"253 Creekside Canyon" 24
Brian packs.
By Gaedhal
Los Angeles, January 2006
Ron watched passively as Brian packed his big Louis Vuitton suitcase.
"I'll never fit all this shit in here," Brian mumbled as he lay a new, carefully folded Armani shirt on top of the already high pile. "I should have brought two fucking bags."
"You can borrow one of mine," Ron offered. "That will give you an excuse to come back and return it to me."
Brian looked up. "I don't need a phony excuse to come back. You know that, Ron."
"Do I?" Ron took a deep breath. "Do I know that?"
"I had a great time," said Brian, rearranging the shirts for the tenth time, trying to make them fit. "We had fun."
"That's good," said Ron, turning away. "I wanted you to have fun."
But I wanted more, thought Ron. More than Brian is ready to give, obviously. But I can't push him. Brian is someone you can never, ever push. Because then he'll run -- and this time I'll really never see him again.
Brian stopped trying to force more clothing into the Vuitton bag. Everything was getting wrinkled. "I think I'm going to need that extra suitcase."
"I'll get it for you."
Ron went down to the basement and opened the storage room. There was his good set of luggage and also some odds and ends of old sets he hadn't used in years. But he immediately took one from the good set -- a medium-sized pullman. That should be big enough for Brian's new acquisitions, he thought.
New Year's Day had been very quiet so far. Ron and Brian had finally straggled home just after 4:00 a.m. and then slept in most of the day, missing all the brunches, Bloody Mary Bashes, and football-watching parties they had been invited to. When they finally got out of bed, Ron had made his own Bloody Marys and heated up some leftover Thai take-out, which he and Brian ate by the pool. Then Brian had taken a quick swim and gone upstairs to pack. Ron had followed him, already feeling the inevitable separation acutely.
"Here," he said, pulling the bag into the room. "This should handle your spill-over."
"Thanks," said Brian. "I always buy way too much shit. What can I say? Shopping -- it's my only vice."
"Only?" Ron raised his eyebrows. Ron could think of a laundry list of Brian's activities that most people would label vices -- and shopping wasn't one of them.
"The only one that I can't control," Brian returned. "Unless I want to. Which I don't." Brian opened Ron's suitcase and began placing his clothing inside. "I told you about that time I had to sell some of my stuff to pay off a massive credit card bill. Possession withdrawal is worse than coming off any drug -- at least for me. When the men carried away my brand-new plasma screen television I swear I almost fainted!"
Ron tried in vain to stifle a laugh. "You're such a queen at heart, Brian!"
"I am not!" Brian insisted. "You take that back!"
"I won't," Ron replied. Sometimes Ron saw such clear flashes of the 16 year old boy he'd once known. Headstrong. Vulnerable. Snarky. And in so many ways a total Drama Princess. "Not when it's the truth."
Brian sniffed and went back to his packing.
This is the time, thought Ron. It's now or never. He's leaving tomorrow and I've already left it to the last moment. If I wait any longer I'll lose my nerve. And then the moment will be gone, probably never to come again.
"Brian, do you think you could finish that up later?" Ron asked. "I'd like to talk to you about something."
Oh, shit, thought Brian, touching the gold bracelet on his right wrist. Here it comes. The thing I've been dreading. If Ron is going to make some kind of big declaration I don't think I can fucking handle it. Not now.
Brian turned to look Ron in the eye. "You don't have to say anything. You really don't. I know how you feel, but... this is too early for me to think about. It took me five fucking years to get my head around being in...." Brian hesitated. He couldn't say the word 'love.' Not when it had all been such a fucking failure. "In a relationship with someone. I think the two of us can be good friends. But that's all I can be right now. Believe me."
Ron nodded. "I understand that. I think you already know how I feel, so I wasn't going to reiterate it. But you're leaving tomorrow morning and before you go I want to show you something."
He walked across the bedroom to the large television set that dominated one entire wall. DVD cases and video cassettes filled the shelves around the screen and there were more stacks on the floor. Ron clicked on the set and then reached up and took a slender jewelbox off the top shelf.
"Are you going to show me 'Red Shirt'?" said Brian. "Because I've already seen it. I borrowed the dub you gave Ben."
"I know," said Ron. "But I think you should see this, too." He snapped open the blank case and took out a DVD. "I made this myself from the original, which I have in storage over in the film vault at UCLA with all my other original prints, including 'Red Shirt.' But no one else has ever seen this. No one. Only me -- and now you." Ron slipped the silver disk into the player. "You know, it's probably illegal for me to have this. I know it was certainly illegal for me to have made it."
Now Brian's curiosity was aroused. "What the fuck is it?" Brian knew that Ron had made some porn in the past to pay the bills, but he'd never hidden it, not even after he began making features with stars such as Clint Eastwood and Jimmy Hardy. In fact, some of his gay porno reels were collector's items. "Did you snuff somebody?"
Ron shook his head. "No, not that."
"Not kiddie porn?" said Brian, making a face. "I can't imagine you being into that shit, not even just for money."
"This wasn't made for money," said Ron. He stood there holding the remote in his hand. "It was made for love. At least on my part. That's why I've never shown it to anyone else until now. Because there are two people in this film. The two in this very room."
Jesus, thought Brian. What the fuck is he talking about?
And then it hit him. He remembered.
It was such a long time ago, but now he remembered it all. Ron's small apartment near NYU. And the tiny bedroom. He remembered Ron setting up the tripod and placing the Film School camera that he was using to film his thesis -- the documentary that would called 'Red Shirt.' But this shoot wasn't part of that film at all. This was something else altogether.
"No," said Brian in disbelief. "Is it... really? Me? And you?"
"Yes," said Ron, toying with the remote. "Or me and Jack, if you prefer. You were only 16 and I was 25. That's why it's illegal. That's why I've never shown it to another person or even told anyone else about it. But also because this was the only thing left of Jack that truly belonged to me. The only thing I had left. But if you want to see it, Brian, just say the word. Then you can go back to Pittsburgh tomorrow. And that will be that."
By Gaedhal
Los Angeles, January 2006
Ron watched passively as Brian packed his big Louis Vuitton suitcase.
"I'll never fit all this shit in here," Brian mumbled as he lay a new, carefully folded Armani shirt on top of the already high pile. "I should have brought two fucking bags."
"You can borrow one of mine," Ron offered. "That will give you an excuse to come back and return it to me."
Brian looked up. "I don't need a phony excuse to come back. You know that, Ron."
"Do I?" Ron took a deep breath. "Do I know that?"
"I had a great time," said Brian, rearranging the shirts for the tenth time, trying to make them fit. "We had fun."
"That's good," said Ron, turning away. "I wanted you to have fun."
But I wanted more, thought Ron. More than Brian is ready to give, obviously. But I can't push him. Brian is someone you can never, ever push. Because then he'll run -- and this time I'll really never see him again.
Brian stopped trying to force more clothing into the Vuitton bag. Everything was getting wrinkled. "I think I'm going to need that extra suitcase."
"I'll get it for you."
Ron went down to the basement and opened the storage room. There was his good set of luggage and also some odds and ends of old sets he hadn't used in years. But he immediately took one from the good set -- a medium-sized pullman. That should be big enough for Brian's new acquisitions, he thought.
New Year's Day had been very quiet so far. Ron and Brian had finally straggled home just after 4:00 a.m. and then slept in most of the day, missing all the brunches, Bloody Mary Bashes, and football-watching parties they had been invited to. When they finally got out of bed, Ron had made his own Bloody Marys and heated up some leftover Thai take-out, which he and Brian ate by the pool. Then Brian had taken a quick swim and gone upstairs to pack. Ron had followed him, already feeling the inevitable separation acutely.
"Here," he said, pulling the bag into the room. "This should handle your spill-over."
"Thanks," said Brian. "I always buy way too much shit. What can I say? Shopping -- it's my only vice."
"Only?" Ron raised his eyebrows. Ron could think of a laundry list of Brian's activities that most people would label vices -- and shopping wasn't one of them.
"The only one that I can't control," Brian returned. "Unless I want to. Which I don't." Brian opened Ron's suitcase and began placing his clothing inside. "I told you about that time I had to sell some of my stuff to pay off a massive credit card bill. Possession withdrawal is worse than coming off any drug -- at least for me. When the men carried away my brand-new plasma screen television I swear I almost fainted!"
Ron tried in vain to stifle a laugh. "You're such a queen at heart, Brian!"
"I am not!" Brian insisted. "You take that back!"
"I won't," Ron replied. Sometimes Ron saw such clear flashes of the 16 year old boy he'd once known. Headstrong. Vulnerable. Snarky. And in so many ways a total Drama Princess. "Not when it's the truth."
Brian sniffed and went back to his packing.
This is the time, thought Ron. It's now or never. He's leaving tomorrow and I've already left it to the last moment. If I wait any longer I'll lose my nerve. And then the moment will be gone, probably never to come again.
"Brian, do you think you could finish that up later?" Ron asked. "I'd like to talk to you about something."
Oh, shit, thought Brian, touching the gold bracelet on his right wrist. Here it comes. The thing I've been dreading. If Ron is going to make some kind of big declaration I don't think I can fucking handle it. Not now.
Brian turned to look Ron in the eye. "You don't have to say anything. You really don't. I know how you feel, but... this is too early for me to think about. It took me five fucking years to get my head around being in...." Brian hesitated. He couldn't say the word 'love.' Not when it had all been such a fucking failure. "In a relationship with someone. I think the two of us can be good friends. But that's all I can be right now. Believe me."
Ron nodded. "I understand that. I think you already know how I feel, so I wasn't going to reiterate it. But you're leaving tomorrow morning and before you go I want to show you something."
He walked across the bedroom to the large television set that dominated one entire wall. DVD cases and video cassettes filled the shelves around the screen and there were more stacks on the floor. Ron clicked on the set and then reached up and took a slender jewelbox off the top shelf.
"Are you going to show me 'Red Shirt'?" said Brian. "Because I've already seen it. I borrowed the dub you gave Ben."
"I know," said Ron. "But I think you should see this, too." He snapped open the blank case and took out a DVD. "I made this myself from the original, which I have in storage over in the film vault at UCLA with all my other original prints, including 'Red Shirt.' But no one else has ever seen this. No one. Only me -- and now you." Ron slipped the silver disk into the player. "You know, it's probably illegal for me to have this. I know it was certainly illegal for me to have made it."
Now Brian's curiosity was aroused. "What the fuck is it?" Brian knew that Ron had made some porn in the past to pay the bills, but he'd never hidden it, not even after he began making features with stars such as Clint Eastwood and Jimmy Hardy. In fact, some of his gay porno reels were collector's items. "Did you snuff somebody?"
Ron shook his head. "No, not that."
"Not kiddie porn?" said Brian, making a face. "I can't imagine you being into that shit, not even just for money."
"This wasn't made for money," said Ron. He stood there holding the remote in his hand. "It was made for love. At least on my part. That's why I've never shown it to anyone else until now. Because there are two people in this film. The two in this very room."
Jesus, thought Brian. What the fuck is he talking about?
And then it hit him. He remembered.
It was such a long time ago, but now he remembered it all. Ron's small apartment near NYU. And the tiny bedroom. He remembered Ron setting up the tripod and placing the Film School camera that he was using to film his thesis -- the documentary that would called 'Red Shirt.' But this shoot wasn't part of that film at all. This was something else altogether.
"No," said Brian in disbelief. "Is it... really? Me? And you?"
"Yes," said Ron, toying with the remote. "Or me and Jack, if you prefer. You were only 16 and I was 25. That's why it's illegal. That's why I've never shown it to another person or even told anyone else about it. But also because this was the only thing left of Jack that truly belonged to me. The only thing I had left. But if you want to see it, Brian, just say the word. Then you can go back to Pittsburgh tomorrow. And that will be that."