Sunday Morning After.

Moderate New York pad.  Mostly Asian décor with deep reds and black lacquer.  Long and narrow with a large window at the living room end, kitchenette left of the entry hall, bathroom and bedroom doorways on the right.  Still a gold mine for the money. 

Justin in a tee and briefs, drifted from the bedroom, yawned off a restless night and squinted at late morning sun reflecting off the complex across the street.  He eyed Leo’s portfolio on the low tea table, the loop of platinum chain beside it.  “Great.  Now I’m a thief.” Shrugged it off.  I’ll get it back to him later.

He picked a cream silk robe off the couch, took it to the small bathroom and hung it on the door hook.  Noticed a bra drying on a towel bar, breathed a sigh and shuffled into the kitchen.

Reaching into the lower fridge for a bottled water, he glanced at a magnetic calendar on the freezer door, the scribbled reminders of how to plan his time.  A lot of blank squares in the next two weeks, courtesy of Watermeier’s Seattle plans.  Beside the calendar, a hastily scribbled post-it: Got an assignment. Be back Tuesday night.  Yuka.

After a long drink, Justin left the bottle on the counter, picked up his cell phone, headed for the couch and stretched on his back with a throw pillow crammed under his head.

At the Loft in sunny Pittsburgh…

Brian, naked and snoozing on his side with an arm under his pillow, heard a far-off ringing, opened his eyes and shut them again.  “It’s Sunday.  Go to church or leave a message.”  The machine would get it on the fourth ring.  But after three rings, the phone stopped.  For a second.  Then started ringing again.  Emergency?  Few people used the three-ring-hang-up trick.

Brian lunged forward and grabbed the cordless.  “Brian Kinney.”

“Hey.”

Brian didn’t need much more to smile.  He rolled onto his back and pressed the phone close so he wouldn’t miss anything – tone, breaths, noises, pots banging in the background – it didn’t matter.  “Hey yourself.  How’s your Lesbian lover?  Are you still sharing the same room?”

“Yeah.  She’s great with a strap-on,” Justin ribbed.  “You wanna come over and watch?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Brian shot back then followed with a more serious, “So when’s the next art show?”

“Not for a while.  I’m battling a slight case of artist’s block right now.  Anything new on the bombing?  I haven’t seen a peep in the news unless I missed it.”

“It’s not CSI,” Brian breathed out.  “If we’re lucky, we might make Cold Case Files ten or twelve years from now.  As for artist’s block – give up the Muncher, go out and get yourself a real fuck.”

“It isn’t like I have to go out,” Justin muttered, side-glanced Leo’s folio.  “I think one of my students has a crush on me.”

“Oh?” Brian grinned amused.

“Yeah.  I thought he was straight.  He’s got a girlfriend with him most of the time -”

“Uh-oh.  Closet breeder.”

“- then he kissed me -”

“Kissed you?”

“Nothing heavy and I didn’t see it coming.  Now he’s drawing  pictures of me…”

“Naked?”

“What do you think.”  Justin let out an exasperated breath.  “The last thing I need is some obsessed seventeen-year-old following me around.”

“How soon we forget,” Brian drolled low.  “Is he hot?”

Justin razed, “Yeah, in a subversive, gang-leader way.  Leo Ruggieri.  His friends call him Ruger,” then raked a hand through his hair.  “It’s not funny.  In any other situation, I’d’ve flat out told him to fuck off.  But I’m supposed to be a teacher.  His stuff shows a lot of potential and I don’t want to start him off wrong.”

“Then tell him just that.”

“You think it’ll work?”

“It didn’t with YOU,” Brian smiled, raised his brows and added with affectionate sarcasm, “… but then you were alllllways the exception.”

Justin felt a little cozy with that, absently scratched behind an ear as the tension drained.  “I didn’t call just to talk about me.  So what’ve you been up to?  And nine-and-a-half-cut doesn’t count.”

Brian leaned his head against the wall.  “Running Kinnetik…running Babylon…and you know I don’t like to talk about that boring shit on the phone.  That’s Mikey’s territory.”

“Yeah, I should call him,” Justin sighed with some regret.  “Marco did most of the last two Rage issues.  I just didn’t have the time.”

“Immersed in your art.”

“You think?” Justin shifted onto his side, closed his eyes.  “Try interviews, black-tie parties and listening to people explain what they think I thought or meant.  It was all exciting at first.”  He shifted to his back again, couldn’t seem to get comfortable.  “And then I got a little flack from Wayne Renault…”

“Aesthetic Magazine?”

“That’s him.  I asked him if his backgrounds were digitized and he got all huffy – ‘No.  They’re all painted by hand’ – like I just burned an American Flag or something.  I guess teaching digital graphics while getting hype for my paintings tends to annoy some purists.”

“Do you give a shit?”

“No,” Justin twisted a face.  “But it gets exhausting.  Makes it harder to concentrate on my work. Watermeier wants me to go to Seattle with him.  Get away for a couple of weeks.  I’ve never been there before, and I’d LIKE to go...”

“Then go.”

Justin grimaced.  “It’s just that…we’ve got a good business relationship right now, and I don’t know if I wanna get into anything else with him.”

Don’t-Know instead of Absolutely-Do-Not?  Sounded too Nice-Prospect to Brian.  A sour note reminding him that any kind of fame always introduced impressive others.  Something Justin hadn’t experienced on much scale before.  Maybe even a better match.  Brian furrowed his brows, tapped fingers lightly on the mattress.  Fuck.  I’m not just giving you away.  “What about Britin.”

Justin’s brows knit.  “I thought you sold it.”

“I’m taking it off the market for awhile and renting it as a weekend retreat until the market improves.”  As of right now.

“Really?” Justin perked up.

Brian slid to a relaxed prone.  “It’s all in preliminary stages but if you need time off just let me know when.”

Justin sat up bright-eyed and willing.  “Shit. Why didn’t you call and tell me that before?  It would be perfect!  I could work on some sketches…and we could spend some time together.  Check out Babylon…Woody’s.  Maybe go up to see Mel and Linz...”

“Whoa there, Trigger.  I still have two jobs you know.”

“And no time for anything else?”  Justin chided.  “My last class is over at three tomorrow.  I can catch the six o’clock and be there by seven.  Is that okay with you?”

“Call me when you get in.  And you can pack light.  The place is out in the middle of nowhere.”

Justin heard the hang-up click and collapsed back, big grin aimed nowhere in general, eyes in reflex upward scan as he processed the coincidence between Seattle and the shocking counter offer.  “Of all the fucking times…” he full-power smiled.  I can’t believe you’re finally showing your hand.

Back at the Loft…

Brian sat in serious thought and tapped the phone on his palm.  Strange how they could pick up like two months were no more than an eye blink.  Then Brian had to smile.  Fuck.  Justin had an attractive option…and he chose boring old Pittsburgh.  On the plus side, Justin’s eager reaction was more than he’d expected.  Then there was the downside.  Getting the house ready and doing it all on a Sunday.  Without his most dependable helpers who were still in Toronto.

Brian speed-dialed a number and waited for an answer.

At the Hunnicutt Kitchen…

Emmett checked the oven, snatched his ringing cell off the counter, “Hello,” noticed Calvin sneak another peek and swatted his shoulder.  “Honey?  I know it smells good but you’ll have to wait,” then answered the phone, “Sorry about that.  Hello?” flattened, “No, it’s quiche?” and a thoughtful, “Do they even MAKE apple-cinnamon douche?”

Calvin frowned, “Who in the hogpen IS that?”

“Brian,” Emmett said matter-of-fact, watched Calvin nod no-surprise relief and eye the oven.  “Why don’t you set the table?  That should make it cook faster.”  Then back to Brian, “Why are you calling on -” He listened, smile beaming, “Ohmigod.  Are you serious?  For Justin…I can whip it into fabulous in no time!” until he heard more and his smile sank.  “I, uh…didn’t mean that…literally.”  He paced, hand to a temple.  “Let me think.  I’m thinking…I’m thinking....”

Calvin returned, swiped paper napkins off the counter.  “Guess this’ll do it.  What else do we need?”

Emmett grinned at Calvin, answered Brian,  “One, if I dare say, incredibly able body…and a pickup truck.”

“What?” Calvin screwed a face.

“And I just maaaay be able to get a couple more.”

In Ted’s living room… 

Blake stepped from the bedroom, formal tux on a hangar dangling from his hand.  Called to Ted, seated on the couch. “Do you think this is good enough for tonight’s premiere?” and saw the phone at Ted’s ear when he swiveled to look. “Sorry.  I didn’t know -”

“Just Emmett.” Ted closed the phone, eyed the suit.  “For Heinz Hall…perfecto.  Now what have you got for moving furniture in West Virginia?”

Blake’s eyes danced confused.  “Can you, maybe, elaborate on that?” 

Ted jumped up with a sparkly smile, closed toward Blake and cupped his hands on Blake’s shoulders.  “As of today, we are in the resort business.  Aaaaand…our first famous guest is none other than the talented New York art sensation, Justin Taylor.”

“Brian has to be thrilled about that.  Though I’m sure he’ll manage to hide it.”

“Ohhhh….I wouldn’t be too sure about that.  Justin’s due in tomorrow night and Brian’s shamelessly lighting fires to get a couple rooms in shape today.”

“But what about La Traviata?  Ted, you’ve been waiting months for this.”

“We can still make it,” Ted shrugged, “And if we don’t…think of it as our contribution to giving Alfredo and Violetta a hopefully happier ending.  I’m sure Verdi would forgive us.”

“Whatever happened to the Queen of Tragic Romance.” Blake smiled, blinked slow.

Ted touched a finger to the tip of Blake’s nose and finished answering with a kiss.

Justin, still sitting with phone in hand, eyed the chain on the tea table.  Better get it over with.  He scrolled to Watermeier’s number, hit Send then cleared his throat and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  One ring.  Two.  Maybe he had intimate company.

“Hello, Justin.”

Maybe not. “Uh…hey, Richard.  Guess what.  I forgot your chain last night.”

“That’s alright.  I’d like you to keep it.”

Justin picked up the chain, shook his head.  “No, I can’t take this.  I’m sure it cost a lot, and I probably won’t wear it again anyway.”

“You should.  I knew when I saw it that it would look perfect on you.”

Watermeier’s last sentence, too silky soft, put Justin on edge.  Getting a little weird here.  Like this was more than afterthought window dressing.  Justin cleared his throat again, put the chain down and set things straight.  “I also called to tell you thanks for the invite to Seattle, but I decided to go home for a couple weeks…starting after class tomorrow.  I want to spend some time with my partner and try to get a few new ideas going.”  Justin closed his eyes during the silent seconds.  Smiled relief when Watermeier finally answered without offence.

“Sounds like an excellent idea.  If you need me for anything, just call.  Enjoy your visit and don’t spend it all on work.”

“Yeah.  You, too.  Bye.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Justin snapped his phone shut and sank back with a sigh, glad he’d nipped THAT bud.  The thought of fucking Watermeier had crossed his mind a couple times when they’d first met.  But beyond curiosity there was no spark like with Brian.  And on more practical terms, he didn’t need another Kip.

On the street outside the Loft…

Calvin opened the passenger door of his pickup – an older big burnt-orange Chevy with a king cab back seat good for a bumpy sideways ride.  He flipped the front seatback forward, “Yeah, we’ll all fit.  Had me a big ol’ dog and he loved ridin’ back there,” and pointed inside.

Brian and Emmett eyed each other in a stare-off until Emmett gave in with a pseudo-happy, “Well…who can argue with testimony like that.”  He leaned inside, winced and hand-brushed long canine hair off the seat before contorting his way in.

Calvin swung into the driver’s side; Brian climbed in and slammed the door.

As Calvin geared the Chevy onto the main drag, he saw only one car in the oncoming lane. “Least we won’t hafta put up with much traffic.  This baby doesn’t like a lotta stop n’ go.  Where we headed first?”

Brian didn’t answer.  Caught a glimpse of Not-A-Cop driving the passing car.  Why would someone from a distant northeast suburb be cruising down his block on a Sunday, when no major event was going on downtown and the nearby shops were closed.  In the right sideview mirror, he could see the gray sedan slow beside the Corvette, drive a couple cars further, pull to the curb and stop.  A golden moment to confront that fucker. 

“Brian?  Where to?” Calvin repeated, idled at the intersection.

Brian did a quick priority assessment. “Emmy-Lou.  Where did Ted say to meet him?” 

Emmett, engrossed with an ancient copy of Out sparked, “What?  Oh.  That new furniture store at the Mall?  They have a selection to die for,” then turned yellowed pages, “Which is much more than I can say about these personal ads.”

Calvin’s right turn gave Brian a good view up the street behind them.  The gray car sat unobtrusively near the corner.

From his position back against the side, Emmett glimpsed Brian’s tense stare out the passenger window.  “Brian?  What are you looking at?”

“Our cop friend from Babylon.  He just parked beside the Loft.”

“You cannot be serious.”  Emmett reflexively craned a look out the back window.

Calvin, sensing some foreboding, threw Brian a serious,  “Want me to turn around?”

Brian exhaled a breath.  “If that fucker is bent on tailing me, I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Emmett leaned between the seatbacks, all concern.  “What if he’s not a cop?”

“Then he could be a Vangard spy.  I know Gardner Vance well enough, and I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“If that’s the case,” Calvin cut in, “Stalking is against the law,”

“Not if he doesn’t do any harm,” Brian shrugged off, keeping any other suspicions to himself.

Calvin mustered, “Well if he causes you any trouble, I may have a little beer foam around here -” he patted his belly, “- but I can still throw a decent punch.”

“Sweetie, that’s looove handle,” Emmett crooned and squeezed Calvin’s paunch.

Calvin chuckled, “I told ya.  Not while I’m drivin’,” squeezed Emmett’s hand and pushed it off.

Brian closed his eyes and breathed out slow.  It would be long way to the Mall in a love nest with a Backseat Queen and an ex-Prizefighter who didn’t appreciate the joys of a mobile blowjob.

But that didn’t stop the nag of knowing he had a groupie of unknown origin camped on his doorstep.

On 9^th Street in Hell’s Kitchen…

Justin, flanked by two guy Students roughly his age and in similar dress, hiked out for a late-day lunch, occasionally shuffled positions to thread past other walkers.

Justin smiled, “Okay.  I’ll let you buy.  But I get the tip.”

“Seriously,” Student One spoke up, “What do you think is more important?  Traditional or Computer-generated art?”

“That’s like talking politics.  I don’t see anything wrong with using both.  In some ways I think they can actually complement each other.  Like in compositing.”

“But all your work is canvas and acrylic.”

“So far,” Justin winked.  Yeah, I’ve got some other ideas.  “Up until Warhol came along, not many artists considered combining pop and advertising with fine art.”

Eyes still on the Student, Justin accidentally shoulder-bumped a taller guy going the opposite way.  “Sorry,” he glanced back.  Glimpsed a distant figure in fatigue-wear but couldn’t get an ID for all the weaving bodies.  Leo?  Whatever.  It was HIS City, too.

Student One’s, “Hey, Justin?  This is it,” and turn for a restaurant doorway cut the diversion short.

In Calvin’s pickup zipping along the expressway out of Pittsburgh, Brian checks the sideview mirror.  At a New York diner, Justin holds the door open and glances up the street one more time before going inside.

Song: “The Heat Is On” by Glen Frey

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