Reverberations

Chapter 8

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Justin

"Sorry I'm late."

I slide into the seat opposite Emmett. Not at the diner, thank God. I am so not in the mood for another lecture from Deb today about how mean I'm being to poor little Mikey. After whining at me for days about my conditions for doing the Rage issue, he then set Deb onto me; without actually explaining to her what I wanted to do, or why, of course; just that I was "trying to take over the writing now". So Deb's been harrassing me about how I need to be fair to poor little Michael, because after all it's half his work too.

Anyway, I'm meeting Em (whom I've hardly seen for weeks because I've been buried in trying to get the damned marriage issue together in a big hurry), for lunch at a nice little bistro downtown.

He waves off my apology.

"Well, honey," he says in his soft drawl, "I always say a good man's worth waiting for." Then he gives me a smile.

I'm glad to see it, because from what I hear he hasn't been smiling much in the last week or so since he got canned from his TV show.

"So," he goes on. "Michael tells me there's a new Rage issue on the way, but he's being very secretive about it."

I shrug. Michael's always been paranoid about letting anyone know what we have planned for Rage. And this time he's even worse than usual because there's a big fund raiser being organized by the GLC to raise money to fight Prop 14, and the plan is to "debut" the comic that night.

We're going to give every guest a copy, and maybe have a silent auction for the original cover artwork.

I have to smile to think that the drawing that set the whole thing in motion also triggered one of Brian's and my more stellar sex sessions. Somehow I don't think the GLC would approve. Fuck `em. At least my studio got christened in spectacular fashion.

I'm thinking of just how spectacular (even I can't figure out how we managed to get cum on my new microwave), when Em says, "Oh, please, honey, not with the satisfied grin … You're talking to a man who lives with Debbie and her hetero beau. I can't remember the last time I felt that good.

Living in Deb's house doesn't make having a healthy sex life all that easy with its paper-thin walls and her prurient attitude. Even jerking off is almost an audience participation activity. I give him a sympathetic grin.

"Oh, it's not just that I know they can hear everything. Or that I just know that Deb will comment next day on what she's heard. That's all bad enough. But, think about it, sweetie … if she can hear me … think about what I can hear."

He sighs. "You have no idea how it turns a boy off to hear two hets going at it in the next room. Especially … well, you know I love Deb, but the thought of her and Carl … not inspiring."

He shudders and I laugh.

"You need your own place, Em," I tell him. Then as I remember about his TV job, I wish I hadn't.

He sighs. "I know it, honey. But … I hated living on my own."

"But …," I hesitate. I want to ask him about when he lived in the old apartment after Mikey moved in with David, but maybe he was miserable then too. I would hardly know. I'd been in hospital most of that time. I go on slowly, "I remember when Michael first moved out of the apartment, when he moved in with David. You seemed to enjoy having the place to yourself."

He shrugs. Then he looks thoughtful. "Well, that's true. But when I had that other place …"

I smile at him. I only went there once, but that place was so not Emmett. I can still remember Brian's caustic comments about the knock-off versions of all his designer stuff.

"Maybe that was just the apartment," I tell him. "Maybe you just didn't feel at home there."

He brightens. And then sighs. "Well, I guess that could be true. But right now probably isn't the time to be looking for another place."

I bite my lip. I want to say something to him about how sorry I am. Everyone's told me all about the scene at the store; about how Brian more or less dared Emmett to do something outrageous on the show, and then he did, and got canned, so of course now that's all Brian's fault. And maybe it is, a little. He just can't leave well enough alone. He saw someone that he thinks of as a friend (however hard he might deny it), doing something that he thought was less than their best, and of course, he had to say so. Anyone else would have just shrugged and said that what did it matter, as long as Emmett was happy. But it mattered to Brian.

He respects Emmett, that's the thing. More than anyone would guess. People would probably be surprised to know that Brian honestly doesn't think of Em as a silly queen, he thinks of him as another out and proud gay man, and he hated seeing Emmett making an idiot of himself for a bunch of straights to gush over for a week, and for all the supercilious fags like Michael's friends to laugh at. That's how Brian saw the whole TV thing anyway. Not that he's mentioned it to me, of course. But I know how he thinks about stuff like that.

But still, he interfered and now …

"Honey," Emmett breaks in on my thoughts. "I've never said anything, and, well, you know how hard it can be to say something to Brian that he doesn't want to hear."

I brace myself. I might agree that there really are times when we'd all be a lot more comfortable if Brian could just keep his mouth shut, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to be the one to tell him he should have minded his own business.

"Well, if you could just find a way to let him know how grateful I am to him."

I stare at him. I can feel my mouth open, and force it closed again. Then, to give myself time to think, I take a sip of the water that the waiter has at last brought. Maybe someday he'll even bring a menu.

Em gives me a sad little smile. "My Aunt Ella always told me that you can always tell who your real friends are by the truths they tell you that you don't want to hear," he says. Then he grimaces.

"Well, of course, by that, Brian's the best friend of half the queers in Pittsburgh," he goes on; which makes us both laugh.

Then he says seriously, "But I know he said what he did because he cared enough not to want me to make a fool of myself, and I really appreciate it."

I smile at him a little mistily.

If people only knew how fucking frustrating it is to always have to have Brian's back just because his so-called friends are so fond of sticking knives in it. Sometimes it feels like I can never get mad at him over the real fuck ups that he's made in our relationship, because he's been so hurt by them all blaming him for their own fuck ups that I just can't bring myself to add any more pain to what he's already carrying.

Which means a whole lot of things just never do get dealt with between us.

It really pisses me off.

At least today, that's not what's happening and I'm so relieved, and so grateful to Emmett for not joining the usual throng howling for Brian's balls that I want to hug him.

I don't though, I smile and thank him, and then I let the smile slip into a grin, and say, "I have to admit, Em, if you had to go out, it was a great way to go. I bet they shit themselves."

He laughs. "Oh, honey, you don't know the half of it. If you could have seen their faces ..."

We share a laugh over all that, and talk about how the whole thing has at least been great publicity for his party planning business. Apparently he's been getting more calls than ever in the last week, since he was unceremoniously dumped from his slot.

"I think some of them just want to check out whether I was bragging about my package," he says with one of his wicked grins.

Then he says, "So, speaking of parties, are you and Brian going to Ben and Michael's faaabulous housewarming?"

I grimace. "Probably," I sigh. I am so not thrilled with the prospect.

He wrinkles his nose. "Me too."

We share a look. Of course he's going. He shares a house with Deb. He wouldn't dare not go.

Just like me, really. Except that there are all sorts of reasons why I don't want to go - memories of that for shit dinner party being close to the top of the list; but if I don't go, Brian definitely won't. And if he doesn't go … I just can't be bothered dealing with all the shit he's going to cop.

We spend the rest of our lunch speculating on just how boring it's likely to be. I mean … it's not like either of us think that Mikey should be throwing some kind of orgy, it's just that we both suspect that it's going to be an even bigger frost than that stupid fund raiser that he and David threw for Senator Baxter; with Ben and Michael playing happy families with JR, and trying to make the rest of us feel total losers because we don't share their passion for the house and the mortgage and the 2.4 kids. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, there'll be his lovely new friends looking down their noses at the rest of us, just because we're not living their nice little suburban lifestyle.

Em claims that it's actually worse for him and Ted, because as well as getting sneered at for still going to clubs and enjoying themselves, they get all this fake sympathy because they just haven't found the right man yet.

As Em says, it's not like he and Ted haven't been looking. And maybe if either of them had been lucky enough to be in a long-term relationship they would like to live a bit like Michael and Ben. But …

"You just can't make that happen, you know?" he says a little wistfully.

I nod. Yes, I know. If you could choose who you fall in love with, then maybe I would have chosen someone … easier … than Brian. But you can't. And I certainly wouldn't have fallen for anyone like those new friends of Michael's with their closed little minds, and their snooty air of superiority. Although, come to think of it, maybe in a few years, that's just what Ethan will be like. I smother a laugh at that thought, and go back to listening to Emmett.

"And I get so tired of people like that putting me down, just because I don't have a cozy home life with Mr. Right," he says, sounding almost as pissed off as their attitude makes me feel.

I realize then that the part that I've insisted that Michael put into the comic is important to more than just the kids; that there are lots of guys like Emmett and Ted who maybe need to be reminded that living out the romantic fantasy isn't the only way to be happy.

That's why I drew one panel where, in the midst of all the gooey stuff about the wedding, JT asks Zephyr if he thinks he'll ever get married, and Zephyr says that he doesn't think he'd ever want to, that his life is fine just the way it is. Michael had a shit fit over it, and insisted that Zephyr would never say that. I told him he just meant he'd never say it, and that if he wanted to go ahead with the issue, then he'd have to remember that Zephyr wasn't him, anymore than Rage was Brian, so he could say whatever words we wanted to put into his mouth.

Michael heard what I was saying then - that if he'd bent Rage so far away from Brian that he was getting married, and carrying JT across the damned threshold, for fuck's sake, then Zephyr could at least put the argument that marriage might not be for everyone, and that that's okay too. And that there wouldn't be any wedding issue, unless Michael was prepared to let him.

He's still pissed off with me though. Like I said, he's even gone whining to Debbie about it. Without actually telling her the whole story, of course; just that I'm trying to make him write the issue the way I think it should be written, trying to muscle him out as writer. But I don't care. It was important to me to have that point of view given at least a passing acknowledgement.

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Brian

I swear to the fucking God I don't believe in that if he asks me one more time about Mikey's fucking party I'm going to kick his ass to kingdom come!

I have no intention of gracing Mikey's little soirée with my presence. It's not like he really wants me there, anyway, except as a target for his little friends to sneer at. Well, fuck that!

Does Sunshine forget the shit they poured all over me at that fucking dinner party?

I slam the coffee pot down on the counter and he glares at me.

"Don't be so fucking childish, Brian!" he snaps. "All you have to do is to show up for an hour and then you can go to Babylon or wherever you want and do whatever you want with whoever you want. But I am not going to deal with all of Deb's shit when you don't at least put in an appearance at the party."

"Don't worry, Sunshine," I says sweetly, "Deb will know exactly who's to blame. I mean … she always knows who to blame, right?"

He gives one of his patented long suffering fucking sighs, and I grab my coat and try to remember again why I didn't want him to move out.

"Brian," he says in that calm voice that he uses when he thinks he's being oh, so reasonable. The one that makes me want to throw something at his head.

He comes towards me, but has the sense not to try to touch me. Right now I feel like I might spontaneously combust and we'd both go up in fucking flames if he came too close to me.

"Brian, I know she does that. And I know it's not fair. And I don't want to go to the party either." He stops and takes a deep breath, and then, when he's sure that I'm not going to just shove him out of the way and get out the fucking door to the sanctuary of work, he goes on, "But you're not the only one she says things to, you know? And I hate it. I am so tired of …"

"Having to apologize for me?" I sneer.

"Having to listen while they attack you yet again," he says quietly. "I never know what to say. One day I'm going to break, and tell them all what I really think of them and …"

He shakes his head, and gives a wobbly sort of smile.

"I don't think they'll ever forgive me," he finishes sadly.

I feel something hard and bitter clogging my throat, then it dissolves into sweetness as he comes into my arms. I don't remember opening them, don't remember reaching for him, but suddenly he's there. I wonder how the fuck he does that?

I give him one brief hard hug then, letting him go, I shrug into my coat and pick up my briefcase.

"One hour," I tell him. "And I make no promises about how much I fucking drink."

He grins. "Maybe we could have a chugging competition."

I huff a laugh at that. He is such a lightweight with alcohol. Two drinks and his eyes are starting to roll back in his skull.

"And you buy their fucking present," I tell him. "I'll pay for it, but I am not going looking for some `suitable' fucking gift."

"Briii-aaan!" he whines, sounding just like Mikey. He doesn't think I know he deliberately impersonates my erstwhile best friend, but I'm a long way from being stupid, Sunshine.

I give him one hard kiss on the mouth and head for the door.

He grabs my arm and pulls me back into a long deep wet kiss that almost makes me forget why I have to get to the office, hell, it nearly makes me forget I have a business at all.

Then he turns me to the door, pats my behind, and says, "Later," in a tone of voice full of promise.

So, okay, maybe there were some reasons that I didn't want him to go.

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Justin

Despite his protests, I force Brian to look at some catalogues with me and after rejecting his wonderful suggestion of a self flushing toilet bowl, we finally find something that he doesn't completely hate at least.

And miraculously I manage to get him to the party more or less on time. Okay, this is largely because he says he's planning on heading out to some sex party afterwards, but I really don't care. He's here, and if I can just prevent most of the shit that's going to be flying around from really hitting the fan for the next hour, then we should be able to escape with minimal damage.

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Brian

Amazingly, things go okay for the first hour or so, and I'm just about to collect on my promise and make my fucking escape, when, with video camera whirring, Mikey and Ben decide to stage a little self-congratulatory speech session. I'm so fucking tempted to bail, but Justin's giving me that look and Deb is giving me the evil eye, so I resign myself to another half hour's boredom. Then I can escape, and hopefully take him with me.

I certainly don't think he's going to want to stay here. Even Ted looks bored. And the only thing keeping Emmett entertained is bitching about how much better the food would have been if they'd let him cater it.

Sonnyboy isn't even here. Apparently Michael told Linds that it wasn't going to be suitable for kids. Although JR is here, of course. But then I guess she's a "real" fucking kid, because her Dad is part of a "real" couple. Not like Gus' old man. I don't mind them heaping all that shit on me, but I get fucking tired of it when it affects the people … some weird-assed shit starts happening in my chest then as I finish the thought … the people who love me.

I sit for a moment or two and everything around me does some sort of fade out, Mikey's speech just white noise as I think about that.

The people who love me.

Justin.

And Gus.

They love me.

And when I fuck things up, they get punished for it too. Which doesn't seem fucking fair to me.

If his sister is here, so should Gus be.

How can it be fair that he's not?

But … he's my son … so he shouldn't feel any pain about that sort of stuff, right? Shouldn't feel left out? Feel that he's somehow defective because he's not wanted at this sort of "family" gathering?

I take a deep, shaky fucking breath and come back to the room just in time to hear Justin's little gasp of shock, and see Ben waving around copies of the fucking comic.

What the fuck?

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Justin

I can not fucking believe this! Ben's thrusting comics into everyone's hands, and somehow I wind up with one.

Everyone is oohing and ahhing and I'm trying to work out what the fuck to do when I see Brian's face.

He knows something's wrong, he knows what the plan was about "launching" this issue. And I have to head him off before he says anything.

"Michael, can we talk?" I hear myself say.

"Oh, not right now, Justin," Ben fucking answers. "We need to do some more with the video. We need a shot of the family."

Brian's still looming, ready to tell him what he can do with his video, when I grab his arm. "It's my issue," I tell him. "Let me deal with it."

He bites his lip, not wanting to let it go, control freak that he is, but eventually he nods, and goes to get us both another drink.

While he's fetching them, and Ben and Michael are fussing about with the fucking video, I automatically start to leaf through the comic to see how it looks in print. That's when I realize what that fucking little asshole has done. The panel that I drew showing Zephyr shrugging off the idea of marriage as the be all and end all has just vanished. Michael has just fucking removed it from the issue. Without even fucking telling me.

I want to scream at him and punch his smug little face into next week, but all my WASP training tells me not to, tells me to put it aside, at least for now, to not create a scene at their party.

But I can't stay here, I'll explode if I do, and say all the things that I normally keep the lid on for Brian's sake. I'm heading towards the hallway to get my coat when I hear Michael ask Brian what he thinks of the comic. Oh, fuck!

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Brian

I've told Justin I'll let him deal with Mikey, but that doesn't mean that I have to put up with his bullshit of pretending that there's nothing fucking wrong.

I give him a look to let him know what I think of him pulling this fucking stunt, and tell him my Norman Rockwell painting story.

I hope he gets the fucking message. Rockwell was so full of shit. Painting a world where everything was so nice and sweet and just ignoring all the shit that was going on around him; all the men being hung from trees because their skin was the wrong colour, and the people being hounded out of work because someone didn't like their politics, and all the gay men and women forced to live their lives in fear and desperation because love for them wasn't just disapproved of, it was fucking illegal. That's the truth that's behind Rockwell's nice little pictures of American life.

But all Mikey does is snap back with some shit about my `anti-family values' as if that's what this is about, and not about my anti-bullshit values, and the fucking heap of it that he's just pulled.

I'm about to really get into it with him when I hear Justin's voice.

"Brian, let's go."

"Okay," I say carefully, and put down the comic.

His coat is on, and as I move into the hallway, he's already out the door. I'm pulling mine on when I hear her.

"Listen, asshole, you don't have to ruin everyone's evening just because the idea of someone actually getting married and being happy doesn't fit into your little idea of the world according to Brian Fucking Kinney."

I whirl on her. "And what would you know about being happily married, Mel?" I demand. "At last count, your marriage wasn't looking all that fucking happy. Or have you found someone else already?"

I hear outraged `Brians' hiss at me from all corners, as she spits back at me, "Well, at least I had the balls to try. You just haven't got the guts to even make the attempt, and sooner or later Justin's going to realize that the only reason you yell so loudly about what a crock marriage is, is that you're too much of a fucking coward to even consider it, and then he won't want to know you. Who would?"

I sneer at her, determined not to let her see that she's got home with a couple of those shots, and I'm trying to find words to respond when Michael chirps in with, "You shouldn't have come, Brian, if my lifestyle offends you so much. You should have just stayed away instead of …"

Before I can even open my mouth to tell him that he shouldn't have fucking invited me, I'm almost elbowed out the way.

Fuck! This isn't Sunshine … this is Supernova.

And it's way to late to shut down the explosion now.

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Justin

"Don't you dare try to make this about Brian, you lying cheating pack of shit!"

I hear my voice, hear the anger, hear the hushed silence that falls on everyone as they try to work out what I'm talking about.

In the quiet, Lindsay says, in that sweetly reasonable voice of hers, "Justin, what …?"

But I don't feel sweet. Or reasonable. I feel like I want to slaughter the lot of them. None of them had the least idea what was going on, but without any hesitation they all started to heap the blame on Brian.

Well … not this time. This time they're not going to have any fucking excuse not to know exactly who has caused the problem here.

"Justin," the little fucker says, "I know you're upset, but …"

"Yeah, you fucking know alright! You know exactly what my problem is. You changed it! We had an agreement and you fucking changed it without even talking to me about it. And then you sprang it on me here. Doesn't matter that we had a plan to launch it that sure as hell wasn't all about you having a grandstand moment in your living room, but, as usual, you just did whatever the fuck you wanted to do without even consulting me."

"Well, this is a housewarming, celebrating Ben and I making a commitment to each other. It seemed …"

"It seemed like I wouldn't fucking cause a scene here!" I snap. "Well, guess what? You're fucking wrong about that. I'm more than happy to cause a scene and to fucking call you on your bullshit."

"I just asked a few people, and they agreed that it was a better, clearer message without …"

`Where the fuck do you get off asking anyone about it?' I think even while I'm taking breath to respond. But I don't let that distract me.

"Better for who?" I demand. "All your sanctimonious shit friends? Well, you're wrong. You're just fucking wrong. Because you've made yourself as bad as anyone else who says that there's only one right way to live. You're as bad as any homophobic prick telling me I'm damned because I don't live the way they think I should."

Clutching the comic, I wave it at him.

"Well, you got your damned wedding issue - just the way you wanted it. And I hope you fucking like it, because it will be the last. You hear me? There will never be another Rage comic. Never!"

I finally hear Brian's "Justin, stop!" and as his arms come round me, it triggers a memory of another night, another man who betrayed my trust in him. For a moment I feel swamped and my energy flags, but Brian's there, supporting me just like he did that night outside Babylon, his arms strong and warm and sure.

From their shelter I look that little son of a bitch right in the eye.

"You're a complete and utter fucking asshole, Michael, and if I never see your hypocritical fucking face again it will be too fucking soon!"

Then I turn and walk out the door. Knowing that Brian will follow me.

Oh, fuck!

Brian!

What have I done?

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