Royal Flush
 

The lighting of the fireplace had happened this evening in the middle of a disagreement between the guys – hopefully just a minor one. Maybe they should have waited to start their discussion but it hadn’t happened that way. At any rate the flames were now vigorously sparking about – in a couple of places

“I don’t think any like – royal people - would be interested in meeting me,” Brian was protesting as they assumed their usual positions on the loft floor. “I’m not the royal type I don’t think….”

“Well you’re going, Brian Kinney,” Justin maintained, “Or I’m not going either – and that’s that. And anyhow, Brian, this guy Henry, Lord Blumendale, is not like - real royalty. He’s just like – big in horse racing and….”

“Well that article in the New York Times said he sat in the House of Lords so he’s something over there,” Brian pointed out. “And his wife, Dame Carolyn, is a distant cousin of the queen it also says. That’s royal enough for me.”

“OK, then, Bri,” Justin told him. “The master has spoken. He’s not going - so I’m not going either. I’ll call Ned and tell him the meeting is off.”

“Now you just wait a darn minute, Justin Taylor,” Brian stopped him. “You are an artist and a good one too. You want a career in art and I want you to have one. And I want you to be famous too – even if you are such a humble person yourself. You hired Ned as an agent in New York and he’s sold a lot of your stuff at a pretty penny too – and he’s going to make you famous - he knows his business - and now you have a chance to…”

“To have a painting of mine hang on the walls of the royal stable, Kinney,” Justin had to laugh. “I bet Renoir or Fra Lippo Lippi or El Greco have never had such an honor.”

“But I bet any of them would have at least had dinner at the Hilton with Lord Henry and Dame Carolyn to discuss the prospect though,” Brian rebutted. “If any such invitation had ever come their way – but they didn’t have Ned as an agent so….”

“Gee whiz, Brian,” Justin protested. “It’s all a just big mistake anyhow. You know I painted that horse as a symbol of nobility and heroism. I was painting heroism – not a stupid old horse. I don’t paint horses, Brian. I’m an artist… ”

“I know that, Sweetheart,” Brian smiled at him. “We both know that. But you also have to remember that the real world is not an artistic paragon. Far from it. There are lots of clods in the world – and some of them royal too – who are dumb enough to think that if a painting looks like a horse it’s like – a painting of a horse. Even if it’s as clear as anything that it’s not a horse at all - like your horse is certainly not a horse – but they still think it is. They can’t help it. They just don’t see what’s right in front of their faces. People are dumb that way. It’s like – the curse that the real artist – like you - has to bear.”

“I hope you’re not being patronizing, Mr. Kinney,” Justin retorted with a knowing grin. “Nah, you would never be patronizing – cause it wouldn’t do you any good at all. And it is not your fault – or mine either - that my painting of heroism looked so much to the untrained eye like one of the queen’s racing horses. And it was just a coincidence that Henry and Carolyn happened into my gallery – and that the painting was still hanging there even though it had already been sold.”

“At like - twice the price you thought it would go for, Baby,” Brian pointed out. “Ned knows how to build careers and make great artists famous – and you’re gonna take his advice and meet these royals – and that’s like – maybe a direct order too.”

“And you're gonna come with me then, Kinney,” Justin smirked at him. “Because if you don’t come – and then I get brave enough to refuse to go - despite a direct order from the big dictator in this loft – you’ll always be thinking how you ruined my career – and you’ll be all guilty and everything - cause you’re like – obsessed with me and my success….”

The conversation broke down at this point – for a considerable period too. If Brian was trying to refute the accusation of obsession, it didn’t look that way at all - but be that as it may….”

“OK, Sweetheart,” Brian re-opened the discussion with a brief recapitulation. “I guess I got this all straight now. Those royals saw your horse and they thought it looked like one of the queen’s favorites. So they want you to paint a portrait of the queen’s horse and they’re gonna give it to her as a gift. You don’t have to even travel to see the horse cause they have several DVDs of that particular horse in action - so you can stay right here and paint right here at home. Seems like a deal to me.”

“Even if I have to paint like – a horse, Bri?” Justin wondered. “Which isn’t like - real art at all….”

“Yeah, Baby,” Brian assured him. “I think you should do it – anyhow – and you know what – if you do it and it ends up in the royal stables – and the queen’s dogs see it – and those dogs also want their portrait done – I think you should do that too. It’s like something you could do for the queen. After all, she is the queen. Damn. You might even end up Justin, Lord of Liberty Avenue…”

“Which would make you what, Brian?” Justin laughed. “You couldn’t be like - Dame Brian or Lady Brian….”

“I’m sure the queen has some flunky who figures that stuff out, Honey,” Brian reassured him. “It’ll be taken care of by some royal protocol officer who knows how to do that royal stuff.”

“So I guess you’ll be coming with me then, Bri,” Justin correctly assumed. “Thanks. You’ll really impress those Brits. I know you will. We’ll have to talk to Ned though to set up a date. They said if we wanted to come to New York, we could do that – or meet them in Louisville for the Kentucky Derby – or they would be willing to stop in Pittsburgh on their way west. They’re driving – since they want to see some of this great country of ours – so it wouldn’t be much of a problem for them to stop over.”

“It might be better if they stopped here, JT.” Brian was finally getting into the spirit of the occasion. “If they could stay over here for a few days we could show them some sights – like Fallingwater and Ohiopyle….”

“And they could meet our friends too, Bri,” Justin laughed. “They’d be sure to love Emmett – and Mikey would be thrilled to meet them….”

“Might be too much for Mikey’s heart, Baby,” Brian feared. “And then poor Jason and Brandon would have a problem finding a royal couple of their own to bring to town too. It would cause a lot of problems….”

“So you’re saying that’s what we should do, aren’t you, Brian?” Justin surmised.

“Yep,” Brian agreed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Baby.”

They both started laughing – and one thing led to another – all of which led to another lengthy pause in the conversation. They were always happy when they agreed upon something.

“You’re OK with this project, aren’t you, Taylor?” Brian resumed with a question. “Artistic integrity and all. I don’t really want you to compromise your principles even for the queen.”

“It’ll be all right, Bri,” Justin grinned knowingly.

“What the hell are you planning now, JT?” Brian suddenly wanted to know. “Geez. I can hear the gears in that brain of yours working feverishly – and that’s really scary….”

“Well since I love you and I know I can trust you with any secret…,” Justin cuddled himself closer to Brian. “I’m not really gonna paint the queen’s horse at all, Bri. I’m gonna paint something else – something really worth painting – but I’ll make it look like the queen’s horse so Henry and Carolyn won’t ever know. After all, they thought my painting of nobility and heroism was just a stupid old horse….”

“Yeah, Baby,” Brian looked even farther ahead. “But what if they give it to the queen and what if she has an artist’s eye? She’ll see the truth and she’ll know right off it’s not a picture of her horse at all. It’ll be like - The Emperor’s New Clothes - all over. What if that happens?”

“I guess if that happens, Sweetheart,” Justin figured with a smile on his face. “There’ll never be any Justin, Lord of Liberty Avenue. Would that be OK with you?”

“Yeah,” Brian squeezed Justin closer yet. “I can live with that. “And it’ll save protocol any problem with figuring out who I am.”

So the evening proved once more the simple fact that arguments do not last very long in the loft – unless, of course, there was something that the untrained observer missed.

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