I had just enough miles to get us First Class tickets back to Pittsburgh, another of my few and final leftovers from Vanguard. Justin was really excited when he found out. He'd never flown in First Class before. He loved being the first ones called to board the plane, and he looked around at the rest of the tired souls in the terminal to see if anyone was watching us, and was disappointed that no one really seemed to care about our psuedo-importance. We sat at the back of the section and Justin marveled at how much room there was in the seats. He then proceeded to drape my arm around him, lean his head on my chest and hook his ankle around mine.
I wasn't going to drink anything on the flight, but the more I tried to relax, the more I couldn't stop focusing on what lay ahead of us. I hadn't exactly left everyone at home with a satisfactory explanation and I knew it was going to look to everyone like I'd absconded with Justin against his will. As though I could still manipulate him like I once could. As though I ever really could in the first place. But, like Justin had said, they didn't really know the truth, and consequently I knew I was in for the hardest sell of my life convincing these people that I wasn't yet again single-handedly ruining this poor boy's life.
It's a shame I wasn't going to have the time or energy to spend on that pitch, now that I would be starting my business. Our business.
I did miss my son, though. That was a funny feeling, only exacerbated by hearing him babble on the other end of the phone when I called Lindsay. Word had already traveled back to her via Justin's mother about the business. Of course she was on our side, and swooned annoyingly as though I'd told her he and I had run off to get fucking married or something.
So I finally caved and ordered Scotch and soda. Justin, who was drooling on me by this point, woke up and asked in a teasing whine if we were there yet.
"Almost," I said, and leaned over to kiss him. He smiled and I smiled and we just sorta stared at each other, until the flight attendant brought our drinks. I took one big swallow of mine and said to him, "You don't have to do this you know."
He of course turned and looked at me like I was insane, but this was something I had to be absolutely sure about, before we even set foot in Pennsylvania. "If you've got any doubts, or if you decide you just don't want to this, I'll…I'll understand."
"I wouldn't've said yes if I didn't wanna, Brian."
"Yeah, I know, but it…it's more than just having your name on some letterhead. I really want you to be sure."
"I *am* sure. Are *you* sure?"
"About my own involvement? Absolutely."
"No," he corrected, "about mine."
"Do I think you can do it? Absolutely. But I don't want you to do this if..." I broke off, looking for the right way to say it. "If it's just because I asked you to."
"Brian, it is *not* just because you asked me to."
I checked another slant. "What if your mom insists you not go through with it?"
He shrugged. "Then I guess she can go hang out with my dad in the land of perpetual disapproval. It doesn't have anything to do with her."
I nodded. If he could stand up to her, then he was probably pretty damn sure. I lifted my hand off his shoulder to play with his hair. "S'gonna be a LOT of work. I'm talking day and night. All night."
He rubbed his cheek into my shoulder. "S'good thing I'm so young and energetic."
"And not the kind of all nighters you pull with Michael working on comics," I went on. "It's gonna be a lot of inane, mundane, boring as all hell work."
"As long as you think you can be patient with me, I'll be fine."
"And how 'bout you with me?"
"Somehow I think I'm gonna be the slower partner in this endeavor...but yeah, I'll be patient. Aren't I always?"
I laughed. I knew he was thinking about the drug induced demon possession that happened in the hotel room, now almost two weeks ago. "Yeah. You're a goddamned saint," I told him and kissed his head.
"I just hope...I mean, if for some reason or other it doesn't work out, I don't want it to ruin anything else."
My heart skipped a few beats at that consideration. "You afraid it might?"
"S'really the only thing I'm afraid of."
"Yeah well," I said and kissed him again, "we can't live our lives worrying about that."
"I know," he nodded. "But like, if it gets to the point where you're starting to hate me because of business stuff, let me know so I can sell my shares."
I laughed. "Oh wait, guess I forgot to tell you that part of this agreement. This partnership is only severed upon the death of one or both parties." I dipped my head down and kissed his lips this time. He made a tiny moaning noise and reached his hand up to my face, not letting me break it off right away. I flicked my tongue out to taste his lips and he sucked it into his mouth forcefully, his tongue wrapping around it. It was a bit overzealous of a kiss for an airplane cabin, but I couldn't push him away. It almost felt like he was trying to say something to me and it would have been rude to interrupt him.
"Well then I guess you'll just have to kill me if you decide you can't work with me," he giggled. "Are you nervous, Brian?"
"Nervous?" Why was he asking me that? I wondered. Was it because he saw that in me, or was it because he was nervous about this himself? "Never," I told him. "I just...want to make sure you're gonna be happy…with all this."
He reached up to his shoulder and held my hand. "I will. I am."
I nodded, chuckling a little, and downed the rest of my watery drink. "You're a fool. A fucking fool."
He turned his head and kissed me. "See, how could I be unhappy with such supportive words from my partner?"
Partner…
"We're gonna be great," he went on. "The perfect team."
Truth be said, I'd never been more sure about something. I always knew one day I'd be working for myself, and I probably should have been five years ago. But I was busy, wrapped up in my own vanity, too lazy to really sacrifice the time and the six-figure income. And, I guess maybe a very small part of me was a little chicken shit to try. But now fate and circumstance had stripped me of all of those things I was afraid to let go of and I was about to embark on a real trip. We were. One that had actual promise in it. Promises I could keep to him. Accomplishments, not mere distractions. And real and actual happiness. Not the kind that comes from mind altering drugs.
Later in the flight we got the camera out and silently looked at every single shot we took. I didn't ask him if he was having a good time. I didn't have to.
When
we got home, there were four naked men in our bed. I was too exhausted
to be genuinely angry. It was more of a dull, buzzing irritation;
similar to the feeling I'd had at the Cleveland airport, during our
second fucking three-hour layover.
"Ugh, didn't you call and tell him we were coming back?" I
asked Brian, tossing my suitcase in the general direction of the orgy.
"I did."
He started poking around the kitchen, looking through the cabinets and
the freezer and, for some reason, the trash compactor, and I sat at the
counter with my back to the bedroom.
It was strange to be here, in our empty shell of an apartment, after
being away so long. After sleeping and fucking and living in so many
different places. It almost felt like it wasn't even ours anymore, and
that feeling was only exacerbated by the moaning and panting of
strangers echoing off the walls. The inside of the car would've felt
more like home.
"Hey, there's still some cherry ice cream in here," Brian
said, on his second trip through the freezer. He tossed the carton over
his shoulder, and I caught it and opened it up. It looked untouched, and
mostly free of freezer burn. And I was fucking starving.
He handed me a spoon, and put two beers on the counter in front of me.
They weren't our beers, but I think our tenant had forfeited any rights
to his possessions at that point.
He sat down next to me, and we ate ice cream and drank beer, and I tried
to pretend the place didn't sound and smell like a goddamn bathhouse. I
wondered briefly if it was turning Brian on at all, but he just looked
tired. God, we were both so fucking tired. And, honestly, he looked even
more annoyed than I was. Maybe a little disgusted.
"I think you should ask for extra," I told him. "His
lease is up. This is overtime."
"Yeah," he said. "That'd almost be enforceable if I'd had
the presence of mind to get something in writing. Last time I use the
honor system with a fag."
"Well, at least we know the bed still works."
He smiled and dropped his head to my shoulder, rubbed his face against
my shirt like a sleepy toddler.
"Not that I'm really anxious to get onto it at this point..."
"Let's just unroll the sleeping bag and camp out on the floor
tonight," he suggested. That sounded like a very good idea. The
sleeping bag was filthy, but at least it was our filth.
The noises went on, and I think Brian might've fallen asleep on my
shoulder for a little bit there, but eventually there was a particularly
loud thump, and he lifted his head and glanced towards the ruckus.
"Shit, hasn't everyone come yet?" he snarled at them. Then, to
me, "Reminds me of Ted's fucking Internet porn studio."
"Didn't you used to go there on your lunch break?"
"Yeah," he conceded. "More convenient than cruising the
gym."
"I'd say this is pretty damn convenient. Like take out you didn't
even know you ordered."
"More like someone's cold, dried up leftovers," he said. Then
he stood up, kissed me on the forehead, and started walking. Two years
ago, I would've worried that he was going to join in. Before our trip, I
would've expected it, and accepted it, and gone to someone else's
apartment to sleep. Now, it hardly even crossed my mind. I knew he
wouldn't.
"All right, boys," he said, standing on the step leading to
the bedroom, and clapping his hands once to get their attention.
"Check out time's come and gone. All you faggots gotta get outta my
house."
There was grumbling, and cursing, and someone actually called him a
homophobe, which was really fucking funny, but slowly they all began to
separate and search for their clothing.
They stumbled out, one by one: listless, wasted men who barely seemed
aware that they were in someone else's home. A black guy with a shaved
head and an assortment of piercings started wobbling towards me instead
of the door, and put a hand on my thigh. I wasn't sure if he was trying
to grope me, or to simply hold himself in an upright position. Whatever
he was doing, Brian didn't like it.
"Hey, fucker," he said, and grabbed the guy's shoulder. Shoved
him away, and he had to grab the counter to keep from falling over.
"Hands the fuck off. What the hell's the matter with you? Didn't I
just tell you to get the fuck out of my house?"
It was, again, kinda hot, but also a little scary. It could've easily
escalated into a very violent scene, if the guy had been halfway
coherent and given a shit. But, fortunately, he was not and did not, and
his only reaction was to mutter something unintelligible under his
breath and join his fuck buddies in their parade out of the loft.
Brian watched them go, anger quickly giving way to confusion as he
examined their faces.
"Wait a minute..." he said, when they were finally gone and he
was closing the door. "I didn't rent my apartment to any of those
guys. I thought it was the redhead, but I think he was the one sucking
me off when I met with the actual guy."
"You better check and see if anything's missing," I told him,
wondering how he managed to let these things happen.
"All the important stuff's in Lindsay's basement, anyway," he
said. "But I'm not leaving this place unattended until we can get a
fucking locksmith in here, and it's fucking Friday, so..."
"We're stuck here all weekend," I finished for him.
"Whatever will we do?"
His lips curled up in a small, seductive smile, and I thought of a time
when he would've rather eaten a box of crickets than spend an entire
weekend trapped in this loft with me- when he would've probably gotten
me to housesit while he went out drinking and fucking and dancing, and I
would've willingly lapped up the chance to simply exist in his space for
a little while.
Believe it or not, sometimes I miss the excitement of that first
lovesick year. Sometimes I miss the chase, the mystery, the never
knowing for sure if I was the one he'd be taking home that night, and
the sweet thrill of victory and anticipation when he finally chose me.
Sometimes, but not very often.
Definitely not now. Now I was grateful for the relative calm, for the
opportunity to relax.
We set up a little makeshift indoor camp on the living room floor, with
the sleeping bag and whatever unsoiled pillows and blankets we could
find, and I turned off most of the lights and lit a few candles. Brian
dug out his iPod, and we sat around in our underwear, listening to his
little mix, and eating the rest of the ice cream, and smoking the last
joint.
"Maybe we should have a party in a couple days," I suggested.
"Invite everyone over and tell them our big news."
"Big news?"
"About the business...remember?"
"Wouldn't exactly call it big news yet," he said, and started
scraping the bottom of the empty ice cream carton with his spoon. "S'just
an idea right now."
"Well, it's a big idea."
"Well I don't wanna make a big *deal* out of it. Not at this point,
anyway."
I knew what he meant- knew that he was afraid we were going to fail,
that I was going to be disappointed, that our friends would pity us, or
be angry with him for dragging me down- and even though I wasn't afraid
of any of that myself, I could certainly sympathize. I had my own fears.
Still couldn't resist teasing him, though.
"So, does that mean you don't wanna tell anybody, or does it mean
you don't want me making giant banners and handing out flyers on Liberty
Avenue?"
He rolled his eyes and nudged his shoulder against mine. "It means
let's not make a big fucking announcement of it, that's all."
"All right, all right, I'll just mutter about it under my breath to
whoever happens to be in the immediate vicinity."
"Exactly!"
I laughed and flopped down onto my back, and everything sort of spun. I
realized I was too exhausted to even see straight anymore, and that I
was going to fall asleep very soon, whether I wanted to or not.
Brian laid down next to me and handed me what was left of the joint.
"We should have a party, though," he said. "But fuck our
stupid friends. We oughtta have one for potential clients."
"Here?"
"Why not? Usually those things are in stuffy hotel conference rooms
with cheap booze and frozen cocktail weenies. We have it here, we'll be
different. Innovative. We'll make an impression."
"Well, what kind of party would it be?" I asked, thinking of
the various events Brian had hosted here, and wondering how many of our
potential clients would enjoy those sorts of things. "Would it have
a theme?"
"Yeah," he said. "Sign your life over to us."
"Maybe we should get Emmett to help..."
"Oh yeah," he nodded. "I'm sure we've got some favors to
cash in on with him. And he'll make a shitload of contacts."
"And he loves us."
He tilted his head towards me and raised a skeptical eyebrow at that.
"Loves you, maybe," he said.
"Oh, he loves you too. Everybody loves you. Except maybe Ted,
but...he's got his own issues."
He laughed through his nose, and turned back to stare up at the ceiling.
The fan was spinning, and he seemed momentarily absorbed by it.
"Shit," he said. "Can't believe we were in San
Fran-Fucking-cisco less than twenty-four hours ago."
"Sorry we came back?"
He kept staring at the fan for a few minutes, pondering, then said,
"S'no place like home, right?"
He kissed my cheek, and I rolled onto my side and curled myself around
him. He tugged one of the blankets up over us, and I nuzzled my
face against his chest. He smelled like pot and sweat and the airport. I
felt his hand in my hair, gently playing, fingering the strands.
"I thought it would feel like we never left," I said.
"But it doesn't really feel like that at all."
"Guess you can't go home again."
"Another home cliche? Are you sure you're up for this innovative
slogan-making?"
"Shit," he said again, and giggled. He was pretty high, and
probably as close to falling asleep as I was. "We better make this
work. Because right now, we are so completely fucked."
"I am aware," I said around a yawn. "We'll make it work.
You're a superhero, and I'm a fucking genius."
He laughed out loud at that, which was a little bit irritating.
"What? I am. I got a fifteen hundred on my SATs," I reminded
him.
"S'that what you're gonna tell our potential clients?"
"I'm sure they'd be very impressed. I've also got a hundred and
sixty IQ. We could put that on our business cards, with a picture of me
naked on the back."
"Shit, we are fucking doomed," he said, and we both laughed,
cause it was probably true.
I closed my eyes, finally, and saw flashes of our trip, flickering
across my consciousness in a mental slideshow. I thought about
everything we'd been through, all the ways he kept surprising me and the
ways he didn't surprise me at all. I listened to the fan whirring over
our heads, and Brian's breathing getting deeper and heavier with sleep,
and the mix he made playing softly in the background. I imagined this
place filling up with furniture again- furniture we'd chosen together-
and then I imagined it getting so cluttered that we had to branch out
and rent an office. Hire employees. Rent an even bigger office. Take on
as many clients as we could get until we were completely over-extended,
without a scrap of time to ourselves. I imagined the world around us
getting smaller and bigger and more and more overwhelming, and it
should've been scary, but it really wasn't. Because at the center of it
all was just me and Brian. And me and Brian were okay. We were good. We
were on our way.
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