The Other Foot

Chapter Five

“Brian, would you like me to leave?”

He poured the two glasses of champagne, giving himself a minute to sort himself out. “…No, stay.” Naked, turning back to the bed, he handed Steve a glass, sitting beside him.

“Second thoughts?”

He carefully put the glass on the table beside the bed, his hand moving to rest on Steve’s shoulder where it joined his neck, caressing slightly. “No, not about you or this, it’s just that this isn’t what I expected.”

Steve laughed at that. “No? What did you think would happen?” His own hand coming up to rest on Brian’s.

“I thought that it would just be a fuck and it’s—not. I think this is going to be a problem.” He was serious, ignoring the joking.

“Look, if you want me to leave, I will. I just told you that. Outside we said we were both adults and that this would be alright when we get back to the office on Monday. You think we were wrong?”

“Yeah, I think we were wrong.”

“…I think you’re right.”

“Fuck.”

“We just did.”

“And now we’re fucked.”

“Brian, you’re being a queen. I know you’ve got a boyfriend and I know you love each other. It’s alright. Like I said, I’m a big boy and we’re both adults. This will be OK.”

He seemed to gather himself, taking the glass from the bed stand and holding it to Steve’s mouth, feeding him the wine, forcing a small smile, making himself climb out of the mood he was sinking into. “You’re right, I was being a twat. No problem.”

“Well, then, I think this calls for some extreme measures. Have you ever done it in the shower?”

Brian gave him a real smile. “I think maybe once or twice…”

*          *          *           *          *          *         *          *          *           *          *          *

The two men ended up spending the weekend together. It was perfect spring weather and they took advantage of it, going to the park, an art street fair down in Soho and a concert at the Lincoln Center shell. It was a jazz presentation, there were no violins. They found that away from the office where their similar perspectives and opinions were obvious, they seemed to mesh even better. They shared tastes in food, music, art, films—they even found that they liked the same sort of clothing and accessories, agreeing that selling themselves, looking good, was part of their jobs. They had the same dry sense of humor and laughed at the same things.

Not pushing each other in any way, they each realized that they were headed for serious complications with both feet moving forward and their eyes wide open. Steve made a point of not mentioning Justin and Brian did what he could to put the youngster out of his mind, though with limited success.

After Friday, that first night which they had spent together over at the Plaza, they spent most of their indoor time at Steve’s. Brian went back to the Plaza to change his clothes and little else.

It was partly because Steve’s home was more relaxing than the hotel and partly because Brian knew that Justin would be calling him and he didn’t want to deal with it quite yet. On Sunday afternoon he went to his room to get fresh clothing for the office in the morning the desk clerk had told him that he had a large number of phone messages and would he like to see them? He politely declined, saying that he was taking the weekend off and would deal with them with the new week. He left his cel off and didn’t bother to pick up his phone messages until Monday evening when he returned from the day’s work at the agency—and dinner with Steve again.

Sunday night they stayed home at Steve’s, a duplex at Trump Tower. They had eaten dinner earlier at a small Italian place they had happened upon and were laying on the couch in front of the TV, the weird sci fi film, ‘Gattaca’ ignored on the screen.

“So what happens tomorrow when the weekend is over?”

“Shit. I know that Justin has been trying to get me. I have to talk to him.”

“And what are you going to tell him?”

“…I don’t know. Look, Steve, you know—I know—that I love him, but this has been incredible. I’d like us to…” He trailed off, unsure.

“You’d like to have your cake and eat it, too, right?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

“No.” Brian looked down at him as he used Brian’s lap as a pillow. “We know what we have here, or what we could possibly have, but you’re tied up with someone else and I’m not a piece on the side.”

“I know that. I just—fuck, I don’t know.”

He turned his head, kissing Brian’s hand and smiled a bit. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘conflicted’.”

Brian took his hand, rubbing his hands over it, almost lost in thought. “It took me thirty years to fall in love and then another year and a half before I could admit it. It was almost six months later before I could say it out loud.” He paused, searching for words. “I love Justin, but being with him is just so hard sometimes, there’s always drama, conflicts, arguments. His friends come over and I feel like his fucking father telling them to use coasters and clean up their shit, to turn down the music.” He looked down at Steve again. “This is just so easy. It’s so comfortable.”

Reaching his hand up, Steve pulled him down so that they could kiss. “I know.”

“He’s still a kid in a lot of ways and that’s one of the things I love about him but you’re an adult and I like grownups.”

“And grown up games.”

“This isn’t game, Steve.”

“Yes, it is, Brian. And you’re the prize.”

Making love again that night, Brian felt like he was with a lover, a partner. They knew, almost instinctively, how to please one another. When that understanding flashed into his mind, it was all he could do to finish the act.

Fuck.

*          *          *           *          *          *         *          *          *           *          *          *

The next morning, Monday, they made a point of taking separate cabs to the agency, and different routes so that they wouldn’t arrive at the same time.

He had barely sat down at his desk when Cynthia came in. “Justin is on line six. He sounds upset.” Nodding he asked her to close the door as she left.

“God, I’ve been calling you all weekend, are you alright? I’ve been really worried about you.”

“Justin, I’m fine, I was just working and didn’t want to be disturbed. You know how I get when I’m in the middle of something.”

“But I left like a million messages and you never called and your cel was off the whole time…you could have called. I was getting scared.”

“I’m sorry, OK? I should have called, I know, but I have a deadline and you know how it is when I have to get stuff out.”

“Brian, I was really worried about you. I was e-mailing and you never even checked that. You always check your e-mail.”

“Justin—I said I’m sorry, OK? I should have checked my messages but I was too fucking busy. It won’t happen again.”

“Brian, I was really worried. I thought that something might have happened to you.”

“Nothing happened. Now, stop queening and just calm down. What did you do this weekend?”

“I told you, I had a project I had to finish.”

“Did you get it done?”

“Yes.”

The twat was pouting now. Shit.

“Did you do anything else? Did you get out?”

“I had dinner with Daphne last night and I worked two shifts at the diner.”

“Anything else?”

“I told you, I was working on a project and trying to get a hold of you.”

“Fucking drop it.”

“Screw you, Brian. I was fucking worried about you and now you’re pissed off that I was upset. Well fuck you.”

“I’m not going to get into this with you now.”

“Fine.”

“…Don’t you have a class about now?”

“It was cancelled.”

“…Are you coming next weekend?”

“Don’t you have some hotshit account you have to work on?”

“Fuck this. I have work to do. You can call me later when you fucking calm down.” He was about to hang up when he heard Justin’s voice, the tone contrite.

“…Brian?”

“What?”

“I love you, OK?”

“Yeah, I know…I love you, too.” They broke the connection.

Shit.

There was a knock and Steve walked in.

“Trouble at home?” Steve paused in the doorway when he saw Brian’s face.

Brian leaned back in his chair, tired at only nine thirty in the morning. “He tried to get a hold of me this weekend. He was afraid that something had happened.” He saw the look he got. “I mean to me.”

Closing the door behind him as he walked into the room, Steve sat in one of the chairs by Brian’s desk.

“We can still stop this. We’re friends and I’d like to keep that, but we can put the brakes on the rest of it. I’d understand and there’d be no hard feelings. We can still work together and spend time together if you want.”

“You could do that?”

“I didn’t say that I want to, I said that I could if it was what you want.”  There was no answer. “Brian?”

When he spoke it was slow and deliberate. His voice was quiet. “I want—to see you. I would like us to be friends and to work together. I enjoy going over the day with you after work and relaxing with dinner. I would enjoy spending time with you and I would like us to be lovers. I want—I would like—fuck—I think that we might have something and I don’t want to throw it away until we know what that is.”

“What about Justin?”

“…I don’t know.”

Return to The Other Foot