Rage

"5"

Six AM, EST. “Brian? Are you there? Pick up…fuck. Brian?…I have to talk to you. Call my cel as soon as you get this, OK?”

 

Brian stepped out of the shower a couple of minutes after the call, in a hurry and wanting to get to work early, he didn’t notice the light flashing on the machine.

 

If he was going to the office he would have gotten the message from Cynthia, but he had meetings all day in fucking Harrisburg and he had forgotten—Damnit—to recharge his cel, so Justin couldn’t get through there, either.

 

When he did call in to see if he was missing anything important, Cynthia happened to be in the bathroom and the intern sitting at her desk for a couple of minutes was too afraid of Mr. Kinney, too flustered to actually be talking to the man when he was in an obviously bad mood, to check the previous page on Cyn’s note book and so didn’t see the note asking him to call Justin ASAP.

 

That evening, after he had taken the new clients to dinner and been forced to go along with their suggestion to see some of the city’s (straight) nightlife, he had finally walked into the loft around twelve thirty. Exhausted, he considered ignoring the flashing light on the answering machine until it occurred to him that he hadn’t spoken to Justin all day.

 

He pressed the button. There were five messages from Justin, ranging from frantic to panic to resigned and in the last one he seemed to be in tears.

 

Shit. What the fuck was going on?

 

He hit speed dial. It was picked up on the first ring.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Justin? What’s going on? Are you alright?”

 

“Oh, God, Brian. It was—God it was awful. They were sitting right across from us when it happened and the restaurant called 911, but they were dead before the paramedics got there.” He sounded like he was starting to cry again.

 

Ah, shit.

 

“Justin? Justin—calm down. I need you to tell me what happened. Is Mikey OK? Was it Mikey?”

 

“No, no, no…Michael’s fine. He had chicken.”

 

“Justin—what happened?” His voice was deliberately calm, he felt less so.

 

“We were doing so well working on the project that George wanted to celebrate by taking us all out to his favorite restaurant. It’s this Japanese place in Santa Barbara. He ordered the Fugu.”

 

“What the fuck is Fugu?”

 

There was sniffling from the other end of the line. “It’s this kind of puffer fish that’s really toxic. You have to have a chef who knows exactly how to clean it so they get all the poison out before you can eat it.” There was more sniffling.

 

Brian kept his voice calm, as though he was talking to Gus. “What happened?”

 

“We got to the restaurant and they knew him, called him by name, showed us right to the best table and stuff. He made a big show of ordering the fucking fish and the chef came over—they carve it right at the table—anyway, George said something about it being a new chef and the manager explained that the regular guy was off that night but this man was just as good, so we shouldn’t worry or anything. He made it sound like a joke.” Another pause while Brian heard nose blowing. “So he craved the thing and made some kind of sushi with what was left and George and John both ate it at the same time. I got the impression that it was something they did pretty often.”

 

More nose blowing before he continued.

 

“They were trying to get their wives and me and Michael to have some, but the women just laughed and you know how Michael is with any new foods. They all started looking at me and I was going to try it but just then George just got this weird look on his face and he went pale and then he got really flushed. John started doing the same thing and they both sort of grabbed their stomachs and the restaurant people were running around and calling for help and—shit, Brian—they died right in front of us.”

 

“Justin—God—where’s Mikey? Is he there?”

 

More sniffling. “I think he’s getting some food for the others. It’s sort of crazy here.”

 

“I’ll come out. I’ll get a plane first thing in the morning, OK?”

 

Another sniff. “No, don’t. We’re coming back. The flight gets into Pittsburgh at…” There was the sound of papers shuffling…”three fifteen tomorrow afternoon. We’re booked on Liberty.”

 

“I’ll meet you. I’ll be at the baggage claim.”

 

“OK, thanks. Brian?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I don’t know, just—shit.”

 

“I know. I’ll meet you tomorrow.” He paused. Justin needed something more; he could hear it in his voice. “Justin?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You’re going to be alright.”

 

“Yeah…Brian, I’ll see you later, OK?”

 

“I’ll be there.”

 

It was raining and the baggage claim was crowded and he had to show picture ID to gain access. When he finally made it into the gated area, he saw Justin and Michael immediately. They seemed to have their stuff and were loading it onto a cart.

 

Brian put both hands on Justin’s shoulders from behind, holding him, drawing him close then sliding his arms down and around the slender waist. Justin twisted around so that they were facing one another, his own arms around Brian. They just held each other, letting the crowd move around them, ignoring the annoyed looks they were getting until Michael said, quietly, “We should go.”

 

Nodding, they moved apart, Brian with an arm around Justin’s shoulder, guiding him out to the car while Michael pushed the cart.

 

They didn’t say anything on the ten-minute walk. The bags were placed in the back they got in, Michael in the rear, Justin shotgun.

 

“So what happens now?” Brian eased into traffic then glanced over as Justin looked out the window at the gray.

 

He didn’t turn his head. “I don’t know. George and John were the production company. Without them, I don’t know if it will be able to continue or not.”

 

“Are there any other people who they work closely with? Any other partners or something?”

 

He looked down at his lap. “If there are, we didn’t meet them. We just worked with them.”

 

Brian had been on the phone earlier with Bob, the Vanguard lawyer who had looked over the contract. He was checking into whether or not the company was likely to continue with the deaths of both main partners. He hadn’t sounded encouraging.

 

The ride was mostly covered in silence. He dropped Mikey off at his apartment, helping him in with the bag and kissing him before he left. They promised to get together, probably tomorrow to see what was going on. Justin had waited in the car.

 

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

 

“No, thanks, I’m not hungry.” That was a first.

 

They went straight back to the loft.

 

When they had the two suitcases inside and up in the bedroom, Brian called the office. Yes, Bob had heard from GJ Productions legal people. There were no immediate plans to continue work on the Rage project. Yes, Justin and Michael had pay or play deals which guaranteed them each fifty thousand dollars should the development not reach full production for reasons beyond their control. Those checks would be sent within a month or so when the estates were settled and the company dismantled. There should be no problem with that. GJ had assets that could easily cover the payoff.

 

The Rage contracts were now null and void due to the untimely deaths of the production company’s owners and the dissolution of the company. No one would be taking over. The company was out of business.

 

Mr. Taylor and Mr. Novotny were free to shop the property elsewhere if they wanted, in fact, if they wanted the plot outlines they had been working on, that shouldn’t be a problem. They were welcome to them since they had made major contributions to their writing and concepts.

 

Brian thanked him; asking to be kept informed of any new developments, should there be any. Oh, and he would talk to Gardner about waiving Vanguard’s fees to the Rage people. Under the circumstances and all, it would be wrong to charge them a percentage, didn’t he agree? Know whom he was talking to, Bob agreed.

 

Justin was sitting on the couch when he hung up the phone, two open bottles of Sam Adams on the table in front of him. Sitting beside him, Brian quickly went over what would happen. Saying nothing, Justin just nodded.

 

“I really thought that this could become something. I really though that this would be a start.”

 

Brian moved closer, his arm around Justin’s shoulders, his other hand holding Justin’s. “There will be other things. You know that.”

 

Justin nodded. “I know, but I thought that this would—you know.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

He reached forward for his beer. “I keep seeing their faces when they seemed to realize what was happening. Just before they ate the fish they had been joking about how once the poison is in you, there’s nothing you can do. It was like a bravura thing, almost macho.” He wiped his cheeks. “I liked them. I really liked them.”

 

Brian pulled him into his arms. There was no reason to tell him about the money yet. He’d find out soon enough. “I did too, what I knew of them.” They didn’t say anything for a minute. “How is Mikey taking it?”

 

“He’s pretty upset. He kept saying that this was his big break and now it was for shit and he’d never leave Pittsburgh.”

 

Brian gave a small smile, picturing the scene. “Do you want to go right back to PIFA or would you like to get away for a few weeks?”

 

Justin turned his face to Brian’s. “What are you talking about?”

 

“The school thinks you’re on a leave of absence for six months or more. Before you go back, we could go somewhere.”

 

He looked half interested. “Like where?”

 

“I don’t give a fuck—Rome, Paris? Whatever.” He wanted to get Justin’s mind off what had happened.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Let me know. I have some vacation time coming to me.”

 

“You have years of vacation time coming to you. You never take time off.”

 

“Well, now I am. You want to go?” He reached for his beer, forcing Justin to move as he leaned across the table.

 

“Well, shit, yeah—of course.” He was still subdued by what had happened over the last twenty-four hours or so. He rested back against Brian’s chest, turning so that his arm lay against his waist in an embrace, his face pressed to his side. “No guarantees, are there?”

 

“…No, there aren’t.”

 

“George and John were telling us about their kids, how they’re doing in school and all that shit. They both seemed really happy with what they had.” He was about to cry again. Brian tightened his arm around him. Fuck, a couple of days ago he had been practically dancing, he had been so happy and excited.

 

“Justin, it happens. Car accidents, fires, food poisoning—it happens. You and Mikey are OK, the two wives will raise the kids and things go on.”

 

“We’re just going away because you want me to get my mind off of this.” He was stating a fact, not expressing anger.

 

“That’s part of it.” He took a drink of his beer. “And I think we should go away together. We never have. It’s time.”

 

“Really?” Brian didn’t do vacations and he sure as fuck didn’t do them with someone else.

 

“If it works out, maybe you could move back in here. I mean, you practically live here anyway.” Justin was surprised, partly by the change of subject, partly by what he was being offered. Slowly the sunshine smile broke out. It always killed Brian to see it, not that he’d ever admit it.

 

“You’re sure, or is this just because of what happened yesterday?” He wanted an answer. The answer was important.

 

“Yeah, well, it’s not the reason, I guess it’s more the occasion.” He paused for a moment, taking a drink of his beer as he collected his thoughts.  “It’s like we said; there are no guarantees and I want you safe, I want you around for a long time.”

 

“That’s what I want for you, too.” Justin, eyes till red but smile back, leaned in to kiss him.

 

 

The End

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