And Every Morning After

Unfamiliar Territory

Justin heard the knocking in his sleep, and it became part of some confused dream. He was a student at St. James again, home in his single bed, listening to his mother try to wake up Molly. As he started to wake up himself, he became aware that his back was cold. No warm presence was beside him. That meant he really was home in a single bed, the bed he called his since moving in with Daphne. The knocking was at the apartment front door. From the cubicle that served as a kitchen, Daphne called, "Coming!"

Justin rolled to face the wall, pulling the blankets up. It would be someone for Daphne. His mother was the only one who came here to see him, and she wouldn't stop by without calling first, especially in the morning. He heard Daphne give a little startled squeal and then start giggling. Justin recognized the flirtatious note in it and burrowed deeper into his blankets. It was probably that guy Kyle, Kane, whatever his name was, that she had gone out with Friday night.

But a moment later his bedroom door banged open and Daphne cried, "Justin, Brian's here!"

Justin rolled back over in surprise and sat up. Daphne didn't have classes on Tuesday and she had been sleeping in, too. She was still in her fuzzy pink pajamas. With her hair in pigtails and her face all lit up, she looked like a little girl. Brian was framed in the doorway behind her, dark in his leather jacket, holding a paper bag. His cheeks were red from the cold air but he was grinning at Justin's surprise and Daphne's excitement. He always liked to make an entrance.

"Hey," Justin said. He yawned, deliberately, then ran a hand through his hair and grinned back at Brian. "What are you doing here? Everything okay?"

"Just saying hello," Brian said casually, as if he came by all the time.

Daphne didn't seem sure who should play host. She asked, "Um, do you want coffee or - or something?" A sudden thought of what else Brian might want in Justin's bedroom flushed her cheeks. Much as she enjoyed hearing about Justin's sex life, she didn't want to hear it taking place.

"I brought some," Brian said, reaching into the bag. He pulled out three styrofoam coffee cups, like a magician conjuring rabbits, and placed them in a row on Justin's dresser. "And muffins. Corn? Cranberry?" He paused with his hand in the bag, looking at Daphne. She hesitated.

"She only eats low-fat," Justin explained from the bed.

"Low-fat blueberry," Brian said triumphantly, handing it to her.

Daphne giggled. "Thanks, Brian. Well, um, I'll -- I'll leave you two." She took one of the hot coffees gingerly and edged around Brian towards the door. On the threshold she threw Justin one pleading look.

"Love those bunnies," Brian said, nodding at her slippers. He closed the door behind her. "What 's with her? Isn't she a little young for hot flashes?"

"She's afraid we're going to fuck. Loudly."

Brian gave Justin's single bed a withering look. "In that?"

"Sorry, but there's no room in here for a double. It would take all the floor space."

"Fucking space is more important than floor space." Brian's eyes raked the little room, as if he really intended to redecorate. The desk, its top covered by the computer, the printer, and scattered Rage printouts, was crammed up against the one window. The dresser was small but still took up too much of the corner, blocking the closet door from closing completely. "Where do you keep your books?"

"What books? I mostly get stuff out of the library, you know that. My CDs are in the living room." Justin held out a hand, inviting Brian to come over to the bed. Brian crossed to him and leaned over for a kiss. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were cold, but his lips were warm. "Mmm," Justin murmured appreciatively. "So why are you here?"

"Shouldn't I be?" Brian straightened.

"Sure, I mean of course you can be, you just never . . . Hey," Justin remembered. "I gave you a key, you could have let yourself in." He had a mental image of himself, coming and going from the loft as he pleased. It was hard to picture Brian doing that here.

"I thought I might catch Daphne naked. I was afraid I'd scream. So where are your textbooks?"

"My - what?"

"Your textbooks from school," Brian said impatiently. "Remember them?"

"They're under the bed. Why?"

Brian squatted and lifted the blankets to peer underneath the box spring. "Christ, it looks like a science experiment gone wild under here. Aren't you frightened?" He intoned, "Mutating dust balls eat sex-crazed queer alive. Story at 11."

"We don't all have cleaning ladies," Justin said. Brian shot him a look and Justin caught his breath. He'd forgotten for a minute. Of course Brian didn't have cleaning ladies, either, not any more. I wonder how often Brian forgets what he doesn't have now, he thought. Then he knew the answer: Never.

Brian pulled out a few dusty textbooks and sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed. He explained, "I have another meeting tomorrow at the Frame offices. Katie set me up to meet her boss, the editor-in-chief. By the time I see him I have to be an art expert."

"Jesus," Justin said. "And you think looking through a few of my textbooks for 24 hours is all it takes?"

"That's all it's going to take me. That's all I've got."

Justin kicked off his blankets and padded naked to the dresser to get a pair of sweatpants. Brian flipped through one of the thicker books in disgust. "Is this it? Pre-Raphaelites and Monet?" He sneezed from the dust.

"Well, what do you need?"

"Not the shit they hang in dental clinics. I want modern. Post-modern. I already picked up most of the journals and magazines, but I need a little more background. Hand me the corn muffin."

"Here. I'll get some butter." Brian raised an eyebrow. "It's for me," Justin said, grinning. "I like butter, is that a crime?"

"It is once you hit your twenties," Brian said darkly. "The clock's ticking."

"I've got another week. I'll be back in a second."

Justin stopped in the bathroom, then went to the tiny kitchen. The refrigerator, old and inefficient, gurgled with the effort of keeping Daphne's yogurts cold. On his way back down the hall Daphne stuck her head out of her bedroom. "What's up?" she whispered.

"Not his dick, don't worry," Justin said. "He just wants to borrow some books."

"I'll leave if you want."

"Will you relax? I heard you and Kyle going at it the other night, I didn't freak out about it. I slept with my headphones on."

"You did? I guess I forgot you were here. Most of the time you're not."

"Making me the perfect roommate, right?"

"Hey, I like it when you're here, too. Do you think Brian's going to come by more often?" Justin threw out his hands. She laughed and shut her door.

Brian had made himself at home. His jacket was hanging over the computer chair and his boots were in the middle of the floor. A pile of rejected books was growing in front of him. Justin stood at his dresser, buttering his muffin and making mental notes of the scene, in case he wanted to sketch it later. He liked seeing Brian in his room. He thought, I eat out of his refrigerator, I use his computer, I drink his liquor, I cum on his sheets, I've borrowed his clothes and his cash . . . and this is only the second time he's even been here.

Without looking up, Brian asked, "So are you going to help, or sketch me in your head?"

Justin gave a surprised laugh; how had he known? "Okay," he said with a mouthful of muffin. He joined Brian on the floor and wriggled under the bed. "There's one with an abstract sculpture on the cover," he said, muffled. "Oh, here it is." He came out with dust in his hair. "This one. It starts with Pollack and goes on from there. Professor Wicks," he added, remembering the class. Suddenly a pang went through him. He had really enjoyed that class. He looked at the books piled up beside Brian - a history of art that made up the history of his college days. It was beginning to feel like ancient history. "I learned a lot from Wicks. I meant to take his Mixed Media class next, but -- " Justin's voice trailed off. There were so many things he had meant to do.

Brian took it in silence. "It gives you a good overview," Justin forced himself to say. His throat felt tight and it was getting hard to get words out. He could feel Brian's attention suddenly diverted from the book. His eyes were locked on Justin's face. Justin kept his own eyes down as he tried to joke, "Looks like my textbooks are growing cobwebs."

"Your talent isn't, " Brian said gently. Justin couldn't answer. There was a pause, then Brian asked, "Did you get any replies on the ads you answered yet?"

Justin brightened a little. "Oh yeah, I was going to tell you. There was nothing from the classifieds, but two of the online ones emailed me back. They want me to come in for interviews and bring my slides."

"Good. Which ones?

"Umm, let's see. One was from On-Target Communications and the other was -- "

"Don't bother with On-Target, they're total shit. "

"Really? But for a first job -- "

"No, you'll come out more ignorant than when you went in. Who's the other one?"

"Hatley Associates."

"Well, they're good," Brian conceded. "Go on the Hatley one. But don't show the Rage slides."

"No comics?"

"No queers. Mr. Louis Hatley, Senior, is a Bible-thumping fundamentalist. They market a lot of Christian music, that kind of shit."

"Fuck, then I'm not going! I don't want to work for somebody like that."

"Why not? Even homophobes can sign paychecks. And they know what they're doing there, you could learn something. I don't know who their creative director is, but some great work comes out of that studio."

"Brian, you just said he's a homophobe. He's not going to hire me."

"Are you planning on announcing you love cock in the middle of the interview?"

"Of course not. It's none of his fucking business I'm a queer."

"Right. And it's none of your fucking business he's a Bible-thumper."

"But -- " Justin was exasperated but he had no answer. Brian smirked, having scored his point, and went back to looking through the textbook. Justin said finally, "That's the kind of thinking that got you mixed up with Stockwell."

Brian closed the book with a bang. "It's the kind of thinking that made me a lot of money. Temporarily, at least." He stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Not tonight?" Justin asked in surprise. He scrambled to his feet to stand in front of Brian. They looked at each other, both of them trying to get past their annoyance.

Brian said, "I have too much to review. I haven't done this much cramming since I was in school myself. Jesus. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to have to pull an all-nighter."

"Yeah?" Justin tried to tease. "What's he look like?"

"An abstract," Brian said, waving the book. He kissed Justin again, meaning to say goodbye, but Justin's mouth was slicked with butter and he didn't want to pull back. He went on kissing him, harder, and wrapped his free hand around Justin's bare waist. Justin pushed forward into him, his hands on Brian's back, suddenly urgent. Brian tossed down the book, which hit the edge of the desk and crashed to the floor, and grabbed Justin by the hair. Still kissing, they took a few shuffling steps toward the narrow bed and finally fell down on it together. The springs creaked loudly and the head of the bed crashed into the wall. "Shhh," Brian said laughing, pushing up on his elbows.

"Daphne has headphones," Justin said, and yanked Brian back down.

#

Late the following afternoon Brian came home, exhausted but victorious after his meeting. He glared at his empty living room for a moment -- no more of this shit, he had to at least get a cheap sofa - and walked up the stairs to throw himself on the bed. He was wearing his fashionably shabby $200 jeans and a beautifully tailored silk jacket over a worn black T-shirt. In the world of PR, he had had to give up his agency suits and look more "artsy," more edgy. The aim, apparently, was to spend absurd amounts of money on faux working-class clothes. It didn't suit his current tight budget and it didn't suit his personal preference, but his own feelings were more than beside the point these days. He was playing a part and he had to look it.

The Frame meeting had gone well. Better than well. The editor-in-chief had promised to do a sidebar on Sidney, Lindsay's boss at the gallery, as part of a "Scene Players" feature. He had also promised to cover the gallery's next show, which Brian was promoting. Sidney would be very pleased. Even better, Brian had left the office with the phone numbers of several more potential clients, all friends the editor thought could use Brian's services.

His body was humming with exhaustion. When he closed his eyes, bright vague visuals jumped out at him in the blackness, a jumble of the art images he had been reviewing all night. Then they faded into black and white, the look of the stark bills he had been opening with every day's mail. Thanks to the sale of his furniture and the small advance he had pried out of Sidney, he had been able to pay off his normal monthly expenses and hit the minimum balances on all his maxed-out cards. He was good for another thirty days.

Now that he was giving in to it, the lack of sleep made him feel as woozy as if he were coming down from a high. A new picture formed in his mind, with harsh aggressive colors. It was Rage, standing tall. That's me, he thought, half-smiling with his eyes closed. Coming to my own rescue . . . His last thought before he fell asleep was, I should call Justin and tell him I kicked ass.

Two hours later the loft door was opened as quietly as possible. Michael stood on the threshold, muffling the clatter of his keys. He stood listening. It wasn't likely Brian had a trick this early in the evening, but of course with Brian you could never be sure. Or Justin might be here. That would be okay, unless they were fucking. He could live without seeing that. He had imagined it too many times anyway. Well, that was the chance he had taken by not calling first.

But the loft was silent, and so bare he was startled. He knew Brian had sold off his furniture but it was still shocking to see. He walked up to the bedroom stairs.

Brian was asleep fully dressed, on his back on top of the sheets, one hand thrown out. Michael was glad after all to see he was alone. He felt a sudden rush of affection and excitement. It was only a little more than two weeks but he felt like they hadn't seen each other in months.

Michael went quietly up the stairs and sat on the edge of the bed. He had to push a magazine out of the way. There were more piled on the floor, along with some books. He didn't bother to look at them closely; he was too intent on Brian. He took Brian's outstretched hand in his. "Brian," he called softly.

Brian turned on his side, sliding closer with his eyes closed, nuzzling his face into the sheets like a dog sniffing for something. Michael realized what he was looking for. "It's not Justin," Michael said. "It's me."

Brian stopped moving. There was a pause, and then his hand suddenly squeezed Michael's. With his eyes still closed, he said casually, "Hey, Mikey."

"Hey."

Brian let go and opened his eyes. They looked at each other, smiling hard. "Well," Brian said finally. "You're not wearing prison stripes. Did you cop a deal? Or fuck a cop?"

Michael laughed. "I'm in out of the cold. It looks like everything's going to be okay. Hunter's over at my mom's right now. I left him there with Ben."

"Your mom's?"

"She may become his guardian. But Ben and I would rather adopt him if we can. He'll live with us either way, no matter what happens legally, so that's okay. Luckily we're in the same school district as my mom. He can always use her address if he has to when he goes back."

Brian rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, to let Michael know what he thought about all this. "Let's get to the important stuff. Where's my 'vette?"

"Parked downstairs."

"Still in one piece?"

"One piece, with all four tires. I'm afraid to ask why you were sleeping at dinnertime. Hard night last night?"

Brian ignored the question. He yawned, casual and calm, but this time he took both of Michael's hands in his own and held tight. "I don't get it. What about his bitch mother having custody?"

"Oh, that's all over. That's why I was able to come back. She dropped her custody claim."

"Just like that? What the fuck happened?"

Michael gave a crooked smile. "Our lawyer told her that Hunter is positive. She didn't know before. Suddenly she didn't want him."

"Jesus Christ."

"See, you don't have the world's worst mother, do you? I don't know if Rita's afraid she'll catch it like a cold, or if Hunter's just not worth as much to her now. She probably figures he's no good as a worker anymore."

"What?"

"I forgot, I didn't get a chance to tell you. She used to pimp him out. That's how he got started hustling."

"Fuck," Brian said. "Nice maternal instincts. And you were the one in trouble with the law?"

Michael leaned over impulsively and kissed Brian on the mouth. Brian gripped his shoulders in a warm hug. Still leaning over him, Michael said in conspiratorial tones, "I didn't make a very good fugitive. I kept using my credit cards, so apparently I was leaving a trail everywhere. Then I thought I was being really clever, because I didn't use my cell phone to call Ben, I kept using public phones. I thought it would be traced or something."

"Was it?"

"The lawyer said I watch too much TV. Apparently if you rob a bank they'll chase you, but run off with a teenager and nobody follows."

"I'll keep that in mind," Brian said.

"Why, are you planning on running off with yours?"

"You never know. And he's twenty next week. Let's have a drink." He rolled off the far side of the bed.

"So how is he? And how are you?" Michael stood up, too. He followed Brian towards the liquor cart, keeping his eyes down to maneuver around and over the scattered magazines and books.

"Hey," he asked, suddenly stopping to think about it. "What's all this stuff on the floor?"

#

Hatley Associates sent back a confirmation of his appointment. Justin frowned at the email message. He still wasn't sure he'd go on this interview at all, although he had done some research on Hatley's clients. They did handle Christian music and book clubs, Brian was right, but while it was pure pap there was nothing really offensive. And there were other clients, including a line of clothing marketed to people his age. Those ads were edgy and clever. Fun.

I'd be good on that, he thought. He glanced over at his textbooks, still piled in the middle of the floor where Brian had left them. Justin didn't care about fashion but with his artist's eye he always noticed what people were wearing. He knew the way the shirts and jackets were draping this year, the color combinations . . . Orange is the new blue. He grinned for a moment. Soon there'd be something else that was the "new" thing at school, and --

And I won't know what it is, he thought. I'm out of the loop. Put me on a college account and I'll have to give you last year's news. Shit.

He picked up one of the books at random, leafing through the pages the way Brian had. He hadn't liked this class, or the professor, or even most of the artists covered. Yet now it pulled at him, like homesickness. I was so anxious to finish school, he thought. All I thought about was getting out in the world and finally making my own way. And now I don't fucking want to.

Justin shook himself and got to his feet with determination. He grabbed at the textbooks and began shoving them back under the bed, out of sight where they belonged. When he was finished he went back to the computer, surfing lists of agencies and their clients.

When the phone rang, he expected it to be Debbie yet again. She had called earlier, whooping with joy and screaming the news of Michael's return. Then she had called back a second time, threatening to organize a big party. Not long after that Brian had called, too. Apparently Michael was at the loft. Brian of course sounded calm to the point of indifference, but Justin knew better. They were so busy talking about the legal situation Justin had forgotten to ask how Brian's meeting had turned out. The minute he hung up Debbie had called for the third time, still crowing, and asking him to take an extra shift at the diner tomorrow so they'd both be free for a Friday night dinner party at her house.

Now the phone was ringing again. He picked it up smiling, ready to tease Debbie, but it was Brian. Justin asked, "Where are you?"

"Woody's," Brian half-shouted. It sounded noisy for a weekday night. "Celebrating!"

"With Michael and Ben?"

"Just Michael. Ben took Hunter shopping for clothes or condoms or whatever baby hustlers need. Come down."

"How did your meeting with the editor-in-chief go?"

Brian exulted, "He was overwhelmed by my genius."

"Aren't we all?" Justin laughed. "Good for you."

"So come on."

"No, I'm going to keep looking through agencies. Do you know anything about a place called McCabe & Jerkins?"

"Jerk off?"

"Jerkins!" Justin shouted.

"Never heard of them," Brian shouted back, and hung up.

Daphne knocked on his bedroom door and poked her head in. "What was all the yelling?"

"Oh, Brian's at Woody's, I had to shout so he could hear me."

"So are you going?"

"No. I figured he wants to talk to Michael."

"Well, shit, Michael just got back."

"Yeah, I know, it's okay. I don't blame him. But I'll stay out of it."

"He asked you," Daphne pointed out.

"I need to keep checking agencies."

"This is so weird," Daphne said. "It's like, you're trying to get into Brian's field and he's trying to get into yours."

Justin looked towards the bed. His textbooks were safely out of sight. "I don't really have a field. Listen, you want to go get a burger? Then I'll come back and do some more research."

"Sure." The phone rang again. "You're so popular," Daphne teased as Justin reached over to pick it up.

Brian said in his ear without preliminaries, "You're not going to be on the computer all night, are you?"

"What? No, I guess not."

"So get your ass over to the loft later where it belongs and I'll fuck your brains out."

"Meet you there," Justin said.

#

On Friday, two nights later, Brian picked Justin up to head over to Debbie's party. It was a pleasure to have use of a car again; Justin slid into the passenger seat and sighed with relief. "Thank God, no more fucking buses."

"I haven't had a chance to really open it up," Brian said. At the first light he asked, "So you want to take a drive first?"

"We'll be late, we're supposed to be there at six."

"Seven."

"You told me six."

"So we'd have time to take a drive," Brian said, and made the turn-off to the freeway.

"Oh God." Justin pretended to groan, and made an elaborate show of tightening the buckle on his seatbelt. But it was good to see Brian like this. Of course he was admitting nothing, but Justin could feel the exultation radiating from him. Here they were, riding around in his 'vette again. It was like some small return of their old lives - their real lives, the ones they belonged in. It wasn't quite a homecoming, but maybe a promise of one someday.

As they hit the freeway, Brian had a little smile playing around his mouth. He cut across the two right lanes to settle into the left one, and put his foot down hard on the gas pedal. "You'll get a ticket," Justin said, as the speedometer climbed.

"Fuck 'em," Brian said cheerfully. "I guess Mikey did take care of this after all. It's still handling great."

Justin stretched out his legs and his foot hit something that had fallen to the floor. It was a large manila envelope with some kind of heavy document inside. "What's this?"

"Something," Brian said in his maddening way. He took it from Justin and shoved it behind his seat. "I was thinking, don't just stick to answering ads. Send your stuff out to everybody, all the agencies. Somebody might realize they can use you even if they weren't looking for help."

Back to our new life, Justin thought. He forced himself to think about it. "That's a good idea," he admitted. "That's kind of what I did to get into Vangard. I just pointed out what I could do to your art director."

"Oh, if he had only known what you can do," Brian smirked, glancing sideways at him. His eyes flicked back to the road, then back towards Justin, the smile suddenly gone, replaced by a dark look. "What the fuck is that?"

"What? Where?" Justin looked out the window.

"No, there!" Brian pointed at a small mark on the side of Justin's seat. He looked back out the windshield, asking, "Is it a stain?"

Justin examined it. "It looks like a cigarette burn." Brian cursed. Justin added quickly, "It's new. It wasn't me."

"Shit."

"Must have been Hunter."

"That fucking kid!" There was a moment's pause, then to Justin's surprise Brian chuckled under his breath.

"What's so funny?"

"That's what I used to call you," Brian cackled.

"Oh, shut up," Justin said. "Turn around, we better get to Debbie's."

By the time they headed back, and Brian found a parking space up to his specifications - not too far, not too close to a corner, not too near someone's driveway, not under a tree - Justin was afraid they really were late. But Brian was probably right; Debbie was too happy to bother fussing at them. As it turned out, they could hardly recognize the house as they walked up to it: she had spent the afternoon decorating it.

Debbie of course never did anything halfway, and her homecoming dinner for Michael and Hunter was meant to eclipse Queen Elizabeth II's Jubilee. Bright rainbow streamers - probably Pride decorations put to another use - covered the columns of the porch, and a giant "Welcome Home Michael" banner flapped from the second floor windows. But the sight of the life-size cardboard stork on the front porch, holding a bundle which proclaimed, "IT'S A BOY!" stopped them both in their tracks.

"What the fuck is that for?" Brian demanded the minute Debbie answered the door, before Justin could kiss her hello. "Melanie pop her kid out early?"

"It's to announce the newest member of our family, of course," Debbie said. "Hunter's our new baby boy."

"Really? Are you giving out cigars? Your baby boy probably likes to suck them." Brian made a fist and sucked air to demonstrate the technique.

"Why don't you give it up, just for one night? Come on in here, Sunshine, and help me pour the bubbly. You know where the glasses are."

More streamers and banners crisscrossed the room, hanging so low Brian had to duck under them. The rickety kitchen table, extended out into the living room, looked in danger of collapse from a giant floral centerpiece. Two more towering flower arrangements were on the end tables. Justin took one breath and sneezed.

"Don't take anything," Brian said in alarm. Allergy medications made Justin sleepy, and Brian was planning on keeping him awake later.

Debbie's entire Liberty Avenue family had answered the summons, except of course for Ted. Brian, moving one of the flower vases farther away from Justin, was startled to see Jennifer perched on the arm of Melanie's chair. She beamed and came over to them.

"I didn't know you were coming," Justin said as she hugged him.

"I didn't either," Jennifer said. "I stopped by this afternoon to pick up some PFLAG materials from Debbie and she insisted I stay. Vic was baking a cake and I helped her hang the streamers. Hello, Brian."

"Jennifer." Brian's look was guarded. He hadn't seen Jennifer since the night of the Rage party. Justin claimed she didn't mind that he had left Ethan and they were back together. But Justin didn't always read his mother right.

After a moment's hesitation Jennifer leaned in to him, lifting her cheek. It took a second before Brian realized he was supposed to kiss her. They had never greeted each other this way before. "It's nice to see you," Jennifer said, giving her best smile. "It's been a while." One thing Brian had noticed long ago about country-club manners was that they always saved you from awkward situations. He hadn't been raised to them the way Justin had, but he had taught himself to imitate them in business. Somehow they failed him in personal situations.

"Yeah," he managed to say, sounding ungracious in comparison. "You too." Out of the corner of his eye Brian saw Justin bite back a grin. The fucker was enjoying himself. "Waiter," Brian barked at him. "Aren't you supposed to be handing out drinks? Fuck the champagne, get me a scotch."

Justin gave him a look but said, "Okay," and headed for the kitchen. Brian saw a line crease Jennifer's forehead before she put her smile back on. Too late he realized what he had sounded like. He felt a spasm of annoyance. Didn't she know her precious son better than that? Sure, Justin did what he was told. Whenever he happened to feel like it.

"It's so nice that Michael's home," Jennifer said. "I know Debbie's been worried about him. But that's a mother, right? Always worrying."

"Some mothers," Brian said, wondering how long he'd have to make small talk with her. In a room crammed with nonstop yakkers, why the fuck didn't somebody interrupt them? "Not the baby hus - I mean, Hunter. Not Hunter's mother."

"Yes, so I heard. I can't understand any woman -- "

"Daddy," piped a voice from around Brian's knee. Gus was pulling on his shirt.

"That's my boy," Brian said with relief. He scooped Gus up in his arms and settled him on his hip. "Where's Mommy?" he asked, as if they were in a ballroom instead of Debbie's tiny living room and he couldn't see her. Gus pointed helpfully. Brian gave Jennifer a big fake smile of apology and slid away from her towards Lindsay, who was deep in a conversation about teaching with Ben.

"The atmosphere in the gallery is very different, of course," she was saying. "But sometimes I find I'm educating a client in the same way as a student. This afternoon -- "

Brian swerved, still holding Gus, and went to join Michael on the sofa, where he was regaling Emmett with an on-the-road story from his big Runaway Adventure. Brian listened for awhile, a little amused but proud of Michael all the same. When the story began to take on mythic proportions, however, he got up to find Justin and his drink.

"Don't you want to hear the end?" Michael asked Brian.

"I'll catch it in the next issue of Rage," Brian said.

"Daddy, down," Gus said, and pointed to Melanie, still sitting in the far chair.

"I'll take him," she said. "Gus, get your coloring books out of Mommy's bag."

"'Kay," Gus said agreeably. He sat on the rug with Lindsay's diaper bag between his legs, pulling out crayons.

Brian said, "No champagne? Aren't you celebrating Daddy's homecoming?"

"I can only have ginger ale," Melanie said morosely, lifting her glass. She was nauseated from the cooking smells, and an hour spent contemplating the potential extended family of her baby - including, apparently, this street kid Hunter -- had alarmed her. "Well," she sighed, looking up at Brian. "I suppose if we can handle you, we can handle anything."

Brian decided not to ask her what the fuck she was talking about, because he didn't care. He looked around. Michael and Emmett were now discussing Ted, a subject he wasn't interested in; Lindsay and Ben were still swapping teaching stories. Debbie, Vic, Rodney, and a big steaming plate of something had control of the kitchen. Brian slid around the sofa and grabbed at one of the celebrity tabloid magazines Debbie liked to hoot over. Justin had handed out champagne glasses and was back near the front door, talking to Jennifer, with Brian's forgotten scotch in his hand. Brian took the glass from him and kept walking. He positioned himself by the stairs and started to flip through the magazine. Something caught his eye just as something else caught hold of his elbow.

"Hey," Hunter breathed, leaning into Brian's face. "I'm back."

"I'm thrilled," Brian said, yanking his elbow away. "You burned a hole in the seat of my car."

"Yeah? Well, that's the kind of guy I am. Always burning hot."

"Kid, you're in serious need of better material. Does that crap really work, even on old geezers?"

Hunter shrugged. "The old geezers are too busy checking out my ass to even listen. It's a great ass, see?" He turned sideways, jutting out his hip. "And real tight, I told you."

Brian groaned and looked in exasperated appeal in Justin's direction. Somehow feeling Brian's eyes on him, Justin looked around. Hunter glared. Justin, serene, smiled and went on talking to his mother.

"Dinner!" Debbie boomed. "Everybody come sit down. Michael, Hunter, you two over here at the head of the table!"

Hunter grimaced but went to her. Brian held back a moment. He looked down again at the magazine and his face slowly darkened. "Fuck," he muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What's the matter?" Justin asked, as the others moved chattering to the table. He leaned over Brian's shoulder to see the magazine. "You can't be that worried about Britney Spears."

"Look at this shit!" Brian was becoming really angry. Justin looked again and realized he was glaring at the ad for Excessories, a fashion brand for scarves, hats, and women's jewelry.

"Isn't that a Vangard account?"

"That's my fucking account," Brian snapped. "Look what they did to it. Look at the graphics. The fucking model looks like she's been gang-banged and the type's all wrong. And somebody fucked with the logo. That must be Brett, it's him all over. Vance doesn't know how to control him. Not to mention this tagline!"

"'There's no such thing as excess, so try Excessories,'" Justin read, his voice doubtful.

"Pathetic. It was supposed to be, 'Live to excess. With Excessories.'"

"That would have been a lot better," Justin agreed. Then he winced, realizing. "You wrote that? The good one?" When Brian didn't bother to answer, he slid his hand up and gently rubbed Brian's back.

"Does it matter?" They both looked up, startled. Lindsay had been listening. "You're not there any more, Brian, so why do you care?"

Brian's face went blank. "I don't care, who said I care? It's not my problem." He tossed away the magazine. "Come on, let's eat."

Over dinner the legal problems surrounding Hunter's adoption was the main topic, although everyone except Hunter himself took care not to criticize Rita. Hunter referred to her as the "bitch lady." When Ben mentioned getting Hunter back in school, Hunter complained, "I don't fit in there, I don't belong. I'd rather get a job and make some money."

"How?" Michael asked. "You don't have any skills."

Justin tried to stop a laugh and coughed hard instead. Brian said, "Doesn't he already have a lucrative profession?"

"Which I'm good at," Hunter said, trying to look around Emmett to leer at Brian.

"Why don't you stop that?" Michael demanded, apparently to Hunter, although he was glaring at Brian.

"Well, Mikey," Brian said, "I guess you can take the boy out of hustling but you can't take hustling out of the boy."

"Now, look -- " Debbie began.

"It's time for Hunter to change careers." Ben, cheerful, civil, and determined, overrode all of them. "There's a lot of career changing going on now, isn't there? Brian, Emmett - even you, Lindsay. And how's your job hunting, Justin? Any luck?"

"Job hunting?" Jennifer repeated in astonishment before Justin could answer. "Honey, aren't you going back to school? I thought you apologized to the dean."

"I did, but it didn't work out. I'm going to get a fulltime job instead."

"But -- " Jennifer started to protest, then paused. Everyone else was suddenly busy with their pasta. Justin always gave her half the story and no details, that was probably natural, but it seemed clear this time she was the last to know his plans. He hadn't fully explained to her why the dean had suspended him, just as he hadn't explained what had gone wrong with Ethan or why he was back with Brian. "Honey," she pleaded. "You need to finish your degree. You belong in school."

She looked in distress at Brian, feeling vaguely that he would help her with this, but he was staring at his plate. Maybe this time he couldn't help. Debbie had told her that afternoon about Brian's financial problems, while they were putting up the streamers. She had been impressed, glad to hear he had worked against Stockwell in the end. But she hadn't considered the impact it might have on Justin.

Now, trying to put together the puzzle pieces Justin had left out, she wondered if it all came back to money. Damn Craig, she thought. Damn him, damn me, why didn't I keep better track of the mutual funds and the college savings account? I let him have control of everything. She took in a breath and said, "I'm doing better now, I've had some good commissions. I can -- "

"I don't need your money, Mom," Justin said, very quietly. "Thanks, but I want to get a job and that's what I'm going to do."

Brian looked at her then, smiling a little, almost sadly. Jennifer realized he must already have smashed against this rock, and if Justin hadn't listened to Brian he would never listen to her. She put down her fork; she had lost her appetite. "We'll talk about it more next week." When Justin looked confused, she explained, "When we celebrate your birthday with Molly. Okay?"

"Sure," Justin said tonelessly.

Lindsay turned the conversation back to career choices and Debbie made a crack about the glamour of waitressing. "I'll sure miss Sunshine, though, when he gets a real job and leaves the diner," she added. "So will our customers. I'm telling you, some of them come in just to look at his bubble butt."

"Deb," Justin said.

"Really?" Hunter said in disbelief.

Brian's cell phone suddenly rang, interrupting the conversation. He fished it out of his back pocket, frowning. "Kinney," he answered. There was a pause, then he said in surprise, "Hi, Katie, how are you?" It was the assistant editor from Frame magazine. Justin raised his eyebrows and Brian shrugged. He didn't know why she was calling now either. He switched to his business voice. "Are you still working at this hour on a Friday? You should be out partying."

Debbie stood up to collect the first-course pasta plates and serve out the roast beef and vegetables. Justin and Michael got up to help her. The voices and the banging dishes were too loud; Brian left the table and walked into the living room, one hand covering his other ear to block the noise. "What's the date on that?" Brian asked. "Wait, let me check my schedule." He covered the phone for a minute, pretending to look it up but in fact looking down at Gus, who had been released from his high chair and was on the floor coloring again. "Yes, it looks like I'm free that afternoon," he went on.

Justin came down to the far end of the table to collect Brian's plate and his mother's. He glanced over at Brian, eavesdropping. "Which exhibit?" Brian was asking. "No, no, I didn't catch that one. I was out of town." He sounded as if he went to exhibits all the time. Of course, Justin thought, that's what he wants it to sound like. Justin shook his head, smiling, and went to help Debbie in the kitchen.

Emmett was doing a comical imitation of the guests at his last party, and a roar of laughter went up at the table. Suddenly Brian came back towards them. He knocked his fist hard on the table, once.

"Jesus," Melanie said in indignation, thinking he was silencing them.

But Brian was looking far down the table into the kitchen, snapping his fingers frantically to get Justin's attention. Justin, standing at the kitchen sink, looked around in surprise. Brian mouthed something at him but Justin couldn't understand it. Like an audience at a tennis match, everyone else looked back and forth between them. "So they considered it a success?" Brian went on into the phone. Justin was still bewildered. Brian stalked into the kitchen and yanked open Debbie's junk drawer, looking for paper and pen while he continued to talk to Katie. "Was it the first time you saw that collection?" Still talking, Brian scribbled down a name and held it up for Justin: ALBERT BEGGARS.

It was the name of the artist Katie was talking about. Brian had never heard of him. From the table Lindsay said helpfully, "You mean Breggars. He had a new show a month ago."

Brian shot her an exasperated look and turned back to Justin, who understood. "Thinks he's Chagall," Justin whispered. Then he shook his head and made a thumbs-down sign.

"Frankly," Brian said into the phone, "in my opinion he's overrated. He thinks he's another Chagall, but he's not. . . . well, exactly. Exactly. All right then, I'll see you on Thursday." He flipped the phone shut, then leaned over smiling to kiss Justin's cheek.

"Can I serve my dinner now?" Debbie demanded. She was standing at the head of the table, holding the meat platter. "Or do you have any more business deals to make, Mr. Big Shot?"

"Not right this minute." Still pleased, Brian walked over to kiss her, too.

"Cut it out," Debbie beamed.

"You're such a fraud," Melanie said. "Are you going to keep picking Justin's brains for your new career?"

"He helps me all the time," Justin said.

"Mel," Lindsay said, but Brian cut in, "I'm not a fraud with my clients. I deliver exactly what I promise them."

"And Sidney loves everything Brian's been doing for us," Lindsay said. "He thinks Brian walks on water."

"Wonderful," Melanie said to Emmett. "Another one."

Emmett laughed. "It's that Kinney spell, right, Brian?"

"No wonder the promotion field has such a reputation for honesty," Melanie said.

"As opposed to the legal profession," Brian retorted. He patted his pocket. "I left my cigarettes in the car, I'll be right back."

By the time he returned the dishes had been passed around and Justin was on his second helping of roast beef. "Brian, eat," Debbie commanded, but he shook his head.

"I'm going out for a smoke first." He paused, then leaned down over Justin's chair. "I mean WE'RE going out for a smoke first."

"I'm still eating," Justin protested, but Brian took hold of his arm and started to pull him out of his chair. Justin went along grumbling, but he went. The frown line appeared again across Jennifer's forehead. She watched them as they went out Debbie's back door.

Pot was one of the little luxuries Brian didn't spend money on these days, so it was only a real cigarette he lit up as soon as they were outside. He offered it to Justin, who shook his head. Justin jammed his hands in his pockets. It was cold and he didn't know why he was out here. He waited.

Brian rocked back and forth on his heels, blowing gray smoke and white breath clouds. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the manila envelope Justin had seen in the car. When he still didn't say anything, Justin asked a little impatiently, "Is something wrong?"

Brian tossed down the cigarette and stubbed it out. "I never needed somebody else's crib notes when I was in advertising."

Justin frowned. He was glad to get a direct answer to his question, but he had no comfort to offer. He tried anyway. "Well, you knew advertising. So now you'll learn public relations. And the art stuff."

"At my age," Brian said, almost under his breath. He was staring straight ahead. Then he looked at Justin. "You know," he said conversationally, "now that you're twenty, you're not such fresh meat any more. I may have to trade you in for a newer model."

"I thought you liked classics," Justin said, referring to the Corvette. He added, "Besides, you're getting so old, you'll have to start paying for it soon."

They paused. As so often happened when they joked about their age difference, the teasing had become harsher than either of them had intended. Brian took a step closer and suddenly shoved the envelope into Justin's chest. "Here. This is your birthday present."

"You're giving it to me now? This?"

"Take it, it's the only present you're getting. At least from me."

"Promise?" Justin begged, and then laughed out loud at Brian's expression.

"Okay, okay," Brian said gruffly. "I know." He meant, I know I screwed up last year, now drop it. "So are you going to open it or should we have it bronzed for posterity?"

Since there was no chance a hustler with a red bow on his dick was inside, Justin was willing to open the envelope. He pulled out several papers stapled together, a legal document of some kind. "I don't -- " he began, and stopped. He recognized it.

This was the document they had signed for the tuition loan, the legal agreement Melanie had drawn up for them, stating the terms of repayment. Justin had insisted on having it done formally and legally. He remembered that he had been proud of himself for that. He had felt mature and responsible and manly, especially since it was clear Brian would never have bothered.

Feeling more like a disappointed little boy now, Justin flipped through the pages, stopping to look at their signatures stacked at the end. Brian's was on top. He tried to find that amusing and failed. "Brian," he said, and paused. A wave of anger helped him. He lifted his chin at Brian. "You don't have to shove this under my fucking nose. I know how much you need your money back. As soon as I get a decent job -- "

"Oh wait!" Brian cried in falsetto, sounding like someone's aunt at a birthday party. "I forgot to take off the price tag! Oh my!" He grabbed the papers out of Justin's hands. Smiling into Justin's bewildered face, he ripped the document in half, then into quarters, slowly and dramatically.

"Brian!"

"That's better," Brian said, still the elderly aunt. "Here you are, dear." He stuffed the pieces into the top of the open envelope Justin was still clutching.

"You - you can't - what are you -- "

"There is no loan," Brian said in his normal voice. "Forget about it, it doesn't exist."

"Jesus Christ." Justin felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, as well as his anger. He tried to pull himself together. "That's very generous. I mean fuck, that's great, but I'm not letting you." Brian went on smiling. Justin looked in dismay at the ripped pieces in the envelope. He said with inspiration, "Melanie must have another copy of this in her office."

"She did. Until I stopped by to ask her if I could have another look at it."

"You ripped that up, too? Well, I don't care. I'm still -- "

"What are you going to do, sue me? You can't force me to take your money." But Justin had put on his stubborn look, which Brian had good reason to respect. Brian said persuasively, "Look, I happen to know what it feels like to be in debt. I don't want you to have that on you, especially when you're just starting out. And it doesn't matter. The money's spent, it's over, so who gives a fuck." He leaned in to bump his forehead into Justin's, putting his hands on Justin's shoulders. "Just take it and say thank you," he said in a low voice. "Like a good non-teenager. That's what I want."

Justin resisted for one more moment. Then he whispered, "Thank you," and melted into Brian's arms. The envelope crackled between them. They stood together, not moving. Justin closed his eyes, somehow feeling the warmth of Brian's body through the cold leather jacket. He murmured into Brian's chest, "You never intended to let me pay it back, did you?" Brian kissed his hair and didn't answer.

"Christ on a cracker!" Debbie suddenly roared from the back doorway. "Don't you two do anything but grope each other? Get in here and have some pie."

"I'd rather grope," Brian complained to Justin.

"We'll be right there, Deb." Justin stood on tiptoe to whisper in Brian's ear, "Later. Deal?"

"Okay," Brian said. "But just remember . . . a deal's a deal."

Justin lifted glowing eyes to him. "Right," he agreed, and they couldn't resist kissing.

"Un-fucking-believable," Debbie said to no one in particular, and shut the door.

*****

Late the following afternoon Brian came home, exhausted but victorious after his meeting. He glared at his empty living room for a moment -- no more of this shit, he had to at least get a cheap sofa - and walked up the stairs to throw himself on the bed. He was wearing his fashionably shabby $200 jeans and a beautifully tailored silk jacket over a worn black T-shirt. In the world of PR, he had had to give up his agency suits and look more "artsy," more edgy. The aim, apparently, was to spend absurd amounts of money on faux working-class clothes. It didn't suit his current tight budget and it didn't suit his personal preference, but his own feelings were more than beside the point these days. He was playing a part and he had to look it.

The Frame meeting had gone well. Better than well. The editor-in-chief had promised to do a sidebar on Sidney, Lindsay's boss at the gallery, as part of a "Scene Players" feature. He had also promised to cover the gallery's next show, which Brian was promoting. Sidney would be very pleased. Even better, Brian had left the office with the phone numbers of several more potential clients, all friends the editor thought could use Brian's services.

His body was humming with exhaustion. When he closed his eyes, bright vague visuals jumped out at him in the blackness, a jumble of the art images he had been reviewing all night. Then they faded into black and white, the look of the stark bills he had been opening with every day's mail. Thanks to the sale of his furniture and the small advance he had pried out of Sidney, he had been able to pay off his normal monthly expenses and hit the minimum balances on all his maxed-out cards. He was good for another thirty days.

Now that he was giving in to it, the lack of sleep made him feel as woozy as if he were coming down from a high. A new picture formed in his mind, with harsh aggressive colors. It was Rage, standing tall. That's me, he thought, half-smiling with his eyes closed. Coming to my own rescue . . . His last thought before he fell asleep was, I should call Justin and tell him I kicked ass.

Two hours later the loft door was opened as quietly as possible. Michael stood on the threshold, muffling the clatter of his keys. He stood listening. It wasn't likely Brian had a trick this early in the evening, but of course with Brian you could never be sure. Or Justin might be here. That would be okay, unless they were fucking. He could live without seeing that. He had imagined it too many times anyway. Well, that was the chance he had taken by not calling first.

But the loft was silent, and so bare he was startled. He knew Brian had sold off his furniture but it was still shocking to see. He walked up to the bedroom stairs.

Brian was asleep fully dressed, on his back on top of the sheets, one hand thrown out. Michael was glad after all to see he was alone. He felt a sudden rush of affection and excitement. It was only a little more than two weeks but he felt like they hadn't seen each other in months.

Michael went quietly up the stairs and sat on the edge of the bed. He had to push a magazine out of the way. There were more piled on the floor, along with some books. He didn't bother to look at them closely; he was too intent on Brian. He took Brian's outstretched hand in his. "Brian," he called softly.

Brian turned on his side, sliding closer with his eyes closed, nuzzling his face into the sheets like a dog sniffing for something. Michael realized what he was looking for. "It's not Justin," Michael said. "It's me."

Brian stopped moving. There was a pause, and then his hand suddenly squeezed Michael's. With his eyes still closed, he said casually, "Hey, Mikey."

"Hey."

Brian let go and opened his eyes. They looked at each other, smiling hard. "Well," Brian said finally. "You're not wearing prison stripes. Did you cop a deal? Or fuck a cop?"

Michael laughed. "I'm in out of the cold. It looks like everything's going to be okay. Hunter's over at my mom's right now. I left him there with Ben."

"Your mom's?"

"She may become his guardian. But Ben and I would rather adopt him if we can. He'll live with us either way, no matter what happens legally, so that's okay. Luckily we're in the same school district as my mom. He can always use her address if he has to when he goes back."

Brian rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, to let Michael know what he thought about all this. "Let's get to the important stuff. Where's my 'vette?"

"Parked downstairs."

"Still in one piece?"

"One piece, with all four tires. I'm afraid to ask why you were sleeping at dinnertime. Hard night last night?"

Brian ignored the question. He yawned, casual and calm, but this time he took both of Michael's hands in his own and held tight. "I don't get it. What about his bitch mother having custody?"

"Oh, that's all over. That's why I was able to come back. She dropped her custody claim."

"Just like that? What the fuck happened?"

Michael gave a crooked smile. "Our lawyer told her that Hunter is positive. She didn't know before. Suddenly she didn't want him."

"Jesus Christ."

"See, you don't have the world's worst mother, do you? I don't know if Rita's afraid she'll catch it like a cold, or if Hunter's just not worth as much to her now. She probably figures he's no good as a worker anymore."

"What?"

"I forgot, I didn't get a chance to tell you. She used to pimp him out. That's how he got started hustling."

"Fuck," Brian said. "Nice maternal instincts. And you were the one in trouble with the law?"

Michael leaned over impulsively and kissed Brian on the mouth. Brian gripped his shoulders in a warm hug. Still leaning over him, Michael said in conspiratorial tones, "I didn't make a very good fugitive. I kept using my credit cards, so apparently I was leaving a trail everywhere. Then I thought I was being really clever, because I didn't use my cell phone to call Ben, I kept using public phones. I thought it would be traced or something."

"Was it?"

"The lawyer said I watch too much TV. Apparently if you rob a bank they'll chase you, but run off with a teenager and nobody follows."

"I'll keep that in mind," Brian said.

"Why, are you planning on running off with yours?"

"You never know. And he's twenty next week. Let's have a drink." He rolled off the far side of the bed.

"So how is he? And how are you?" Michael stood up, too. He followed Brian towards the liquor cart, keeping his eyes down to maneuver around and over the scattered magazines and books.

"Hey," he asked, suddenly stopping to think about it. "What's all this stuff on the floor?"

*****

Hatley Associates sent back a confirmation of his appointment. Justin frowned at the email message. He still wasn't sure he'd go on this interview at all, although he had done some research on Hatley's clients. They did handle Christian music and book clubs, Brian was right, but while it was pure pap there was nothing really offensive. And there were other clients, including a line of clothing marketed to people his age. Those ads were edgy and clever. Fun.

I'd be good on that, he thought. He glanced over at his textbooks, still piled in the middle of the floor where Brian had left them. Justin didn't care about fashion but with his artist's eye he always noticed what people were wearing. He knew the way the shirts and jackets were draping this year, the color combinations . . . Orange is the new blue. He grinned for a moment. Soon there'd be something else that was the "new" thing at school, and --

And I won't know what it is, he thought. I'm out of the loop. Put me on a college account and I'll have to give you last year's news. Shit.

He picked up one of the books at random, leafing through the pages the way Brian had. He hadn't liked this class, or the professor, or even most of the artists covered. Yet now it pulled at him, like homesickness. I was so anxious to finish school, he thought. All I thought about was getting out in the world and finally making my own way. And now I don't fucking want to.

Justin shook himself and got to his feet with determination. He grabbed at the textbooks and began shoving them back under the bed, out of sight where they belonged. When he was finished he went back to the computer, surfing lists of agencies and their clients.

When the phone rang, he expected it to be Debbie yet again. She had called earlier, whooping with joy and screaming the news of Michael's return. Then she had called back a second time, threatening to organize a big party. Not long after that Brian had called, too. Apparently Michael was at the loft. Brian of course sounded calm to the point of indifference, but Justin knew better. They were so busy talking about the legal situation Justin had forgotten to ask how Brian's meeting had turned out. The minute he hung up Debbie had called for the third time, still crowing, and asking him to take an extra shift at the diner tomorrow so they'd both be free for a Friday night dinner party at her house.

Now the phone was ringing again. He picked it up smiling, ready to tease Debbie, but it was Brian. Justin asked, "Where are you?"

"Woody's," Brian half-shouted. It sounded noisy for a weekday night. "Celebrating!"

"With Michael and Ben?"

"Just Michael. Ben took Hunter shopping for clothes or condoms or whatever baby hustlers need. Come down."

"How did your meeting with the editor-in-chief go?"

Brian exulted, "He was overwhelmed by my genius."

"Aren't we all?" Justin laughed. "Good for you."

"So come on."

"No, I'm going to keep looking through agencies. Do you know anything about a place called McCabe & Jerkins?"

"Jerk off?"

"Jerkins!" Justin shouted.

"Never heard of them," Brian shouted back, and hung up.

Daphne knocked on his bedroom door and poked her head in. "What was all the yelling?"

"Oh, Brian's at Woody's, I had to shout so he could hear me."

"So are you going?"

"No. I figured he wants to talk to Michael."

"Well, shit, Michael just got back."

"Yeah, I know, it's okay. I don't blame him. But I'll stay out of it."

"He asked you," Daphne pointed out.

"I need to keep checking agencies."

"This is so weird," Daphne said. "It's like, you're trying to get into Brian's field and he's trying to get into yours."

Justin looked towards the bed. His textbooks were safely out of sight. "I don't really have a field. Listen, you want to go get a burger? Then I'll come back and do some more research."

"Sure." The phone rang again. "You're so popular," Daphne teased as Justin reached over to pick it up.

Brian said in his ear without preliminaries, "You're not going to be on the computer all night, are you?"

"What? No, I guess not."

"So get your ass over to the loft later where it belongs and I'll fuck your brains out."

"Meet you there," Justin said.

*****

On Friday, two nights later, Brian picked Justin up to head over to Debbie's party. It was a pleasure to have use of a car again; Justin slid into the passenger seat and sighed with relief. "Thank God, no more fucking buses."

"I haven't had a chance to really open it up," Brian said. At the first light he asked, "So you want to take a drive first?"

"We'll be late, we're supposed to be there at six."

"Seven."

"You told me six."

"So we'd have time to take a drive," Brian said, and made the turn-off to the freeway.

"Oh God." Justin pretended to groan, and made an elaborate show of tightening the buckle on his seatbelt. But it was good to see Brian like this. Of course he was admitting nothing, but Justin could feel the exultation radiating from him. Here they were, riding around in his 'vette again. It was like some small return of their old lives - their real lives, the ones they belonged in. It wasn't quite a homecoming, but maybe a promise of one someday.

As they hit the freeway, Brian had a little smile playing around his mouth. He cut across the two right lanes to settle into the left one, and put his foot down hard on the gas pedal. "You'll get a ticket," Justin said, as the speedometer climbed.

"Fuck 'em," Brian said cheerfully. "I guess Mikey did take care of this after all. It's still handling great."

Justin stretched out his legs and his foot hit something that had fallen to the floor. It was a large manila envelope with some kind of heavy document inside. "What's this?"

"Something," Brian said in his maddening way. He took it from Justin and shoved it behind his seat. "I was thinking, don't just stick to answering ads. Send your stuff out to everybody, all the agencies. Somebody might realize they can use you even if they weren't looking for help."

Back to our new life, Justin thought. He forced himself to think about it. "That's a good idea," he admitted. "That's kind of what I did to get into Vangard. I just pointed out what I could do to your art director."

"Oh, if he had only known what you can do," Brian smirked, glancing sideways at him. His eyes flicked back to the road, then back towards Justin, the smile suddenly gone, replaced by a dark look. "What the fuck is that?"

"What? Where?" Justin looked out the window.

"No, there!" Brian pointed at a small mark on the side of Justin's seat. He looked back out the windshield, asking, "Is it a stain?"

Justin examined it. "It looks like a cigarette burn." Brian cursed. Justin added quickly, "It's new. It wasn't me."

"Shit."

"Must have been Hunter."

"That fucking kid!" There was a moment's pause, then to Justin's surprise Brian chuckled under his breath.

"What's so funny?"

"That's what I used to call you," Brian cackled.

"Oh, shut up," Justin said. "Turn around, we better get to Debbie's."

By the time they headed back, and Brian found a parking space up to his specifications - not too far, not too close to a corner, not too near someone's driveway, not under a tree - Justin was afraid they really were late. But Brian was probably right; Debbie was too happy to bother fussing at them. As it turned out, they could hardly recognize the house as they walked up to it: she had spent the afternoon decorating it.

Debbie of course never did anything halfway, and her homecoming dinner for Michael and Hunter was meant to eclipse Queen Elizabeth II's Jubilee. Bright rainbow streamers - probably Pride decorations put to another use - covered the columns of the porch, and a giant "Welcome Home Michael" banner flapped from the second floor windows. But the sight of the life-size cardboard stork on the front porch, holding a bundle which proclaimed, "IT'S A BOY!" stopped them both in their tracks.

"What the fuck is that for?" Brian demanded the minute Debbie answered the door, before Justin could kiss her hello. "Melanie pop her kid out early?"

"It's to announce the newest member of our family, of course," Debbie said. "Hunter's our new baby boy."

"Really? Are you giving out cigars? Your baby boy probably likes to suck them." Brian made a fist and sucked air to demonstrate the technique.

"Why don't you give it up, just for one night? Come on in here, Sunshine, and help me pour the bubbly. You know where the glasses are."

More streamers and banners crisscrossed the room, hanging so low Brian had to duck under them. The rickety kitchen table, extended out into the living room, looked in danger of collapse from a giant floral centerpiece. Two more towering flower arrangements were on the end tables. Justin took one breath and sneezed.

"Don't take anything," Brian said in alarm. Allergy medications made Justin sleepy, and Brian was planning on keeping him awake later.

Debbie's entire Liberty Avenue family had answered the summons, except of course for Ted. Brian, moving one of the flower vases farther away from Justin, was startled to see Jennifer perched on the arm of Melanie's chair. She beamed and came over to them.

"I didn't know you were coming," Justin said as she hugged him.

"I didn't either," Jennifer said. "I stopped by this afternoon to pick up some PFLAG materials from Debbie and she insisted I stay. Vic was baking a cake and I helped her hang the streamers. Hello, Brian."

"Jennifer." Brian's look was guarded. He hadn't seen Jennifer since the night of the Rage party. Justin claimed she didn't mind that he had left Ethan and they were back together. But Justin didn't always read his mother right.

After a moment's hesitation Jennifer leaned in to him, lifting her cheek. It took a second before Brian realized he was supposed to kiss her. They had never greeted each other this way before. "It's nice to see you," Jennifer said, giving her best smile. "It's been a while." One thing Brian had noticed long ago about country-club manners was that they always saved you from awkward situations. He hadn't been raised to them the way Justin had, but he had taught himself to imitate them in business. Somehow they failed him in personal situations.

"Yeah," he managed to say, sounding ungracious in comparison. "You too." Out of the corner of his eye Brian saw Justin bite back a grin. The fucker was enjoying himself. "Waiter," Brian barked at him. "Aren't you supposed to be handing out drinks? Fuck the champagne, get me a scotch."

Justin gave him a look but said, "Okay," and headed for the kitchen. Brian saw a line crease Jennifer's forehead before she put her smile back on. Too late he realized what he had sounded like. He felt a spasm of annoyance. Didn't she know her precious son better than that? Sure, Justin did what he was told. Whenever he happened to feel like it.

"It's so nice that Michael's home," Jennifer said. "I know Debbie's been worried about him. But that's a mother, right? Always worrying."

"Some mothers," Brian said, wondering how long he'd have to make small talk with her. In a room crammed with nonstop yakkers, why the fuck didn't somebody interrupt them? "Not the baby hus - I mean, Hunter. Not Hunter's mother."

"Yes, so I heard. I can't understand any woman -- "

"Daddy," piped a voice from around Brian's knee. Gus was pulling on his shirt.

"That's my boy," Brian said with relief. He scooped Gus up in his arms and settled him on his hip. "Where's Mommy?" he asked, as if they were in a ballroom instead of Debbie's tiny living room and he couldn't see her. Gus pointed helpfully. Brian gave Jennifer a big fake smile of apology and slid away from her towards Lindsay, who was deep in a conversation about teaching with Ben.

"The atmosphere in the gallery is very different, of course," she was saying. "But sometimes I find I'm educating a client in the same way as a student. This afternoon -- "

Brian swerved, still holding Gus, and went to join Michael on the sofa, where he was regaling Emmett with an on-the-road story from his big Runaway Adventure. Brian listened for awhile, a little amused but proud of Michael all the same. When the story began to take on mythic proportions, however, he got up to find Justin and his drink.

"Don't you want to hear the end?" Michael asked Brian.

"I'll catch it in the next issue of Rage," Brian said.

"Daddy, down," Gus said, and pointed to Melanie, still sitting in the far chair.

"I'll take him," she said. "Gus, get your coloring books out of Mommy's bag."

"'Kay," Gus said agreeably. He sat on the rug with Lindsay's diaper bag between his legs, pulling out crayons.

Brian said, "No champagne? Aren't you celebrating Daddy's homecoming?"

"I can only have ginger ale," Melanie said morosely, lifting her glass. She was nauseated from the cooking smells, and an hour spent contemplating the potential extended family of her baby - including, apparently, this street kid Hunter -- had alarmed her. "Well," she sighed, looking up at Brian. "I suppose if we can handle you, we can handle anything."

Brian decided not to ask her what the fuck she was talking about, because he didn't care. He looked around. Michael and Emmett were now discussing Ted, a subject he wasn't interested in; Lindsay and Ben were still swapping teaching stories. Debbie, Vic, Rodney, and a big steaming plate of something had control of the kitchen. Brian slid around the sofa and grabbed at one of the celebrity tabloid magazines Debbie liked to hoot over. Justin had handed out champagne glasses and was back near the front door, talking to Jennifer, with Brian's forgotten scotch in his hand. Brian took the glass from him and kept walking. He positioned himself by the stairs and started to flip through the magazine. Something caught his eye just as something else caught hold of his elbow.

"Hey," Hunter breathed, leaning into Brian's face. "I'm back."

"I'm thrilled," Brian said, yanking his elbow away. "You burned a hole in the seat of my car."

"Yeah? Well, that's the kind of guy I am. Always burning hot."

"Kid, you're in serious need of better material. Does that crap really work, even on old geezers?"

Hunter shrugged. "The old geezers are too busy checking out my ass to even listen. It's a great ass, see?" He turned sideways, jutting out his hip. "And real tight, I told you."

Brian groaned and looked in exasperated appeal in Justin's direction. Somehow feeling Brian's eyes on him, Justin looked around. Hunter glared. Justin, serene, smiled and went on talking to his mother.

"Dinner!" Debbie boomed. "Everybody come sit down. Michael, Hunter, you two over here at the head of the table!"

Hunter grimaced but went to her. Brian held back a moment. He looked down again at the magazine and his face slowly darkened. "Fuck," he muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What's the matter?" Justin asked, as the others moved chattering to the table. He leaned over Brian's shoulder to see the magazine. "You can't be that worried about Britney Spears."

"Look at this shit!" Brian was becoming really angry. Justin looked again and realized he was glaring at the ad for Excessories, a fashion brand for scarves, hats, and women's jewelry.

"Isn't that a Vangard account?"

"That's my fucking account," Brian snapped. "Look what they did to it. Look at the graphics. The fucking model looks like she's been gang-banged and the type's all wrong. And somebody fucked with the logo. That must be Brett, it's him all over. Vance doesn't know how to control him. Not to mention this tagline!"

"'There's no such thing as excess, so try Excessories,'" Justin read, his voice doubtful.

"Pathetic. It was supposed to be, 'Live to excess. With Excessories.'"

"That would have been a lot better," Justin agreed. Then he winced, realizing. "You wrote that? The good one?" When Brian didn't bother to answer, he slid his hand up and gently rubbed Brian's back.

"Does it matter?" They both looked up, startled. Lindsay had been listening. "You're not there any more, Brian, so why do you care?"

Brian's face went blank. "I don't care, who said I care? It's not my problem." He tossed away the magazine. "Come on, let's eat."

Over dinner the legal problems surrounding Hunter's adoption was the main topic, although everyone except Hunter himself took care not to criticize Rita. Hunter referred to her as the "bitch lady." When Ben mentioned getting Hunter back in school, Hunter complained, "I don't fit in there, I don't belong. I'd rather get a job and make some money."

"How?" Michael asked. "You don't have any skills."

Justin tried to stop a laugh and coughed hard instead. Brian said, "Doesn't he already have a lucrative profession?"

"Which I'm good at," Hunter said, trying to look around Emmett to leer at Brian.

"Why don't you stop that?" Michael demanded, apparently to Hunter, although he was glaring at Brian.

"Well, Mikey," Brian said, "I guess you can take the boy out of hustling but you can't take hustling out of the boy."

"Now, look -- " Debbie began.

"It's time for Hunter to change careers." Ben, cheerful, civil, and determined, overrode all of them. "There's a lot of career changing going on now, isn't there? Brian, Emmett - even you, Lindsay. And how's your job hunting, Justin? Any luck?"

"Job hunting?" Jennifer repeated in astonishment before Justin could answer. "Honey, aren't you going back to school? I thought you apologized to the dean."

"I did, but it didn't work out. I'm going to get a fulltime job instead."

"But -- " Jennifer started to protest, then paused. Everyone else was suddenly busy with their pasta. Justin always gave her half the story and no details, that was probably natural, but it seemed clear this time she was the last to know his plans. He hadn't fully explained to her why the dean had suspended him, just as he hadn't explained what had gone wrong with Ethan or why he was back with Brian. "Honey," she pleaded. "You need to finish your degree. You belong in school."

She looked in distress at Brian, feeling vaguely that he would help her with this, but he was staring at his plate. Maybe this time he couldn't help. Debbie had told her that afternoon about Brian's financial problems, while they were putting up the streamers. She had been impressed, glad to hear he had worked against Stockwell in the end. But she hadn't considered the impact it might have on Justin.

Now, trying to put together the puzzle pieces Justin had left out, she wondered if it all came back to money. Damn Craig, she thought. Damn him, damn me, why didn't I keep better track of the mutual funds and the college savings account? I let him have control of everything. She took in a breath and said, "I'm doing better now, I've had some good commissions. I can -- "

"I don't need your money, Mom," Justin said, very quietly. "Thanks, but I want to get a job and that's what I'm going to do."

Brian looked at her then, smiling a little, almost sadly. Jennifer realized he must already have smashed against this rock, and if Justin hadn't listened to Brian he would never listen to her. She put down her fork; she had lost her appetite. "We'll talk about it more next week." When Justin looked confused, she explained, "When we celebrate your birthday with Molly. Okay?"

"Sure," Justin said tonelessly.

Lindsay turned the conversation back to career choices and Debbie made a crack about the glamour of waitressing. "I'll sure miss Sunshine, though, when he gets a real job and leaves the diner," she added. "So will our customers. I'm telling you, some of them come in just to look at his bubble butt."

"Deb," Justin said.

"Really?" Hunter said in disbelief.

Brian's cell phone suddenly rang, interrupting the conversation. He fished it out of his back pocket, frowning. "Kinney," he answered. There was a pause, then he said in surprise, "Hi, Katie, how are you?" It was the assistant editor from Frame magazine. Justin raised his eyebrows and Brian shrugged. He didn't know why she was calling now either. He switched to his business voice. "Are you still working at this hour on a Friday? You should be out partying."

Debbie stood up to collect the first-course pasta plates and serve out the roast beef and vegetables. Justin and Michael got up to help her. The voices and the banging dishes were too loud; Brian left the table and walked into the living room, one hand covering his other ear to block the noise. "What's the date on that?" Brian asked. "Wait, let me check my schedule." He covered the phone for a minute, pretending to look it up but in fact looking down at Gus, who had been released from his high chair and was on the floor coloring again. "Yes, it looks like I'm free that afternoon," he went on.

Justin came down to the far end of the table to collect Brian's plate and his mother's. He glanced over at Brian, eavesdropping. "Which exhibit?" Brian was asking. "No, no, I didn't catch that one. I was out of town." He sounded as if he went to exhibits all the time. Of course, Justin thought, that's what he wants it to sound like. Justin shook his head, smiling, and went to help Debbie in the kitchen.

Emmett was doing a comical imitation of the guests at his last party, and a roar of laughter went up at the table. Suddenly Brian came back towards them. He knocked his fist hard on the table, once.

"Jesus," Melanie said in indignation, thinking he was silencing them.

But Brian was looking far down the table into the kitchen, snapping his fingers frantically to get Justin's attention. Justin, standing at the kitchen sink, looked around in surprise. Brian mouthed something at him but Justin couldn't understand it. Like an audience at a tennis match, everyone else looked back and forth between them. "So they considered it a success?" Brian went on into the phone. Justin was still bewildered. Brian stalked into the kitchen and yanked open Debbie's junk drawer, looking for paper and pen while he continued to talk to Katie. "Was it the first time you saw that collection?" Still talking, Brian scribbled down a name and held it up for Justin: ALBERT BEGGARS.

It was the name of the artist Katie was talking about. Brian had never heard of him. From the table Lindsay said helpfully, "You mean Breggars. He had a new show a month ago."

Brian shot her an exasperated look and turned back to Justin, who understood. "Thinks he's Chagall," Justin whispered. Then he shook his head and made a thumbs-down sign.

"Frankly," Brian said into the phone, "in my opinion he's overrated. He thinks he's another Chagall, but he's not. . . . well, exactly. Exactly. All right then, I'll see you on Thursday." He flipped the phone shut, then leaned over smiling to kiss Justin's cheek.

"Can I serve my dinner now?" Debbie demanded. She was standing at the head of the table, holding the meat platter. "Or do you have any more business deals to make, Mr. Big Shot?"

"Not right this minute." Still pleased, Brian walked over to kiss her, too.

"Cut it out," Debbie beamed.

"You're such a fraud," Melanie said. "Are you going to keep picking Justin's brains for your new career?"

"He helps me all the time," Justin said.

"Mel," Lindsay said, but Brian cut in, "I'm not a fraud with my clients. I deliver exactly what I promise them."

"And Sidney loves everything Brian's been doing for us," Lindsay said. "He thinks Brian walks on water."

"Wonderful," Melanie said to Emmett. "Another one."

Emmett laughed. "It's that Kinney spell, right, Brian?"

"No wonder the promotion field has such a reputation for honesty," Melanie said.

"As opposed to the legal profession," Brian retorted. He patted his pocket. "I left my cigarettes in the car, I'll be right back."

By the time he returned the dishes had been passed around and Justin was on his second helping of roast beef. "Brian, eat," Debbie commanded, but he shook his head.

"I'm going out for a smoke first." He paused, then leaned down over Justin's chair. "I mean WE'RE going out for a smoke first."

"I'm still eating," Justin protested, but Brian took hold of his arm and started to pull him out of his chair. Justin went along grumbling, but he went. The frown line appeared again across Jennifer's forehead. She watched them as they went out Debbie's back door.

Pot was one of the little luxuries Brian didn't spend money on these days, so it was only a real cigarette he lit up as soon as they were outside. He offered it to Justin, who shook his head. Justin jammed his hands in his pockets. It was cold and he didn't know why he was out here. He waited.

Brian rocked back and forth on his heels, blowing gray smoke and white breath clouds. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the manila envelope Justin had seen in the car. When he still didn't say anything, Justin asked a little impatiently, "Is something wrong?"

Brian tossed down the cigarette and stubbed it out. "I never needed somebody else's crib notes when I was in advertising."

Justin frowned. He was glad to get a direct answer to his question, but he had no comfort to offer. He tried anyway. "Well, you knew advertising. So now you'll learn public relations. And the art stuff."

"At my age," Brian said, almost under his breath. He was staring straight ahead. Then he looked at Justin. "You know," he said conversationally, "now that you're twenty, you're not such fresh meat any more. I may have to trade you in for a newer model."

"I thought you liked classics," Justin said, referring to the Corvette. He added, "Besides, you're getting so old, you'll have to start paying for it soon."

They paused. As so often happened when they joked about their age difference, the teasing had become harsher than either of them had intended. Brian took a step closer and suddenly shoved the envelope into Justin's chest. "Here. This is your birthday present."

"You're giving it to me now? This?"

"Take it, it's the only present you're getting. At least from me."

"Promise?" Justin begged, and then laughed out loud at Brian's expression.

"Okay, okay," Brian said gruffly. "I know." He meant, I know I screwed up last year, now drop it. "So are you going to open it or should we have it bronzed for posterity?"

Since there was no chance a hustler with a red bow on his dick was inside, Justin was willing to open the envelope. He pulled out several papers stapled together, a legal document of some kind. "I don't -- " he began, and stopped. He recognized it.

This was the document they had signed for the tuition loan, the legal agreement Melanie had drawn up for them, stating the terms of repayment. Justin had insisted on having it done formally and legally. He remembered that he had been proud of himself for that. He had felt mature and responsible and manly, especially since it was clear Brian would never have bothered.

Feeling more like a disappointed little boy now, Justin flipped through the pages, stopping to look at their signatures stacked at the end. Brian's was on top. He tried to find that amusing and failed. "Brian," he said, and paused. A wave of anger helped him. He lifted his chin at Brian. "You don't have to shove this under my fucking nose. I know how much you need your money back. As soon as I get a decent job -- "

"Oh wait!" Brian cried in falsetto, sounding like someone's aunt at a birthday party. "I forgot to take off the price tag! Oh my!" He grabbed the papers out of Justin's hands. Smiling into Justin's bewildered face, he ripped the document in half, then into quarters, slowly and dramatically.

"Brian!"

"That's better," Brian said, still the elderly aunt. "Here you are, dear." He stuffed the pieces into the top of the open envelope Justin was still clutching.

"You - you can't - what are you -- "

"There is no loan," Brian said in his normal voice. "Forget about it, it doesn't exist."

"Jesus Christ." Justin felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, as well as his anger. He tried to pull himself together. "That's very generous. I mean fuck, that's great, but I'm not letting you." Brian went on smiling. Justin looked in dismay at the ripped pieces in the envelope. He said with inspiration, "Melanie must have another copy of this in her office."

"She did. Until I stopped by to ask her if I could have another look at it."

"You ripped that up, too? Well, I don't care. I'm still -- "

"What are you going to do, sue me? You can't force me to take your money." But Justin had put on his stubborn look, which Brian had good reason to respect. Brian said persuasively, "Look, I happen to know what it feels like to be in debt. I don't want you to have that on you, especially when you're just starting out. And it doesn't matter. The money's spent, it's over, so who gives a fuck." He leaned in to bump his forehead into Justin's, putting his hands on Justin's shoulders. "Just take it and say thank you," he said in a low voice. "Like a good non-teenager. That's what I want."

Justin resisted for one more moment. Then he whispered, "Thank you," and melted into Brian's arms. The envelope crackled between them. They stood together, not moving. Justin closed his eyes, somehow feeling the warmth of Brian's body through the cold leather jacket. He murmured into Brian's chest, "You never intended to let me pay it back, did you?" Brian kissed his hair and didn't answer.

"Christ on a cracker!" Debbie suddenly roared from the back doorway. "Don't you two do anything but grope each other? Get in here and have some pie."

"I'd rather grope," Brian complained to Justin.

"We'll be right there, Deb." Justin stood on tiptoe to whisper in Brian's ear, "Later. Deal?"

"Okay," Brian said. "But just remember . . . a deal's a deal."

Justin lifted glowing eyes to him. "Right," he agreed, and they couldn't resist kissing.

"Un-fucking-believable," Debbie said to no one in particular, and shut the door.

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