Joan VS The State of Liberty
Chapter 4
Justin was alone in the loft doing some research on his latest school project. Brian was out with clients or out saving the world from evil mothers or just out. It was this quiet time that Justin liked so he could concentrate. The buzzer to the door broke the silence.
"Who is it?"
"Justin? It's Sidney Bloom. I have your painting."
"Come on up, top floor!"
"Hmm, how appropriate."
Justin had the loft door open and was bouncing in anticipation. The elevator seemed to take forever to make it up. When it reached his floor, Justin raised the gate.
"Justin, my boy! So good to see you."
"Thank you, and thank you for bringing the painting here. We would have picked it up."
"And pass up the opportunity to see the infamous loft? Not a chance. Where would you like them to put it?"
Just inside the door, two large bear-like men were standing. One had the painting, the other the framed x-ray. Their eyes swept the loft then looked Justin up and down. Sidney's men had an eye for 'art' as well. Justin gave them one of his sweet innocent grins and indicated they could lean the wrapped pictures against the kitchen island.
Sidney watched the encounter and rolled his eyes. It was obvious that Justin had learned a lot from Brian.
"Out, you two, and wait for me downstairs."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Bloom, and Mr. Taylor, if you ever need anything moved, call us." Justin giggled then got serious when he saw Sidney's look.
"Um, was there anything else? Would you like a drink or something?"
"No, thank you, Justin. I wanted to show you something. I know you have an innate curiosity about Kinney and his Patrick. While we were conserving the paintings we made another interesting discovery. I discussed it with Ms. Anderson and it was agreed that the public would not be shown what we found. Only the letters that you two found were going to be part of the exhibit. As you saw, there is a market for Americana. The letters were almost as important as the artwork. They are a window into that period of American history.
"We had to remove each painting from its frame to have them properly examined and cleaned. We also cleaned and conserved the frames and each painting was returned to its own frame. For some reason I started with the portrait of Martha. She was painted with such love, such passion. The pastel colors he used were soft and muted, yet vibrant as if he was explaining how he felt about his wife with just the color alone. I have pictures chronicling the conservation. I put them on a disc for you. I think you'll enjoy seeing the process."
"Thank you! I am interested. But you said you found something?"
"Yes, yes. As I said, I was drawn to Martha first. When we removed the backing for the frame, papers fluttered to the floor. At first I thought they were more letters and I was right, sort of."
"Sort of?"
"There was a letter and then pages of a journal. We removed the backing from each painting and we found more pages. I had all the pages put in special acid free sleeves and each scanned into the computer." Sidney handed a box to Justin. In the box were the letter and the journal pages all in protective sleeves.
"Here, it's all in order. I have the letter in there too. I suggest you put the box in a safety deposit box or at least in a fire resistant box. I have everything on this disc for you. I have a copy of the letter too. Read it."
With a shaky hand Justin took the letter from Sidney and read it out loud.
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My beloved Martha,
We have been apart for so many years and yet you will not let me release you from our bonds of marriage. You are a young, beautiful woman; you can remarry and still bear fine sons. I do not understand why you remain attached to me. I have brought only shame to you and even now at this time of uncertainty, you support and assist me still.
I do love you. Please understand that one truth. When our parents arranged our attachment, I loved you the moment I saw you. Sweet, beautiful and frightened child. You will always be that sweet child to me but you are no longer frightened. I believe you are the bravest person I have ever known. And now you take on this task of harboring my paintings and my journal.
Yes, my love, I still keep my journal. 'Twas you who brought this habit to me, always insisting I have a way with the spoken and written word. So I have kept up my writing.
But now Patrick and I must leave. We can only take what we can carry. We will go back to South America until this war is over. We cannot stay. Many in the village are burning their own homes so that no haven to rebels will be left. I fear our cottage will fall prey to the carnage. And I fear if we would be taken prisoner we would be much abused then killed. I am sending my paintings and my journal to you for safe keeping. I must keep Patrick safe too. But he does so much better here where the air is dry. I fear his sneezing will return once we get back to the jungle, poor lad.
My dearest wife, I wish I had the power of words to explain what you mean to me and the part that Patrick plays in my life. You are my heart and he is my soul. Please pray for us.
I will try to send word when we are settled.
Your humble servant,
John Aidan Brian Kinney
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Justin had to sit. The impact of Kinney's words struck a cord in his heart. He knew Kinney never stopped loving his wife but something made him need Patrick. There were many times when he and Daphne were together when that same pull tugged at him. Justin loved Daphne; they were together since they were babies. If things were different, he knew Daphne and he would have had a life together.
"Justin, are you all right?"
"Yes. Thank you for showing me this."
"Claire knew you wanted to learn more about Kinney and Patrick. She asked me to give you the letter and the journal. You should thank her. Well my boy, I must take my leave. Enjoy the painting and have fun with your new journey."
"My new journey?"
"Into the past, my boy, your journey into the past."
Sidney left with a flurry of his long coat leaving Justin with his Kinney and his thoughts.
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Joan took a last sip of sherry to fortify herself before she went to the lawyer's. She had an appointment for 2 pm. She didn't want to drink too much but she needed a little liquid courage for what she was about to do. However, she was sure God was on her side. She would be pursuing the saving of the souls of her nephews. She would also be going after what was rightfully hers.
Armed with the papers she thought she might need, she went out to her car. The drive to the lawyer's office didn't take long. She was soon ushered into the office of Seymour Gottlieb who sat patiently listening to the whole story as Joan told it to him. His ears perked up when she talked about the Kinney paintings. He had read about the sum raised in the newspaper. This woman seemed to think those paintings belonged to her. She might prove to be a very lucrative client.
When Joan finally stopped talking, Seymour leaned back in his chair and drew in a long breath. "That's a very interesting story, Mrs. Kinney," he said.
"Do you think you can help me?" Joan asked.
"What do you foresee happening if you pursue legal action?"
"What … what do you mean?"
"What would be the best outcome that you could foresee?"
"I would get custody of my grandsons and I would receive the proceeds from all those paintings," Joan said bluntly.
Seymour smiled. "That is exactly what I hoped you would say, and I think you have a very good chance of having that happen. You are the only heir of Jack Kinney?"
"Of course I am. I got the house and Jack's pension and a bunch of his debts. I'm the heir."
"Do you have a copy of his will?"
Joan handed one to him proud that she had thought far enough ahead to bring this paperwork with her. Seymour gave it a cursory glance.
"Yes," he said, "you are the primary beneficiary. That's good. I'll look at this more fully later on, but I think we have a good case here."
Joan smiled. "I'm so pleased to hear you say that."
"Leave the will with me and I'll start some paperwork to set things in motion. Make an appointment with my secretary on the way out. I'll need you to sign some papers in, say, three days."
"Thank you, Mr. Gottlieb. I'll do that."
Joan shook the lawyer's hand. She didn't particularly like lawyers and this one was Jewish, but one of her friends at church had told her he was the best at getting big settlements for his clients. He seemed to know what he was doing.
As she made her way to her car, Joan couldn't help gloating. Her ungrateful children were going to pay big time. They had thought they were so high and mighty at that gallery, giving away her money to strangers. Now they would be duly humiliated when they had to get it all back and turn it over to her. And then she would take Claire's children and raise them properly as God fearing young men. She would straighten up the colossal mess that Jack Kinney had made of all their lives.
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"Hey."
"Hey. Have you decided where we're going to hang these?"
"I'm not sure. Do you have a suggestion?"
"Yeah, I do. I think it's time to give the naked man a rest."
"Brian, you love your naked man."
"It's time for a change. I think Kinney and Patrick will look perfect there. The naked man can go in the closet for a while. And I have an idea where to put Patrick but I definitely need your help with that."
"My help? You want me to hold the ladder while you bang in a nail?"
"Smart ass, and no. I don't want you to hold the ladder. Besides these walls are brick. There are special clips to put on the bricks to hold things up. The only thing I'm banging around here is you. I want to put Patrick in the alcove but frankly, he's more naked than the naked man. What I want you to do is paint him. Finish the study. Then on the other side I want a painting of you. Maybe in a similar pose as Patrick. You two could pass for brothers."
"Brian, I can do Patrick's portrait but I'm not sure I could do myself."
"It'll be easy. From what I can see you and Patrick are almost built the same. Use him as a model then make the painting you."
"Are we really that similar?"
"Yeah, you are, except for one very nice difference, uh two very nice differences."
"And what might they be?"
"Fishing again, Sunshine?"
"Um, yes."
"At least you're honest. From what I can see, Patrick has very nice attributes but you have him beat by a couple of inches. And you definitely beat him in the ass department."
"Why Mr. Kinney, you say the sweetest things."
"So will you give it a try?"
"Yes, I will. Bri, you planning on going out tonight?"
"I was thinking about it, why?"
"I want to work on the journal."
"Justin, you've solved the mystery. You found the Andersons, the farm and the paintings. Can't you give this a rest now?"
"No, I can't. The journal dates from when Kinney first met Patrick and keeps going until they had to leave before the war. Kinney didn't write in it every day but when he did he was so expressive. Now I know why you went into advertising."
"Is the journal only on the disc?"
"No, I printed some of it. You want to read it?"
"Let's sit on the futon cushions. I'll get us some wine. You read it. Tell me how they met."
"Okay. He wrote..."
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'August 1825'
Martha and I have been married for two years and I have been made master of her parent's estate. She became with child almost immediately after our nuptials but she was unfortunate to loose the baby. A harsh winter took its toll on her and on the land. Happily, our son was born the next year. Healthy, strong and named for an uncle of mine, a name I proudly bear as well. Brian. If he survives and I feel that he will, he will become master of this manse and its lands.
This uncle of whom I have mentioned has sent to us a young man. He is related to him by way of his wife. This young man, Patrick, is fair of hair and face, only five years my junior but looking as of a babe. He comes from a good family and will have a fortune of his own when he reaches his majority. He has been sent to us because he is said to have a flair for painting. My habits have become popular in our society and Patrick wishes to learn. We have spent many happy hours by the stream drawing together and painting. But I fear I must send him back to my uncle. I feel something unnatural with his close proximity, something I dare not speak of nor put to paper. And I fear he feels it too but is not bothered by it. I must end this.
'August 1825'
It has been a fortnight since I took up my pen and I have sinned. I have sinned against the sweet innocent girl I took as my bride and it must never happen again. I was about to write to my uncle and beg that Patrick be sent for, but the boy sensed my despair and begged me to let him stay. I am so torn. I love my wife but I have such feelings toward this boy. I do not know the proper course to take. I pray each night that some sign will show me the right way but each day there is none.
We went to the stream. The air has been too hot, so thick with humidity. We stripped off our clothes in a way like children as God intended. Innocent children. When cooled we swam to shore to allow the sun to dry us. Patrick mistook his footing and twisted his ankle. I lifted him; he weighs as if he were a child, and deposited him on the warm grass. He bravely bore the pain but I could not help but to caress the injured foot in an effort to sooth him. He moaned at my touch and I thought it was from the pain but his manhood told me otherwise.
Those eyes that reflected the blue of the sky, that's all I saw, all I could see, all I do see. Full lips like ripe berries and his scent. The scent of a child and the musk of a man. I am lost.
Our embrace lasted minutes, our coupling, hours. I am truly lost, in him and found, in him.
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"Justin, Justin. Here, blow your nose. Your allergies are acting up again."
"Sorry. Brian, Patrick was his first. They fell in love at the stream. They made love in the same place we did. Shit, I'm sounding like a fucking lesbian."
"Yeah, you are but I don't blame you. That's one hell of a first encounter. Hours, huh. My first time, it was all over in two minutes. Took me years to attain my staying powers."
"Brian!"
"Got your nose to stop running."
"Fuck you."
"Not tonight but how about I fuck you. Come here. That was beautiful. I mean it. Remember how scared you were and you were surrounded by hundreds of gay men. You weren't alone, you knew where to come. Think about them. Having these feelings, not knowing what to do with them, maybe not knowing what to do or how to do it. Going on instinct alone and Kinney was born and bred to be married and head of his house. That was brave of them. Fuck, I was supposed to make you feel better not bring on more allergies. Here, blow."
"Brian?"
"Mmm."
"Make love to me."
Brian moved aside the pages that Justin was reading. Quietly and quickly he stripped Justin of his clothes and laid him down on the soft cushions. Brian heard the soft sniffling noises. Justin's sentimental heart was pounding in his chest. Brian deeply kissed his boy then worked his way down to Justin's semi flaccid cock. Brian swallowed the organ down to its root, taking advantage of the softness. Within moments Justin was very hard and Brian finished him off. As Justin recovered, Brian undressed, sheathed and lubed his cock. He quickly prepared Justin and pushed his way in.
"Oh god Brian!" Justin moaned out as Brian began to withdraw then push back in. Justin arched up and locked his legs around Brian's waist. Brian knew what Justin needed and gave it to him without reservation. Justin was about to cum again. Brian leaned up and fisted Justin's dick until he came. Then Brian threw Justin's legs over his shoulders and pounded till he too came.
"Thank you," Justin whispered into Brian's neck then promptly fell asleep.
Brian let his emotionally and physically spent partner sleep for a while before he got up to dispose of his condom and get the throw blanket. Before lying down, Brian made sure the loft was locked up, the alarm set and the alarm clock turned on. He picked up the pages and re-read Kinney's description of Patrick.
"Those eyes that reflected the blue of the sky, that's all I saw, all I could see, all I do see. Full lips like ripe berries and his scent. The scent of a child and the musk of a man. I am lost."
"I know exactly how you feel." Taking the blanket, Brian covered them both, snuggling close to share the warmth. "Yeah, I so love you." Brian murmured into the sleeping blond's hair.