Happy Face

Sending more than my usual thanks to my beta philflam for this one, for handing me a map when I was steering off course. Without her, I'd be all at sea!
 

*****

The phone rang at 5:00 AM, startling them both awake and infuriating Brian. He snatched at the receiver. "Who the fuck is this?" Suddenly he sat up. "Debbie?" In an instant a thousand reasons why Debbie would call at this hour, all of them bad news and all of them involving Michael, shot through his mind. "What's wrong, what's the matter?"

At the same moment Justin yelped, "Oh shit! Oh shit! I forgot!" and scrambled out of bed. Brian looked over at him in bewilderment while Debbie brayed in his ear, "You got Sunshine there? I thought I'd try you first before I woke up poor Daphne. I asked myself which bed he was most likely to be in, his own or yours. Ha!"

"Yeah, he's here. What the fuck -- "

"Well, he's supposed to be here. At the diner. For the early shift."

"But he just got off the late shift last night," Brian said. Justin had found his underwear and jeans and was looking frantically for his pullover. "It's on the floor in the living room," Brian told him.

"What?" Debbie demanded.

"Not you," Brian said impatiently into the receiver. He called over to Justin, "You pulled an extra shift?"

"Yeah, I told her I would, I just forgot. Shit. Was I wearing a T-shirt under this?"

"No. Why did you take an extra shift?"

Justin pretended to look for his socks, to keep his back to Brian for a moment while he thought up an answer. As soon as they were back together, Brian had returned to paying for everything when they were out. Despite Justin's resolve to be more independent financially, the habit was hard to break. And Brian was generous to the point of carelessness about his money. He'd fling a bill on the bar before Justin had even thought about it, and he scoffed if Justin tried to pay him back.

Then one night at Babylon, after Brian had been fired, Justin saw him reach into his wallet and pause. He looked quizzical, as if there wasn't as much in there as he had thought. Justin waited, quietly on the alert, for the next round, and then put his own money down first. Brian grunted an acknowledgement and that was all. Since then Justin had been paying for all their extras - the cover charges, the drinks, the pizza deliveries, the movie admissions. Brian didn't comment or protest, but Justin noticed he stopped asking for expensive drinks and ordered domestic beer instead. There had been no discussion. Like so many other things, they had worked it out without words.

But Brian had found some now. "So you're short of cash?"

Justin forced himself to look over, smiling as if there were some little joke. He said cheerfully, "I have the time, so I figured I'd make a little extra money, that's all. No big deal."

"Uh huh."

"So is he coming?" Debbie shouted in Brian's ear.

Brian brought the receiver back up to his mouth. "You mean again?" he asked sweetly. "Because he already -- "

"Jesus, I walked right into that! Just tell him to get his bubble-butt over here and hurry up about it. And you keep your hands off him, you hear me? No fucks for the road."

Brian hung up and pushed the pillows up behind his head, reaching for a cigarette. Justin disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then came back up the stairs to sit on the edge of the bed and put on his shoes. "No shower?" Brian asked.

"No time. Anyway, there are plenty of things in that diner that stink worse than I do. Billy's been using the same frying oil for a week."

"How delightful. I must dine there again today."

Justin stood up, patting his pockets to check for his keys and wallet. "Did I have anything else?"

"If you did, it'll still be here later."

"So will you?"

"What?"

"Dine with me, kind sir. I'll be off right after lunch if you want to come over. Or do you have to be at Michael's store?"

Brian shook his head. "No, Ben said it was covered." Ben had found a couple of comic book enthusiasts among his students, and was paying them off the books to help out. "But I'm going to stop by Lindsay's gallery. I'll have lunch with her."

"Again?" Justin was surprised but pleased. Anything that kept Brian from sitting around the loft drinking all day sounded good to him.

"Maybe I'll pick up some hot young artist."

Justin laughed. "You already did."

"Ah, but a man can never have too many hot young artists."

"Just remember some of them are hotter than others," Justin said airily, and blew Brian a mock kiss. At the door he called back, "Don't smoke in bed when you're sleepy!"

"I'm awake!" Brian shouted back crossly, but he stubbed out the cigarette.

 

*****
 

At the diner Debbie greeted him with, "Christ, Sunshine, you look like shit! I hope you had fun getting those circles under your eyes. "

"The first person I'm serving coffee to is me," Justin said, although he could see he'd hardly have time to drink it. It still amazed him that it could be so busy this early, but between the after-hours clubbers, who stopped in for breakfast before calling the party over, and the hustlers ending another night's work, Liberty was very much awake. Occasionally a straight shift worker would wander in, not realizing he was in a gay neighborhood, and find some of the diners more of an eye-opener than the orange juice.

There was one face he had never seen at this hour before. "Emmett! What are you up to?"

Emmett was sitting at the counter, pushing scrambled eggs around on his plate. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd get out and see the world. You know, instead of lying around by my lonesome in my cold little bed. We all have to stay connected, right?"

"You sound like a phone company commercial," Debbie said. She went to the window by the kitchen and beat on the bell. "Hey! Where's the French toast?"

Emmett whispered, "She's not looking very top-of-the-morning, either."

"It's Michael," Justin agreed. He poured coffee for himself and Emmett, went down the line of customers at the counter, and came back to finish his thought. "Brian's the same way. Every time the phone rings he lunges at it, hoping it's Michael."

He had forgotten to keep his voice down. Debbie said behind him, "Oh, he's worried? After he encouraged Michael to take his car and run off like that!"

"Deb, that's not fair. Michael was going anyway. I was there, I heard him. And anyway," he ran on quickly, before she could break in, "don't forget he's been putting in a lot of hours at Michael's store."

Debbie sighed. "I know. I know. He's being a good friend." She looked at Justin's face, drawn and tired, and said, "But sometimes I have to wonder if he's really good for you."

"If he -- what?"

Emmett said, "This creamer's empty, sweetie." Justin didn't move. "Hello?"

Debbie took the creamer and started to fill it. Justin went on staring at her, still holding the forgotten coffeepot. Debbie said, "I'm just wondering if it was really for the best, you going back to him."

"I was lucky he took me back." Justin thought of the first time he and Brian had walked into the diner together after their reunion. Debbie knew already, of course; Michael had been blabbing. She had only guffawed, "You two at it again, huh?" and pinched Justin's cheek.

She was saying now, "Sunshine, I only mean that Brian is so, so difficult. So complicated."

"After everything he did, I don't know how you can --"

"Oh, he was wonderful about Stockwell! You were both courageous. Really heroes. I'm so fucking proud of both of you." She winked at Emmett. "And it's nice to see the two of them growing up together, isn't it?"

Emmett laughed but Justin insisted, "Then why are you saying this?"

"Sunshine, honey, listen to me. Brian's a good man, under all that bravado and I-don't-care bullshit he tosses around. I know that. But it's a hard row you're choosing to hoe, that's all I'm saying."

"I'm hoeing a hard row?"

"Oooh, I'm not touching that remark," Emmett said. "I'm just going to let that fly right by, like a little birdie." Justin still looked upset. Emmett said, "People do get back together, you know, Deb. They learn, they grow . . . If it's meant to be, it's meant to be." He added wistfully, "If they really need each other. If they're soul mates."

"Gotta have a soul first," Debbie cracked.

Justin looked at Emmett. His face had clouded over again. Justin shook off his own feelings and asked gently, "How's Ted, do you know?"

"Well, he's still there, that's a plus, right? There and in program. With Blake."

"So he'll be better soon. And maybe when he's clean, you can get back together, too."

"If he finishes the program. And if he doesn't run off with Blake. That's my luck, huh? The guy he couldn't get over, right there every day, helping him out when I can't. Understanding everything I don't."

"Blake can't do that. I don't think it would be ethical for a counselor to fuck a patient."

"Right. And crystal queens, even ex-crystal queens, are so worried about ethics."

"Christ," Debbie said, reminded there were more worries than her own. "Look at us, we look like we're at a fucking funeral. We all have to cheer up. Everything's going to work out."

"That's right." Emmett clapped his hands, calling them to attention. "Children, we must all greet every day with a smile. And get to work. You two get back to yours, and I'll get going to mine." He stood up. "I've got three big parties next week and they are all going to be fabulous. You know, Princess Di said that at the end of the day, all you have is the work you've accomplished --"

Debbie hooted. "Bet her dogs never barked like mine at the end of a double shift."

" -- and we should all put on a happy face, " Emmett finished grandly. The cook rang the counter bell; the orders were ready.

"I thought that was Judy Garland?"

"They're both dead," Justin said.

"The point is, we all have to face up to our problems and keep smiling. Especially you, sweetie." Emmett leaned over to peck Justin on the cheek. At the door he turned back, to wave a gallant goodbye.

"That boy needs his own theme song," Debbie said.

Justin laughed and went to pick up the orders. Sometimes Emmett acted silly, but he usually knew what he was talking about. I guess it's about time I faced up to a little something, Justin thought. I can't keep putting it off any more. And I have to get to work, too.

 

*****
 

Brian returned to the loft late in the afternoon. He could hear Moby from the hallway, so he knew Justin was there before he slid the door open. Good. Now instead of trying to meet somewhere for dinner, and having to take another fucking bus to get around this piss-hole of a city, they could just order in. "Hey -- " he began, and broke off in surprise.

Justin was on the far side of the living room, the living room that was bare of furniture but covered with papers and artwork at the moment. His portfolios were burst open on the floor and drawings, sketches, and Rage cartoons were scattered everywhere. Brian's old projection screen, which Justin had unearthed from somewhere, was up on the wall where the liquid TV had once been. He was struggling with something, trying to prop up a couple of sketches on the bottom of the screen. "Hi," he called over the music. "Wow, you're all dressed up."

"I went to a place of business in standard business attire." Brian headed into the bedroom to take his suit off. He came back wearing a black wifebeater and the jeans Justin liked to unbutton.

"So how's Lindsay?" Justin asked.

"Chirpy. Are you redecorating?"

"No, I want to shoot these. And there isn't -- " He leaned over to turn off his mini-boom box, which he had brought along because Brian's expensive equipment had been sold. "There isn't enough room or light at Daphne's place." He corrected himself. "My place."

Brian noticed the mistake, which Justin made more often than he knew, but didn't comment. He asked, "You're taking photos of your collection? Is Lloyd of London's insuring it?"

"I have to make slides of them. That's what people want when you're submitting work. They don't want to handle the originals. And anyway, it would be stupid to hand over originals, they could get lost. I always knew I'd have to do this eventually but I never got around to it before."

Brian watched as Justin readjusted the two sketches one more time against the screen, finally getting them positioned the way he wanted. He stepped back to study the effect, then looked around to smile at Brian. "I was just getting started. So far, so good. I hope I can take decent shots. I kept avoiding the photography classes at the Institute."

"Why are you doing this?"

Justin picked up his camera. "I just told you. I need slides of my work."

"For submission to Mandell? I thought you dropped off your application last Friday. Didn't they look at your portfolio?"

Justin's fingers tightened on the camera. This was the conversation he had been avoiding for days. It had been cowardly to let Brian assume he had put in the application. But things were good between them (except for the shit trouble they were both in, of course) and he hated the thought of the argument they were about to have.

Put on a happy face, he reminded himself. "I'm not going to Mandell," he said, managing to sound calm though not as cheerful as Emmett would recommend. "I didn't put in an application and I'm not going to." He didn't know why but he felt compelled to add, "I'm sorry."

Brian stood in silence, looking at him. Justin couldn't meet his eyes so he stared at Brian's mouth, remembering what Brian had done with that mouth the last time they fucked, and the little lurch he had felt in his chest of surprise and pleasure. When Brian turned his back and walked away from him, his heart lurched again.

"Brian," he floundered. Why did he feel so guilty, as if he had done something wrong? "You don't have to worry about me so much." He followed Brian into the kitchen, trailing behind in uncertainty.

"I'm not worried," Brian said in a cold tone of utter indifference. Now that he had walked into the kitchen, he needed a reason to be there. He opened the refrigerator. "I don't give a shit what you do."

"Right. I forgot." There was a time this would have hurt, when he might almost have believed it. "Well, let's pretend you might have some mild curiosity about my plans. Here's what I was thinking. I can -- "

"Oh, you have a plan?" Brian slammed a jar of peanut butter down on the counter. He opened the breadbox, saw it was empty, and reached for a box of saltine crackers instead. "You have some great master plan for your totally fucked-up future?"

"I'm going to get a job."

"Doing what? Selling your ass? Better think ahead. You'll age out of the market in another year or two."

"Thanks for the warning. I guess I'll have to go with Plan B. What I figured was, I'll apply to some of the smaller agencies, try to get an entry level position in an art department. The art director at Vangard took me on, maybe somebody else will. Even if it's just doing the dirty work, if I get in the door, I can work my way up."

"The Horatio Alger of the advertising world! The queer version, of course. You can pull yourself up by your pink bootstraps."

"Brian, come on. I'd like to go back to school someday, I hope I can. But now's not the time. I have to earn some money and start my career. Maybe I can save up for school, or take classes at night, a little at a time. Plenty of people work their way through college."

Brian was smearing peanut butter madly on crackers. He applied too much pressure with the knife and broke one. "Fuck!" he shouted.

Justin reached over and took the knife out of his hand. "Be careful."

"Relax," Brian growled. "It's a fucking butter knife, I can't slit my wrists with it. Or kill you."

"Look, I know I need my degree, you're right. But for now, this is what I have to do." Justin added firmly, "It's my decision."

There was a long pause, long enough for Brian to hear his own voice echo back at him: It's your call where you want to be . . . Stick up for yourself. . . Have some balls . . . With marks like that, you can get into any school you want. "That's not what I said," he protested. He was arguing with himself, but Justin didn't know that.

"Brian, I want you to give me advice, I do. And sometimes I'll take it and sometimes I won't. But you can't give me orders."

"Fuck, I wasn't -- " Brian rubbed his forehead. He shot Justin a sideways look, then glared at the cracker mess. Justin waited, although he wasn't sure for what. Finally Brian asked, "You want this shit?"

"No. Don't you?"

Without answering, Brian pulled the trashcan out from under the sink and swept all the crackers and crumbs into it. Justin rescued the peanut butter jar and put it back in the refrigerator.

Brian drummed his fingers on the countertop. Then suddenly he said, "Okay, let's get to it," and stalked away, back to the bedroom. Justin looked around in bewilderment. It hardly sounded like an invitation to fuck. But Brian was rummaging in the closet, pulling out boxes from the back. "Here it is."

Some long-forgotten sex toy? Justin walked over and stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Handcuffs?" he hazarded. Brian would probably enjoy being in full control of him right now.

"I wish you wouldn't always be thinking about sex," Brian chided, sighing. He waved his unearthed treasure. "Camera." When Justin went on staring, he said it again, as if he were teaching the word to someone who didn't speak English. "Cam - er - a. A thing that takes pictures. Pic - tures. Usually used for rush work projects." He turned it over in his hands. "I don't think I've used this one for homemade porn, maybe we . . . Later. It's a professional model, it'll take much better shots than that piece of shit you have."

Justin came back to life. He nearly ran up the stairs to Brian and flung his arms around his neck. "Hey, it's only a camera," Brian said into his hair. He sounded teasing, but his arm tightened around Justin's waist.

Justin pulled back a little to look up into his face. "No, it's not," he said radiantly. They kissed. When Brian started to break it, Justin put his hand on the back of Brian's neck and held their mouths together. Still kissing him, Brian murmured in warning, "If you get me hard we won't get this done."

Justin laughed but let go. He was full of new enthusiasm. "Is the screen in a good spot? Should I move it?"

"No, it's fine. Wait a minute, I have to find the film and the tripod." Brian handed him the camera and went back to the closet.

"Lucky you didn't sell this."

"I would have if I had remembered it."

"You're going to have to take all the slides now, I can't handle this thing. Look at all these settings. You really know how to use this?"

Brian emerged with the tripod and carried it into the living room for set-up. "What do you think? Okay, here's what we'll do. You be the art director and I'll be the photographer."

"Is that anything like you be the dirty old man and I'll be the cute young hustler?"

"No, it's more like you be the frightened virgin and I'll be the hot stud." Brian grinned. "Oh no, wait, we did that one." Justin stuck out his tongue.

They spent the next few hours working, bickering over the set-up of the shots, enjoying themselves. Justin was excited to see his work arranged so well, and for the first time in far too long Brian had a task that called on his professional skills. When he started lecturing Justin on how to start his career, Justin knew he was really feeling better.

Brian explained that Justin would need more than one set of slides, each emphasizing one or two aspects of his art. It would depend on the agency he was submitting the work to and what they'd be most interested in looking at. "Like over at Brackmann, they have a stick approach."

"A what?"

Brian translated, "They beat people over the head with a stick to sell something. While at Matthew Kirk's agency, they love to tell themselves how creative they are, how original their campaigns are. Sometimes it's even true.'

"So they'd like to see my more experimental pieces, but Brackmann would like the pushy stuff?"

"Yeah. But remember, you won't be using any of this big talent once you're hired. You're going to wind up the office boy, running errands, watering the plants, and doing a few mechanicals when you've proven yourself worthy."

"I know. That's okay. It's the same as the diner."

"Is it? No, think about it. You weren't at Vangard very long. You don't know what it's like, to have to follow somebody else's design and execute it the way they say. Especially when it's someone less creative than you are, and you know you could do it better."

Justin had been sorting through some of his school projects, sitting on the floor to pull out more work to shoot. He paused and looked at Brian, who was leaning over the tripod, focusing at the Rage drawing propped on the screen. "You must have had to do that when you were starting? You must have had to take orders from people who weren't as good as you are."

"Ryder for one." Brian snapped the photo, adjusted some settings, and snapped again. "He specialized in taking my ideas and convincing himself they were his."

"Shit, you must have gotten mad."

"No, I told him how fucking brilliant he was. At least in the beginning." Justin said nothing. Brian straightened and turned to smile at him. "You think you couldn't swallow that, right? That's what I'm talking about. You're not good at kissing ass."

"Sure I am," Justin grinned. "You taught me, remember? Okay, okay. I can swallow my pride if I have to. What do you think I did when I apologized to the dean?"

"And that turned out so well! Fuck this, let's take a break."

"OK. I'm hungry anyway. You want Chinese? Where's the menu?"

"What do you need it for? You always order the same shit. I think it's by the computer. Get some spring rolls."

While he was calling in the order, Brian rummaged through the artwork still on the floor, checking to be sure they hadn't missed anything important. "What's in here?" he asked, squatting down to pull out a folder stuffed into the back of an old portfolio.

Justin hung up and came over. "What? Oh! That's, that's nothing. That's old stuff, I forgot about it. Leave it."

"How old? Some of your St. James stuff was -- " The folder fell open and half a dozen charcoal drawings landed on Brian's feet. They both stared down. Brian leaned over and shuffled through them, then straightened, holding one. "This is the best." They looked at each other.

"The best of a bad series," Justin said finally. "I'll get rid of it."

"Don't be stupid. It's good. It's really good. You should show it." They both looked back at the drawing, at the fluid lines of Ethan playing, his eyes closed in concentration and his fingers caught mid-flight. "You captured his smarmy, egotistical manner perfectly."

Justin gave a little gasping laugh. "That's not quite what I thought I was capturing."

"Which was what?"

Justin took the portrait from him and examined it, trying to see it with fresh eyes. "His passion." He added ruefully, "His passion for his music, I mean. At least that was genuine."

"Was yours?" Brian asked, and he wasn't talking about art or music.

Justin's mouth dropped open. Brian's eyes, wiped of emotion, glinted at him like a cat's. Lies and excuses sprang to Justin's lips but he stopped himself from uttering them. He had to be honest now. He had to be. "I thought it was," he said slowly. "I told myself it was. But really . . . I think I was playacting." He traced a finger along the lines of the violin. "I think we both were."

Brian nodded. "Well, now's no time to be playing around. It's a damn good portrait. So put it on the screen and I'll shoot him." He stuck his tongue in his cheek. "It. I'll shoot it, I mean."

When the Chinese food arrived, they ate on the living room floor with the artwork scattered around them. Brian handed him a beer. Whether it was the reminder of Ethan or something else that brought it to mind, Justin had a sudden memory flash. Holy fuck, he thought. We're having a picnic on the floor. A picnic!

"What are you grinning about?"

"You have duck sauce on your cheek," Justin lied. He leaned over and licked it off, imaginary as it was. Brian stopped chewing. "Mmm, yummy," Justin said. Very slowly, with his eyes locked on Brian's, he dipped his finger in the duck sauce and then in the hot mustard. He drew a line of the mix along Brian's upper lip, down the side of his mouth, and along his chin. Brian held still while he licked that all off, too, then pulled him into a deep kiss. "Hot and sweet together," Justin said, a little breathlessly.

"Coming right up," Brian agreed, and pushed him down on the floor.

 

*****
 

Two days later, Brian appeared once again at Lindsay's gallery. Lindsay came over right away, smiling but perplexed. On his first visit, she had assumed he was looking the place over to see how her new career was shaping up - that he was checking up on her, in fact. She had been flattered by the attention and surprised by the trouble he took to be friendly to her boss, Sidney Bloom. But this was his third visit in a week. She accepted his kiss, already starting to ask, "Brian, what are you -- "

"Brian! You're with us again!" Sidney bustled over, hand out in greeting. Brian shook it. "We've been cataloging a few new pieces, maybe you'd be interested in taking a look."

"Of course." Brian was impeccably dressed in one of his most flattering Armani suits, accented with a pale yellow silk shirt and an exquisite tie two shades darker. Sidney looked him over with the growing lust of a potential trick. But Sidney was straight; he was reacting not to Brian's personal looks but to his look of affluence, as Brian knew.

"Just give me half a moment -- I have to finish with Mrs. Whickmann." Sidney glanced over his shoulder at a formidable older woman waiting impatiently for him and stage-whispered, "All she talks about is those damn poodles. I'll be right with you."

"Take your time," Brian said graciously. When he was out of earshot, Lindsay demanded, "What are you up to? Why do you keep coming here?"

"Isn't this gallery open to the public?"

"But you've made Sidney think you're some big knowledgeable collector. You must have been talking to him for two hours on Tuesday. Now he's going to try to sell you something."

"My crystal balls tell me he'll be successful."

"What? Why?"

"I have to spend some money now or he'll think I'm not serious. I have to make it look good."

"Make what look good? What are you -- "

"Will you relax? Take a Midol. And keep quiet, he's coming back."

"Now, where were we?" Sidney beamed. "Oh yes, I was going to show you our new pieces. I'm very proud that we've -- "

"I was in the Natello gallery yesterday," Brian interrupted. "I stopped by the JumpDown, too. They're very hard-edged, aren't they?"

Sidney's enthusiasm faded at the mention of the competition. He cleared his throat. "They'd like you to think so."

"Yes, I saw how they were positioning themselves. Cutting edge."

Lindsay said quickly, "It's all image with them. In reality, we do a much better job of reaching the new artists, don't we, Sidney?"

"Absolutely."

"That may be, but in marketing it's all a question of image," Brian said. "You may know what you can do, but do the collectors and the artists? Is the JumpDown getting ahead of you there?"

"Well, they -- "

"Maybe you're not getting your message out."

"You seem very savvy about these things," Sidney said. "Did you say you were in advertising?"

"Yes, I've had advertising experience. But -- " Brian reached into his suit jacket and slowly pulled out his Italian leather wallet, giving Sidney time to see the designer make, and handed over a business card.

Sidney read out loud, "'Brian Kinney, Public Relations and Special Promotions.'" Lindsay made a small noise of surprise. Brian slipped a hand under her elbow, smiling affectionately, and gave her a hard pinch underneath. She jumped. When Sidney glanced at her, she gave him a frozen smile.

Brian said, "I'm concentrating on gallery installations, art promotions, and some publishing endeavors."

"Publishing?"

"Yes. In fact, I'll be meeting with the assistant editor at 'In the Frame' this afternoon." This was an influential trade magazine known for promoting new and controversial artists. Sidney's eyes widened. Lindsay knew he had been unable to get any press or publicity from them. He looked at Brian hungrily. But Brian said, "Can you show me the new pieces now?"

Sidney pulled himself together. "Certainly."

"Sidney, I can show Brian the -- "

"No, no, my dear, it's my pleasure. Hold down the floor for me, will you? Brian, right this way." He escorted Brian to the catalogue room as if he were the guest-of-honor at a party. Brian threw an amused glance back at Lindsay, who flung out her hands in a silent What-the-fuck? gesture to him. Brian turned away, still grinning. She heard him say to Sidney, "So who's handling your public relations?"

They emerged forty-five minutes later, by which time Lindsay was nearly choked with curiosity and anxiety. Sidney came up to the counter beaming, a frame under his arm. "We've had the most marvelous idea! You know, Schachter & Associates have been mishandling our PR for years. Brian's quite right, the other galleries are edging us out."

"Brian told you that?" She permitted herself a glare, right in front of Sidney. Brian leaned nonchalantly on the counter.

"Yes, and he's right. Schachter keeps saying the problem is the way I manage the gallery, when anyone could see -- never mind. The point is, Brian's going to handle our next show."

"What?"

"Just the public relations aspect," Brian said.

"And he thinks he can get that woman from the Frame to do a write-up on us," Sidney said. "That's exactly what we need, that kind of forward thinking -- " he broke off. Brian raised an eyebrow. Sidney said apologetically, "Perhaps I should mention, the budget I have for this show isn't all we'd like. Our last quarter earnings -- "

"Oh, I wouldn't charge Lindsay's boss the full fees," Brian said. "Right, Lindsay? I'll work up some numbers for you to approve. Then if all goes well, and you think I can be of help to you, you can put me on a monthly retainer."

"I -- "

"I can tell you, I'm a better deal than Schachter & Associates."

"I'm sure you are," Sidney said decisively.

"Mr. Bloom!" called the receptionist at the front desk. "Mr. Tyler's holding for you! He's called three times!"

"All right, all right! Damn the man. Lindsay, wrap Brian's selection, will you?" He handed over the frame. "He made an excellent choice, excellent." He added beaming, "And I think I have too, for my new public relations consultant. Interesting people you bring in here, Lindsay. First the party planner and now Brian."

"Thanks," Lindsay said faintly.

"I'll phone you tonight to work out the details," Brian said, and they shook hands again.

When he was safely gone, Lindsay burst out, "Brian Kinney, how can you! This is my job, don't fuck this up for me! You've never handled public relations."

"I didn't say I had, I said I could. And I can, don't worry about it."

"But - damn it, Brian! You could have asked me!"

"Wrap to go, please," Brian said, tapping on the frame in her hand. For the first time, Lindsay looked down to see what he was buying. It was a delicate ink drawing, one of the Harrington series from the Depression era. She felt a little relieved: this would cost him only a few hundred, making it one of the less expensive choices in the gallery. She couldn't help noticing that he had picked the best of the series, too. He had always had a good eye. She suspected watching Justin's art evolve had made him even sharper. But this was hardly the time for him to become a collector. "How are you going to pay for this?"

"Personal check."

"That's not what I meant! Oh God, is the check going to bounce?"

"No, of course not. It's covered -- by my first two unemployment checks. Very suitable for a Depression piece, don't you think?"

Lindsay took out an order slip and started to write it up. "I still don't understand what you're doing. Why do you want to promote our next show?"

Brian took in a long breath and paused. He rubbed a finger along the counter, wiping away some spot Lindsay couldn't see. "I'm finished with advertising. Or rather . . . it's finished with me. I'm moving into PR instead. And this will be a good start."

"Are you sure you can?" Lindsay asked gently. Suddenly she was struck with a new fear. Her voice sharpened. "Do you really know someone at the Frame?"

"Yes." He ducked his head lower and looked up at her sideways. Gus does that, Lindsay realized. She hadn't noticed it before. Brian explained, "Katie's a former client. She used to be at Home Kitchen Pastas before she went all artsy and highbrow. I wrote their ad campaign."

"And you think you can get her to pay attention to our show?"

"I don't see why not. She always liked me."

"Really."

"Some people do," Brian said with mock hurt. "In fact, I think she wants to fuck me."

"Perfect," Lindsay moaned, and handed him his new acquisition.

 

*****
 

That night they sat at the bar at Woody's while Brian finished up the story. "But it turned out Katie didn't need fucking, only flirting," he said.

"What a relief," Justin said sarcastically.

"I made an appointment to show her around the gallery next week. She'll love Lindsay. It'll be WASP calling to WASP."

"So you have a job?" Justin was still confused.

"You're not following the plot. I have a project, one show to promote." Brian waved the bartender back over. "Double Beam. You want another cosmopolitan?"

"Yeah."

"The official drink of single girls and drama queens." Brian tossed a bill on the bar like old times. He had shaken his head the first time Justin reached for his wallet. Tonight was his.

Well, I guess he's . . . we're . . . celebrating, Justin thought. He felt light-headed. Had he had that much already?

"Sidney doesn't have a lot to spend on this show," Brian continued. "I'd bet good money that gallery's in trouble. He's letting it get shoved aside, he's not competing. I'll show him a few things and get him to put me on retainer. At least that'll give me some basic income. And he's been in the field a long time, I can make a lot of contacts through him and get more work."

"So you'll be like an outside consultant for galleries and shows? Self-employed?"

"Right."

"But why public relations? You're in advertising."

"I **was** in advertising."

"I know it's related, but they're still separate fields, aren't they?"

"Quite the businessman all of a sudden, aren't you? Didn't even get your resume out yet. I've worked with a lot of PR people. I know what they do."

"But do you know the business?"

"Not yet. I will."

"Didn't know you were planning on changing fields," Justin said into his drink. "You didn't say anything before."

"There was nothing to tell before."

Justin swiveled on the barstool, to rub his knee against Brian's. He knew Brian had to sit on things, like a hen on an egg, and there was no finding out what was hatching ahead of time. That was his way, Justin couldn't complain about it. And he wasn't really upset that Brian hadn't mentioned it earlier, that wasn't what was bothering him.

What is bothering me? Justin asked himself. I wanted him to do something and now he is. Why don't I feel better about this? "I guess I'm used to thinking of you as an advertising man."

"So am I," Brian said, sounding a little sour. "But selling is selling, promoting is promoting. Wouldn't you rather I pushed art on the unsuspecting public instead of a new laundry detergent?"

"I guess."

"I thought you'd be dancing around."

Justin realized he was disappointing him. Maybe this is how he felt about me not going to Mandell, he thought. But then look at how he helped me. He said, "I think it's great, Brian. I do."

"Do you?" Brian wasn't fooled. He leaned over so that their noses were touching. "Maybe I can do a little artist representation on the side," he whispered into Justin's face. "Know any poor but wildly talented artists who need a good fuck - I mean, a good agent?"

"Only a young hot one," Justin whispered back, and kissed him.

"Not at the bar, boys, not at the bar," Emmett's voice broke in. "Let's have a little decorum."

"This from a former nude maid and porno star," Brian said, straightening up. "Want a drink?"

"You're buying? I'll have a pretty pink one like the baby here." Emmett draped an arm around Justin, who smiled a hello at him.

"I take that to mean another cosmo," Brian said to the bartender.

"Kind of slow in here tonight, isn't it?"

"This place is pathetic," Brian said. He sounded disgusted.

Emmett looked in surprise at Justin, who explained, "Nobody fuckable. He checked already."

"Oh, I don't know," Emmett said. "That table over there has some possibilities, don't you think? See the hottie with the earring?"

"Can't give head," Brian said.

"I don't suppose he's just guessing," Emmett said to Justin.

"I doubt it." Justin grinned.

Emmett took his drink and, leaning beside Justin, began to look over every guy in the bar. Following an old ritual, he and Brian considered each possible fuck. They passed snap judgments on this ass, those biceps, who had good and bad facial hair, and how the gym bunnies and bears stacked up. Justin doodled on a cocktail napkin, only half-listening. When Emmett said something that made Brian laugh for a moment, Justin glanced up, but Brian's smile had already vanished. Emmett suddenly looked serious, too. Justin tapped on his arm. "You okay?"

"It's so quiet in here," Emmett said. Justin raised his eyebrows; the crowd was thin but this was hardly true. "I mean. . . I'm missing some familiar voices."

"Oh. I know." Justin looked again at Brian, who was staring stony-faced out at the room. Justin wondered if he was missing Michael's voice, maybe even Ted's? After all, their mismatched little group had been drinking, quarreling, bitching and laughing together long before Justin had arrived.

Justin punched a small hole in a corner of the cocktail napkin he had been doodling on. He reached over and hung it like a nametag on the top button of Brian's shirt. "What the fuck?" Brian asked, looking at it upside down.

"It's a Smile button!" Emmett said with delight. Justin had drawn the famous icon on the napkin.

"Wow, now that's an artistic achievement." Brian swatted at it like a bug. "Take it off."

"Not yet. A toast first." Justin lifted his drink. "To old friends and new plans."

"Hear, hear!" said Emmett. "And don't forget to -- " Justin finished it with him: "Put on a happy face!" they cried together, and laughed. Emmett gave Justin a hug. "Make me a Smile, too!"

"What is this, a sing-a-long?" Brian demanded, as Justin set to work on another one.

"This," said Justin, waving the napkin, "is a profound life philosophy. It's Zen. It's art. It's the key to happiness."

"Jesus, you only had two drinks." As if on cue, the bartender reappeared to see if they wanted another round. "No, I think these two have had enough."

"Have not," Justin protested. He motioned to his empty glass. "Give me another cosmo. And give him one, too." He meant Brian. He leaned closer, to put his hand on Brian's thigh.

The bartender looked in surprise at Brian, who shrugged. "Okay. What the hell," he said. "I'll try it." A moment later he picked up his new drink, and closed his hand over Justin's.
 

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