Go Away
“Why? Just tell me why. Why?”
There was no answer; the ugly steel door stayed closed, the only sound other than himself was the click of the lock sliding into place.
He pounded on the door a few more times, but he knew all that would accomplish would be to piss Brian off more than he already was.
“Brian, why?” There was still on answer. He knew that there wouldn’t be.
Staying was pointless, he trudged his way down the four flights of stairs. On the sidewalk he looked up at the large windows, hoping that he might catch a glimpse of Brian looking down at him, but there was no one. Walking down two blocks and over one, he caught the first of three buses that would take him close enough to his mother’s condo so that he could walk home.
An hour and a half later he was in his room, in a rage and out of control. He tore the pictures from the walls, he shoved his mother hard enough so that she carried the bruise on her hip for a week and he scared Molly, who had never had reason to fear him before.
“You told him not to see me. You had no right.”
“Justin…”
“You had no fucking right.”
“I just wanted things to be better. I wanted to help you…”
“Don’t you get it? I’m fucked? It’s never going to
be better. I’m never going to draw again.
Two hours later Jennifer had managed to convince Justin to take the sleeping pills and the tranquilizers and he was safely drugged out of harm’s way. She knocked at the sliding metal door.
In a minute or so Brian, naked, answered as a man pushed his way past her on his way out. Nonchalantly, he walked back into the loft, casually stepping into a pair of jeans.
“Your place is very—glamorous.”
“It does the trick.”
It certainly had on Justin. “I’m sure.”
That was when she asked him for a favor—another favor, this time for her son. Please take him, touch him, and let him be touched. Help him heal.
“Do you want me to fuck him?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“You told me you never wanted me to see him again.”
“You’re the one he trusts.”
“No.”
“If you don’t help him, I’m afraid that I’ll lose him.”
“No.”
“Brian, please. He may never get back to what he was before all this happened if you don’t…”
“No.”
He made it clear through his expression, his body language, that he had made his decision.
“Would you at least tell me why?”
He was slicing an avocado, making a sandwich. “Because you’re
right. If it hadn’t been for me he wouldn’t have been hurt. If
I hadn’t picked him up that first night he wouldn’t have come out
the way he did. If it hadn’t been for me showing up at his fucking prom,
we wouldn’t have set
“If you believe that you’re responsible, then you have a responsibility to help him.”
“The best thing I can do for him is to stay away from him.”
“Brian, I’ll beg you if I have to.”
“I won’t go near him. I won’t see him. It’s too dangerous for him to be near me. He’s yours.”
Defeated, she left.
* * * * * *
A few months later, in the fall, Brian heard that Justin had started at
PIFA, as planned. Unable to control his hand enough to draw, within a month
he had been forced to drop out. Several months after that, Brian had seen
the new graphics computer in the
Brian never saw him, other than in passing. He would make a point of leaving
the diner if the boy should be there, but that happened less and less often
as the fall went on—his parents influence, no doubt and then he was
gone to
Brian continued as he had. The tricks almost every night, the drugs and the drinking mostly on weekends, it went on just as before. Debbie would ask him if he had heard from Sunshine, and he wouldn’t tell her about the letters that arrived almost every week.
Justin would tell him of his classes, the friends he was making, the roommate he hated, the professor he liked and the RA he had a crush on, the art courses he was fitting between lectures on market shares. At first Brian would ignore them, he’d read them of course, but he wouldn’t respond.
One e-mail asked his help in a project concerning marketing. Unable to resist, which was it’s likely intention, Brian sent the help he asked for and the correspondence began.
From then on they were in mutual contact at least once a week. If one of them should miss, the other would worry, but afraid of overstepping, wouldn’t ask. In a few days, the next letter would arrive or the computer would inform them that they had mail and they would breath a sigh of relief and go on as before.
There were no real rules about what they talked about, but they both understood the unspoken parameters. They didn’t mention if or when they became seriously attracted to someone beyond a crush, they didn’t discuss their deepest feelings about people—only classes and work. They never talked about themselves as a couple or even as friends. They simply didn’t go there. They never spoke on the phone or had face-to-face contact.
Occasionally Brian would wonder about it and know that neither of them could handle it yet. Perhaps they never would be able to, but for now, this was better than nothing if not quite enough. Unable to make a clean break, they were equally unable to establish a real contact.
Neither one of them told anyone about the exchanges.
Finally, inevitably, the school year ended and Justin became vague about what his plans for the summer were. He said he was looking for a job, but that he wasn’t sure if anything would pan out.
One day at the end of June Brian walked into the art department to see how the latest Eyetonoics layouts were coming. Fred walked him through what they’d come up with then turned to introduce the new summer intern.
Justin Taylor.
Of course.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kinney.”
An hour later they were both in his office.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if I had the job.”
“You don’t have the job until I sign off on it. You must have had other options.”
“Vanguard is the best.”
Brian picked up his phone. “Fred? Please come up.” He replaced the receiver without saying anything else.
Justin started a controlled panic. “Brian?”
“You should have known better than this.”
Fred knocked, came in. “Brian, you wanted to see me?”
“Justin isn’t going to work out. Please write him a good recommendation and see if any of the other agencies have an opening.”
“Mr. Kinney, I’m sure that I can do this.”
His eyes fixed on the young man he spoke to the Art Director. “I’m afraid that Justin wasn’t completely open about his background. Unfortunately he has some physical limitations which make him unacceptable.”
“Well…Alright. Justin, I’m sorry—I know that
“Yes. Thanks.” Fred left to get to it; besides, he didn’t want to be around Kinney if it looked like he’d screwed up.
“You didn’t have to fire me.”
“You know I hate fucking liars.”
“Screw you. I didn’t lie.”
“By omission. Get out.”
* * * * * *
A year later Brian had been given the commission, again, of arranging the GLC annual fundraiser. He had, again, decided to shove their faces in it at a barely legal rendition of a carnival and circus. The acts on the faux midway were enough to cause a dominatrix to blush and the thing was raising a fortune.
Watching Tannis and the wuss guy being appalled over next to the bar was worth the price of admission as far as Brian was concerned-never mind the forty thousand he expected to personally clear off the top. That should make a nice dent in the loft renovation.
He was turning to see why Michael was tapping him on the shoulder when he caught a glimpse of the blond hair.
Justin was over by the stairs, wrapped in the arms of some dark haired artist type. The other guy was about Justin’s age, with a scraggly chin tuft and a superior attitude. Justin was returning the hug and their kissing was extreme even for the main dance floor.
As he stood there watching, Justin opened his eyes, catching that Brian saw them and looking “Fuck you” right at him as Chinrat sucked on his neck.
“Brian, throw him out. The little shit is just doing this you piss you off.”
“Leave him.”
“Brian…”
“His money is as green as anyone else’s.”
A while later Brian was talking with Emmett when Justin walked up to them. “Brian—want to dance?”
“I’m busy.”
“Take a break.”
“Leave me alone, Justin.” He was being exceptionally rude, even for Brian.
“I’ll dance with you, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Em, but I was hoping to talk with Brian about something.”
Just then Chinrat came by, taking Justin’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“In a few minutes.”
“Now.”
Looking annoyed, Justin was about to say something, but seemed to change his mind, giving in and leaving with his date. As they walked away Brian heard the dark one say “…You know he’s an asshole, why do you let him get to you?”
Emmett leaned over to Brian. “I hear that they’re living together,
sweetie. He’s a musician and I guess they met up at
Brian didn’t say anything.
From then on until Justin finished his degree, they had no direct contact. The letters and e-mails stopped and the only information they would have were occasional bits of news or gossip passed along by other members of the family.
Brian knew that Justin was doing well in school and that his father was
proud, but that the
Ryder Agency had been bought out by Gardner Vance, Brian was a partner because of the Brown account and he was making more money then even he would have thought possible a couple of years ago. He was winning major awards and it wasn’t uncommon for headhunters to be on the phone for him.
He still lived alone and preferred it that way. The renovation to the loft had added a large room on the roof, accessible via a floating spiral staircase. The roof now held a glassed in study/conservatory/escape. The glass was mirrored on the outside for privacy and the furniture, though spare and modern, was surprisingly comfortable. It was a marvelous space.
* * * * * *
Three years later Brian was on Madison Avenue in
“Brian. I was hoping that you’d come by.”
“What are you now, my fucking stalker? I thought you’d moved past that.”
“I heard that you’re working here a few days a week. I was hoping that …”
“I could give you a job?”
“…That we might be able to be friends again.”
“I’m late for a meeting.”
“I’ve finished school now, I have my degree. I’m older. I thought that now we might be able to be friends again.”
Brian turned to him, faced him and spoke quietly. “Look, I know what you’re doing here, but it isn’t going to happen. Four years ago I tried to make it clear to you that there wouldn’t be anything between us again and nothing has happened to change my mind.”
“You threw me out because my mother asked you to and because you felt guilty. I’m an adult now, my mother doesn’t control me and it was never your fault.”
“I told you, I’m late.” He went through the revolving door into the large lobby, heading to a bank of elevators.
“Have dinner with me? We have things to talk about.”
“There’s no point.” He had pushed the button. A red headed woman smiled at them “Good morning, Mr. Kinney.” “…Melissa.”
“I think we still have things to clear up between us.”
The elevator opened, Brian and the woman stepped inside. “Thank you for stopping by, but we simply have nothing in the areas you’re looking in.”
The elevator door closed.
* * * * * *
They knew that Debbie wouldn’t be much longer, that was what all the doctors had told them and they seemed to be right this time. The family had all gathered in the hospital corridor, again, another vigil.
She’d had a massive heart attack while working the early shift at the diner. The regulars were there, Ted, Em, and Ben. Michael had arrived just as the ambulance was pulling away.
Vic had called Brian in
“How is she?”
Michael put his arms around him. He had managed to keep his composure until now, but seeing Brian made it real. He had flown almost four thousand miles for this, to say good-bye.
It was real.
Brian held him as he cried; just as he had the first time Ben had been hospitalized, held him and murmured soft words that they both knew weren’t true.
She wouldn’t be alright and everything wasn’t going to be fine.
“Can’t they operate?”
Lindsay answered. “They said that what she needs is a transplant, but she’s not strong enough to survive the operation. They’re trying drug therapy…” Brian saw her shake her head. It wasn’t working.
He closed his eyes, refusing to give in to his emotions just yet.
“Bri? She wants to see you.”
He went into the room. It was small and ugly and he was pissed that he hadn’t stopped for five minutes to get her some flowers. She would have liked him to have gotten her flowers.
Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. She opened her eyes.
“Shit, it must be bad if they called you back from
“
“Whatever.”
“Deb, do you need anything?” He held her hand.
“Yeah. I need you to tell me the truth. It’s just you and me, the others are outside.” He nodded. “Do you still love Justin or not. None of your shit now. The truth.”
He nodded again. “He’s with that musician now, and I’m not good for him, Deb. I never was. It’s still my fault that…”
“That’s fucking ancient history. He and Ethan broke up a year
ago and he went to
“We don’t even know each other anymore. That was all years ago.”
“You promise me that you’ll give him a chance. You hear me?”
“Deb, it’s not…”
“Listen, asshole, I’m fucking dying so you do what I tell you. You got that? That little kid still loves you to death and you could do a Hell of a lot worse.”
“OK.”
“You fucking promise me.”
“I promise. I’ll—call him to have dinner and we’ll talk. OK?”
“Yeah.” He face settled into a smile, a small one. “You know, you were the one I worried about. I knew that Michael would be alright because you’d look after him and then I knew that Ben would be there for him. Vic is tough as nails, so I knew he’d be OK, too, but you never had anyone to look after yourself but you and sometimes you screwed it up real bad and I’d get worried about you, but I always knew you’d turn out fine in the end.”
Still holding her hand, he leaned over, kissing her cheek and pressing his face against hers for a long moment.
“I couldn’t have done it if you weren’t there pushing. I love you, Deb. You know you were my real mother.”
“I love you too, Brian. Remember what you promised.”
* * * * * *
A week later at the funeral, Brian did what he could to help Mikey get through. It turned out that, after the initial tears and the expected occasional recurrences, he was about as strong as no one thought possible. He held them all together, including Brian who managed his tears in private, but was otherwise a virtual zombie though insisting that he was there for his friend. Besides, Deb had always been there for him—well, almost always, certainly more than the bitch who gave birth to him. He had to do what he could.
Vic’s reaction was the one that bothered Brian the most. It was one of complete apathy as to what would happen to him next. Without his sister, without his cheerleader and rock and guidance system, he ignored his meds and the well-meaning friends who came over with food and hugs. He withdrew and it would be months before they could convince him to care about anything again.
At the gravesite, Brian saw that Justin was standing in the crowd on the other side of the plot. There were a lot of people there, and Brian dry eyed—rightly, was with the family. Justin held back, though they did lock eyes a couple of times. The kid was crying, Daphne had her arm around him.
Later, back at the house, they avoided each other. Michael came up to Brian and practically ordered him to go speak with Justin out on the porch, but he wouldn’t. He knew what he had promised Deb, and he meant to keep his word to her, but not right now.
He couldn’t. That day wasn’t about them, it was about Deb and Michael and Vic. He refused to turn it into a soap opera in front of everyone.
After a while, he noticed that Justin had left.
After that the days went by, he returned to
* * * * * *
It was Wednesday morning and Brian was at his desk in
Obviously he had somehow managed to get away from his father’s influence after all.
Good.
He tapped the site into the machine. The graphics that came up showing a gallery of his works were dazzling, even on a computer monitor.
The fourth painting made him stop. It was described as an oil painting and large, 35 X 60. It was of a man standing in three quarter profile facing away from the viewer, shirtless and barefoot, wearing jeans, his hands on his hips. He was looking out of a window. He was pensive, even melancholy.
It was a portrait of Brian.
The show was opening in three days in
On the bottom of the invitation was hand written, in Justin’s handwriting, the two words, “Please Come.”
He threw it away.
* * * * * *
A year later he was in the roof room of the loft, having purchased the rights and installed the glass room several years ago. He was checking his e-mail when he saw the return address. Blondtwink. Justin. Shit.
Tempted to delete it, he hit ‘read’ instead.
*
*
*
*
*
*
Dear Brian,
I know that there’s a good chance that you won’t even get
this.
I know you and when you see my return address either on a letter or
in an e-mail you just toss it, but I’m hoping that you manage to restrain
yourself long enough to read this.
It’s like this—after all this fucking time and all the other
men and the gallery openings and the traveling I have to do—I still
think about you and I know that you think about me,
too.
I know that you’re the one who bought the portrait I did of you
last year in
Still can’t do anything straightforward, can
you?
I did that from memory.
Remember the time we had that argument? Yeah, I know—which one?
The one where you insisted on going out to
God, you looked beautiful that day.
We both still think about one another. We had something good. You know
you promised Deb (God, I miss her) that you’d get in touch with
me.
Please, Brian. If it doesn’t work, then fine, but let’s at least see if there’s still something there.
I’ve sent you my phone number. My e-mail is attached to
this.
At least call me.
Please, Brian. OK? If what we used to have is gone; at least we’ll
be able to put it to rest.
Justin
* * * * * *
Before he had a chance to think, he hit the ‘reply’ button.
* * * * * *
“Alright. Call me. I don’t know where you live now, but we’ll work something out.
B”
* * * * * *
Then he hit ‘send’.
* * * * * *
He was going over some copy the next Wednesday, the writer was waiting nervously in front of him and neither of them was happy. And it had been raining since Saturday. His intercom buzzed.
“Brian? Call for you on line eight.”
“Who the fuck is it?”
“Justin.”
Fuck. He wasn’t ready for this. He picked up anyway.
“Yes?”
“Is this a bad time?”
“Yes it is, can you call back later or give me a number where I can reach you?”
“Fuck that. Would you meet me for dinner at O’Malley’s tonight at six?”
Brian glanced at his schedule; he was supposed to meet the reps from a
new overnight delivery company at
“Can you make it at seven? I have a meeting.”
“Sure, fine. I’ll see you then.”
Distracted, he looked out the window.
“Mr. Kinney? The copy—is it alright?”
Startled but able to cover it, he turned back to the kid in front of him. She was about Justin’s age and had blonde hair. She even looked something like him in a feminine way.
“It’s heavy handed and lacks the sophistication this product needs. Rework it and have it back to me after lunch.”
She was dismissed.
* * * * * *
At five after seven he walked into the bar/steakhouse about a block from the office. He was still wearing his suit and felt skuzzy after a long day. He was tired and didn’t think he was up to whatever was about to happen. He knew he looked like shit and he hated being at a disadvantage.
Shit.
Justin was sitting at a booth in the back, a half finished beer in front of him, and a book open on the table while he waited. He looked great, tanned and his hair was still longish. The sweater he was wearing matched his eyes and he looked—calm and content.
“Hello, Justin.”
“Hey. I’m glad that you could make it.” Brian sat opposite him. “Would you like something to drink?” They didn’t touch, but the tension between them was apparent and thick.
“Beer is fine.” Justin signaled the waiter. It arrived quickly.
The conversation stalled. The waiter came and took their orders.
“I heard that you’re a senior partner now. Does this mean that you’ll be leaving to start your own place soon? That’s the rumor.”
“Since when do you pay any attention to advertising rumors?” He was being snarky, defensive. This wouldn’t work.
“I was wondering of you’re going to leave Pittsburgh, that’s all.”
He became slightly contrite. “I’ve had offers from New York and LA and there was a feeler from a firm in London.”
“So, have you made a decision?”
“Not yet. I have another week or so before they need answers. What about you? Where are you working out of now?”
“New York.” Yes, of course. Justin would want to be in the middle of things.
“I heard that your work is selling well, that it’s in demand. I knew it would just be a matter of time before you hit.”
Their steaks were placed in front of them, along with the salads and baked potatoes they had ordered. It all looked good and smelled fabulous.
“Why did you ask my mother not to tell me that you two have been in touch all this time?”
He just shrugged then managed, “Because I didn’t think you would want to see me after the way I treated you. Besides, it’s not like we were doing dinner all the time or anything. I think I saw her every couple of years.”
Justin was cutting his steak. “Mom said that she asked you to leave me alone and then she reversed herself but you wouldn’t agree to taking me back after the bashing. You know that I never blamed you for what happened.”
“I did.”
“Do you still?” Brian didn’t answer. “That’s crap and you know it. If it hadn’t been Hobbs it would have been someone else. And if it hadn’t been me it would have been someone else who got hit.” There was still no answer. “Are you with anyone? Ben told me about a year ago that you had someone.”
“Ancient history. What about you?”
“No. No one who really mattered.”
“I heard that you were—never mind.”
“With Ethan? Ancient history.” He stated on his potato. “You’re the one I still think about.”
Fuck it. Why not—“I think about you, too.”
“I used to wonder what would have happened if things had been different—you know, if I hadn’t gotten bashed or if you’d taken me back when Mom asked you to, what might have happened if I had stayed in Pittsburgh. That sort of thing.”
“I almost sent you a computer when you were having trouble at PIFA—a graphic thing that would have allowed you to draw that I’d seen at work. But I didn’t think you’d accept it from me.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t have then.”
“That would have kept you in Pittsburgh.” They were both making progress on their dinners as they talked.
“I guess. It doesn’t matter now. I found a new therapist who helped my hand a lot. It’s OK now.”
“You always wanted to have a boyfriend who loved just you. Did you ever find that?”
“I thought I did for a while. Did you ever decide to look for one yourself?”
“A true love?” He was smirking. Justin ignored it.
“Yeah, a true love.”
Brian actually gave him a real answer. “I found him, but he…”
“He what?”
“He was hurt and then it all was different.”
“He had to grow up.”
“Yeah, so did I.”
“I’m not a dumb twink anymore.”
“I’m not the stud of Liberty Avenue any more.”
Justin smiled that smile, not the really big one, the one a notch or two below it. “So we’re both grownups now?”
Brian half smiled, too. “Fucking speak for yourself.”
“This is like it used to be, y’know? You were always fun to hang with. You know what I was thinking the other night? I couldn’t sleep so I was watching an old movie—Romancing the Stone—and one of the characters tells the other that they were their best time. I realized that was you. You were the best time I ever had.”
“I’ve never been anyone’s best time before.”
Justin smiled again. “Sure you have. You’ve been lot’s of guys best times, you used to pride yourself on it.” He ate a piece of steak. “Deb was right.”
He thought back to the conversation he’d had in the hospital, the last time he spoke with her. “He still loves you to death.” That was what she had said.
“I know it was true at one point. Is it still?”
“Yeah.” He sipped some beer. “What about you?”
Brian thoughts went through all the feelings he’d had about Justin— anger, lust, friendship, jealousy, pain, grief, fear, happiness and yes, of course love and he realized that they were all still valid. “Yeah.”
“So are we going to do anything about it?” Justin reached across the table, touching but not holding Brian’s hand.
“I’ll call LA and London tomorrow and tell them I’ve decided to accept an offer in New York.” He turned his hand over, closing his fingers on Justin’s. “You know we always fought.”
“Yeah, but the making up was always spectacular.”
“So after dinner, you want to go make up?”
“I hear that you renovated the loft. You really have a glass room now?”
“I no longer throw stones.” He became thoughtful. “Debbie always knew.”
“Yeah, she did. You know what’s striking me right now?”
Brian shook his head, slightly, asking.
“This just feels so fucking right.” Leaning across the table he kissed Brian full on the mouth, his tongue lightly moving across his lips, then withdrawing as he stood up for them to leave. He tossed some money on the table.
“Yeah, it fucking does.”