Rage

"4"

The rest of the week went quickly. Michael arranged for Vic to fill in at the store—he was happy to help—and Justin spoke to the Dean of PIFA, explaining the situation and receiving blessings and best wishes to go to California. His place in the school would be held as long as he kept in touch with them and he would even receive special credit for the show. He was told to think of it as his year abroad.

 

The contracts were accepted with very minor changes, signed after the lawyers looked them over one more time and overnighted back to George and John with copies to their agents and the production company they would be working with.

 

Jen came over to the loft with Molly in tow to wish Justin well, excited and half crying and Debbie had wanted to have a big party but was refused since Michael was too nervous to deal with it and Emmett insisted that it would jinx the entire project.

 

There had been a number of phone calls and conference calls. There had been faxes and e-mails, they all seemed to be pretty much on the same page with the whole thing and when they got to Ojai, they would be able to step right into it.

 

Brian had driven them both to the airport, Ben unable to go because of his class schedule. They had been excited but calm and Justin had reached up to shyly kiss Brian goodbye in the middle of the waiting area. The stares they had gotten had been a combination of condemnation and envy.

 

They were used to it.

 

Brian had waited around until the plane had pushed back from the gate then turned and walked back to his car. They had promised to talk when they were settled and would let him know if there were any problems or they thought something was, in any way—off.

 

He wouldn’t admit it to Justin, but he was actually scared to death that the show would hit, or if it didn’t then the next one would and Justin would decided that his career was in California.

 

He had half started thinking about putting his resume out to some of the West Coast firms. God knew it was common enough for him to be headhunted—maybe when the next round came in he’d start actually looking at them.

 

Shit, here he was planning to move to the coast to be with his twink.

 

No one would have thought this possible a year ago—shit, HE wouldn’t have thought it possible.

 

Well, things change.

 

On the plane Justin was ready to open a door and shove Michael out—and they still hadn’t crossed the Mississippi.

 

First of all, he never stopped talking. Now Justin could talk with the best of them, but this was mindless prattle and would have tried the patience of Mother Teresa. “Hey, Justin? You think we’ll get to meet any movie stars? I wonder if they have any nudie beaches? Wouldn’t that be great? You could walk down in the morning and draw some pictures to make the guys back home jealous. I hope the guesthouse is decent sized, I mean you’re used to the loft and I’m used to being with Ben. I miss him. I bet you miss Brian already, don’t you? Hey, Justin? You listening? You want those nuts because if you don’t I’ll take them. I didn’t get any breakfast this morning. I was going to get up early and make a special thin g for Ben but then—well, you know how it is, right? We got to talking and then he wanted to top me before we left and then he wanted me to top him before I left and so we never got to eat so are you going to eat those nuts?”

 

George had sprung for Business class, which was, unfortunately, full so he couldn’t move anywhere.

 

Even the Stewardess looked at him with sympathy.

 

“So, Justin, did you and Brian—you know, fuck this morning?” Even Michael saw the expression and backed off. “We never did—you know, we never made it together. I would have but he kept saying that you never screw your friends so he never would. We came damn close a couple of times, but I guess you know that.”

 

“Uh, Michael? I’m trying to get some sleep here, OK?”

 

“Oh, yeah, shit. Sorry. You know David said that when I get nervous I sort of babble, you think he was right?”

 

“Michael? I’m really kind of tired. OK?”

 

“Oh yeah, sure. Not another word.”

 

Five minutes went by.

 

“Hey, Justin? You gonna call Brian when we get there? I figured that you would and I was hoping that he’d stop by and keep Ma company a couple of times because you know how she gets. I mean, I know that Uncle Vic is there, but still, she gets…”

 

“Michael?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Really sorry. Really.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

He was ready to scream.

 

An hour later, as Justin was starting to have some really good daydreams about last night and the shower, Michael nudged him again, whispering, “You’ve got a boner, Justin—you’re thinking about Brian aren’t you?”

 

Justin gave him a look. You know the one, the one he learned for Brian. OK, it didn’t work as well with blue eyes, but still, he’d learned from the best and was a quick study. Michael didn’t notice.

 

“You two must be pretty hot—I mean do you ever actually sleep? What do you have to do? Go to your Mom’s for a nap or something? I used to think Brian took naps in his office, but I’m starting to think he just doesn’t need too much sleep—is that it?”

 

“Michael—why don’t you go tell the pilot it’s your birthday—maybe he’ll let you drive the plane. OK?”

 

He laughed. “Jeez, Justin—this is just so incredibly cool.”

 

Justin got up to hide in the bathroom for a while.

 

Finally, after about ten years, the flight landed in LA, they found the little commuter airline that would take them a hundred or so miles up the coast to the Santa Barbara airport which was only five or ten miles from Ojai.

 

Michael’s comment was that it looked like the set of MASH, but with the Pacific coast out their windows. Justin considered opening the door of the plane and giving Michael a push but restrained himself. Barely.

 

The plane arrived into the tiny airport, they were handed their bags, really just one each, as they wouldn’t really need anything fancy and one extra bag for Justin’s art supplies and his computer. Walking out to the sidewalk they were met by a middle-ages man with a graying ponytail wearing jeans and a UCSB tee shirt.

 

“Justin? Michael? George.” He held out his hand, smiling. Justin liked him on sight.

 

“I’m Justin, this is Michael. It’s good to meet you. It’s good being able to finally put a face to the name.”

 

He opened the back of a yellow Hummer seeing the look on Justin’s face. “I know, eight miles to a gallon. My kids make me feel guilty every time I take it out of the driveway, but I rationalize it because my other car is electric—one of the hybrids. That one gets like sixty miles a gallon. I figure it averages out.”

 

George kept up a steady round of chat as they drove to his place. It wasn’t that big, really, by local standards. It had maybe a dozen rooms, but sat on top of the cliff overlooking the ocean with a staircase down to the beach. It had about fifty acres, a pool, tennis court and guesthouse. This was where Michael and Justin would be staying. Thank God it head two bedrooms.

 

George helped them carry their things out back. “OK, why don’t you two get settled then come over to the pool. I put some beer and soda in the fridge just over there so just help your self”; he indicated a small under counter model in the tiny kitchen. “John should be here any time and I thought we could just start off by getting to know each other a little. I have a couple of big steaks and some fish I picked up down at the pier this morning to throw on the grill whenever you get hungry and we can kick back a little, start talking things over.”

 

Michael smiled; he was on good behavior, thank God. “That sounds great. We’ll be out in a few minutes.” George went over to the main house, tossing them a small wave as he left. “OK, I’ll take this room, if that’s OK.” He headed for the room on the left. Shrugging-it didn’t matter to him—Justin took the room on the right, carrying his suitcase and computer in. Hot, he changed into shorts and a clean PIFA tee then pulled out his cel.

 

“Brian? We’re here…Well, so far so good. He met us at the airport and he seems fine…No, he seems pretty nice and laid back…The flight was long, that’s how the fucking flight was and stop laughing, you shit…Tonight I think we’re just going to hang and get to know each other. John is supposed to be here pretty soon…They said something about a cookout, I think…I’ll call you later. OK? I miss you…I’m not being a twat. I do miss you. OK?…Later”

 

Michael had already gone out to the pool/cookout area, wearing a bathing suit and a shirt and seemed comfortable sitting talking to a woman who was probably George or John’s wife. Taking a deep breath and grabbing the can of soda he’d opened, Justin went out.

 

“There you are! I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you, Justin. When I saw your drawings I went on the Internet to the PIFA site—did you know that some of your things are there?—anyway, I’m really impressed.” She was a beautiful woman, maybe forty, dark haired and dark eyed, tall and a little thick through the middle.

 

“Justin—you’ve met Nancy? And this is Michael, he writes the book.”

 

Two more people arrived. “Good, you made it. John and his wife Susan, Justin, Michael.” There was hand shaking all around. John was about George’s age, his wife about twenty-three, from the look of her. They seemed nice.

 

The evening went well, the food was good and the talk general, but straying to the comic and the pilot they’d start working on in the morning. George and John filled them in on some of the details. They needed a shooting script in a month, casting would begin, sets and costumes designed and built when needed. A crew would have to be hired, locations scouted. A title sequence had to be decided on and theme music written and recorded.

 

They were aiming for a forty-five minute pilot, with commercials, that would take them up close to an hour-long show.

 

They also needed to start giving preliminary thought to a rough plot sequence should the pilot be picked up so they could begin to pitch a concept for a season.

 

There was a lot to do.

 

Luckily George and John were veterans, used to working under pressure and knew the business inside and out. Over the past twenty years they had overseen six shows that had become hits running for several years each but their old shows were starting to show their age and they needed a new hit to move into position when one was cancelled.

 

They would start writing in the morning.

 

The evening ended about ten, everyone wanting to get an early start on the day.

 

Before he went to bed, it being one in the morning for him with the time difference, Justin connected his computer to the phone line—George had told him to go ahead—and e-mailed Brian.

 

To bakinney@pitts.com

From Blondtwink@pittsmail

 

Bri,

 

You’d love this place. The guesthouse overlooks the beach and I’m sure that I saw whales out in the water today, out in the Santa Barbara Channel. George told me the gray whales migrate past here on their way to Baja so I probably did see what I thought. You can’t believe how incredibly cool that is.

 

George and John are fine, I like both of them and their wives seem like nice women, if a bit too Stepford for me. I grew up with that, remember? I can smell them a mile off.

 

It looks like we’ll be writing out butts off trying to get the pilot ready since they want to start casting in less than a month and George told us that they think they already have two distribution companies interested.

 

It seems that gay is ‘in’ right now, so we’ll be considered cutting edge.

 

Is that good?  I guess, but I think it’s weird to be fashion.

 

While everyone is writing, well, after they get the plot pretty nailed down, I start on the ‘look’ of the thing. I have the initial say on the sets and the costumes and all of that but they’ll bring in a real set designer to handle the technical end of that stuff.

 

I miss you like crazy.

 

I have this big fucking bed (with no one to fuck). It’s warm tonight and I can hear the waves crashing about a hundred feet from here.

 

Shit—when can you come to visit?

 

I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know how the first day went.

 

J

 

*          *          *

 

The next afternoon Brian was about to pack up his desk at five for a change. No, he wasn’t done for the day. He had to get ready to take some clients out to dinner to schmooze and he wanted to grab a quick shower and change his shirt in his private bathroom—one of the perks of being a partner.

 

The phone rang, his private line.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Brian? Do you have a minute?”

 

“How’s it going out there? How was your first day?”

 

“God, it’s so fantastic—we work so fucking well together. We have the entire thing plotted out; all we have to do is write the scenes. I’m already getting ideas for the sets and shit—God, Brian, they’re amazing!”

 

“That’s great, Justin. I knew you two could do it.”

 

“The whole thing practically’s writing itself. We all thought it would be like a week just to get the scenes mapped out, but we have the entire first season almost down already. God, you can’t imagine how fucking juiced I am!”

 

“Glad that you went? You could be in life drawing class now, you twat.”

 

“Oh, fuck you. You always know what’s right for me.”

 

“Is Mikey behaving himself? I heard from Ben this morning, he said Mikey’s homesick.”

 

“I know less than twenty-four hours. He’s complaining that November should be gray and depressing and it’s warm and gorgeous.”

 

“It’s just part of his charm. So what are you doing tonight?”

 

“Tonight? Oh—we’re going to some Japanese place George likes over in SB. Whatever. I don’t care. Shit, Brian, I wish you were here.”

 

“I told you, I’d try to come out next week for a couple of days to talk about the ads.”

 

“God, I hope so.” Brian could hear voices in the background and Justin answering. “I’ve got to go. We were just taking a break and they want to get stated again. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, OK?”

 

“I have to go, too. Later.”

 

“Later.”

 

Stripping off his clothes, stepping into the small shower, Brian starting thinking—for about the tenth time today—about what he’d do if the series hit and Justin stayed in California. He’d gotten a headhunting call just today from a firm in San Francisco. Maybe he’d call them back and set up an interview for when he was on the coast next week.

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