Time Away

Part 3

Note: I have no idea what the laws in Jamaica concerning the events in this chapter (and the rest of the story) are. I’m making them up as I go along. If anyone knows the real deal, by all means let me know, but for the purposes of this little trip to Fantasy Island—just go with the flow.

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Seven thirty they made their way up the path to the main house. Going up the stone steps, they walked through the main hallway to the back of the house to what was obviously the dining room.

The house itself was charming, an old sugar plantation built around seventeen hundred, now given over as a guesthouse but restored to perfection. The wood floors glowed with centuries of wax and care and the chandeliers held dozens of candles. It was like stepping back in time.

The dining room windows over looked the main lawn leading down to the beach a couple hundred yards away and the mahogany table was set for twelve with silver, crystal, fine china and good linen.

It was beautiful and romantic and exactly what anyone could hope for. There were already eight men seated around the table, chatting quietly among themselves. Without exception they were well, if casually, dressed, well groomed and appeared intelligent. Several looked up at Brian and Justin too tow of the empty seats.

Stuart smiled at them. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m glad that you decoded to join us this evening. It’s always a good way to get to know one another.” He looked up and down the length of the table. “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor. They’ve just joined us today from the States and will be with us for about ten days. Brian and Justin, this is Lord Randall Greaves and his friend Christopher, Doctor Adrian Smith and his friend Blair Wilson and Richard Breslin with his companion Philip Pendleton. I’m afraid that two of our guests have decided to sample one of he island restaurants at the last minute, but you’ll likely meet them soon enough.” The two newcomers were aware of being given the once over by the their dining companions, both of hem decided to ignore it—it wasn’t like both of them weren’t used to being checked out.

The first course was a clear broth soup seasoned with something unidentifiable. When Justin asked about it he was told, politely, that they were island spices and he would do better to ask cook in the morning—he would be proud to share recipes, if he took a liking to someone.

The talk through out the meal was general—of the oft heard on vacation ‘where are you from and what do you do’ variety. They learned that Lord Randall had been in the House of Lords until it was downsized a few years ago and that he had an ‘arrangement’ with Lady Greaves for to each live their own lives. They also learned that the doctor and his friend were from LA, the doctor headed an emergency room at a large hospital and that Breslin was a partner at a law firm in Toronto. In each case, Brian was surprised to learn, their partners were effectively housewives and that they seemed to assume the same about Justin when it was learned that Brian was a partner in an ad agency that the lawyer had actually heard of.

If any of them were in any way concerned or shocked or amused when they heard that Justin was still a college student, they were all too well mannered to say anything.

The earlier promised lobster in sauce was as rich and fabulous and the probable cause of future heart attacks as they thought it might be and the accompanying wine was inspired. For desert their attention was drawn to the doorway where two servants stood holding platters heaped with—something. At a signal from Stuart, a match was struck and the expected oohs and ahhs were heard around the table.

They were Banana’s Flambé. As the flames were allowed to die down and the fruit served, Brian thought it was a stupid waste of showmanship for what amounted to hot bananas. Catching his eye, he knew that Justin was laughing at him.

Finally the meal ended with offers of cards and general talk and drinks on the veranda. A couple of the men decided to go club hopping, the rest seemed to prefer a quiet night. Justin followed the others, talking to Christopher about the works in the National Portrait Gallery in London. It was several minutes before he noticed that Brian hadn’t joined the others. Going in search of his lover, Justin heard quiet voices coming from what seemed to be a small private office.

“…All arranged, all we need to know from you is when you want us to set it all up.”

“I’m going to talk to him tonight so I’ll be able to tell you tomorrow morning. How much lead time will you need?”

“Not much. Give us a day and we’ll be alright with everything.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Stuart. I appreciate this.”

“Think nothing of it. After we got that call, we were glad to help.”

Justin turned abruptly back the way he came. Shit, knowing Brian it could be anything.

He returned to the veranda, getting himself a Red Stripe beer and sitting on the railing watching a couple of the others deal out a game of poker. Within a couple of minutes Brian sat next to him, an arm round Justin’s waist.

“Where did you go? I lost you there.”

“Had to take a leak. Want to go for a walk?”

“Sure.” The two of the left, virtually unnoticed by the others. They made their way down to the beach, holding hands and making some small talk about the other guests and the dinner. They agreed that both seemed to be fine.

The night, not surprisingly, was warm, the waves breaking gently a few feet away soothing. Removing their sandals, the walk along the water where the sand was hard and easy. The starts, relatively free from northern pollution, were brighter and more numerous than Justin had seen.

Their fingers caressed.

“Things have been going pretty well between us since we got back together.” Brian’s voice was soft.

“Yes. It’s been good.” Justin knew that he was building up to something. They walked another hundred yards before Brian said anything more.

“I was wondering if you would want to make it more permanent?”

Justin tried to understand what Brian was getting at. He was better than almost anyone at understanding Brianspeak, but this was ambiguous, even for him.

“Permanent how?”

“…I thought—if you’d like to—we could get married.”

Justin stopped walking, his hand still in Brian’s. “Brian?”

“Would you want to?” They were facing each other, less than a foot apart. Brian with that look on his face like when he had ruined the Rage stuff a year or so ago, afraid that Justin would tell him to fuck off.

“I—yeah.” His face slid into that half smile, the one that he used when whatever was happening was too much for the big one, the one that telegraphed everything to everyone. This was just for himself. “You mean it? You’re not shitting me?” He had thought—hoped that Brian might have something like this in mind, but he didn’t have the nerve to come out and ask him. Brian would have had some incredibly snotty response and he just didn’t ant to hear it. Then he had thought that maybe Brian wanted to put his name on the Loft’s deed or something like that, or maybe he wanted a commitment ceremony or something. He hadn’t really thought that it would be anything like really getting married.

Brian breathed out a short laugh. “No, I’m not shitting you.” He still just stood there, their hands still interlaced. “You really do?”

Justin smiled again, almost shy. “I really do. I want to marry you. I want us to be married to each other and I want everyone to know it.”

This time Brian smiled his real smile. “Showoff twat.” They kissed then, leaning together, arms around backs and necks and waists, tongues encircling tongues.

“When? Is this what you were talking about to Vince and Stuart?” Justin started kissing Brian’s neck.

“It’s legal here. They’ve made all the arrangements. It’s all ready, all we have to do is tell them when. Stuart told me tonight that they can have it all set in twenty four hours.”

Justin pulled back just enough to look at him. “You’re sure about this? We still fight all the time and I’m younger than you and I don’t have any money or anything—are you really sure?”

Brian just kissed him.

“You mean really married—all legal and everything?”

“Yes, really married.”

“Do we have rings?”

“I drew up designs a couple of months ago and had them made.”

“No way.”

“They’re back in the room. If you want we can get something else if you don’t like them.”

Justin kissed him, hugging him.

“Allergies again?”

“No, I’m crying, asshole. I’m really happy.”

“You are such a faggot.” But he kissed him anyway.

“Yeah, but I’m the best one you’ll ever see.”

“…Yeah, I know.”

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