WORKING ON IT 

Part II

Remaining virtuous, Justin shook his head at the wine the passing waitress was offering on her tray, and reached for another Coke. His mother would notice if he started drinking here. Besides, they'd made an announcement before the award ceremony; the drinks were supplied not for the underage students but for their proud parents. "To help them face the next tuition bills," the Dean joked, earning the obligatory laughter. But nothing about the cost of tuition struck Justin as funny.

He was so thirsty he drank half the can in one gulp. He already had a caffeine buzz and this wouldn't help. Justin wasn't used to this much caffeine; not like Brian, taking in latte after latte and never losing his controlled deliberate manner. All thoughts lead back to Brian, Justin sighed to himself. But it was no use thinking about Brian now. His meeting was probably over, and he was out with the new clients, celebrating by hosting some fancy dinner at that expensive French restaurant he liked. Eating carbs after 7, breaking his own little rule.

Justin ate a tasteless mini-hot dog off a toothpick. Brian had never taken him to that restaurant.

"Your mother is so cute," Daphne said beside him. "She's hanging on to your award plaque like it's made out of gold."

Justin looked out over the gallery. His mother and Debbie were still planted in front of his three show pieces, beaming and chattering to any one, student, parent, faculty member or guest, who came up. "I told them to let people look in peace," Justin said in annoyance.  "Who can concentrate on the work with Debbie talking?"

"They're just excited. You want me to get them?"

Justin shrugged and Daphne went off on her mission. He shifted restlessly, forcing a smile when someone slapped him on the back or called over a compliment, nodding at Matthew, the other freshman featured in the exhibit. Preparing for the show, he realized, had been more fun than the show itself. He was really excited to be included, but why had the award ceremony felt so flat? Debbie and Lindsay had applauded like crazy people, and his mother nearly cried. It was good for her to see something like this: for him to be able to prove to her that PIFA had been the right choice after all, not Dartmouth. But tonight nothing felt right.

The gallery was hot and noisy and what he really wanted was to go home. Except no one would be there. Their curfew was suspended for tonight, since they'd both be late. "Don't worry, none of these clients will be fuckable," Brian had joked. At least Justin hoped it was a joke. Brian wouldn't do clients or business contacts after that mess with Kip - would he?

Yesterday morning, during set-up, the gallery had been beautiful. Clean morning light slanted in through the skylights, and there was just a quiet hum as the students helped each other hang pictures and photos and place sculptures. Matthew's biggest piece, an abstract, had been hard to handle. Justin, in a sweat, felt it sliding his way as Matthew lost control of the other end. Hands reached around him suddenly to help. "Careful," Brian's voice said in his ear, so unexpectedly Justin nearly lost his grip. They settled the sculpture in place.

"Hey," Matthew said, as surprised as Justin. "Thanks, uh -- "

"Matthew, this is my boyfriend, Brian."

"Nice meeting you," Matthew said. Brian nodded. "But excuse me, I have to get my second piece."

"Need help?" Justin asked.

"No, this one's small, thanks." Matthew's eyes lingered on Brian in his Armani suit for a moment.  "See you."

"You're out to him? He's queer?"

"Brian, come on, this is an art school, it's crawling with queers. The breeders practically fuck girls in the hallways, just to prove they're not gay. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I told Cynthia I'd be in late. She called me all kinds of names, I was supposed to be at some fucking staff breakfast. Where's your stuff?"

Justin showed him. Of course he had seen them at home, but work looked different when it went up on the walls. Drawn slowly - and painfully - by hand were three pastel studies of the light coming in a southern window of the loft, as the weather had changed from sunny to threatening to hard rain. It was unusual work for Justin; he had always been more interested in the human form. Brian considered them as if they were new, and suggested a change. Justin blinked. "Maybe," he said.

And tonight, in the show, he had followed Brian's suggestion. Now, if you read them left to right like a book, they went from stormy to clearing to a struggling new sun.

Lindsay, who had been circulating in the crowd, reappeared, beaming. She had seen several friends, and all of them, she testified, loved Justin's work. "Your eye is incredible," she said.

Justin brightened. With the exception of the Dean and some of the professors, there were only two people whose good opinion of his work he sought, and Lindsay was one of them. She ranked second, not first, but still . . . To be polite, he said, "I wish Melanie had been able to come."

"So did she. She's going to be jealous when I tell her all about it! I'm so sorry about the sitter canceling like that. But one of us had to stay with Gus and frankly," Lindsay grinned, "I insisted on being the one to come."  She paused, wondering whether it was better to face it or leave it alone. Just as she decided to speak, Jennifer and Debbie came up behind her, with Daphne following. "And it's really a shame Brian couldn't make it."

"Well, I understand."

"I don't," Jennifer broke in. "This is a really big night for you, Justin, and he should have made more of an effort."

"He was going to come, I told you," Justin said. "But I told him it was okay, because it was important for him to go to his meeting."

"A meeting," Jennifer said, in the voice of a woman who has heard this excuse ten, twenty, a hundred times. Justin knew she was thinking of his father. His annoyance flared into anger. He didn't know how to handle this; it made him feel like he was back at St. James Academy. He had thought her opposition to Brian was over. She hadn't said a word of criticism about him since Justin had moved back into the loft, after the hospital.

"I made the decision," Justin said. Lindsay looked over in surprise; Brian hadn't told her. "It's not his fault."

"Not his fault," Jennifer repeated. "No, it's never his fault, is it?"

"Mom!"

"Jennifer," Debbie said, in a warning tone. "Come on, this is a great night for Sunshine. I'm sure Brian would have been here if he could."

The two women exchanged looks. Finally Jennifer said to her son,  "I'm sorry, honey.  I don't want to ruin it for you. You know how proud I am of you. I guess I don't know anything about Brian's business."

Business. Justin thought, forcing himself to accept her beseeching hand on his arm. Fucking business again.

"Holy shit," Daphne suddenly piped in. "Speak of the devil, 'cause he's here anyway, Justin!"

"What?"

"Over there, he's coming in with a bunch of people."

"Just like the cavalry," Debbie joked, but Daphne blurted out, "No, it's just like the prom, isn't it?"

Justin's eyes shot back from the door to her face. Daphne's mouth dropped open a little in embarrassment.

"How the fuck would I know?"

"I forgot, I'm sorry," Daphne said. "You never got that part back, did you?"

"Well, who's he got with him?" Debbie demanded, with such force that Justin had to take his eyes from his friend. Her interruptions were never as mindless as she tried to make out. "What did he do, bring the meeting here?"

Justin looked back at the group by the door and waited for Brian's eyes to find him. When they did, he couldn't help breaking into a big smile. Brian said something to the group with him and nodded in his direction. They were all coming over. Justin had never seen any of them before, but the shorter bald man had to be Gardner Vance, and the sexy blonde in the low-cut dress must be Cynthia. He knew Brian had insisted on bringing Cynthia to the meeting, over his partner's objections; Vance thought office assistants belonged in the office. Brian had his hand under the elbow of another woman in her mid-thirties, red hair falling coyly over one eye, who was dressed in a black silk sheath. The two men with them were so bland and alike they could be lost in any crowd: neat hair, dark suits cut well enough, one with a pale blue shirt and the other with white, blue ties, average looks. Beside them Brian looked more beautiful than ever. His suit was impeccable, of course. He was wearing the deep red shirt that seemed impossible when it was hanging in the closet, but just right once he put it on.

"Evening, Sunshine, how's the hot  young artist?" Brian smiled deeply into Justin's eyes and watched the flush come up in Justin's pale skin. It was for this first look, the pulsing disbelieving thrill he could see in Justin's face, that he had come. He knew he could call this up from Justin, any time. Every time.

"Brian," Justin breathed, his eyes locked on Brian's. His voice was as intimate as if they were in bed. Brian held back a laugh, pleased with his success. Vance coughed.

"Okay, introductions," Brian began, looking from one group to the other.  "This is Marjorie Raymondson, Bruce Fiyer, and William Nass, grandson of the founder of Nass Associates, Vanguard's newest clients. I told them all that if they want to see the cream of Pittsburgh's next generation of artistic talent, they'd find it here. We were just finishing dinner, and they said they'd like to come, right, Will?"  

William Nass, looking a little dazed, nodded. Hands were being shaken; everyone was murmuring hello. Brian rattled on over it, "And I'm sure you've all heard me talk about Gardner, my partner, and Cynthia, my assistant. These lovely ladies are my friends -- " He named Debbie, Lindsay, Jennifer and Daphne. "And this is Justin Taylor," he finished. "My -- "

His pause seemed to make everyone go still. Justin, who had been about to shake the Raymondson woman's hand, glanced up at him. He didn't see Vance's movement, a subtle downward gesture, but Brian did. "My choice for Pittsburgh's best new artist," Brian finished smoothly.

"How exciting," said Marjorie. "Which is your work?"

"I -- over there -- " Justin couldn't finish. The happy flush in his cheeks drained away.

"I'll show you, hon." Debbie knew exactly what had happened. "Right over here. Our Sunshine's the best, let me tell you. Do you know about art? No? Fuck, me neither, but I'm telling you, he's fan-fucking-tastic. How about you, hey?" She pulled on Bruce's sleeve.

"Uh, sure," said Bruce. Brian had been very compelling at the dinner table, but in truth his new clients weren't sure how they had wound up at an art gallery. They had been expecting to be whisked off to a nightclub.

Debbie flagged down a waitress and handed out wine glasses all around as if she were pouring coffee in the diner. "There we go, now we're ready. Come on!"

Lindsay, her eyes traveling uncertainly from Brian to Justin to Gardner Vance, said, "Some of the pieces here, including Justin's, really are amazing." She linked her arm through Will's and pulled him in Debbie's wake. "I'm an art teacher myself," she told him. Jennifer and Daphne trailed behind them.

Vance and Cynthia stood for a moment with Brian. Justin was still breathing hard, trying to stop everything in him from spilling out. Somehow Brian had acquired a drink. Without a word Justin lifted it out of his hand and drained it. "Hey," Brian said.

"Get another one."

"Well, Justin, I'm glad to meet you," Vance said. "I've heard so much about you." Brian frowned; he hadn't told Vance anything. He shot Cynthia a glare and she glanced away for a moment. Then she tossed back her long hair and lifted her chin at him.

"I was wondering why you brought us here," Vance continued to Brian. "At least now I've found out something we have in common."

"Oh?"

"Yes, indeed. It seems we both have a taste for young blondes." He gave a satisfied smile and went to join his clients.

"Fuck, Cynthia!"

"I'm sorry, Brian. Shit, I told you he took the phone message log right out of my hand one day, and you had a bunch of messages from Justin. Hi again," she added to Justin. " I've been wanting to meet you in person."

"Yeah, me too." Justin tried to pull himself together. Cynthia was always nice to him on the phone. She seemed to know who and what he was in Brian's life, though he was certain Brian had never explained. "Watch out," she'd say when Justin called. "That man of yours is on a rampage." Or, "Ooh, you must have been very good to him this morning, right, sweetheart? He's purring like a cat."

"Isn't there anything stronger than wine around here?"

"The bar's over there," Justin said.

"Be right back."

"Take it easy," Brian called after her. He said to Justin, "She's pissed as hell because that boyfriend she's been counting on didn't come through with the diamond ring she was expecting. She's put a lot away already."

"Didn't you?"

"Well, we had cocktails, and wine with dinner. Is there a reason I'm getting this fucking stare of death from you?"

Justin burst out, "What the -- "

"Careful, your Mommy will hear you."

He checked himself, then continued in a furious whisper, "What the fuck kind of introduction was that? You couldn't say I'm your boyfriend? Like the word would choke you!"

"Vance didn't want me to."

"Vance!"

"Look, these people are from the Bible Belt. I just met them, I don't know what they're like. I can't suddenly come out to them, for fuck's sake. "

"Right. It's just business."

"Stop that, will you? It's only a word, anyway. A stupid word - 'boyfriend.' Sounds like high school. I'm too old for that shit."

"It's more like you've never been old enough."

"Oh, aren't we witty tonight?"

"So what the hell do you call me, then?"

"'Justin,'" Brian said blandly. "Or 'Sunshine,' when I'm in a really good mood. Which I'm not any more."

Before Justin could answer, Cynthia was back with two Jim Beams. "Want one?"

"Thank you." Justin grabbed at it before Brian could.

"So, Brian," Cynthia said. She leaned drunkenly over Justin, standing between them, to look up into her boss's face. At this angle, Justin could see down her plunging dress to the black lace top of her bra. He took a step back but she hung on his shoulder. "You didn't tell me how damn hot Justin is."

"Of course he's hot," Brian said. "Would I fuck him if he wasn't hot?"

As if Justin couldn't hear, she asked, "So does he do girls?"

Justin spluttered, dribbling Beam out of his mouth. Brian gave a bark of laughter. "Only one that I know of," he smirked. "But you're welcome to try. "

"Jesus," Justin said.

"Straight women always think they can turn a guy."

"Not turn, no.  But didn't you ever  -- you know, experiment? Take a walk on the other side of the street?" By the look on her face, Justin thought it might be Brian she was really interested in. Well, why not? The whole fucking rest of Pittsburgh was. And most of them had had him, too. Fuckers.

Brian, restored to good humor, looked across the gallery at their group. They had moved on from Justin's exhibit to Matthew's sculptures. His eyes rested for a moment on Lindsay. In a fortune cookie voice, he said, "Confucius say one should always try many things." Seeing his client Bruce looking around in a confused way, he added in his normal tone, "I better go over. He thinks he's lost in Wonderland, that guy."

"Brian!"

"Oh, I'm sure Cynthia will look after you, Sunshine."

Justin blinked hard to keep back enraged tears.  Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it! How did Brian have the power to do this to him? He had been so goddamn happy, so fucking overjoyed, to see Brian walk in. And in the space of just a few minutes everything had been ruined. But that 's what it was like, to live with Brian. To love Brian. You were always ricocheting from one fierce emotion to another, never knowing what was coming. Never knowing what was real.

"I'm tired. I'm just so goddamned tired."

"I bet you are," Cynthia said with sympathy. "Long day, huh?"

Justin took his eyes off Brian's retreating back and for the first time really looked at her. Brian controlled everything. His clients, his loft, his life -. Justin's life. But Cynthia . . . she was under his control, too. Wasn't she?

"He's a prick, you know. Class A."

"Brian? Fuck, yeah. I know." For some reason it struck him as funny, the two of them standing here dissing Brian together. The hard anger in his chest began to ease.

"They all are." Cynthia paused, on the verge of sinking into some drunken brooding thought. Justin clinked his glass lightly to hers and she glanced up, startled, and smiled back at him. "But he's so damn good, it's unbelievable."

This time Justin really did laugh, his thought on his face. Cynthia giggled. "Shit, I didn't mean that, you  tell me  about that! I meant with the clients. You should have seen him working them at the office. First he rolls over them with a presentation that makes their jaws drop. Then he drops fancy French food into their little open beaks. Peep, peep, peep. Then somehow, he starts to tell them about the art scene in Pittsburgh. As if we even had one, right? But what do they know. All they know is finance and insurance. He made it sound like he knew all the galleries, all the up and comers. Like the next Pollock was in his back pocket. And I bet he doesn't really go near galleries, does he?"

"Well, he knows quite a bit, and he has a good eye. He has a lot of art books. But it's not his favorite thing to do on the weekend, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, but didn't he make it sound like this was really the cutting edge? And all the time I could see Vance kicking him under the table." She giggled again, leaning on him so hard he had to take a step sideways to keep in balance. He could smell cigarette smoke in her hair. "Trying to stop him. But you can't stop Brian, oh no."

"He did all that?" His eyes sought Brian again, but the group had passed into the farther room, out of view. He did all that to get here, and I acted like . . . like . . . well, yeah. Like a stupid twat.

"Well, come on, let's get another drink," Cynthia said. Her voice throaty, she added, "And then you can show me your stuff."
 

   *****
 

An hour later, Brian and Vance were standing in front of a row of photos: a close-up series of a beer bottle, with one bead of foam sliding farther and farther down the neck in each one. Photography, it turned out, was something of a hobby for Bruce Fiyer, and he was peering at the beer bottles with interest.  A few feet away Marjorie and Debbie were chattering like old friends. They made quite a pair, the sleek professional woman and booming Debbie with her newest clown outfit.  What was it this time, Brian wondered, all over that bright purple blouse? A red pattern of - it looked like horse shoes, all pointing up. Oh. That would be for good luck, for little Sunshine, probably. Little pouting Sunshine, for whom nothing was ever enough.

Vance, following his look, murmured, "That woman is dreadful."

"Why, Vance. That's no way to speak about your new client."

"I meant the other  one. Where do you find these people?"

"She's all right, really." Brian paused. Then he added something he would never have said in front of Debbie. "She's pretty damn great."

"And the blonde one is pestering Will."

Brian checked to see if he meant Lindsay, but Will Nass was talking to Jennifer. He watched them for a moment, then said, "He doesn't mind. He thinks she's attractive."

"She keeps waving that plaque at him like it was an Academy Award."

Brian knew Jennifer was making too much of a fuss. But he said tolerantly, "Well, she's Justin's mother, after all. She thinks the world revolves around him."

"Really. And what does she think of you, I wonder?"

"I'm sure she's as impressed as our new clients are."

Vance snorted. "You did a good job with the presentation. But dragging them here . . . "

"They all seem happy."

"I think we should take them on to Graphon's, for liqueurs, like we were planning in the first place."

"All right, soon. I'll be right back, someone I want to see first." He was damned if he'd tell Vance he needed to say goodbye to Justin. Assuming Justin was willing to say goodbye. That new frosty face he kept coming up with lately, like some girl with PMS. Fucking annoying. And actually turning away in bed a couple of times, to say no. I can always get it somewhere else, Brian had wanted to say to the back of his head, but he hadn't bothered. Justin knew that.  Of course he couldn't get the way it felt with Justin somewhere else, anywhere else in fact. But he'd taken care Justin didn't  know that.  After he came back from Vermont  -

Brian jerked his head, as if to chase away some stinging insect. So where the fuck was little Sunshine now, not to mention his plastered assistant?

The gallery was starting to empty, but he couldn't see them anywhere. A waiter offered yet another tray. He hesitated over the wine, then reached for spring water instead. All his exertions were catching up to him; he was hot and tired and a headache was crawling down his temples. He took several long swallows, wishing he could pour the bottle over himself instead. Justin still thought that was funny. And sexy.

Well, maybe he could go splash his face a little, anyway. And take a piss. Then back to the great client entertainment project.

He pushed on the men's room door and it bounced back at him, nearly catching him on the nose. A chair or something had been shoved in front of it from the other side. What the
fuck?

Brian paused, his fingers still wrapped around the door handle. He heard moaning inside, a woman moaning. Was it Cynthia?

"Fuck me," he said out loud, and started to laugh. "Hey, Sunshine, I didn't think you were really going to do it!"

He put his shoulder to the door this time and shoved. The chair fell away with a loud clatter and the door swung open. Brian stepped in, gleeful and expectant.

As he had thought, Cynthia and Justin were locked together, face to face, with Cynthia pushed up against the far wall. Only . . . her dress was still down. And Justin's pants were still up. And the moaning was . . . crying.

"Oh God," Cynthia sobbed, seeing Brian over Justin's shoulder and feeling freshly humiliated. "Oh, fuck it, I didn't want him to -- " she buried her face in Justin's neck.

"It's okay," Justin said without conviction. He threw Brian a pleading look. "She's really upset," he stage-whispered, as if Cynthia couldn't hear him.

"No, really? How can you tell?" Brian came up next to them, leaning on the wall beside Cynthia. He had seen her excited, supportive, worried, furious, malicious. But he had never seen her going to pieces. Even allowing for the booze, it was a pathetic sight. "What happened?" he directed his questions to Justin, treating Cynthia like the unconscious victim of a freak accident. "Did you turn her down?"

"Did I -- what?"

"Did you refuse to fuck her? Is that what this is?"

Cynthia had wrapped her arms around Justin and was sobbing into his hair. He could feel her tears smeared across his neck. "Brian, are you - I wouldn't - Jesus, what the holy fuck goes on in your head?"

"All right, all right. Don't get your balls in a knot. So what is it then, the boyfriend?"

"If you can call him that."

"Cyn," Brian said. He had never called her that before. "Cyn, come here. You're messing up the sunshine hair."

"What?" she lifted her head, confused by the nonsense he was talking and the almost tender way he was saying it. "I'm sorry, I'll -- I'll stop -- "

"Come over here," Brian said again, in a tone of gentle command so familiar to Justin he almost obeyed it himself.

Cynthia went into Brian's arms without another word. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, still embarrassed in front of him. But he stroked her head gently, running his fingers through her disheveled hair. "Fuck him and his diamond ring. I'll get you a diamond necklace."

"Brian," she sniffled.

"I'll give you a diamond stud ring you can put through a nipple."

Cynthia managed a little laugh and looked up. Justin said, "Hey, that's more than he's ever given me for my pierced nipple."

"It's not the ring," she tried to explain, looking from one to another, and then down at her own hands with their perfect French manicure, still resting on Brian's chest. "It's that I thought - I thought he really - "

"You thought he loved you, even though he didn't say it," Justin said, looking past her at Brian. He was not amused when Brian rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

"Yes."

"Oh fuck, what's the difference, anyway?" Brian demanded. "A ring, a Hallmark card, a box of chocolates, what's the point? What would it prove?"

"It would prove a commitment," Justin said. Cynthia nodded.

"It would only prove he's ready to spend a fucking fortune on a catering hall and a lousy band. And he could still leave her the week after."

"Thanks," Cynthia said. "That makes me feel so much better."

"It's just the truth. Anybody can say anything. He can say he'll stay forever, and not be here the next day."

Justin said, "So nothing counts."

"What counts is if he is  here the next day."

The door suddenly swung open as two students came in, one behind the other. The first one stopped dead at the sight of a woman in the men's room, and the second banged into him. "Oh," the first student stammered. Justin recognized him as an upperclassman, but didn't know his name. "I didn't - sorry if we - "

Brian startled Cynthia by clutching her to his chest. He spoke to the student in his hottest let's-fuck voice. "We're just getting started. Care to join us?"

"I - we - thanks, but - " They backed up, the second one colliding this time with the fallen chair, and fled.

"You're such a fiend," Cynthia said to her boss. "Oh God, what do I look like?"

"Splash a little water on your face and fix your makeup. I don't want Vance to see you like that." Obediently, she took a step to the sink. "I meant in the women's room."  He slid his eyes towards Justin, but he was looking away, his face blank. Brian waited. After a moment Justin glanced over at him.

"I'm here," Brian said.

"Yeah," Justin said softly.

"Holy shit," Cynthia said, catching the look between them. "And I'm gone!"

 

*****
 

Ten minutes later Vance and his new clients found Cynthia, perfectly composed, standing in front of the men's restroom. Her hand was out in front of the door handle, warding off entry. "Sorry, you can't go in."

"What's going on?" Vance demanded. Strange noises were coming out of the bathroom; he heard a cry and some kind of steady thumping. "Is it out of order?"

"Yes," Cynthia said. "Yes, it is. But they're working on it."

Something inside crashed to the floor. She added brightly, "I think they're really working on it."


 

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