Queer as Folk: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor
Title: Gold and Silver Shines
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Characters: Brian/Justin, Daphne, Lindsay
CD and Song: Journey's Greatest Hits, "Send Her My Love"
Rating: PG
Authors Notes: Chapter Fourteen of the series
Gold and Silver Shines
By Severina
Chapter Fourteen:
Send Her My Love
Daphne is already digging into her mound of fries when Justin slides into the seat across from her. He slips his striped scarf from his neck and snatches the water glass from her side of the table. Takes a big gulp, and loudly crunches the ice. And smiles at her.
Smiles at her a lot.
Daphne has just had a knock down drag out verbal fight with her parents. If it had been physical, there would have been blood and random internal organs strewn across the stylish Persian rug. Also, Justin is twenty minutes late. She’s really not in the mood.
Daphne coats one of her French fries liberally with ketchup.
“Well?” Justin says finally.
Daphne glances up disinterestedly from her perusal of her condiment-laden French fry. “Hey.”.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m so happy about?”
Daphne rolls her eyes. “Okay. Gee Justin, what are you so happy about?”
Justin leans forward. “Brian got me a puppy!” he crows.
Daphne tries for a smile.
“She’s a German Shepherd,” Justin raves. “Absolutely gorgeous. Wait till you see her. And super friendly. She‘s totally playful.”
“That’s great,” Daphne says. Because any other time she knows she’d be “Yay Puppy”! And it’s really not Justin’s fault that right now she’s more “Grrrr Parents!“. She slaps absently at Justin’s hand when he makes a grab for one of her fries, and determines to snap out of her crusty mood. “I’d love to meet-- wait a minute. She? Brian said he was getting a male.”
Justin’s mouth drops open. “You knew?”
“Oh.” Daphne has never been that great at keeping secrets, and Brian had been quite descriptive when describing her fate if she let the cat out of the bag. Lindsay had promised to protect her, but Lindsay looked like she’d blow over in a stiff gale, so she didn’t exactly have a lot of confidence in Lindsay’s defensive capabilities. Of course, Brian had also threatened extensive bodily harm if Justin found out about the surprise party, and yet here she was, still alive and breathing. Not that her parents were too thrilled about that right now.
“Well.” Daphne fidgets with her water glass. “It was sort of me that suggested it.”
“You?” Justin sits back, clearly mulling over this new development. “Brian talked to you about my birthday present.”
“It’s not that shocking,” Daphne says. “We do talk, you know.”
“Well sure, but…” He shakes his head, undoubtedly trying to wrap his head around the inconceivable idea that his best friend and his lover have conversations that he doesn’t know about. “How did you know?”
“Are you kidding me?” Daphne scoffs. “You’ve only been hinting about it for months.”
“I know!” Justin laughs. “I didn’t think Brian picked up on any of them.”
“He didn’t,” Daphne assures him. “He was completely clueless. In case you hadn’t noticed, Brian is kind of stupid when it comes to birthdays.”
“And even if he did notice,” Justin continues, “I never thought he’d go for it. I mean, I could just hear him complaining about the dog hair shedding on his clothes. And I didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the dog got into his shoe closet.”
“Brian has a shoe closet?”
Justin rolls his eyes. “Brian would have a shoe warehouse if I let him.”
“But if you really wanted a dog, you should have just told him,” Daphne says reasonably. She relinquishes the water glass to Justin and slides the plate of fries to the middle of table -- since they’re getting the usual stellar service at the Liberty Diner, she figures it’ll be awhile before Kiki gets over to take Justin’s order -- and takes a sip of her Coke. “You shouldn’t have to hint.”
“But hinting’s half the fun,” Justin says. “Besides, if it was something important, I’d speak up. This wasn’t high enough on the importance scale.”
Daphne has two goldfish in a small square aquarium and she didn’t have to hint around or negotiate to get them. She just went into the pet store one afternoon after a particularly harrowing anatomy class and picked them out. She’s never going to have an Importance Scale.
“Well,” Daphne says, “I’m glad you like her. What did you name her?”
Justin squinches up his nose. Daphne’s been seeing the nose-squinch since third grade and still thinks it’s adorable. “I haven’t,” Justin admits. “Yet.”
“You haven’t named her?” Daphne shakes her head, sending braids flopping. “You’ve had her for two whole days! You need to name her.”
“I know, I know! It’s just hard to come up with the perfect name. She needs something regal.”
Daphne, who’s one and only dog was named Fred, decides that she wouldn’t know regal if it bit her in the ass. “Well, what are you calling her now?”
Justin looks sheepish. “I’ve just been calling her ‘puppy’. You know -- ‘come here, puppy’. ‘Gooood puppy’.”
“She’s going to think her name is Puppy.”
“I know!” Justin says. “But at least it’s better than what Brian calls her.”
“What does Brian call her?”
“Um.” Justin makes a grab for a pile of fries, a prelude to the “stick a ton of fries in the mouth so one cannot speak“ tactic. But Daphne has had years of experience in Justin’s fry-grabbing technique and her palm slaps down on his wrist before he can complete the manoeuvre.
“Justin,” she warns.
“That thing,” Justin mumbles.
Daphne blinks. “Excuse me?”
Justin raises his head and looks her in the eye. “Brian calls him That Thing. As in, ‘I think That Thing needs to take a dump.’”
“Oh Justin. You need to name her.”
“Again, I know,” Justin deadpans. He puts on his best wheedling expression. “I was hoping you’d come out to the house with me this afternoon. Maybe together we can come up with something appropriately stately.”
“I don’t know.” Daphne slouches back in the booth and fiddles with one of her braids.
“Are you playing hard to get or something? Because that’s really weird.”
“I had a huge fight with the parentals.”
“Oh.” Justin winces. “Bad?”
“The worst.”
“Dare I ask?”
Daphne had gone into the diner wanting to feast on carbs and wallow in silence, but discovers that -- like so many other times in her life -- talking it out with Justin will probably help. At the very least, he’ll listen to her bitch.
“I told them that I’d be changing majors. And then that turned into this whole thing where they pressured me about all this shit that I didn’t want to do, and then I confessed that what I really want to do is take a year off.”
“And they said?”
“That I was on my own.”
“Harsh,” Justin says. Daphne nods. She figures he knows all about parental abandonment issues. “But you know, it would be better for you to do it on your own. Assert your independence.”
“Says the man with the millionaire boyfriend.”
“Partner,” Justin correctly smugly. “And you know what I mean, Daph.”
“Yeah,” she admits. “And it’s not the money thing, even though I totally cannot afford my apartment without my parents helping me out. I just thought they’d be a little more supportive, you know?”
“Who are you talking to?”
Daphne smiles. Parental abandonment issues. “Right.”
“Anyway, that offer of table dancer on Dyke Night still stands.”
“Can you imagine?” Daphne giggles. “Shaking my groove thang for hundreds of hot horny lesbians. My parents would have a shit fit!” She pauses, considering. “And who knows, maybe I’d finally get a date.”
“Dry spell?” Justin asks.
“Dry year,” Daphne amends.
Justin does the nose-squinch again. It really is adorable. “Okay. So I think a quick trip to Britin is exactly what you need to get your spirits up.”
“I don’t know,” Daphne says again.
“I have vodka,” Justin coaxes.
Daphne perks up. “And cranberry juice?”
“Well… no. But we can totally pick some up on the way.”
“Okay,” Daphne agrees, then shakes her head. “Wait… no. I don’t have my car. That‘s another thing the evil parents said. They pay the insurance. Well, and the loan. So if I drop out of school… no car.”
“Sucks,” Justin agrees. “But today we can take my car.”
Daphne stares. “He bought you a car.”
“I needed it!” Justin protests. “It was costing a fortune getting back and forth to Britin by cab. And I need the space for when I start hauling canvases to hell’s creation and back.”
“A dog and a car. Next thing you know he’ll be taking you on a trip to London -- Oh, wait.”
“Shut up!” Justin laughs. “Are we going or not?”
“Oh, we’re going,” Daphne says. “And we’re drinking doubles.”
*~*~*
Brian hears them as soon as he unlocks the door.
He places his briefcase carefully on the table below the heavy oak framed mirror. Strips off his leather gloves and lays them atop the briefcase. He slides out of his long wool coat and hangs it on the coat rack, smoothing the shoulders as he does so. And all the while he reminds himself that this is Justin’s home. That -- unlike the loft, where Justin may have lived but which was never really his -- he has no right to complain about noise or clutter or choice of company.
When he thinks he is sufficiently prepared, he follows the sound of laughter to the game room.
He finds Justin and Daphne splayed out on the thick pile of the rug, which is scattered with the detritus of what appears to be popcorn. Or possibly corn chips. Or maybe both. He grits his teeth and makes a note to leave something extra in Micheline’s envelope on Monday. She’s going to be earning her money this week.
Brian clears his throat. Which of course they don’t hear over the ear splitting screeches of a bald man wearing an ill-fitting red suit emanating from the television screen. Brian misses the days of The Cure and Echo and The Bunnymen. Now that was music.
He tries again, and this time the dog -- who is curled up in the corner of the sofa, despite the long discussion that he and Justin had that had resulted in the No Dogs On The Furniture rule -- lifts her head and gives an annoying little yip. Justin’s head swivels toward the dog before following the puppy’s gaze to Brian, while Brian tries not to be irritated that Justin is attuned to dog noises and not… well… Brian noises.
Brian also wonders when he got so pathetic.
“Hiiiii,” Justin says with a huge smile.
That’s when Brian notices the empty vodka bottles.
He narrows his eyes. “How long have you two been drinking?”
“Um.” Justin glances at Daphne. “Pretty well since we were fifteen. But I didn’t start drinking heavily ‘til I was seventeen. When I met you.”
Brian sighs. “How long have you been drinking today?”
“Ohhh. Since… lunch?”
Brian takes a quick look at his watch. “It’s after seven.”
“Is it?” Daphne struggles to a sitting position. “It’s late. I should probably get home. My parents are gonna be pissed.”
“You hate them, remember?” Justin points out.
“Oh yeah.” Daphne falls back onto the carpet. “Never mind.”
“And you are an independent woman,” Justin reminds her.
“I am.”
“And this weekend, you’re going to get laid.”
“By Brian?”
Justin laughs. “Brian’s gay.”
“Oh yeah.”
“And my boyfriend.”
“It would be wrong to fuck somebody’s boyfriend,” Daphne says, “even if the boyfriend is really hot. Wouldn’t it?”
“Totally.” Justin cocks his head. “Too bad, too. ‘Cause Brian fucks like a machine.”
“Hello?” Brian says. “I am still here.”
Justin smiles up at him. “And so pretty.”
Brian presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He is absolutely certain that he’s not this annoying when he’s wasted. He glances down at the dog, who has flopped down from the sofa and is rubbing against his leg. His Armani clad leg. “Did you take that thing out for a piss?”
“Oh!” Justin attempts to struggle to his feet, but apparently gives it up as too much effort and satisfies himself with merely sitting up, instead. “You can’t do that anymore,” he says sternly, before spreading his arms wide and smiling again. “We named her!”
Brian waits, but no further explanation is forthcoming. And frankly, he doesn‘t give a shit. “Okay then,” he says, “I’ll be in the--”
“Georgina Satine Buttercup von Trapp!” Justin announces exuberantly.
“--study,” Brian finishes.
“It’s a combination of the names of all my favourite female characters. Get it?” Justin says. “Georgina from The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. And Satine from--”
“Moulin Rouge,” Daphne sings out. She holds up a hand, fingers splayed. “Buttercup from Princess Bride.”
Justin nods. “And von Trapp from--”
“I get it,” Brian barks out. He feels a headache coming on.
“But we can call her Georgie,” Justin tells him.
On the television, the red-clad bald man has given way to an anorexic teenager with dyed black hair. Brian thinks she sounds like a cat in heat.
He decides that a strategic retreat is in order. “I’ll be in the study,” he says. And then, because he just can’t stop himself -- “Don’t puke on anything.”
“Okay,” Justin says happily.
“Have fun storming the castle!” Daphne calls out.
*~*~*
Justin awakens with carpet fibre in his mouth and a nasty crick in his neck. And a soft hand smoothing the hair from his brow. He squints. “Brian?”
“Not exactly,” Lindsay answers.
Justin sits up. He glances around the room, taking in the upended vodka bottles and the rest of the mess. “Shit.”
“Oh honey,” Lindsay laughs lightly, “how are you feeling?
Justin takes stock. He’s hungry, but his head feels fine. No nausea. But he’s sore as shit. “Brian let me sleep here?” He studies the imprint of the carpet on the flesh of his arm. Raises a hand to feel the same on his cheek. “The fucker.”
“I don’t think he was up to carrying you upstairs.”
“Brian’s always up,” Justin mutters. He peers down at the dog nuzzling at his hip, and lifts out a hand. The dog playfully nips at his fingers, making him smile. Memories of the night are slowly coming back to him. “Did I really name you Georgie?” he asks her.
The puppy barks.
“Guess so,” Justin says. He yawns and stretches, and notices for the first time that he‘s alone. “Where’s Daphne? And Gus?”
“Daphne’s sleeping it off in the den.”
“Sure, Brian will carry her--” Justin gripes.
Lindsay laughs. “I made her drink some ginger ale. She’s fine, she just needs to rest. And probably never drink cranberry juice again. As for Gus… Brian took him shopping at the mall.”
“Brian?”
Lindsay nods.
“My Brian?”
Lindsay bites her lip.
“Brian went voluntarily to a mall,” Justin marvels. “With a four year old.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Lindsay says with a grin before studying him quizzically. “Have you checked for large green pods under the bed lately?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Lindsay laughs. She holds out a hand to tug Justin to his feet. “Come on. Let’s take advantage of this rare child-free experience. You can show me what you’ve been working on.”
* * *
Justin’s not used to feeling nervous about his art. The reception to his work has always been something he didn’t care about. He does what he does, and doesn’t give anything else a second thought. That had been the way it always was -- right up until New York, and the agent from hell, and the slap in the face knowledge that his art was different. That he was different. That the two things combined were unmarketable, at least in Henry’s eyes.
He hasn’t shown anyone his work since then. He no longer uses the shiny lock on the studio door, because he doesn’t have to. He knows Brian won’t pry.
Lindsay takes her time, making her way slowly around the room, and the click of her heels on the hardwood is a counterpoint to the staccato rhythm of Justin’s heart.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Lindsay finally says when she turns back to him.
Justin does his best to keep his expression neutral, to resist the urge to wipe his damp palms on his jeans. To pretend that he didn’t want her to love each and every piece.
“The overall feeling is one of weightlessness,” Lindsay continues. “It’s such a contrast to your earlier work.”
“It’s where I am now,” Justin says simply.
“Buoyancy tempered with resilience and determination. It describes you and your paintings.” Lindsay smiles as she crosses the room to kiss his cheek. “Be proud, Justin.”
And, Justin realizes, he is. He peers around the room, at the three weeks of frantic work since he returned from London. Only three weeks. It’s just the beginning.
He feels like he is just beginning.
“I’ve started on the next book in the Gus series,” he tells Lindsay as he leads her from the studio. “But you can’t see it until it’s finished.”
“That’s fantastic,” she enthuses. Lindsay was always his best and most reliable cheerleader. “Mel… At home, Mel reads the first one to Gus every night before bed. It‘s his favourite story.”
“Have you talked to her?” Justin asks tentatively. They’ve been carefully avoiding discussion of the Mel situation.
“Last night. The legal assistant position that she was going for fell through. She’s simply overqualified for any work that she tries to get. She doesn‘t have the necessary paperwork and qualifications to work as a lawyer. Not in Canada.” Lindsay laughs bitterly. “This is why doctors and lawyers end up working as taxi drivers when they move to a new country.”
“On the plus side,” Justin tries for levity, “I could totally see Mel driving a cab.”
Lindsay laughs, though he can see the tears wanting to be shed. Justin doesn’t think she’ll cry. She’s made of stronger stuff than that.
He takes her hand, squeezes it tight. “What are you going to do?”
She pauses at the top of the stairs, and squares her shoulders. “I miss Pittsburgh. I miss my family…” She shakes her head. “Not my parents and Lynette. You and Brian. Michael and Ben. Maria. I miss the Liberty Diner and working on committees with the GLC. I miss Sidney and the gallery. I want Gus to see his father more than once every six months, and I want Jenny Rebecca to see her father.”
“And?” Justin prompts.
“And…” Lindsay says. Her smile is watery, but Justin is right -- she doesn’t cry. “I’ve decided that I want to come home.”
They start down the stairs. “You know,” Lindsay says, “I thought that going to New York would be the best thing for you. In such a vibrant city, with your art, with your talent, you could take the world by storm. I thought, ‘he’s young, he can handle anything’. I didn’t realize what a pull home has. How much we need it. To survive. To thrive.” Lindsay shrugs. “I thought as long as I had Mel and the kids, I could make a home anywhere. I was wrong.”
Justin thinks he could make a home anywhere as long as he has Brian, but he presses his lips together and keeps that thought to himself. “What are you going to tell her?” he asks instead.
“I’ll tell her what I’ve decided,” Lindsay says. “And if she doesn’t agree… I’ll send her my love.”
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Characters: Brian/Justin, Daphne, Lindsay
CD and Song: Journey's Greatest Hits, "Send Her My Love"
Rating: PG
Authors Notes: Chapter Fourteen of the series
Gold and Silver Shines
By Severina
Chapter Fourteen:
Send Her My Love
Daphne is already digging into her mound of fries when Justin slides into the seat across from her. He slips his striped scarf from his neck and snatches the water glass from her side of the table. Takes a big gulp, and loudly crunches the ice. And smiles at her.
Smiles at her a lot.
Daphne has just had a knock down drag out verbal fight with her parents. If it had been physical, there would have been blood and random internal organs strewn across the stylish Persian rug. Also, Justin is twenty minutes late. She’s really not in the mood.
Daphne coats one of her French fries liberally with ketchup.
“Well?” Justin says finally.
Daphne glances up disinterestedly from her perusal of her condiment-laden French fry. “Hey.”.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m so happy about?”
Daphne rolls her eyes. “Okay. Gee Justin, what are you so happy about?”
Justin leans forward. “Brian got me a puppy!” he crows.
Daphne tries for a smile.
“She’s a German Shepherd,” Justin raves. “Absolutely gorgeous. Wait till you see her. And super friendly. She‘s totally playful.”
“That’s great,” Daphne says. Because any other time she knows she’d be “Yay Puppy”! And it’s really not Justin’s fault that right now she’s more “Grrrr Parents!“. She slaps absently at Justin’s hand when he makes a grab for one of her fries, and determines to snap out of her crusty mood. “I’d love to meet-- wait a minute. She? Brian said he was getting a male.”
Justin’s mouth drops open. “You knew?”
“Oh.” Daphne has never been that great at keeping secrets, and Brian had been quite descriptive when describing her fate if she let the cat out of the bag. Lindsay had promised to protect her, but Lindsay looked like she’d blow over in a stiff gale, so she didn’t exactly have a lot of confidence in Lindsay’s defensive capabilities. Of course, Brian had also threatened extensive bodily harm if Justin found out about the surprise party, and yet here she was, still alive and breathing. Not that her parents were too thrilled about that right now.
“Well.” Daphne fidgets with her water glass. “It was sort of me that suggested it.”
“You?” Justin sits back, clearly mulling over this new development. “Brian talked to you about my birthday present.”
“It’s not that shocking,” Daphne says. “We do talk, you know.”
“Well sure, but…” He shakes his head, undoubtedly trying to wrap his head around the inconceivable idea that his best friend and his lover have conversations that he doesn’t know about. “How did you know?”
“Are you kidding me?” Daphne scoffs. “You’ve only been hinting about it for months.”
“I know!” Justin laughs. “I didn’t think Brian picked up on any of them.”
“He didn’t,” Daphne assures him. “He was completely clueless. In case you hadn’t noticed, Brian is kind of stupid when it comes to birthdays.”
“And even if he did notice,” Justin continues, “I never thought he’d go for it. I mean, I could just hear him complaining about the dog hair shedding on his clothes. And I didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the dog got into his shoe closet.”
“Brian has a shoe closet?”
Justin rolls his eyes. “Brian would have a shoe warehouse if I let him.”
“But if you really wanted a dog, you should have just told him,” Daphne says reasonably. She relinquishes the water glass to Justin and slides the plate of fries to the middle of table -- since they’re getting the usual stellar service at the Liberty Diner, she figures it’ll be awhile before Kiki gets over to take Justin’s order -- and takes a sip of her Coke. “You shouldn’t have to hint.”
“But hinting’s half the fun,” Justin says. “Besides, if it was something important, I’d speak up. This wasn’t high enough on the importance scale.”
Daphne has two goldfish in a small square aquarium and she didn’t have to hint around or negotiate to get them. She just went into the pet store one afternoon after a particularly harrowing anatomy class and picked them out. She’s never going to have an Importance Scale.
“Well,” Daphne says, “I’m glad you like her. What did you name her?”
Justin squinches up his nose. Daphne’s been seeing the nose-squinch since third grade and still thinks it’s adorable. “I haven’t,” Justin admits. “Yet.”
“You haven’t named her?” Daphne shakes her head, sending braids flopping. “You’ve had her for two whole days! You need to name her.”
“I know, I know! It’s just hard to come up with the perfect name. She needs something regal.”
Daphne, who’s one and only dog was named Fred, decides that she wouldn’t know regal if it bit her in the ass. “Well, what are you calling her now?”
Justin looks sheepish. “I’ve just been calling her ‘puppy’. You know -- ‘come here, puppy’. ‘Gooood puppy’.”
“She’s going to think her name is Puppy.”
“I know!” Justin says. “But at least it’s better than what Brian calls her.”
“What does Brian call her?”
“Um.” Justin makes a grab for a pile of fries, a prelude to the “stick a ton of fries in the mouth so one cannot speak“ tactic. But Daphne has had years of experience in Justin’s fry-grabbing technique and her palm slaps down on his wrist before he can complete the manoeuvre.
“Justin,” she warns.
“That thing,” Justin mumbles.
Daphne blinks. “Excuse me?”
Justin raises his head and looks her in the eye. “Brian calls him That Thing. As in, ‘I think That Thing needs to take a dump.’”
“Oh Justin. You need to name her.”
“Again, I know,” Justin deadpans. He puts on his best wheedling expression. “I was hoping you’d come out to the house with me this afternoon. Maybe together we can come up with something appropriately stately.”
“I don’t know.” Daphne slouches back in the booth and fiddles with one of her braids.
“Are you playing hard to get or something? Because that’s really weird.”
“I had a huge fight with the parentals.”
“Oh.” Justin winces. “Bad?”
“The worst.”
“Dare I ask?”
Daphne had gone into the diner wanting to feast on carbs and wallow in silence, but discovers that -- like so many other times in her life -- talking it out with Justin will probably help. At the very least, he’ll listen to her bitch.
“I told them that I’d be changing majors. And then that turned into this whole thing where they pressured me about all this shit that I didn’t want to do, and then I confessed that what I really want to do is take a year off.”
“And they said?”
“That I was on my own.”
“Harsh,” Justin says. Daphne nods. She figures he knows all about parental abandonment issues. “But you know, it would be better for you to do it on your own. Assert your independence.”
“Says the man with the millionaire boyfriend.”
“Partner,” Justin correctly smugly. “And you know what I mean, Daph.”
“Yeah,” she admits. “And it’s not the money thing, even though I totally cannot afford my apartment without my parents helping me out. I just thought they’d be a little more supportive, you know?”
“Who are you talking to?”
Daphne smiles. Parental abandonment issues. “Right.”
“Anyway, that offer of table dancer on Dyke Night still stands.”
“Can you imagine?” Daphne giggles. “Shaking my groove thang for hundreds of hot horny lesbians. My parents would have a shit fit!” She pauses, considering. “And who knows, maybe I’d finally get a date.”
“Dry spell?” Justin asks.
“Dry year,” Daphne amends.
Justin does the nose-squinch again. It really is adorable. “Okay. So I think a quick trip to Britin is exactly what you need to get your spirits up.”
“I don’t know,” Daphne says again.
“I have vodka,” Justin coaxes.
Daphne perks up. “And cranberry juice?”
“Well… no. But we can totally pick some up on the way.”
“Okay,” Daphne agrees, then shakes her head. “Wait… no. I don’t have my car. That‘s another thing the evil parents said. They pay the insurance. Well, and the loan. So if I drop out of school… no car.”
“Sucks,” Justin agrees. “But today we can take my car.”
Daphne stares. “He bought you a car.”
“I needed it!” Justin protests. “It was costing a fortune getting back and forth to Britin by cab. And I need the space for when I start hauling canvases to hell’s creation and back.”
“A dog and a car. Next thing you know he’ll be taking you on a trip to London -- Oh, wait.”
“Shut up!” Justin laughs. “Are we going or not?”
“Oh, we’re going,” Daphne says. “And we’re drinking doubles.”
*~*~*
Brian hears them as soon as he unlocks the door.
He places his briefcase carefully on the table below the heavy oak framed mirror. Strips off his leather gloves and lays them atop the briefcase. He slides out of his long wool coat and hangs it on the coat rack, smoothing the shoulders as he does so. And all the while he reminds himself that this is Justin’s home. That -- unlike the loft, where Justin may have lived but which was never really his -- he has no right to complain about noise or clutter or choice of company.
When he thinks he is sufficiently prepared, he follows the sound of laughter to the game room.
He finds Justin and Daphne splayed out on the thick pile of the rug, which is scattered with the detritus of what appears to be popcorn. Or possibly corn chips. Or maybe both. He grits his teeth and makes a note to leave something extra in Micheline’s envelope on Monday. She’s going to be earning her money this week.
Brian clears his throat. Which of course they don’t hear over the ear splitting screeches of a bald man wearing an ill-fitting red suit emanating from the television screen. Brian misses the days of The Cure and Echo and The Bunnymen. Now that was music.
He tries again, and this time the dog -- who is curled up in the corner of the sofa, despite the long discussion that he and Justin had that had resulted in the No Dogs On The Furniture rule -- lifts her head and gives an annoying little yip. Justin’s head swivels toward the dog before following the puppy’s gaze to Brian, while Brian tries not to be irritated that Justin is attuned to dog noises and not… well… Brian noises.
Brian also wonders when he got so pathetic.
“Hiiiii,” Justin says with a huge smile.
That’s when Brian notices the empty vodka bottles.
He narrows his eyes. “How long have you two been drinking?”
“Um.” Justin glances at Daphne. “Pretty well since we were fifteen. But I didn’t start drinking heavily ‘til I was seventeen. When I met you.”
Brian sighs. “How long have you been drinking today?”
“Ohhh. Since… lunch?”
Brian takes a quick look at his watch. “It’s after seven.”
“Is it?” Daphne struggles to a sitting position. “It’s late. I should probably get home. My parents are gonna be pissed.”
“You hate them, remember?” Justin points out.
“Oh yeah.” Daphne falls back onto the carpet. “Never mind.”
“And you are an independent woman,” Justin reminds her.
“I am.”
“And this weekend, you’re going to get laid.”
“By Brian?”
Justin laughs. “Brian’s gay.”
“Oh yeah.”
“And my boyfriend.”
“It would be wrong to fuck somebody’s boyfriend,” Daphne says, “even if the boyfriend is really hot. Wouldn’t it?”
“Totally.” Justin cocks his head. “Too bad, too. ‘Cause Brian fucks like a machine.”
“Hello?” Brian says. “I am still here.”
Justin smiles up at him. “And so pretty.”
Brian presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He is absolutely certain that he’s not this annoying when he’s wasted. He glances down at the dog, who has flopped down from the sofa and is rubbing against his leg. His Armani clad leg. “Did you take that thing out for a piss?”
“Oh!” Justin attempts to struggle to his feet, but apparently gives it up as too much effort and satisfies himself with merely sitting up, instead. “You can’t do that anymore,” he says sternly, before spreading his arms wide and smiling again. “We named her!”
Brian waits, but no further explanation is forthcoming. And frankly, he doesn‘t give a shit. “Okay then,” he says, “I’ll be in the--”
“Georgina Satine Buttercup von Trapp!” Justin announces exuberantly.
“--study,” Brian finishes.
“It’s a combination of the names of all my favourite female characters. Get it?” Justin says. “Georgina from The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. And Satine from--”
“Moulin Rouge,” Daphne sings out. She holds up a hand, fingers splayed. “Buttercup from Princess Bride.”
Justin nods. “And von Trapp from--”
“I get it,” Brian barks out. He feels a headache coming on.
“But we can call her Georgie,” Justin tells him.
On the television, the red-clad bald man has given way to an anorexic teenager with dyed black hair. Brian thinks she sounds like a cat in heat.
He decides that a strategic retreat is in order. “I’ll be in the study,” he says. And then, because he just can’t stop himself -- “Don’t puke on anything.”
“Okay,” Justin says happily.
“Have fun storming the castle!” Daphne calls out.
*~*~*
Justin awakens with carpet fibre in his mouth and a nasty crick in his neck. And a soft hand smoothing the hair from his brow. He squints. “Brian?”
“Not exactly,” Lindsay answers.
Justin sits up. He glances around the room, taking in the upended vodka bottles and the rest of the mess. “Shit.”
“Oh honey,” Lindsay laughs lightly, “how are you feeling?
Justin takes stock. He’s hungry, but his head feels fine. No nausea. But he’s sore as shit. “Brian let me sleep here?” He studies the imprint of the carpet on the flesh of his arm. Raises a hand to feel the same on his cheek. “The fucker.”
“I don’t think he was up to carrying you upstairs.”
“Brian’s always up,” Justin mutters. He peers down at the dog nuzzling at his hip, and lifts out a hand. The dog playfully nips at his fingers, making him smile. Memories of the night are slowly coming back to him. “Did I really name you Georgie?” he asks her.
The puppy barks.
“Guess so,” Justin says. He yawns and stretches, and notices for the first time that he‘s alone. “Where’s Daphne? And Gus?”
“Daphne’s sleeping it off in the den.”
“Sure, Brian will carry her--” Justin gripes.
Lindsay laughs. “I made her drink some ginger ale. She’s fine, she just needs to rest. And probably never drink cranberry juice again. As for Gus… Brian took him shopping at the mall.”
“Brian?”
Lindsay nods.
“My Brian?”
Lindsay bites her lip.
“Brian went voluntarily to a mall,” Justin marvels. “With a four year old.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Lindsay says with a grin before studying him quizzically. “Have you checked for large green pods under the bed lately?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Lindsay laughs. She holds out a hand to tug Justin to his feet. “Come on. Let’s take advantage of this rare child-free experience. You can show me what you’ve been working on.”
* * *
Justin’s not used to feeling nervous about his art. The reception to his work has always been something he didn’t care about. He does what he does, and doesn’t give anything else a second thought. That had been the way it always was -- right up until New York, and the agent from hell, and the slap in the face knowledge that his art was different. That he was different. That the two things combined were unmarketable, at least in Henry’s eyes.
He hasn’t shown anyone his work since then. He no longer uses the shiny lock on the studio door, because he doesn’t have to. He knows Brian won’t pry.
Lindsay takes her time, making her way slowly around the room, and the click of her heels on the hardwood is a counterpoint to the staccato rhythm of Justin’s heart.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Lindsay finally says when she turns back to him.
Justin does his best to keep his expression neutral, to resist the urge to wipe his damp palms on his jeans. To pretend that he didn’t want her to love each and every piece.
“The overall feeling is one of weightlessness,” Lindsay continues. “It’s such a contrast to your earlier work.”
“It’s where I am now,” Justin says simply.
“Buoyancy tempered with resilience and determination. It describes you and your paintings.” Lindsay smiles as she crosses the room to kiss his cheek. “Be proud, Justin.”
And, Justin realizes, he is. He peers around the room, at the three weeks of frantic work since he returned from London. Only three weeks. It’s just the beginning.
He feels like he is just beginning.
“I’ve started on the next book in the Gus series,” he tells Lindsay as he leads her from the studio. “But you can’t see it until it’s finished.”
“That’s fantastic,” she enthuses. Lindsay was always his best and most reliable cheerleader. “Mel… At home, Mel reads the first one to Gus every night before bed. It‘s his favourite story.”
“Have you talked to her?” Justin asks tentatively. They’ve been carefully avoiding discussion of the Mel situation.
“Last night. The legal assistant position that she was going for fell through. She’s simply overqualified for any work that she tries to get. She doesn‘t have the necessary paperwork and qualifications to work as a lawyer. Not in Canada.” Lindsay laughs bitterly. “This is why doctors and lawyers end up working as taxi drivers when they move to a new country.”
“On the plus side,” Justin tries for levity, “I could totally see Mel driving a cab.”
Lindsay laughs, though he can see the tears wanting to be shed. Justin doesn’t think she’ll cry. She’s made of stronger stuff than that.
He takes her hand, squeezes it tight. “What are you going to do?”
She pauses at the top of the stairs, and squares her shoulders. “I miss Pittsburgh. I miss my family…” She shakes her head. “Not my parents and Lynette. You and Brian. Michael and Ben. Maria. I miss the Liberty Diner and working on committees with the GLC. I miss Sidney and the gallery. I want Gus to see his father more than once every six months, and I want Jenny Rebecca to see her father.”
“And?” Justin prompts.
“And…” Lindsay says. Her smile is watery, but Justin is right -- she doesn’t cry. “I’ve decided that I want to come home.”
They start down the stairs. “You know,” Lindsay says, “I thought that going to New York would be the best thing for you. In such a vibrant city, with your art, with your talent, you could take the world by storm. I thought, ‘he’s young, he can handle anything’. I didn’t realize what a pull home has. How much we need it. To survive. To thrive.” Lindsay shrugs. “I thought as long as I had Mel and the kids, I could make a home anywhere. I was wrong.”
Justin thinks he could make a home anywhere as long as he has Brian, but he presses his lips together and keeps that thought to himself. “What are you going to tell her?” he asks instead.
“I’ll tell her what I’ve decided,” Lindsay says. “And if she doesn’t agree… I’ll send her my love.”