Reverberations

Chapter 15

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Justin

It's amazing.  I was getting close to a total meltdown, suddenly overwhelmed by the idea that some gallery was actually expecting people to pay money for something I'd painted.  I felt like I was totally kidding myself and I was going to wind up feeling like a complete idiot when everyone hated them.  Or worse … didn't even think they were interesting enough to hate.

Then Brian rolls over for me, and now, walking into the gallery, I feel nervous, but not out of my depth; definitely not out of place.  I feel like I belong here.  I might be green, and have a lot to learn, but it's like this is my world, and I'm ready to start carving out my place in it.

In some ways I guess it's kinda pathetic that one fuck can do that for me, can bolster my confidence that much.  In another, it's just fucking wonderful that Brian knows me so well; that he knew I was coming unglued and knew just what to do to help me.  Maybe that's where the confidence really comes from … knowing that he truly does know me, and love me, and that he really does accept me as his partner.

Knowing that … who wouldn't feel they could do anything?

He dropped me off here and he's gone off to visit Michael.

I hope that goes okay.

I wanted to go with him because I didn't want him to have to deal with Deb and all the shit about Ben by himself.  But Brian insisted that I need to focus on the Opening and I didn't want to turn it into a big thing, so I let him drop me here and head off to do what a man's gotta do.

On the way here, he asked what my plans are for Sunday.  He wants me to come to Chicago with him.  I know he's freaking out a little over leaving me here without him, which is totally ridiculous.  I mean he can't get all superstitious about bad things happening every time he goes to Chicago.  That's insane.  I can't go with him on every trip, and I don't want to encourage crazy over-protective Brian either.

But on the other hand … maybe if we went tomorrow, we could have almost a whole weekend.  Like a little mini-break.  Check out the clubs.  Do some shopping.  Brian says all the big designers have outlets along the Golden Mile.

He'd like that.

Plus it would get him out of range of Debbie and all that shit for a couple of days, at least.

Hell, yes!  Why not?  I'll tell him as soon as he gets his ass back here.

But right now, I'm inside and Sydney, who's talking to a couple of guys armed with all sorts of camera equipment when I walk in, sees me, and comes bustling over.

"Justin, my dear boy, how are you?"

I take a deep breath, fight off the urge to tell him I'm no one's "boy", not even Brian's, and shake his hand.

"Fine, Sydney.  I'm just fine, thank you for asking."

"That's wonderful, wonderful.  It's good that you're here a little early because there are some people here that I want you to meet."

He leads me over and introduces me to the guys he'd been talking to.  They're from the Post Gazette, and at first I assume that they're here just to generally cover the exhibition.

Then the reporter, Chris, asks me about Wednesday night, and that's when I realize that dear old Sydney has set me up.  He's using my connection to the bombing to garner publicity for his damned gallery.

I want to walk out.

I want to scream at them that it wasn't a fucking publicity stunt.

I want to find a way to spew the smell of smoke and fire, blood and burned flesh, and the putrid reek of hatred all over them, so they'll feel like I do – that they'll never be completely free of it again.

I don't, of course.

I smile, and answer their questions, and try at least to provide a reality check, reminding Chris, and hopefully his readers, that people died in that smoke and fire for no better reason than someone didn't approve of their bed partners.

Chris nods intently.  He's in his late forties, maybe fifties, and I don't get any gay vibe from him.  But he says the right things, and he seems sincere enough, I guess.

The camera guy, Marco, has spent some time setting up, and now he gets me to pose for a couple of candid shots while Chris goes on asking questions.  Then Chris goes off to talk to Sydney and Marco takes some more posed photos – of just me, and me in front of my paintings.

The other artists who have works on display are arriving now, and I can feel their stares, and their resentment, when they realize that all this fuss is over me, and no one is going to be asking them to pose for any shots.

If they only knew how much I hate doing it … or at least, hate the reason for it, hate the feeling that I'm capitalizing on other people's pain.  But I go on posing, even though I'm starting to feel like I'm about to come unglued.

Finally, my cell rings and I excuse myself to answer it.

It's Brian.  He's at the police station.  Seems they wanted him to make a statement about what happened with Ben.  He tells me he's done, and he's on his way.

Says he wanted to make sure that when Deb rings to sound off about him going off with a cop, I didn't get the right idea.

I snort at that.

Then I tell him briefly about the reporters, about the questions Chris asked.  He needs a heads up, and I need … I need to get a grip.

He goes very quiet and I can see so vividly that lips pulled between the teeth look he gets when he's being careful of what he says.

I fight not to ask him if he's still coming, how long it will be till he gets here, all that pathetic clingy stuff that I am just not going to say.  But I know he can hear something in my silence, too.

"Ten minutes," he promises abruptly, and hangs up.

Ridiculously, that's when I feel the shakes start.  I am so fucking grateful that he's on his way.

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Brian

Fuckers!

That asshole Sydney.  I should fucking kill him.

But even as I'm thinking it, I'm also admiring him.

Damned right he's got the press onto it.  So he should.  He'd have been a fucking idiot not to. 

That's when I realize I'm mainly mad at myself.  I should have fucking realized he would.  Then I could at least have given Justin a heads up.  Prepared him a little.

The thing is, if I can only make him see it, this isn't just good publicity for Sydney; this is a fucking amazing opportunity for little Sunshine.  If his damned principles don't get in the way of him taking it.

Well, I have to make sure that doesn't happen.  I need to get there.  Need to talk to Sydney, need to see what else he's organized, who else he's lined up.

He said something on the phone earlier about tomorrow.  Wasn't that about someone he wanted Justin to talk to?  I need to check out what else he's got planned.

But first I have to get to Sunshine, make sure he's okay.  Make sure this stuff isn't freaking him out.  Maybe it's too soon for him to be dealing with all this.  If he's really not okay with it, then I have to find a way to get everyone to back off a little without pushing them away completely. 

But first I have to find him, have to see for myself that he's okay.

Frustrated, I weave like a maniac through the Friday night peak hour traffic.  I find a parking space easily, thank God, and it's only eight minutes later that I'm brushing aside the minion who opens the door and zeroing in on my target.

He's talking to Sydney, and a guy who, judging by his paunch and his bad clothes, must be the reporter.

On the surface, Sunshine looks like he's well on top of this, schmoozing like a pro, but although he's holding it together, it's obvious to me at least that it's with an effort.  Then he sees me, and immediately he looks better.  Something in him relaxes and the clouds clear.

I wait for him to come to me, rather than joining the group.  I don't want to call any attention to myself with the reporter.  This needs to be all about him.  I don't want any distractions based on my own link to the bombing.

The reporter might dig that up, anyway.  But I sure as hell don't have to hand it over.

For a moment, as he excuses himself and moves towards me, I wonder about the timing of all this.  Especially given the surprise I've just set up for him tomorrow.  Maybe this isn't the right time for what I'm trying to do, now, when maybe things are starting to move for him. 

But if not now … when would be?

Either we want to make it happen, want to make us happen … or we don't.  Either we're both fucking committed to being together, or we're not.

He's been letting me know, none too fucking subtly, that I need to treat him as my equal; pay him the respect of letting him make his own decisions – not make them for him.

I know I've done that in the past.  I've forced decisions, my decisions, on him – either directly, or by removing any option to choose.  That's what I did with the fucking fiddler.  I lied my ass off and told him it was his decision where he wanted to be when all the time I was taking away all his other options.  I even did it with the LA trip.  At the time I thought I was doing the right thing pushing him onto that plane.  I still think it.  But I didn't really give him any chance to choose for himself.

Well, that has to stop.  I know that as well as he does.

So this time … I'm not shutting off the options.  In fact, I'm about to up the ante.  I'm about to let him know how completely fucking serious I am about wanting a future with him in it; let him see what I'm prepared to do to make that happen.

This time, he gets to choose.  And all I can do is hope he makes the right choice for himself.  I can live with whatever he chooses.  As long as it's the right thing for him.

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Justin

He looks kind of preoccupied when he comes in, but then I get to him and he hooks his hand round the back of my neck in that way he does, and scrunches down just a little so we're eyeball to eyeball, and looks right into my eyes and …

He's here.  He's right here with me in this moment, and he knows that I needed him to be here, and he's totally okay with that and he got here so damned fast, and …

He squeezes the back of my neck and pulls me against him just for a moment.  But it's enough.  He's here, and his support means more than anything right this minute.  Makes me feel like I can cope with anything.

Chris comes over, and I go to introduce Brian, but he just gives one of his tongue in cheek smirks, says he wants a drink, and slides away.

Chris shakes my hand, says that he and Marco need to get back, because they'd like to get the piece in the paper tomorrow rather than the features section on Sunday, and then they're gone and I go off to find Brian.

He's snagged a glass of the champagne that's not supposed to be served till after the guests arrive, and the drinks waiter is clearly hoping he'll get something in return, till I come up and glare at him, and he pouts and moves away.  With a backwards glance over his shoulder at Brian of course.

"Asshole!" I snap.

Brian laughs.

"Don't get your panties in a knot, he's not nearly hot enough to even tempt me."

I snort.  "Just as well."

Brian just grins and pulls me against him, holding me there for a while.  Almost like he needs to feel me close as much as I need him.  I look up at him.

The thing that makes Brian so hard to read sometimes isn't that that there's no emotions in his face.  Sometimes there are just too damned many, especially in his eyes, all these feelings, mixed up together, so it's hard to work them all out.  I take a breath and try to cut through some of them.

"I've been thinking about Chicago," I tell him.  "I think we should go tomorrow.  Sydney wants me to come into the gallery early to meet with someone, but we could get on a plane about lunch time … have most of the weekend there."

He looks … startled for a moment.  Then, after he's thought about it for a couple of seconds, he says, "Sure, why not?  Good idea.  Get us away from all the crap for a couple of days."

Then he frowns.  "Unless Sydney needs you here.  If he does, then …"

"Brian … "

He huffs a laugh, and brushes his forehead against mine for a moment.  "I know you don't like all this shit," he says.  "And we can't talk about it now … but later … I'd like you to at least listen to what I think, okay?"

I sigh.  Publicity.  It's his thing.  He knows all about this side of things.  I don't.  I don't want to.  But I'm not stupid.  I know art's a business, like any other.  That I have to treat it that way if I really want to have a career, not just paint as a hobby while I get supported by my rich boyfriend.  So I nod.

"Later," I tell him.

He gives me a funny look at that, and, just as the doors open to let people in, he pulls me against him again to give me a quick kiss.

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Brian

He handles the Opening like a pro, of course.  His WASP background stands him in good stead and he wows everyone he talks to, including the damned NY art critic that Sydney has somehow lured here, and who keeps running his sleazy eyes all over him, like Sunshine's the prize exhibit.

I put up with that for a while, and then I come up and wrap an arm around his shoulders.  His work is up for sale, he's not; this asshole better learn that quickly.  If it's the art he's interested in, no harm done.  If it's not … he can get fucked.  Justin doesn't need that kind of fucking attention.  His talent speaks for itself.

To the guy's credit, he goes on talking to Justin, and it's all about the work, thank God.  Not a mention of the bombing.  Maybe being from the Big Apple he doesn't know about it.  Why would a New Yorker care about a few people dying in a little backwater like Pittsburgh? 

And maybe Sydney, having got him here, might not make a big deal of it … if he can get the serious art press to take notice of the work purely on its own merit, then that's a double whammy … publicity for the artist with the general public, and a decent review of the art for the art crowd.  My respect for him nudges up a little.  He seems to be playing this very very smart.

I figure the guy has got the message and little Sunshine's virtue's safe, so I wander off to talk to Jenn.  She's here with her toy boy.  Justin doesn't like the whole deal, but I give Jenn credit for landing a hot young thing.  Why the fuck not?  It's what her asshole of a husband did.  Why should he get all the fun?

She smiles at me, and moves away from whatisname … Tucker … so that we can talk.  I take the envelope she hands me and slide it into my pocket. 

"Brian, are you sure?" she says.

I shrug.

What can I tell her?

No, I'm not sure.  I'm not sure it's the right thing for him.  In fact, the timing might be totally for shit – like it so often is with us.  I'm not sure this is the way to convince him that I meant what I said to him the other night; to prove to him that the fucking marriage proposal wasn't just a result of some sort of PTSD.  I'm not even sure that I can swing the finance … although I guess selling what's left of the club to some developer could help with that.

But I am sure about one thing.

I know that I need to do something.

Somehow I need to find a way to show him that he's not going to be forever stuck in the same rut if he stays with me.  I need him to know that I might never be someone who buys him roses, and romances him with candlelight fucking dinners, but that at least I'm finally ready to work on planning a future together.  I might not ever be anyone's idea of an ideal partner … but I'm not intending to be some pathetic over the hill party boy forever either. 

I need him to see that I fucking know what I've been lucky enough to find with him.  That I know what it's worth to have someone … someone I love … someone who loves me.  I know what that's worth, and I'm willing to put myself on the line for it in a way that I've been fucking avoiding up until now.

All the bombing did was push me into this a little faster than I'd planned.  I'd thought, you know, maybe next year … some bullshit like that.  Well, no.  Not next year.  Now. 

He mightn't want it … right now … or even ever.  That's always a possibility.

But he's at least going to know that it's on the table in a way that I've never really made sure that he's known before.

I guess Ma Taylor must read something of that in my face because she looks as if she might fucking start hugging me any minute.  But then, arriving just in time like the fucking cavalry, Emmett comes up.

"Isn't it fabulous?" he gushes.

I'm surprised by how fucking glad I am to see him.

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Justin

I wish I knew what Mom is saying to Brian.  They both look very serious.  But just as I finally escape the cunty critic and start to head over, Tucker comes up to me.

"Congratulations," he says.  "Your work is very impressive."

I shrug.  Then I remember that I'd promised myself to try harder to get along with Tucker, and so I smile and thank him.

Then I see Emmett arrive, so that gives me an excuse to thank Tucker again and move over to say "hi!" to Em.  He gives a little squeal when he sees me, and then swamps me in a big hug.  I wait … one … two … thr …

"Emmett!"  Brian growls.  Em and I exchange a grin.

Ted comes in then, with Cynthia, and then Daph arrives, and I spend a little time talking to my friends, Brian's hand warm on my back, till Sydney comes to take me off to talk to someone else, and from then on the evening is just one long trail of 'smile, shake hands, smile, thank, smile again and move on'.

I'm exhausted by the time they finally get everyone to leave. 

At one point I'd seen Lindsay talking to Mel, but neither of them went near Brian, I don't think.  Lindsay did make a point of coming up and saying in front of Sydney how pleased she was that I'd been able to show more of my work, and how good she thinks it is.  Like that is going to make me forget what she tried to do.

Some people I know from PIFA show up, even a couple of my old professors.  They all make the right kind of noises, but … it's like … not that they're jealous, exactly, but like they don't feel that me having any sort of success is quite right, because I didn't finish college, didn't go through all the right steps in the right order.  Well, too fucking bad. 

Two of my paintings have sold before the end of the night, and apparently Sydney's already fielded an enquiry by some gallery in Philadelphia that's interested in hanging the large painting Lindsay couldn't find room for, so they can all get fucked.

Debbie and Carl turn up right before the end.  She gives me a big hug, and explains that she wanted to stay with Michael till visiting hours were over.  I guess that makes sense.  Ben's not with them.  By the look she gives Brian, and the way he tenses up as soon as she walks in, I can tell that there's a reason for that.  Probably to do with him having to make a statement about Ben and that guy. 

I haven't had a chance to get Brian to tell me about that yet, but I will later.  I need to know how bad that's going to be.

I guess it must be serious if the police are taking statements.

And, of course, Deb is going to find a way to make it all Brian's fault … just like always.

Well, fuck that!  Not this time.

I mean, I guess I don't exactly blame Ben for totally losing it.  But it's not like Brian could have done anything to stop him, and once he'd attacked the guy in front of a whole crowd of witnesses, including Carl … then there wasn't anything anyone could do.

But honestly … I'm just too tired to deal with all that tonight.  I think Brian must see how exhausted I suddenly feel, because he gets all brusque and overbearing and just tells everyone that we're going home. 

On the way out Sydney reminds me that I've promised to meet with some other reporter for breakfast at nine tomorrow.  Maybe Brian will come with me.

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Brian

He's almost out on his feet by the time we get back to the loft, and although he makes noises like he wants to fuck, I'm damned if I'm having him fall asleep on me halfway through, so I just give him a quick blow job and tuck him into bed.

Then I pull out the envelope that Jenn left with me.

It's heavy, and when I open it, this huge fucking key falls out onto the desk with a clunk so loud that I'm afraid for a moment it will wake him up.  I should know better.  He sleeps like a log.  Only damned thing that wakes him is if I get out of the fucking bed … then he's sitting up and blinking and wanting to know what I'm doing … all of that shit.  But tonight he's safely asleep, and I'm out here and I've got time to think about tomorrow.

He's having breakfast with some reporter.  I never did get a chance to check with Sydney exactly who, or what the agenda is, but I'll make sure that I talk to Sunshine tomorrow morning and get him on board with what he needs to be focused on.  Then I'll send him off to sweet talk the reporter.

That should give me time to check this place out before I get back to pick him up.  If it's as spectacular as Jenn says it is, then I'll kidnap him and take him out there and see if the sight of this damned mansion I want to buy for him can get the message through his thick head that I'm fucking serious about the marriage thing.  Serious about wanting him to be sure that I want … him.  I want him, and I want us, and I want to plan on a life with us together.  I want him to feel like he can plan on that happening.  And if it takes a fucking wedding ring on his finger to make him feel that way, then … so be it.

I look through the papers she's printed out for me.  The price is high, but I think I can swing it.  Worse case scenario, I might have to sell the loft.  If we're buying a fucking mansion to live in, then I guess I won't be needing the loft anyway.

The place looks amazing.  The photos she's got look even better than the one I saw in the magazine at the hospital while I was waiting for Mikey to get back from some tests.  It was a major bonus that the ad listed Jenn's agency as the realtors, because it meant I could speed things up a lot.  Plus I could persuade her to let me have the keys to the place so we can check it out without some damned agent making a fucking sales pitch in the background.

Besides, if I'm going to propose to him again while we're there, I sure as fuck don't want any witnesses.

Anyway, whatever happens at the house … I'll book us on a flight to Chicago sometime mid afternoon.

That way, if he's said 'no', we can use the weekend away to work out what the fuck we have left. 

If there's anything. 

Well, yes … there'll be something, of course there'll be something.  But …

If he says 'no', then I'll know that whatever we have left, it's something temporary.  I'll know that no matter what he says, he doesn't really see a long term future with me.

So … all I can do then is make the fucking most of whatever time there is.

And if he says 'yes' … we can use the trip to Chicago to celebrate, and to plan the wedding, before every one else sticks their fucking noses in our business as usual.  Maybe even buy the rings.

Either way … at least I'll have tried.

I might wind up crashing and burning, but for once it won't be because I've been too much of a fucking coward to go for it.

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