WORKING ON IT 

Part I





Big thanks to my wonderful beta, philflam, for unwarranted encouragement, excellent advice and critiquing, willingness to worry about semi-colons, and for supplying some of the best lines, uncredited.

*****



 

For the fourth or fifth time, Brian scooped his small son off the stairs that led up to his bedroom area. "Up, up, up," Gus explained, with the passion of a toddler. It was one of his many new words. "Up, up!"

"Up, up, here," Brian answered, lifting Gus above his shoulders, which brought the expected squeal of delight. He smiled up into the eyes that were already as intense as his own.

"Tell him no, Brian," Lindsay said. "You never say no to him."

"He'll have no said to him plenty in life." Brian settled Gus back on his feet, and watched as he went to explore the bottom stair once again. He thought, from me you'll always hear yes, Sonny boy.

"You'll spoil him."

"That's my job."

"And if you want me to bring him over more often like you said," Lindsay added in exasperation, as Gus began to scramble up again, "you had better childproof those stairs."

"But I want Justin to be able to get in there," Brian smirked.

Lindsay took the storyboards he had handed her and spread them out on the kitchen counter. "This is great," she said again; she always admired his work. He was so damn smart, and already she could see that Gus was the same. She looked over affectionately at the two of them. Brian was on the floor now with his son, head-butting him gently in the stomach. Gus began giggling, which always led to hiccups.

The storyboards were from the new campaign Brian was planning; she loved that he had shared it with her. Even better, she loved to hear him brag. Something had been eating at him lately. She wondered for a moment if it could have anything to do with Justin going off without him like that, but of course he had shrugged it off. ("Why not? We had the tickets, he might as well have used them," he had said, and that was all he would say.) But surely that was over now. And it was good today to see him feeling good, even smug, predicting how he would knock the clients off their feet at an upcoming meeting. Like Brian himself, Lindsay never doubted he would do it.

The heavy door to the loft clanged open, distracting Gus. "Usty, Usty," he crowed, which was the best he could make of Justin's name.

"Say hi to Uncle Justin," Lindsay coached unnecessarily. The toddler was already zigzagging to him, arms outstretched.

"Up, up!"

"Hey," Justin greeted them. "I didn't know you were coming, Linds. I would have skipped my class. I hate having a class on Saturday mornings, anyway." He tossed his schoolbooks to the floor to lift Gus up in his arms. "I can't wait until he can really say uncle."

"Uncle Usty," Brian said in a mocking high baby voice, "should not skip his classes." He tossed himself onto the white leather sofa and sprawled out full length on his back. His head rested on one arm of the couch and his bare feet, dirty on the soles, hung over the other.

"Guess what?" Still clutching Gus, Justin leaned over and searched one-handed through the books and papers on the floor. He pulled out a long blue sheet and waved it at them, keeping it out of the toddler's grasping fingers. "Guess what this is?"

Since Brian didn't answer, Lindsay said, "What? Something good?"

Justin made a small hesitant movement, then suddenly ran up to her, holding both Gus and the blue paper. "Here." She didn't know which she should take, so she put out her hands for both. Gus wriggled to the floor. As she looked down at the sheet, Justin darted away from her to the couch. Grinning, he climbed on top of Brian, sitting on his hips to face him, his own knees on either side of Brian's chest. Brian put up a hand to steady him. Justin leaned over for a quick kiss.

"What the fuck's with you?" Brian asked tolerantly.

"Read it to him!" Justin said to Lindsay, sitting back up.

"It's an announcement of an exhibition and award ceremony at school," Lindsay said, scanning it. "Selected art and sculpture from 25 winning students -- this was a contest, Justin?"

"Yes, school-wide! And they only chose two freshmen. And I'm one of them."

"Justin!" Lindsay squealed. "Oh my God! That's wonderful."

"They only do it once a year, they invite in art gallery owners. It's very hard to make the cut, everybody at school says so. And I did it. I got in! I can show three of my pieces."

“I'm so proud of you." Lindsay wished she wasn't the one saying it. Judging by Justin's face, so did he. Whatever he was hoping for, his excitement was still undiminished. He beamed at her, then looked back down. He punched Brian lightly on the shoulder. "Well? What do you think?"

"Not bad," Brian said.

"Will you come? Will you?"

"Yeah, sure."

Justin pushed off him abruptly and stood up. "If you want to," he said in a different voice. "I have to change."  As he headed around the couch, Brian grabbed at his wrist to stop him. Justin raised his eyebrows.

"I said I'd come." Brian put out his other hand to Lindsay, who gave him the announcement. "This is good."

Justin suddenly grinned again. "It's damn fucking good," he corrected.

"Hey, not in front of Gus," Lindsay said. Justin had distracted her for a moment; now she looked around. Gus was headed up the stairs again. "Oh, for -- "

"I got him," Justin said. He took Gus's hand and helped steady him as he climbed. At the top, he swung Gus onto the bed and closed the glass panels behind them.

"Watch he doesn't go near the outlets," Lindsay called. "That's another thing, Brian. I'm going to buy some of those things to baby-proof your outlets. You just stick them in -- "

Brian sat up, staring at the announcement. Lindsay went on talking, but he paid no attention. No, he thought. Then he said it out loud. "No." Like flipping a switch, an echoing voice went off in his head: No no no no no no no . . . God! 

He flinched away from it, as if it were possible to escape a voice in one's head. One's own voice. He looked at his right hand, which had fumbled under Justin's tuxedo jacket, searching to feel if he were breathing; while his left hand, clutching at Justin's neck, had been slowly covered in blood

"Brian?" Lindsay asked uncertainly. "Brian?"

Brian blinked and realized that his hands were only holding the announcement. Justin, pulling a fresh T-shirt over his head, bounced back into the room with Gus, still brimming over with Sunshine smiles. Haven't seen many of those lately, Brian thought.

Justin's enthusiasm made Lindsay brighten, too. "So you'll come?" he asked her eagerly. "And Melanie?"

Lindsay, smiling, thought he sounded even younger than he was. She remembered him at the Gay & Lesbian art show, only 17, without the marks of hurt on him yet. Without the hardening. He had just been proud and eager and nervous. Waiting for Brian. "Of course we will," she said. She saw his eyes dart sideways to his lover. He was still waiting for Brian.

"I have to go, I've got a shift at the diner," Justin said. "I'll be off at six." He seemed to be talking to the air, not looking at either of them. Lindsay glared at Brian behind his back, willing him to say something, anything. Give him more praise, say congratulations. But Brian was silent.

Justin nearly turned to kiss Brian goodbye but caught himself in time. He had been kissing him hello and goodbye often lately, but the last few times he had felt Brian holding back his impatience: it was probably too sentimental for him. Too dyke-y, no doubt, Justin thought in annoyance, and then grinned to himself. So I'll kiss the dyke.

Lindsay patted his shoulder as he leaned to her cheek. "Congratulations, again."

She waited until she heard the whine of the elevator, to be sure Justin didn't hear, before she turned on him. "Damn it, Brian -- "

He was already on the phone. He held up a finger for her silence. "It's Kinney, put on Cynthia. . . Cynthia?  It's me. I don't give a fuck if it's Saturday. Shut up. Can that meeting with the Nass account be moved?"

Lindsay pulled out one of the kitchen counter stools and sat down, perplexed. She rummaged in her diaper bag to find a cracker for Gus, who collapsed on the immaculate floor and began gnawing on it, dropping wet crumbs. Lindsay watched as Brian's nervous mannerisms came into play; he was grimacing, shrugging his shoulders as he talked. She wasn't surprised the next moment to see him begin fumbling for a cigarette.

"Because I'm not going to be able to make it that day," Brian was saying. "You have to change it. . . I don't give a fuck where they're flying in from, tell Vance he can kiss my ass. No, never mind, I'm afraid he might do it." Brian gave another grimace, in place of a smile.

Lindsay went over and took the cigarette out of his mouth before he could find his lighter. She wouldn't let him smoke with Gus in the room.  "You just said the meeting was so important," she whispered.

"No," Brian said into the phone, turning away from her. "No. Well . . . fuck. Fuck, then I can't. Tell Vance -- all right, all right! Jesus. I'll tell him myself. That fucker Bradley will have to handle it."

"Brian!" Lindsay protested, as surely as Cynthia was. "What are you -- "

For answer he thrust Justin's announcement at her. As she took it, he pointed to the date. "Shit," Lindsay said. It was the same day. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah, I know, then Bradley will be in charge of the account. Once he's in with the client . .  . after my goddamn campaign wins it. I know, I know! Well, that's it. Go back to your laundry or fucking your boyfriend or whatever you were doing. I'll see you Monday."

He hung up. They stared at each other. Finally Lindsay said, "You can't miss your meeting, not if it's that important. Justin will understand." 

Brian didn't answer. A silence formed between them and grew and grew, and grew a little bigger. Lindsay suddenly knew it was the size of a small state. Say, Vermont.

"But Brian, it's not right, it's your career."

"Did you see his face?"

"I'll talk to him. Or, or Debbie, maybe. He'll understand, he will."

Brian leaned against the back of the couch, smiling a little, waiting for her to stop saying stupid things. Lindsay felt herself flush.

Suddenly Brian said, "I'm over 30."

"Yes, and your career -- "

"I'm over 30 and I've never been in a, a, whatever you goddamn call it, a fucking relationship before." He looked straight into her eyes. "Know why? Do you?"

Like a child repeating lessons, Lindsay said dutifully, "Because you don't, you didn't believe in love. Because you believe in fucking. Because you think only straight people or lesbians  -- " she broke off.

"Because I don't know how," he nearly whispered. Lindsay stared at him. "I don't fucking know how!" he shouted, infuriated at her incomprehension. He snatched the announcement back from her hand. "Well, you're the damn married dyke, the princess of happily ever after. So you tell me -- am I doing it wrong?"

Lindsay looked at the paper in his hand, the bracelet he wore as a talisman on his wrist, and finally saw the fear in his eyes. It took everything she had not to throw her arms around him. "No, Brian. You're doing it right." He still needed it, so she said again, "You're doing it exactly right."

Brian let out a harsh sigh. "Fuck," he said to the paper. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

   

*****
 

Justin frowned at his hand, which was tingling in a way that meant a warning: if he kept pushing it like this it would start to spasm. Fuck you, Chris Hobbes. I gave you a hand job?  But you gave me one, too.

Brian's voice, echoed and distorted from the bathroom -- why had he taken the phone into the bathroom? -- lost its familiar mocking tone and moved into a deeper register. Justin, intent on himself, didn't notice at first; he must be sniping at Michael. That was nothing new. Then he heard a sentence that was.

"I'm not discussing this with you, Mikey."

Justin lifted his head in surprise. What topic could there possibly be that was off-limits to Michael?  He tells Michael everything. Every damn thing, more than he tells . . .

Me? Justin suddenly wondered. Does Brian talk to him about me?

He heard Brian mutter something else, and then one clear word. "Vermont." Justin held his breath. But if he got up and moved closer to the bathroom door, Brian might hear.

"I said, stay out of it!" It was easy to hear his shout, especially since he was moving back into the room. Justin swiveled back to the computer screen just as Brian marched up beside him. "Yeah, tomorrow," he said, still sounding annoyed. He slammed the phone back into its receiver, next to the computer, joggling Justin's soda glass. 

"Something wrong with Michael?" Justin asked as casually as he could manage.

"Ben fucked the Dalai Lama."

Justin snorted. Before he could think of an answering joke, Brian added, "I'm going to bed." Justin reached out but Brian was moving too quickly. He was already past him, climbing up to the bedroom. He disappeared behind the glass. Justin stared over. The blue lights over the bed went on. But that didn't always mean . . .

"Come on!" Brian nearly shouted.

Justin smiled and clicked on the keyboard, shutting down the computer. He felt the first tingle starting already in his chest, just from the command in Brian's voice. As he got up, his eyes fell on the silent phone for a moment. Then he turned away.

    #

Of course it was Michael he heard it from; Michael, who knew what Brian was doing all the time, Michael who thought he knew Brian better than anyone else. But you don't know the feel of his hands, Justin thought, watching Michael pour milk into his coffee cup. You don't know how soft they can be stroking your back. How hard they are when they hold you down. And you never will.

"There's someone else at the agency who'll go to the meeting," Michael explained again over the noise in the diner. Justin shifted impatiently behind the counter, still holding the coffeepot. I got it the first time, he thought. "And that guy will get the account instead of Brian."

When Justin didn't answer, Michael said, "He wants the account. Brian wants it."

"And Brian always gets what he wants." Justin shrugged. "He wanted to be made partner, didn't he?"

"Hey, Sunshine!" Debbie shouted from the other side of the room. "Bus table two for me, will ya, honey?"

"He still needs to handle the big accounts," Michael said. "It's a power thing. He can be partner in name but he won't be able to do shit if he hasn't got the good accounts."

"When did you become an advertising expert?"

"I'm just telling you what he said."

"What makes you think he didn't tell me himself?" Justin demanded.

Michael looked puzzled. "Did he?"

Debbie shouted, "Sunshine!"

"I'm busy," Justin said, and walked away.


    #

Justin waited for Brian's breathing to return to normal; his own already had. He never felt heavy when they were fucking but when Brian collapsed on him like this afterwards it was hard to talk. He rubbed Brian's back, his fingers sticking a little. All down their bodies their skin was held together by sweat.

Brian rolled off him sideways and efficiently took care of the condom, then came back up against him, his arm across Justin's waist and his nose in the crook of Justin's neck.  Justin reminded himself to appreciate this; for damn sure this was one thing Brian never did with a trick. No one would guess Brian Kinney went in for snuggling. Bet even Michael doesn't know, he thought.

"Brian?"

"Hmmm."

"Brian, don't go to sleep yet."

"Mmm. It's after midnight."

He sounded half asleep already. Justin, who had been rehearsing how to approach the subject for hours, panicked at the opportunity about to be lost and blundered into speech too fast. "Are you sure you want to come to my art show?"

"Art -- ?" He picked up his head, pulled back his arm. He was fully alert now, like a guard dog. "Why wouldn't I?"

Fuck me, Justin thought. "I mean if you're busy."

Brian waited. Justin tried to wait too but didn't have the control not to talk. "I mean if you're busy at work. I know with the partnership you have a lot to do."

Brian leaned his head down and said softly, "You've been talking to Mikey again."

"No, I haven't."

His hand was still on Justin's hip. He pulled his fingers together, pinching Justin's skin. "What did he say?"

"Ow. Cut it out."

Brian pulled away from him and fell on to his back. He yawned. "Don't pay any attention. Mikey gets all excited about everything. I'll be at the show."

"What account is it?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The meeting you're going to miss. What account is it?"

"Look, would you forget it? Why should you give a fuck about my business?"

That's who you're fucking. Business.  Justin heard him say again.  Brian was remembering it, too, Justin knew he was. The anger rushed up in him again, the feelings he had of being neglected, ignored, taken for granted. Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? What does he think I am?

"Fuck you, Brian! I would take an interest if you ever bothered to tell me anything." Brian didn't turn his head, but his eye slid over to look at him from the corner. Justin didn't know who he was angrier with, Brian or himself; he knew he was acting like an ass and Brian was taking it all in. To be used against him at some future date. "You told Michael, for fuck's sake, but you didn't tell me!" He hated when his voice took on this whining tone. Brian must hate it, too. In a minute he'd close off completely and they'd never talk about this at all. Ever.

Justin struggled to stay ahead of the hurt, stay in control of the conversation. Had he ever had control? Oh, fuck. "Brian," he said carefully, in as neutral a tone as he could. "I just mean, I'd like to know what's going on." He knew he was tightening the screw too hard but he couldn't stop himself. ""After all, we're living together."

Brian took a hard coping breath, in and out, and finally decided not to take the bait. "What's going on is that I'm coming to the art show."

"But what about this account Michael said you were in trouble with?"

"Michael shouldn't have . . . sometimes he has a big mouth. Don't worry about it."

Justin sat up. With his back to Brian, he said, "I'm not a kid. I know you think I am, but -"

"Fuck that. I've never treated you like a kid."

That was true. Justin nodded without turning, pulling his knees up to rest his arms on them. "Well, it was embarrassing that Michael knew what was happening and I didn't."

“Michael's my best friend."

"I know that."  I've heard it often enough, he thought.

"We have a history."

Justin said again, "I know that." He paused.  "But I want us to build a history, too."

Brian ignored this. He said in dismissal, "You don't understand about business."

There it was again, the vacation they never went on, the fight they had never finished. Holy fucking Christ, would they ever be finished?

"What account is it? Brian, shit. Just answer the question. What account is it?"

"The Nass account. The financial company. Are we done with this dyke conversation now? Can I go to sleep?"

"No."

Brian sat up too, and fumbled at the side table for a cigarette. Brian knew that Justin hated it when he smoked in bed. The lighter was on Justin's side, but he made no move. Brian looked at him, then made a show of reaching elaborately around him to get it. He gave his cat's smile as his mouth slid past Justin's nose. Justin smiled a little in return. They played so many games, and the rules were always changing.

The name suddenly clicked in Justin's head. The Nass account. He knew that name, what had he heard about it? Maybe Brian had a point, he thought, feeling a little ashamed. Brian had mentioned this account before, was that what he had been working on all last week? He couldn't remember. He hadn't really been listening. Sometimes Brian came home in the evening spouting off; that was the best time to find out what was happening, before he yanked off his tie and his jacket and turned himself back into the Stud of Liberty Ave. If you were listening you could find out a lot. But it was just advertising shit, work that took Brian's attention. When he wanted Brian's attention himself.

"I'll come to the show and somebody else will go to the meeting." Brian was still trying to shut down the conversation. He blew a smoke ring. "Big fucking deal."

Justin frantically put the facts back together in his memory. "Nass is a big account. Somebody, somebody, in your office, a Buckley ? - "

"Bradley."

"Bradley suggested a campaign for it but you came up with a better one. Vance liked yours better." Justin thought he might have been shown the layouts, might have been told the campaign tag line, but he couldn't think of it.  "And now you have to present it to the Nass people."

"You get an A plus."

"And if you don't go to the meeting, Buck - I mean Bradley will probably get control of the account."

"Which Michael made sound like a big deal. It's not. You know how many accounts I've handled? Who gives a shit about one more or not?" He stabbed out the cigarette, only half-smoked. "That's enough. I'm going to sleep." He rolled himself up under the duvet, turning away from Justin.

Still sitting, Justin thought about it. He was tired, too, he should get some sleep. "You think -- " he paused. "You think I don't understand about the account," he said to Brian's back.  "It's not who's running the account that's bothering you. It's not the money; I mean the bonus -- " Would there be a bonus on an individual account? That didn't sound right. Justin didn't know; he had never gotten the details of this kind of thing; Brian always had money. Shit. "It's the work you did."

Brian didn't move, but Justin could feel something change. It was as if, like some stalked animal, his skin had suddenly released a warning scent. Maybe it had. I don't always know his mind but God I know his body, he thought. "You created the campaign. It's your idea on the table, your work. Your achievement." All at once Justin knew he had said the magic words.

"Your achievement," he repeated. It was an enticement.

Brian responded to it, rolling slowly over to him, hair tousled against the pillows. They looked at each other. "Yes," Brian said.

Justin said softly, "I'm sorry I can't be there to see you with your achievement. And you won't be able to come to the art show and see mine."

Brian reached out lazy fingers and gently stroked Justin's forearm, tickling a little under his wrist. Justin was elated. He had won.

"Are you sure?" Brian asked. He added with a mocking smile, "Your wittle feelings aren't going to be hurt?"

There was nothing in it; Justin knew which remarks were intended to sting.  Not this one. "I'm sure. And we can celebrate together, afterwards. Okay?" Brian was still stroking his arm. "With a little champagne, maybe?"

A champagne celebration. Something flickered for a moment behind Brian's eyes, but Justin didn't notice.

Justin said, "So it's settled. You go to your meeting and get your account, and I'll go to my art show and get my award. And we'll drink champagne together afterwards. And fuck."

"Come here," Brian said, suddenly tightening his grip on Justin's arm. He pulled him down again.


10/02

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