Homecoming

*32*

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Out of the Mouths of Babes

Brian

My birthday starts too fucking early and the prospect of the day ahead makes me want to puke. Well, except for the bit with Gus. Who the fuck thought of the idea of celebrating birthdays anyway? It's fucking perverse to "celebrate" getting a year closer to wrinkles, impotence and senility.

The only things that make the whole prospect bearable are the stellar blow job I get in the shower, the coffee that's waiting for me by the time I'm dressed and the kisses that come with it. If I have to get … fuck it! … old, at least I'll have some fucking consolations along the way. Hell, a lifetime of mornings (and afternoons and nights) with him might almost make it worth it.

At least this fucking birthday I do have things to actually celebrate. More than I ever fucking thought I would, or could, or even should, have if I'm being totally honest with myself. I've never had any time for that "count your blessings" bullshit, but for once I can almost see the point.

What's truly ironic (from where I stand, almost surreal), is that most of the 'blessings' I'd be counting (if I actually succumbed to doing anything so fucking lame and maudlin) are things that I went through most of my life thinking were complete bullshit and pretty much literally a fate worse than death. There have been times in my life when I would quite seriously have considered suicide as a viable alternative to finding myself in a situation where I own a house pretty much in suburbia, have a kid that I'm actually committed to spending time with and have someone who's so fucking close to a damned "spouse" that it gives some relic of my "sex God of gay PA" self-image the heebie-fucking-jeebies even now. If I'd known what lay in my future I'd have fought harder to escape these "blessings" than any damned Steve McQueen hero.

But like the cliché-ridden fucking lyrics of some damned song - that's life.

And my life right now - ongoing dramas and a whole fucking year added to the calendar notwithstanding - is pretty damned good.

 

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Justin

Last night was surprisingly normal and pretty much trauma free. We lounged around eating our Wagyu gyu-sashi and arguing over our favorite bits of sashimi and the gyoza which he will never order for himself because, of course, he "never eats carbs after seven", so he usually just steals them right off my plate. This time I did the ordering so I got enough for him to have his own, thank you very much, but that didn't stop him bitching about how much fat and salt were in them and still stuffing his face with more than his share. We tossed around some ideas for the house - what we could do to open up the front part a little more - and he said we should try to find an architect who's used to working with older buildings. We talked about what we might be able to do to help Michael and Ben. He knows how I feel about Michael, but that's not the point; Michael is part of our "family" and families should look out for each other.

And right now Michael has a lot on his plate - Ben's still in prison, he desperately needs enough money so he doesn't lose their house, and his daughter is up in Canada being looked after by someone he's never even met who is now her mother's legal spouse, so goodness knows when, or even if, Michael will see her again. I'm not surprised that trying to find a way to help is pretty high on Brian's list of priorities. And I'd have to be a complete asshole to stand in his way.

We laughed about the idea of Emmett moving into a place that sounds a bit like one of those theatrical boarding houses they used to have back in the day. He'll have those old queens and the headmistressy-dyke eating out of his hand - literally. They'll love him, and he'll love having someone to cook for and to look after a little. It won't be like at Deb's where, her being Deb, everything has to be done her way, and of course she has to have her say about everything he does - from what time he gets home to how many guys he's fucked or should have fucked this week. He'll have someone around to visit with and share gossip and recipes and stuff but he'll still have independence, and be able to tomcat about as much as he likes without the endless commentary; he'll be in homo heaven - or his version of it, anyway.

Along the way we agreed that we'd take the opportunity while everyone is together to make a couple of announcements. Like making it clear that I'm back for good for a start - no matter what anyone else might think about that; and about the new house. And, we can tell them about the invitation to show a painting at the Warhol museum. I'm not ready to say anything about the New York show yet, but Brian's keen to tell them at least about that exhibition, and I'm happy to go along with that.

I just wasn't sure we should include that announcement today. I mean, it's supposed to be Brian's birthday that we're celebrating. But I kind of know he'd prefer an excuse to slide out of the limelight, so I guess it's okay. Besides it will put a great fucking sock in the 'oh, Justin, but are you sure you won't regret leaving New York?' fucking bullshit, that my 'home to stay' announcement might stir up. If anyone starts to give Brian any of that 'you're such a selfish asshole letting him give up his dreams for you' crap, I'll be able to shove this brilliant fucking right-here-in-Pittsburgh opportunity right up their ass.

Do they have the faintest idea how fucking patronizing that shit is? Like I'm some poor besotted teenager and big bad Brian is taking advantage of me. I don't think that was ever true. I mean, I know a lot of people might think that he took advantage of me for sex - but who the fuck are they kidding? a) he's never exactly had a difficult time getting laid so why would he need to?, and b) they make it sound like it was some incredible torment getting fucked by Brian on a regular basis. Seriously - I was the luckiest kid in Pittsburgh as far as sex went - fucking regularly with the hottest, and most skilled, stud in town. Puh-leeze! It's a teenage gai-boy fantasy. The fact that I wanted - maybe even needed - more from him emotionally than he was ready to give me back then was not Brian's fault; I wasn't ready to give him what he needed emotionally either. It certainly didn't turn the whole thing into him 'taking advantage of me'. It's just typical of the way that they make Brian into the bad guy over everything.

But what really bugs the shit out of me is that no one ever seems to think that it's incredibly disrespectful to me to believe that I'd let him do that to me. Especially now, after how fucking much I've been through over the last few years.

Seriously, they'd better not try to give either of us - and Brian especially - any shit tonight or I will rip their fucking balls off.

I've had enough of it. No more Mr. Sweet-Little-Justin. If they give him any grief today I'm going to make Rage look like a total fucking pussy.

The same goes for Lindsay if she starts up this morning because I've come alone to collect Gus.

I thought Brian might want to come with me. I mean, it's the first of his official, sanctioned-by-the-State-of-Pennsylvania daddy overnighters. But when I asked him, he just shrugged.

"Gus is expecting you," he said. "I'll see him later."

There was a whole unspoken conversation in there somewhere. Partly about my plans with Gus and Brian's secret, absolutely-never-to-be-even-vaguely-referred-to happiness that his Sonnyboys (as I suspect that he secretly still thinks of us) are getting together to make his "surprise" birthday cake. But also about Lindsay, and the fact that she will almost certainly be expecting Brian, and looking forward to a little Mommy and Daddy bonding moment; and will not be impressed with me turning up instead.

But too fucking bad.

She'll just have to get used to me being part of the picture on a full time basis.

Somewhere at the back of my mind I'm wondering if part of what made her decide to come home was that she thought I'd still be based in New York and she had some fucked up vision of her and Brian playing out some weird-assed Mommy and Daddy thing. Maybe she even thought she could persuade him to move them all into Britin and they could live out her little fantasy of being a nice, wealthy suburban couple.

Well, she's going to have to get back in touch with reality in a pretty big hurry.

But right now I've got more important things to worry about, like getting to the supermarket to buy all the stuff we're going to need to make Brian's cake, which goes way beyond just the ingredients.

I mean, it's not like his kitchen is all that well-equipped. Sure, it's got top of the line appliances and stuff, but there's nothing even vaguely like a cake pan to bake his damned cake. Or a rack to cool it on. I couldn't even find a spatula to spread the frosting. So I have to buy all those things as well as the ingredients. Not that I'm so stupid that I'm going to try to make it from scratch. Aside from everything else, that would mean buying measuring jugs and probably a set of kitchen scales as well. Plus, getting a packet kind of minimizes the risk that it doesn't turn out properly. I mean, Brian wouldn't care if it came out only an inch high, and tasted of sawdust, but Gus would be devastated. So I buy some death-by-chocolate mix (because Gus seems to be determined to make it chocolate cake), and three packets of different colored ready made frosting, plus a whole variety of candles, and stars and stuff to decorate it.

That way, Gus can feel like he's making the creative choices, but I don't have to deal with him trying to decide between all the bright packets and pretty colors standing in the supermarket aisle surrounded by lecherous old women and psychos wielding trolleys like assault weapons. It's bad enough that I have to put up with that shit.

Seriously, while I'm doing the shopping at least three middle-aged harpies approach me to ask if I "need any help" - and from the way they're simpering and fluttering their eyelashes I don't think they really meant with choosing the frosting - and my ankles are bruised from all the fucking trolleys that get pushed into them without so much as a single apology.

If I'd had any sense I would have got my Mom to buy all this shit days ago.

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Brian

He's probably right and Lindsay is going to give him grief over the fact that I'm not with him to collect Gus, but she'll just have to get used to it. She's prepared to pocket the extra money I'm coughing up to ensure that Justin doesn't get cut out of Gus' life, so she's going to have to live with the reality of what that means.

Besides, I have to do some fucking work this week. There are two major client presentations due next week, and I need to make sure those are well on track. Plus Leo Brown is expecting a call, and I'm having lunch tomorrow with someone from "The Church". They're a small, boutique brewery who have reasonable sales throughout PA and are looking to expand into Ohio and maybe West Virginia. We took them on as a client about three months ago. It's not so much an advertising campaign we've put together for them, as a marketing strategy, aimed at the type of bar-restaurants that cater to suburban Moms and Dads who are basically meat and potatoes, but want to be seen as having a little bit more taste and sophistication than that. Before that lunch meeting, I need to review their current sales figures and projections, and be ready to suggest any necessary tweaks that might need to be made.

If I can get some of this shit out of the way this morning, then I can enjoy the rest of the day with my sonnyboys.

Although there's one stop off I do have to make on the way. I need to talk to Mikey.

We haven't really talked since Justin got back. Not just the two of us. In fact, we haven't really talked for months. But fuck it! He has to get a clue about just what's at stake while he's sulking about his widdle feelings being hurt. If Mel fucks off back to Canada, he could wind up losing all contact with JR. The uber-bitch could apply in a Canadian court to have his parental rights terminated. She's legally married there, which gives her new wifey status that neither he nor Lindsay has. And I know that he hasn't been making much of a financial contribution because Linds let it slip. Plus he hasn't been going up there to visit, because either he's working or he's been visiting Ben. So the she-wolf would be able to present a reasonable case that he's a delinquent Dad, who doesn't regularly contribute to his child's support, doesn't bother to visit and who's in a relationship with an HIV+ guy who's currently doing time for a violent assault. Not to mention that he shares his home with another guy, also positive, who happens to be an ex-hustler.

No fucking prizes for guessing which way most courts would rule. Especially if Mikey can't afford to get to the fucking hearing, let alone hire a top lawyer to represent him.

I suspect that what he needs to do is to present his case in the family court here - where, if the right wizard waves the right fucking magic wand, he becomes the victim of a hate crime, whose partner was unbearably provoked by a verbal assault from the same kind of asshole who set off the bomb that nearly killed him, and who reluctantly gave his consent for the mother of his child to take his daughter off to safety in Canada. Played right, he could wind up looking like some kind of fucking saint who is kind to stray dogs and kittens, takes in street kids to try to give them a decent life, struggles to hold the family home together and desperately misses his daughter.

But he's going to need help to pull that shit off.

And then there's Ben.

All the fucking stress of worrying about the house and worrying about JR all while he's trying to get over his fucking prison sentence is the last thing he needs. Stress is literally a fucking killer if you're positive.

Mikey needs to think about doing anything he can to minimize that stress.

Even if it means accepting help from me.

 

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Justin

As I kind of expected, Lindsay is totally not pleased that Brian isn't with me. While Gus is upstairs collecting his things, she starts getting really snippy about how "if this is how he's going to be about his days with Gus …" but there's no way I'm going to put up with that shit.

I remind her how much time he's taken away from Kinnetik in the last week - not just for the court stuff, but to help her deal with Mel, and find a place to live.

"He has a business to run," I tell her. "He needs to make up some of that time. Besides, we promised Gus that he and I would make his Dad's birthday cake."

"You could do that here," she protests. But Gus comes downstairs just then and immediately makes his presence felt.

"No!" he says. "Me and Dus are going to do it."

"I could help," Lindsay's still clearly clinging on to trying to become part of the day's dynamic.

"No!" Gus says again. "It's got to be just me and Dus. You can't come."

And clasping his leather bear in one hand and dragging his backpack (which, by the way stuff is spilling out of it I'm guessing he packed himself) with the other, he heads to the door.

I know I should probably reprimand him, make him apologize for speaking that way to his mother, but fuck it! These arrangements were agreed days ago. Gus has got every right to be upset that she's trying to change them now, so all I do is to take the backpack off him and open the door.

Lindsay follows us to the sidewalk, her mouth full of 'be goods' and her eyes full of resentment. But we make our getaway without any more interference.

Gus is totally hyper on the drive back to the loft and I start to get worried that he's going to misbehave enough for me to have to give him a timeout or something; but it never gets to that point. A couple of times while we're mixing the cake he starts pouting over not being allowed to do something his way, or by himself, but both times a simple "Gus" uttered in a warning tone of voice is enough to make him settle down and even apologize.

When I put the cake in to bake, he suddenly says to me, sounding kind of nervous, "I've been a good help, haven't I, Dus?"

"You sure have," I tell him warmly.

"And I'll be real good while we do the frosting," he says, still sounding anxious.

"I'm sure you will," I tell him, wondering why he sounds so tense.

Then I start to get the feeling that I know where that anxiety is coming from. I'm not sure how to handle this, but I don't want Gus feeling all day like he's only around on approval or something. No kid should ever feel like that. And it will spoil the entire day for both of us if I don't do something about it now.

I take a little time to think while I get down a couple of glasses and go to the fridge. "I think we've both been good this morning," I tell him. "We deserve a drink."

I turn to him with a carton of milk in one hand and juice in the other.

"Do you want fruit juice or cow juice?" I ask him.

He giggles. "It's not cow juice, Dus. It's milk."

"Oh," I say, deadpan, and peer at what's written on the carton. "So it is."

He giggles some more and then says, all wanna-be casual (which for a moment reminds me so much of Brian that my heart squeezes a little), "What're you gonna have?"

"I'm having cow ju … I mean milk," I say.

"Me too," he says happily.

I pour milk into the glasses and while I'm putting both cartons back into the fridge, he climbs onto a stool in front of his glass. I take the seat beside him and we both take a long drink of milk.

"I was thirsty," he says.

I smile at him. "You should have asked me for a drink before," I tell him.

He looks away and shrugs, silent for a moment. Then he says very quietly, "I don't want to be no trouble."

My heart squeezes again, more strongly this time, and not so pleasantly.

"Gus," I tell him. "You're no trouble. Not ever. Not to me. And not to your Dad."

He sits and plays with his glass for a minute, looking so much like Brian when he's trying to find words for the emotions that run so deep and are so hard for him to express that I know there is nothing I would not do for this little boy, nothing I would not risk or sacrifice to make his childhood a shitload happier than Brian's was.

I put my hand gently on his shoulder and he turns to look at me, his eyes full of anguish.

"Dus, Mommy says that I have to be a good boy and not make any trouble or she'll take me back to Toron'o."

And right then I seriously want to damage Lindsay. To slap her senseless and make her pay and pay and pay for even allowing that idea to enter her son's head - let alone putting it there.

But right now it's Gus I have to think about. I lean closer and pull him into a hug.

"That won't happen, Gus," I tell him. "Your Daddy and I will never let that happen."

And in my head I'm already thinking about calling Ms Hershell and finding out what legal strings we can pull to prevent Lindsay even trying it. Can we get Gus put on some kind of register so if she tries to take him on a plane or a bus, or across the border…?

But I put the brakes on all that and focus on this scared little boy.

"You remember when we went to talk to the man in the courthouse?"

Gus nods.

"Well, he said that you can stay right here in Pittsburgh for as long as you want."

He looks a little happier, but something is still bothering him.

"And you and Daddy won't get sick of me?" he asks.

I smile at him. "We could never get sick of you. Especially your Dad. He's the happiest Daddy in the world that you are back here."

He takes a deep quivering breath and then says all in a rush, "Moma tol' me that if I was around all the time Daddy would soon get sick of me and wouldn't want me no more. And that I shouldn't think she'd ever want me back either if all I could think about was my Daddy."

His lip trembles. "I missed him, Dus. I just wanted to see my Daddy. But Moma used to get so mad at me if I said even anyfing about Daddy."

And if I'd thought I'd been angry with Mel before, it's just nothing to how I feel now. For a moment it's like I literally see red. My whole vision is filled with red and black lit with flashes of white hot anger and clouded with something very like hate.

I hug Gus closer while I blink to clear it.

"Your Moma can be very silly sometimes," I tell him. "But you don't have to worry about what she said any more. I promise you, Gus, I promise," I repeat. "… your Dad and I will never let her take you so far away from him again, and you will be seeing us all the time. You'll get sick of us," I finish, trying to sound upbeat and like I'm laughing.

I'm rewarded with a slightly watery giggle.

"No, I won't," he says, wrapping his arms around my neck. "You’re my Dus and my Daddy and I love you lots and lots and lots."

I smile at him for real then.

"Me too," I tell him, and he laughs out loud. Then he wriggles free and takes another enthusiastic drink of his milk, the clouds banished for now at least.

But fuck! How fucked up are those two women that they play their fucking little mind games with a child's head?

Brian is going to be seriously pissed.

And I have to tell him. There's no choice here. It's his son's well-being and peace of mind that's at stake.

Fuck!

All I wanted was for him to have a nice relaxed birthday.

Well, maybe it can wait till tomorrow. Gus is with us right now, and he's staying tonight, so he's safe till then at least. Tomorrow we might need to talk to Brian's lawyer and even maybe think about getting Gus some counseling. He can't be left to brood about all the fucking negativity those two have stabbed him with over the years.

And tomorrow, I'm going to have a little chat with Lindsay.

Mel is probably lucky that the lawyers won't let me talk to her as well.


Sept 6th 2011
 

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