondering if this had something to do his son, Gus. Quickly he grabbed the phone. "Lindsay?" he said into the mouthpiece.

"Oh, you're there."

"I just walked in," Brian told the half truth. "Is something wrong with Gus?"

"No, nothing wrong. I just wondered if you wanted to see him. He looks at your picture so often."

Brian felt his heart clench in his chest. He knew he should see more of his son, but he thought it was better that he stay away. "You mean Mel hasn't ground it to smithereens under the heel of her work boot?" he asked sarcastically.

"Brian," Lindsay chastised him.

"Okay, okay," Brian gave in rubbing his fingers against his temple. Thoughts of Melanie always gave him a headache.

"Would you like to come over tonight and spend a bit of time with your son?"

"I … I can't. I'm on my way to the airport. I'll be gone for about a week."

"Oh, I didn't know. Business?"

"Yeah, something like that," Brian lied. He didn't want to have to explain the whole thing to her.

"You weren't going to let us know that you'd be away?" It was almost more of a statement than a question.

"I … I'm in kind of a rush." Brian wished she would let it go.

"Call me when you get back if you want to see Gus," Lindsay said abruptly.

"I will … and I do want to see Gus."

"Bye, Brian."

The line went dead. Brian knew she was pissed with him, but he didn't have time to try to make it right. With a sigh Brian went up to the bedroom. He threw his toiletries into the suitcase and zipped it up. He hauled it downstairs and set it by the loft door. He was checking the refrigerator and tossing a couple of things when the phone rang again.

"Fuck!" he muttered as he let the machine get it once again.

"Brian, it's your mother," the voice said.

"Double fuck!"

"Brian, are you there? Brian?" There was a long sigh. "Brian, I'm going to have to have a new roof for the house. I don't have that kind of money. Brian, please call me."

"Figures," Brian said to the empty loft. This is what family got you. They always wanted something, usually money. He wondered if Claire would be on the phone next. What the fuck was he thinking flying off to Denver to meet … family? He needed to have his head examined.

Brian walked over to the phone and erased both messages. He picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for his office. Cynthia answered.

"What's up, boss? You couldn't have missed your plane yet."

"Bitch," Brian laughed.

"What can I do for you?"

"I want you to cut a check to Joan Kinney out of my personal account."

"Okaaay," Cynthia said wondering what could have prompted this. Maybe something serious was going on with her boss. "You're not sick or something, are you, Brian?"

"No, I'm not sick. Crazy maybe, but not sick."

"Okay, then how much is this check for?"

"What does a new roof cost?"

"I'm not sure, maybe five or six thousand," Cynthia suggested.

"Make it for seven and send it to the usual address."

"Okay, I'll do that right now."

"Thanks Cynthia, you know how to handle it."

"Yes, I do," she said before she hung up.

Brian knew she would handle it properly. This wouldn't be the first time that his mother needed money. That and his immortal soul seemed to be the only things she wanted from him. He'd give her the goddam money, but he would never give her access to the rest of his life. If she thought he was going to burn in eternal damnation, then he'd be happy to oblige, as long as he didn't have to listen to her rail at him about being homosexual.

Brian picked up the phone again and called a cab. He needed to get out of the loft before he had any more fucking phone calls.

*   *   *

Brian stood in front of the nice looking man. The man held out his hand to him and Brian put his small hand into the larger one. He felt the fingers press against his flesh and it felt good. He smiled up at the man. The man looked kindly down at him and smiled back. Brian felt a warmth radiate through his body. He felt safe and cared for and happy.

"Sir, sir, we'll be landing soon. Your seat back needs to be raised."

"Um … sure," Brian responded. He must have dozed off. He never dozed off on airplanes but he had. And he had dreamed, but he never dreamed. Yet he had. He gave his head a shake wondering if the man in his dream could really be the uncle he was heading toward. "I could never be that lucky," Brian muttered to himself as he straightened his seat back and rubbed his eyes.

Some time later Brian was in his rental car heading to the suburbs of Denver. He had gotten directions from Uncle John's assistant when he had called yesterday. His uncle was once again unavailable to talk to him. That worried Brian. If the man was so eager to see him once again, it would stand to reason that he would want to speak to him on the phone. As Brian drew closer to their first meeting after so many years, he began to wonder if he had made a big mistake. He could always turn around and go back to the airport. That was why he had insisted on renting a car and driving to his uncle's house. Arthur had told him that someone from the house would be happy to meet Brian at the airport, but Brian had already decided that he wanted a car of his own in case he needed to get out there in a hurry.

Brian turned onto the second last street on the list of how to get to his uncle's. He was impressed by the size of the houses. If John lived in this neighborhood, he must have some serious money. At least this would be one relative that he wouldn't have to give handouts to. At least he hoped that would be the case.

Brian made the last turn and saw the number of the house he was looking for on the wrought iron gate out front. He noted the intercom as he pulled up in front of the closed gate. He pushed the button on the intercom post and waited.

"Yes?" a male voice responded.

"I'm Brian Kinney. I believe my uncle is expecting me."

"Of course, Mr. Kinney. Please, drive up to the house."

The gate separated and swung back. Brian took a deep breath and drove through.

He followed the circular driveway up to an imposing stone faηade that covered a large mansion. The grounds were well manicured and grand without being ostentatious. His uncle seemed to have done very well for himself. Old Jack would be kicking himself for pushing John away. John might have made a soft touch for Jack's incessant need for money. Brian almost laughed out loud. Obviously the fag side of the Kinney family knew how to make some money. Jack's side only knew how to spend it on drink and women. Brian climbed out of his car.

"Mr. Kinney," a good looking blond young man said from the front door which had just swung open. He came down the steps to shake Brian's hand. Brian felt his dick jump to attention. This was one fine specimen. Maybe this trip hadn't been such a bad idea after all. "John isn't feeling well at the moment, but I'll show you to your room if that's all right."

"That's fine," Brian said shaking the proffered hand. He got a definite gay vibe from the young man and an unexpected tingle as their hands came together. Apparently his uncle really knew how to pick them. Brian had popped the trunk of the rental car. He moved around to the back to retrieve his suitcase.

"Allow me," the young man said stepping in front of Brian and hauling the suitcase out of the trunk. Brian followed him up the steps to the door watching the fine ass that swayed in front of him.

"Nice place," Brian said as they went inside.

"Um … yeah," the young man replied. "Your room is this way." He headed up the stairs and Brian followed him down the hall to a very spacious and well appointed bedroom with an ensuite bath. "I think you'll find this satisfactory," the blond said as he set down the suitcase.

Brian picked it up and swung it onto the bed. As he unzipped it, he casually asked, "When can I see my uncle?" Hearing no response, Brian turned to find that his guide had disappeared and he was alone in the big bedroom. "Well, that wasn't very hospitable," Brian said to himself. He decided he might as well unpack and then he would go look for his uncle. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. If he liked the man he might stay, but if he didn't he was out of there.

Some time later having hung his clothes in the closet and stowed everything else in the chest of drawers, Brian made his way downstairs. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the same blond appeared out of a room that opened off the foyer. Brian felt that same attraction that had hit him outside.

"Mr. Kinney?" the blond said. "I thought I heard you coming down."

"You have good ears," Brian smirked. 'And lots of other good attributes too,' he thought to himself.

"Thank you," the blond said with a frown. "John asked me to offer you a drink and something to eat if you'd like it."

"That's nice, but I came here to meet my uncle. Where is he?"

"Come into the library and have a drink. I'll try to explain."

Brian frowned but followed the blond into what was truly a library. The walls were lined with books, all except the spot behind the big desk which held a large semi-abstract painting that immediately caught Brian's attention. Brian had always been interested in art, but usually more sensual pieces were what caught his attention, like the huge nude man he had hanging in the loft. This painting, however, was bold and striking. Brian wandered closer looking at the details of the piece, which in some ways were more fascinating than the overall effect.

"This is … not bad," Brian observed. He turned around to see a frown on the face of the blond.

"That's an overwhelming statement of nothing," the blond said obviously upset with Brian's choice of words. He didn't understand that from Brian that was quite a compliment.

Brian merely smirked at the discomfited expression on the blond's face. "I could use that drink," Brian stated.

"Me too," the blond said and went to a cabinet which opened to reveal a well stocked bar. "What would you like?" he asked shortly.

"Beam, if you have it."

"We do," the blond said tersely. He was clearly ticked off. He poured the liquor into two glasses and handed one to Brian. He downed part of his before Brian could get the glass to his mouth.

Brian smiled and sipped at his drink. The blond finished his and poured himself another. Brian wondered at how this Arthur made himself at home in the mansion. It was almost like this was his home rather than John's. If his uncle was as ill as seemed to be the case, then maybe Arthur was doing more than take care of his uncle. Maybe he was taking care of himself too. Brian intended to find out. He didn't want his sick uncle to be taken advantage of.

"Would you care to sit down?" the blond asked formally.

Brian smiled knowing he had ticked off this guy. It was probably the first time in a while that anyone had challenged his position in the house. Brian decided he might enjoy ruffling the little blond's feathers some more. "So, how long have you lived here?" Brian asked with another smirk.

The blond straightened his shoulders and stood to his full height. "A little over five years, do you have a problem with that?" he asked defiantly.

Brian walked over to one of the soft leather club chairs and sank into the comfortable seat. "I don't know yet," Brian replied looking the man up and down. He could see the man visibly bristle at his words.

The blond took another slug of his drink and then walking over to the liquor cabinet he slammed the glass down and turned to face Brian. "I'll go see if John is ready to meet with you."

"That would be lovely," Brian said in his most sarcastic tone.

The blond quickly left the room and Brian sipped his drink. He wondered what had set the blond off. It had started with Brian's comment about the painting. Brian didn't like the way the guy seemed to act like the house was his, the liquor cabinet included. Arthur was, however, definitely a tasty morsel, and Brian could see why John would enjoy having him around. But, the guy seemed to be taking a lot of leeway with the position of personal assistant. Who did he think he was drinking John's liquor and wandering around like he owned the place? Brian wouldn't mind having him in his bed for one night, but then maybe it would be time for Arthur to be gone altogether. He'd have to talk to John about this young upstart.

A few minutes later the blond reappeared without Uncle John. Brian wondered if he was ever going to see his uncle after flying halfway across the country to do so.

"John is feeling well enough to see you," the blond said. "If you'll follow me I'll take you up to his sitting room."

"Thank you, Arthur," Brian said in his most supercilious voice.


"That's your name, isn't it?"

"No, my name is Justin Taylor."

"You're not Arthur, my uncle's personal assistant?"

"No, I'm Justin Taylor, the painter of that not bad painting over there."

Justin turned on his heel and walked out of the library. Brian frowned and followed him. Apparently he had made some wrong assumptions. He wondered suddenly if he had been all wrong about everything regarding this trip.

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