Dear Brian 

Chapter Five

 

Please note: Although the Tiffany stores listed do actually exist, I’ve no idea where their main workshop is. I’ve decided to place it in New York at their flagship store, just because I can and because my sweet old Great Uncle Fred used to get his Christmas presents for his wife there—custom made. If you know it’s somewhere else (their corporate offices are in New Jersey), drop me a line.

 

  “Dear Brian,

 

I know that you’d never do anything to hurt someone, so I’m just trying to understand why you’re acting the way that you are. I’ve been trying and trying to find things that would make you happy—I know that you loved that jacket you were looking at in Gucci’s and that shirt from Yves would look fabulous on you—I’ve been getting all the food that you like and the flowers, I picked them out my self.

 

I thought that they would make you happy.

 

That’s all I wanted to do for you, to make you happy.

 

Justin the twat never gave you anything and Mikey never sent you flowers,

 

Ever when your father died and you were really sad, even though you wouldn’t let anyone know how upset you were, the others never sent you flowers.

 

Did you like the ones I sent? They were the yellow rose casket blanket.

 

At first I thought that was a little forward, sending the casket flowers since usually the family does that, but I thought that for the man who was your father, he should have the best.

 

Then I thought that maybe the reason that you’re returning everything is that you’re afraid that I can’t afford it and that it might be a hardship to me.

 

Brian—I promise you, it’s not a problem. I mean, I don’t like to brag, but I’ve got lot’s more money than you do, so don’t worry, OK?

 

I want you to have these things.

 

It makes me happy to get things for you and to think how nice you’ll look wearing them or that you can walk into your loft and see beautiful things like the orchids I sent you yesterday.

 

When I saw the plant in the garbage I almost ran right up your stairs and yelled at you, but I understood that a lot of people think that orchids are sexual and that you might not be comfortable with that, so I didn’t.

 

I’m really glad that you sent the cunt away.

 

I know that you’ll be mad, but I was hoping that his plane would crash. He’s such a user and I hate what he does to you. I hope that he never comes back.

 

Maybe with him gone you might like to have dinner with me? I’d love that.

 

Just being with you, sitting a t a table with you would make me so proud.

Yourfan

   

 

After speaking with the Threat Management person for PPD, Brian was advised that this would be a good time to try a direct rejection to the man. He was told to be firm, even blunt. The e-mail he sent was vetted by the police psychologist who thought that it was about what they would suggest. He was told not to expect it to make much of an impression.

 

He wrote;

   

 

“We have no relationship.

 

We have never had a relationship nor do I desire a relationship with you.

 

Anything you send me will either be returned or discarded. I will accept nothing from you.

You are to stop all contact with me at once.

 

I will read no more e-mails from you. They will be forwarded to the police.

 

Do not contact me again.

 

Brian Kinney.”

 

 

 

Brian hit send. Within five minutes he had a reply.

 

 

 

“Dear Brian,

 

I know that you sent that nasty note to me because you’re just overwhelmed that someone wants to be nice to you.

 

You’re such a giving person that it’s hard fro you to accept that someone wants to give to you, but I do. I really do.

 

I want you to have beautiful things and to have wonderful things around you. I want you to never have to worry about anything. I want to take care of you.

 

Please understand that I love you and want to be able to be with you.

 

Could I come over so that we can discuss this?

 

Yourfan

   

 

Under advisement from the police, Brian did not answer.

 

Two hours later there was another e-mail.

 

 

 

Dear Brian,

 

I know that you’re home. Please answer me.

 

Yourfan

   

 

He remained silent, when the phone rang, he checked caller ID before answering.

 

Justin.

 

“I’m here, Brian. My grandfather picked me up at the airport with no problem and I’m fine. What’s going on there?”

 

“Nothing. It’s quiet.”

 

“Bullshit. What’s really going on?”

 

“I told you, nothing. It’s quiet here today.”

 

“Well—good.”

 

“So what are you going to do while you’re there?”

 

“Hit the museums, see a couple of shows. You know, the usual.”

 

“Sounds good. How are your grandparents?”

 

“They’re good—fine…. Brian, what’s really going on there? Are you really OK?”

 

“I’m sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer. Mikey came over with some dinner a little while ago. I’m fine, Justin, don’t worry about me. You’ll hear if something happens.”

 

“You promise that you’ll call?”

 

“I said that I would. Now fuck off and let me eat my dinner.”

 

“OK. Be careful, Brian.”

 

“I’m fine. Later.”

 

He had mail.

 

 

 

“Dear Brian,

 

I know that you’re home. I saw Michael go in a couple of hours ago with that crappy chicken that he always brings over when he thinks you’re upset.

 

I wish that you wouldn’t eat that shit. It’s not good for you and I’m afraid that it might make you sick.

 

I couldn’t stand that.

 

Please take care of yourself.

 

I’m going to send you something that I got for you today. I hope that you like it.

 

Please keep it.

 

I had it made especially for you and t wasn’t ready until this afternoon. I designed it myself.

 

Please don’t be mad at me.

 

I saw you today when you went to work. I know you like that light gray suit, but it doesn’t look as good on you as the navy blue one does. I love how that looks on you.

 

Would you please wear that tomorrow for me? You look especially handsome in that.

 

Yourfan

   

 

“You’re not going to wear that suit tomorrow, are you?” Michael was finishing off the last chicken leg. They both had an adolescent weakness for the Colonel they would both deny with their dying breaths. It was one they rarely indulged.

 

“I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s still at the cleaners.”

 

“Good.”

 

They settled in with more beer to watch a DVD of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Sean Connery was fucking hot, even if he was old and bald. That fucking accent would melt anyone’s sporran. About half way through the film, just as they’re getting out of the Nazi’s flaming fireplace, the frigging intercom buzzes.

 

With a at look at each other, Michael went to answer it.

 

“Yes?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Someone there?”

 

Nothing.

 

“You want something, asshole?”

 

Nothing. Fine, fuck’em.

 

Just as he was turning to go back to Sean and Harrison he heard a light knock on the steel door. Another glance at Brian, and he slid the door open.

 

Hanging on the elevator gate was the blue suit, still wrapped in Dry Cleaner’s plastic, swaying slightly as though someone had just walked past it. Looped over the hanger was a small carrier bag from Tiffany’s. No one was there, Brian ran to the windows, looking down at the street to see the figure of a man in a long coat running away. It was dark; all he could make out was a vague shape. Any sort of identification was impossible.

 

“Shit.” Michael brought the suit in, hanging it on one of the lower rafters. He handed Brian the blue bag.

 

Inside was a matching blue box, tied with the white satin ribbon. Inside of that was a black velvet jewelry gift box, a small one. Opening the hinged lid he saw the ring. It was wide and gold with small diamonds arranged around the centerline at small intervals, small glittering dots in the gold. On the inner surface was the inscription “You are perfection”.

 

Trying it on, Brian found a perfect fit.

 

He even knew his ring size. Shit.

 

He removed the ring, replacing it back where he’d gotten it.

 

He had mail.

 

 

 

“Dear Brian,

 

I hope that you’ll wear this for me, just as a token of our friendship.

 

I love you.

 

Yourfan

   

 

Goddamnit.

 

The next morning he made a couple of phone calls and found out that there was no Tiffany’s in Pittsburgh, the nearest ones would be in either New York, Philadelphia or King of Prussia. Shit. So which store would have information about what was probably a special order? It could have been ordered out of any of the locations, but would have been likely made in the main workrooms in New York City. Perhaps they could make a call for him? Yes, thank you.

 

Oh, and he could return the item to any store, no problem.

 

Horvath wanted the ring as possible evidence. He handed it over.

 

Going to work that day, he made a point of wearing the light gray suit the stalker didn’t like.

 

He called Justin before he got involved with the day, before the meetings and the calls started.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey, you doing alright out there? Keeping busy?”

 

“I’m good. I’m going into the Whitney today. There’s a Whistler show I wanted to see then I might head up to the Met.”

 

“Sounds like more fun than my day.”

 

“Brian? Problems?”

 

“No, no—just Thursday. You know.”

 

“Did you hear from him?”

 

“Nothing serious. Horvath has some leads he’s checking. I think this will be over pretty soon now. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Of course I’m fucking worried.”

 

“We have a couple of leads. It’s going to break soon.”

 

“Has he threatened you?”

 

“He’s still sending me presents. I’m fine. I told you not to worry.”

 

“Can I come home?”

 

“Not yet—I’ll let you know when. OK?”

 

“…Yeah. Brian? Be careful?”

 

“Of course…I was thinking that I might fly to New York to visit you this weekend, get away for a couple of days. Would that be alright?”

 

“God! Yes—come, please.”

 

“I’ll call you with the details. Later.”

 

He logged the computer in. He had mail.

 

 

 

Dear Brian,

 

I told you that I don’t like that suit on you. I was hoping that you’d wear the blue suit. I made a special trip to pick it up for you and drop it off at your place and then you didn’t wear it.

 

You’re not wearing the ring, either. I know that it fits, I know that it’s the right size, so don’t lie to me and say that it’s too tight or something.

 

I know that you’re trying to find out my name and that you have the fucking police trying to track me down.

 

They’re trying to track me down like I’m a fucking criminal or something.

 

I told you that I love you.

 

Is this how you treat people who love you?

 

You don’t treat the twat like this. You fucking worry about the cunt.

 

You don’t worry about me.

 

I worry about you all the time. I worry that you’re not eating right or that you’re working too hard or that Cuntboy is using you and that you’re spending too much of your money on him, but you don’t seem to give a shit that I spend all this time worrying about you.

 

This isn’t right. I think that the cunt had been talking to you about me. I think that he’s poisoned you against me. I want his ass to stay the fuck away from you so that you can get out from under his fucking spoiled WASP princess crap.

 

I asked you to have dinner with me. I said that I wanted us to be friends and you’re being rude.

 

I fucking hate rude people.

 

Did you think I was just going to go away?

 

I told you that I love you. I know that you love me, too.

 

You told me.

 

You remember that.  The night we made love you said it.

 

I’m not just some Goddamned trick. I love you and you love me.

 

You wouldn’t have done the things you did to me if you didn’t love me. I wouldn’t have let you do them if I didn’t love you so stop playing these stupid games.

 

I don’t like being jerked around.

 

Yourfan

 

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