"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 35 "Inevitable"
Maybe some things are inevitable...
This is Chapter 35 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney, Carmel, Diane Rhys.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Maybe it was inevitable. Los Angeles, July 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
By Gaedhal
***
It's 5:00 a.m. and Brian is moving around our bedroom, quietly getting dressed.
"Hey," I say, yawning.
"Go back to sleep," he says.
"I will." I sit up and rub my eyes. "Later."
"Twat."
"Asshole," I counter. "Are you going to be late again tonight?"
Brian shrugs. "I don't know. It depends on whether they want me to stay for more costume fittings." He runs his hands through his shorter hair. He had to get it cut to match the late-1930's-early 1940's time period of the film. It looks hot. Very old school movie glamour. Brian is going to be gorgeous in this picture.
"Let me know so I can tell Carmel about dinner."
"Yeah." He stumbles around the room, still groggy. He was beat last night and filming of 'The Eastern Front' has barely begun.
"I'm having lunch with Diane on her set, so I might be late, too."
"Give Lady Di a kiss for me -- and Armani a kick in his furry tail."
I laugh. "Armani loves you! He always asks about you."
Brian shoots me a look. "That walking dustmop doesn't love anything but his food bowl! But Diane seems to love him -- against all odds."
And speaking of love... "Did you see what I put on your dresser?"
"I saw it." But he doesn't say any more.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
I sigh. The invitation came in the mail yesterday. I knew it would be a problem for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the time Brian would need to take off from the shoot -- and that's on top of the time he's already taking off for Cynthia's wedding.
"We need to RSVP. When I got the invitation I phoned Emmett -- he and Vic are handling the ceremony and the reception."
Brian snorts. "It seems those two have the entire wedding, party, and whatever-the-fuck market in Pittsburgh cornered! They're doing Cynthia's -- and now this!"
"Emmett really seems to know what he's doing. This is really the job he was born to do!" I smile. Emmett sounded so happy on the phone. It made me very aware of how much I miss everybody back in the Pitts. "He asked me how I liked being out on parole!"
Brian doesn't smile. He's still angry about my arrest and how it fucked up the 'Hammersmith' premiere. "Fucking cops!"
"No harm done," I say dismissively. "Other than the loss of my new Zac Posen tux."
"Bastards," he mutters. "No respect for at all for designer labels! At least it wasn't my vintage Armani."
"That truly would have been a tragedy!" I comment.
"You bet, Sunshine." Brian sits on the edge of the bed and puts on his boots. "Thank Christ this is Friday! I need the fucking weekend to get my act together."
That doesn't sound good. "What do you mean? I thought everything was going great! You and Simone Merle are getting along okay -- aren't you?"
"Sure. We're fine," says Brian. "But it's weird. Up to now all my main co-stars have been men -- Jimmy, Sir Ken, Clint. I haven't really done all that many scenes with a female. Even with Adele, we only had a few scenes together, and just one I'd call a love scene. I had more intimate scenes with Pat!"
"So what? Pat's hotter than Adele!"
"To you, maybe."
"To a lot of people, Brian," I remind him. "'Dirty Dancing'? 'Ghost'? Hello!"
"You're right," says Brian. "But the truth is that I have to get myself used to working opposite a woman. It's a whole other vibe. She has a completely different rhythm than a man. More playful. Flirtatious."
"Flirtatious? I'm not sure I like that!"
"That's the whole point, brat!" says Brian. "Simone and I are playing lovers, so there has to be chemistry between us."
"And...?"
"I think it's there," he admits. "If I were straight, I'd fuck her. So it's a good thing I'm queer, because on the set -- it's complicated. Plus there's all the other shit. Actresses are all about the hair and the make-up and the wardrobe. You know how females are obsessed with the way they look!"
That makes me crack up! "Unlike you, Brian, who is totally unconcerned with how he looks!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
"So what IS the pouty-lipped Ms. Merle really like?" That's how the press always describes her -- the pouty-lipped Simone Merle. She's always on the Red Carpet at every big premiere. Always a presenter at the Academy Awards and Golden Globes. Always having affairs with her co-stars. Well, until this film. Which makes me wonder how she really feels about starring opposite a gay man. Or with an openly gay man, since she's already starred with more than one famous Hollywood closet case. But the press still claimed she was having affairs with them, so go figure!
"Beautiful," says Brian. "Professional. No nonsense. But not overly friendly. It's not like 'Red River,' where Pat and the boys were always joking around and playing pranks on each other. Like I said, it's a whole different vibe. But it's not bad. It's just..." He shrugs.
"What?"
"It's the thought of the long haul. We might still be working on this picture a year from now! It's a fucking behemoth! All the costumes and sets and locations and special effects! Even working with Clint on a Western seems like a fucking walk in the park compared to this."
"Does it make you nervous?" I ask. But I already know the answer. Brian's been as tense as a cat in a kennel for the past two weeks, ever since he started costume fittings and make-up tests and then principal shooting at the studio. Next month he's scheduled to leave for London and the first location shoot. And I'll be headed back to Pittsburgh to get ready for my junior year at PIFA.
"I'd be an idiot if I wasn't nervous!" Brian exclaims. "But the thing is that the producers are nervous, too. And Brock Santo. He's directed a lot of big, expensive pictures, but nothing like this. The only one who doesn't seem freaked out is Simone. She's as cool as a fucking cucumber!"
"How do you know the producers are nervous?"
"Because they've been on set almost every day and that's unusual. They even walked in while I was making a costume fitting. You never see the fucking producers hanging, watching. I know that's bugging Brock. It's like trying to work with the boss looking over your shoulder. I remember during 'The Olympian' one of the producers showed up on the set and Ron stopped everything and stood there, glaring at him, until he left. And no one could give you the Evil Eye like Ron!"
"Don't remind me!" I shudder.
"Then he ordered that if any of the producers or studio execs came to the set again, he'd send everyone home. They never dared to come to the set again! Jimmy used to laugh about that all the time."
I watch Brian's face as he talks about Ron. It's pensive, but I expect that. Ron still hangs over Brian's career like a big, dark cloud. It's impossible to get away from him! That became clear when the 'Vanity Fair' article came out. Everyone in Hollywood -- and a lot of places beyond -- is talking about it. Even when I was arrested, that fucking cop immediately started in about Ron. I'm sure that's why they brought me in -- to grill me about Brian's possible involvement in Ron's death. Thank God they got me sprung before that fucking Lt. Xavier put the screws to me!
"Mr. Brian!" Carmel knocks on the bedroom door. "The car from the studio is here!"
"I'll be right down!"
He stands up and scratches his chin. They'll shave him before they put on his make-up. Personally, I think Brian looks hot with stubble, which means he'll really look hot in 'Red River,' when cowboys didn't shave a lot! But this picture is all about suits and ties and being clean-shaven. And Brian looks great that way, too. He looks great any way.
"Time to hit the salt mines." He bends down to kiss me. "I'll see you this evening."
After Brian leaves, I turn over, but I can't go back to sleep right away. I keep thinking about Michael and David getting married. And Cynthia and her fiance, Scott. And now Diane and Dorian are engaged, too.
I used to think about getting married, but never thought it could ever happen. But now... things are changing. Same-sex marriage is happening in Europe. In Canada. Maybe even here -- eventually. Or at least in some states. Not Pennsylvania, for sure, but maybe California.
But Brian...
He's not about to change. Even hearing the word 'marriage' makes him cringe.
I know I should be happy with what we have, but it bugs me that we aren't allowed to get married, even if I know Brian would never do it even if we could.
But I would.
That's the difference between us. I'd marry him in a heartbeat. But he'd never marry me -- or anyone. Ever.
I'm glad it isn't an issue.
Yet.
But one day it will be. It's inevitable.
I sigh and close my eyes and eventually fall back to sleep.
***
"Cutie-pie!" Diane grabs me and squeezes tightly. She's no Debbie when it comes to a boa constrictor hug, but she's close!
"Hey, Diane." I pull away -- gently. Armani is jumping up and down, barking his head off. "And you, too, dustmop!"
"Oh no you don't!" Diane says sternly. "That's what Bridie calls him, so don't you start! You be nice to my little beast!"
"Okay, beast," I tell Armani. "You're not a dustmop. But be quiet!"
Of course, that makes him bark even louder.
"He's impossible ever since we started using him on the show," says Diane, settling onto the sofa in her dressing room, while I take the big, plush chair. Armani jumps up next to her and begins licking himself. "He thinks this is his show!"
"I thought dogs had to be trained to be on TV? The only thing Armani knows how to do on command is eat!" During one of the episodes last season, Armani ran onto the set while they were filming and the audience laughed, so they wrote him into the show. Now the mutt has his own stand-in!
Diane shrugs. "He doesn't have to do any tricks. I mainly carry him or pull him on his leash, but whatever he does, the audience howls!" She pets the dog's head and adjusts his ridiculous red bow. "You're a star, aren't you Baby?"
But he just looks at her and goes back to licking his tiny dick.
"So, what's new?" asks Diane. "Visit your parole officer lately?"
"Very funny!" I reply. "You should have your own sitcom. Oh, wait! You do!"
"I know!" Diane says gleefully. "Isn't it a hoot? And Dorian thinks I'm going to be nominated for an Emmy! Can't you just die?"
"You'll win," I say. And I think she will. Her show is funny and popular. She's America's Sweetheart! How can she miss? "Speaking of which, when's the happy event?"
Diane raised her eyebrows. "Huh?"
"You know." I point to the huge rock on her finger. "The wedding."
"Oh, that." She flexes her finger and regards the ring. The diamond really is massive! "I'm still processing the fact that I'm engaged! I want to enjoy the feeling for a while before I have to think about the actual marriage."
"Brian and I are going to his former assistant's wedding in Pittsburgh in a couple of weeks. Brian's actually giving the bride away! Can you picture that?"
"Sort of." Diane scrunches up her face. "Maybe he'll give me away, too! Who better? After all, he's slept with both the bride AND the groom!"
I almost choke. "I can't believe you're joking about that!"
"Why not?" says Diane. "It's not like I don't know that Brian and Dorian were lovers. I mean, Bridie's fucked half the guys in Hollywood. No offense, Cutie, but you know it as well as I do."
"I know," I sigh. "But that's all in the past." I hope! "Did you and Brian really... You know?"
"Did he slip me the Big Irish Sausage?" she bats her eyes.
"Gross!" Diane has a way with words. "Yeah. Did he?"
"Not technically," she muses. "But we've slept in the same bed. You can't share a bed with Brian Kinney and not get a little groping action at least!"
"That's true," I concede.
But I still feel a little buzz of jealousy deep inside. I know I shouldn't. It's stupid. Brian's fucked practically everyone we know, so it shouldn't bother me. Lindsay, obviously. Vic. Tim. Emmett. Ted -- sort of -- in an orgy situation he stumbled into. Dr. Dave at the baths. Ben Bruckner at the White Party. Dorian. Jimmy. Ron. He and Michael, even if they never got off completely, have fooled around sexually. Stroking a guy's dick, even if he doesn't come, is certainly sexual. Knowing all that hasn't really bothered me that much. It's just Brian.
But Diane...
It's different with Diane. Maybe because they have a connection that's more like brother and sister. Maybe it seems too incestuous. Or because they seem to share a bond that's apart from me. But he also has that with Lindsay. And Michael.
Maybe it's because Diane told me once that she wanted to have a baby with Brian.
But that's dumb, because he has two kids with Lindsay. Why should Diane wanting to have Brian's kid bug me?
But it does.
It's a moot point, though, since she's now engaged to Dorian.
"So -- are you two having kids?"
"Why do you ask?" Diane cocks her head. "Do I look preggers?"
"No!" I laugh. Diane's so tiny that if she was two minutes pregnant she'd probably need maternity clothes!
"Dori and I haven't talked about it," she admits. "I don't want to scare the guy away, for freak sake! There's plenty of time for me to lose my girlish figure. And I don't want to be pregnant while I'm still doing the show. 'Here's Diane!' is about a fun-loving single gal, so they can't write it into the show. And it's a bitch to stand behind furniture and have them put potted plants in front of your belly to hide the bulge!"
"I was just wondering," I say just as Diane's assistant comes in with a large tray.
"Here's our lunch!" Diane dumps Armani on the floor and rubs her hands together. "I ordered Thai. I know you like it."
"Great!" I'm starving. But then I'm always starving. "Let's dig in."
And we do.
***
After lunch with Diane, she gets back to the set and I head home.
I'm working on a large piece that was inspired by some photos I took in Arizona. It's a mixed media piece, with different textures that are supposed to suggest elements of the desert -- sky, sand, rock, sage, cactus, and iguana.
The iguana is the hardest part. How do you capture the illusive nature of the lizard? I try different greens and grays, but nothing is working. I keep painting the iguana out, then painting him back in. I can't leave him out, because when I think of the Arizona desert, I think of that crazy iguana scaring the shit out of me!
I work on the piece for a couple of hours and then leave it to dry. The paint is in layers and when it's that thick, it takes a long time to dry. I clean my brushes and then check my e-mail. It's almost 5:00, but Brian is going to be late and I had a big lunch with Diane, so my stomach isn't complaining -- yet!
I have mail from Em, Daphne, my mom, and PIFA. The Institute is sending information about the Fall Semester. I've already signed up for my classes, so most of it is stuff I already know.
I also have an e-mail from a professor at Cal Arts. That's a place in Valencia that was founded by Walt Disney. Really -- that Walt Disney. Many of the Disney animators were trained there and from the information I've been gathering on the internet, it would be ideal for the kind of art I want to do. So I contacted one of the professors in the School of Art and sent him some reviews of the Andy Warhol exhibit, as well as gifs of my Warhol-inspired portraits of Brian, Lindsay, and Emmett. He thinks I should come over and talk to him, so I set up a meeting with him next week. I'm going to bring my portfolio -- just in case!
If I can transfer my credits from PIFA to Cal Arts, then I won't have to leave L.A. Even if Brian is filming in Europe, I can hold down the fort here. I won't have to go home like a fucking schoolboy at the end of his summer vacation. My home -- my life! -- is here, and not in Pittsburgh. Not anymore...
The door of the poolhouse, which was slightly open, swings wide.
There's Brian, standing framed in the doorway, all in shadow.
Except his green and gold eyes. I see those gleaming, like a panther's in the dark.
"Jesus, Brian! You scared the shit out of me!"
But he doesn't answer. His face is... weird. Like he can't speak.
That really scares the shit out of me!
"Brian! What the hell happened?" I run over to him. Grab his arm. Look into his face. "Why aren't you at the studio?"
"I knew it," he says, finally. "Motherfuckinggoddamnittohell!"
"Knew what? For fuck sake, tell me!"
"I need a drink," he says. And I see that he has a bottle of Jim Beam clutched in his hand. He must have brought it back to the house, since we don't have any liquor here. Or we didn't until now. "You want to join me?" But he's already had a drink. More than just one drink. The bottle is open and I can smell it on him. "Come on, Sonny Boy!"
I lead him into the poolhouse. "Sit down over here. Let me get you some water." I gently try to take the bottle away.
"I don't need any fucking water!" He jerks away from me. "I don't need fucking anything! Except this! So are you going to join me or not?"
"No," I say. "Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on!"
"Nothing," he says, his voice flat. "Nothing is going on. That's it."
"What's it?" I don't know what he's trying to tell me.
"Nothing!" he shouts. "The inevitable nothing!" He slides down on the foldout sofa, cradling the bottle in his arms like a baby. "And it was inevitable, you know. Ever since that fucking article came out! Inevitable!"
That's when I realize what has happened. Why the driver brought him home early. Why he has the bottle. I sink down next to him on the sofa.
And he's right. Given Hollywood and given Brian Kinney and given the state of the fucking world, that's what it was.
Inevitable.
I reach for the bottle and take a swig. What else is there for us to do?
This is Chapter 35 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney, Carmel, Diane Rhys.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Maybe it was inevitable. Los Angeles, July 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
By Gaedhal
***
It's 5:00 a.m. and Brian is moving around our bedroom, quietly getting dressed.
"Hey," I say, yawning.
"Go back to sleep," he says.
"I will." I sit up and rub my eyes. "Later."
"Twat."
"Asshole," I counter. "Are you going to be late again tonight?"
Brian shrugs. "I don't know. It depends on whether they want me to stay for more costume fittings." He runs his hands through his shorter hair. He had to get it cut to match the late-1930's-early 1940's time period of the film. It looks hot. Very old school movie glamour. Brian is going to be gorgeous in this picture.
"Let me know so I can tell Carmel about dinner."
"Yeah." He stumbles around the room, still groggy. He was beat last night and filming of 'The Eastern Front' has barely begun.
"I'm having lunch with Diane on her set, so I might be late, too."
"Give Lady Di a kiss for me -- and Armani a kick in his furry tail."
I laugh. "Armani loves you! He always asks about you."
Brian shoots me a look. "That walking dustmop doesn't love anything but his food bowl! But Diane seems to love him -- against all odds."
And speaking of love... "Did you see what I put on your dresser?"
"I saw it." But he doesn't say any more.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
I sigh. The invitation came in the mail yesterday. I knew it would be a problem for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the time Brian would need to take off from the shoot -- and that's on top of the time he's already taking off for Cynthia's wedding.
"We need to RSVP. When I got the invitation I phoned Emmett -- he and Vic are handling the ceremony and the reception."
Brian snorts. "It seems those two have the entire wedding, party, and whatever-the-fuck market in Pittsburgh cornered! They're doing Cynthia's -- and now this!"
"Emmett really seems to know what he's doing. This is really the job he was born to do!" I smile. Emmett sounded so happy on the phone. It made me very aware of how much I miss everybody back in the Pitts. "He asked me how I liked being out on parole!"
Brian doesn't smile. He's still angry about my arrest and how it fucked up the 'Hammersmith' premiere. "Fucking cops!"
"No harm done," I say dismissively. "Other than the loss of my new Zac Posen tux."
"Bastards," he mutters. "No respect for at all for designer labels! At least it wasn't my vintage Armani."
"That truly would have been a tragedy!" I comment.
"You bet, Sunshine." Brian sits on the edge of the bed and puts on his boots. "Thank Christ this is Friday! I need the fucking weekend to get my act together."
That doesn't sound good. "What do you mean? I thought everything was going great! You and Simone Merle are getting along okay -- aren't you?"
"Sure. We're fine," says Brian. "But it's weird. Up to now all my main co-stars have been men -- Jimmy, Sir Ken, Clint. I haven't really done all that many scenes with a female. Even with Adele, we only had a few scenes together, and just one I'd call a love scene. I had more intimate scenes with Pat!"
"So what? Pat's hotter than Adele!"
"To you, maybe."
"To a lot of people, Brian," I remind him. "'Dirty Dancing'? 'Ghost'? Hello!"
"You're right," says Brian. "But the truth is that I have to get myself used to working opposite a woman. It's a whole other vibe. She has a completely different rhythm than a man. More playful. Flirtatious."
"Flirtatious? I'm not sure I like that!"
"That's the whole point, brat!" says Brian. "Simone and I are playing lovers, so there has to be chemistry between us."
"And...?"
"I think it's there," he admits. "If I were straight, I'd fuck her. So it's a good thing I'm queer, because on the set -- it's complicated. Plus there's all the other shit. Actresses are all about the hair and the make-up and the wardrobe. You know how females are obsessed with the way they look!"
That makes me crack up! "Unlike you, Brian, who is totally unconcerned with how he looks!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
"So what IS the pouty-lipped Ms. Merle really like?" That's how the press always describes her -- the pouty-lipped Simone Merle. She's always on the Red Carpet at every big premiere. Always a presenter at the Academy Awards and Golden Globes. Always having affairs with her co-stars. Well, until this film. Which makes me wonder how she really feels about starring opposite a gay man. Or with an openly gay man, since she's already starred with more than one famous Hollywood closet case. But the press still claimed she was having affairs with them, so go figure!
"Beautiful," says Brian. "Professional. No nonsense. But not overly friendly. It's not like 'Red River,' where Pat and the boys were always joking around and playing pranks on each other. Like I said, it's a whole different vibe. But it's not bad. It's just..." He shrugs.
"What?"
"It's the thought of the long haul. We might still be working on this picture a year from now! It's a fucking behemoth! All the costumes and sets and locations and special effects! Even working with Clint on a Western seems like a fucking walk in the park compared to this."
"Does it make you nervous?" I ask. But I already know the answer. Brian's been as tense as a cat in a kennel for the past two weeks, ever since he started costume fittings and make-up tests and then principal shooting at the studio. Next month he's scheduled to leave for London and the first location shoot. And I'll be headed back to Pittsburgh to get ready for my junior year at PIFA.
"I'd be an idiot if I wasn't nervous!" Brian exclaims. "But the thing is that the producers are nervous, too. And Brock Santo. He's directed a lot of big, expensive pictures, but nothing like this. The only one who doesn't seem freaked out is Simone. She's as cool as a fucking cucumber!"
"How do you know the producers are nervous?"
"Because they've been on set almost every day and that's unusual. They even walked in while I was making a costume fitting. You never see the fucking producers hanging, watching. I know that's bugging Brock. It's like trying to work with the boss looking over your shoulder. I remember during 'The Olympian' one of the producers showed up on the set and Ron stopped everything and stood there, glaring at him, until he left. And no one could give you the Evil Eye like Ron!"
"Don't remind me!" I shudder.
"Then he ordered that if any of the producers or studio execs came to the set again, he'd send everyone home. They never dared to come to the set again! Jimmy used to laugh about that all the time."
I watch Brian's face as he talks about Ron. It's pensive, but I expect that. Ron still hangs over Brian's career like a big, dark cloud. It's impossible to get away from him! That became clear when the 'Vanity Fair' article came out. Everyone in Hollywood -- and a lot of places beyond -- is talking about it. Even when I was arrested, that fucking cop immediately started in about Ron. I'm sure that's why they brought me in -- to grill me about Brian's possible involvement in Ron's death. Thank God they got me sprung before that fucking Lt. Xavier put the screws to me!
"Mr. Brian!" Carmel knocks on the bedroom door. "The car from the studio is here!"
"I'll be right down!"
He stands up and scratches his chin. They'll shave him before they put on his make-up. Personally, I think Brian looks hot with stubble, which means he'll really look hot in 'Red River,' when cowboys didn't shave a lot! But this picture is all about suits and ties and being clean-shaven. And Brian looks great that way, too. He looks great any way.
"Time to hit the salt mines." He bends down to kiss me. "I'll see you this evening."
After Brian leaves, I turn over, but I can't go back to sleep right away. I keep thinking about Michael and David getting married. And Cynthia and her fiance, Scott. And now Diane and Dorian are engaged, too.
I used to think about getting married, but never thought it could ever happen. But now... things are changing. Same-sex marriage is happening in Europe. In Canada. Maybe even here -- eventually. Or at least in some states. Not Pennsylvania, for sure, but maybe California.
But Brian...
He's not about to change. Even hearing the word 'marriage' makes him cringe.
I know I should be happy with what we have, but it bugs me that we aren't allowed to get married, even if I know Brian would never do it even if we could.
But I would.
That's the difference between us. I'd marry him in a heartbeat. But he'd never marry me -- or anyone. Ever.
I'm glad it isn't an issue.
Yet.
But one day it will be. It's inevitable.
I sigh and close my eyes and eventually fall back to sleep.
***
"Cutie-pie!" Diane grabs me and squeezes tightly. She's no Debbie when it comes to a boa constrictor hug, but she's close!
"Hey, Diane." I pull away -- gently. Armani is jumping up and down, barking his head off. "And you, too, dustmop!"
"Oh no you don't!" Diane says sternly. "That's what Bridie calls him, so don't you start! You be nice to my little beast!"
"Okay, beast," I tell Armani. "You're not a dustmop. But be quiet!"
Of course, that makes him bark even louder.
"He's impossible ever since we started using him on the show," says Diane, settling onto the sofa in her dressing room, while I take the big, plush chair. Armani jumps up next to her and begins licking himself. "He thinks this is his show!"
"I thought dogs had to be trained to be on TV? The only thing Armani knows how to do on command is eat!" During one of the episodes last season, Armani ran onto the set while they were filming and the audience laughed, so they wrote him into the show. Now the mutt has his own stand-in!
Diane shrugs. "He doesn't have to do any tricks. I mainly carry him or pull him on his leash, but whatever he does, the audience howls!" She pets the dog's head and adjusts his ridiculous red bow. "You're a star, aren't you Baby?"
But he just looks at her and goes back to licking his tiny dick.
"So, what's new?" asks Diane. "Visit your parole officer lately?"
"Very funny!" I reply. "You should have your own sitcom. Oh, wait! You do!"
"I know!" Diane says gleefully. "Isn't it a hoot? And Dorian thinks I'm going to be nominated for an Emmy! Can't you just die?"
"You'll win," I say. And I think she will. Her show is funny and popular. She's America's Sweetheart! How can she miss? "Speaking of which, when's the happy event?"
Diane raised her eyebrows. "Huh?"
"You know." I point to the huge rock on her finger. "The wedding."
"Oh, that." She flexes her finger and regards the ring. The diamond really is massive! "I'm still processing the fact that I'm engaged! I want to enjoy the feeling for a while before I have to think about the actual marriage."
"Brian and I are going to his former assistant's wedding in Pittsburgh in a couple of weeks. Brian's actually giving the bride away! Can you picture that?"
"Sort of." Diane scrunches up her face. "Maybe he'll give me away, too! Who better? After all, he's slept with both the bride AND the groom!"
I almost choke. "I can't believe you're joking about that!"
"Why not?" says Diane. "It's not like I don't know that Brian and Dorian were lovers. I mean, Bridie's fucked half the guys in Hollywood. No offense, Cutie, but you know it as well as I do."
"I know," I sigh. "But that's all in the past." I hope! "Did you and Brian really... You know?"
"Did he slip me the Big Irish Sausage?" she bats her eyes.
"Gross!" Diane has a way with words. "Yeah. Did he?"
"Not technically," she muses. "But we've slept in the same bed. You can't share a bed with Brian Kinney and not get a little groping action at least!"
"That's true," I concede.
But I still feel a little buzz of jealousy deep inside. I know I shouldn't. It's stupid. Brian's fucked practically everyone we know, so it shouldn't bother me. Lindsay, obviously. Vic. Tim. Emmett. Ted -- sort of -- in an orgy situation he stumbled into. Dr. Dave at the baths. Ben Bruckner at the White Party. Dorian. Jimmy. Ron. He and Michael, even if they never got off completely, have fooled around sexually. Stroking a guy's dick, even if he doesn't come, is certainly sexual. Knowing all that hasn't really bothered me that much. It's just Brian.
But Diane...
It's different with Diane. Maybe because they have a connection that's more like brother and sister. Maybe it seems too incestuous. Or because they seem to share a bond that's apart from me. But he also has that with Lindsay. And Michael.
Maybe it's because Diane told me once that she wanted to have a baby with Brian.
But that's dumb, because he has two kids with Lindsay. Why should Diane wanting to have Brian's kid bug me?
But it does.
It's a moot point, though, since she's now engaged to Dorian.
"So -- are you two having kids?"
"Why do you ask?" Diane cocks her head. "Do I look preggers?"
"No!" I laugh. Diane's so tiny that if she was two minutes pregnant she'd probably need maternity clothes!
"Dori and I haven't talked about it," she admits. "I don't want to scare the guy away, for freak sake! There's plenty of time for me to lose my girlish figure. And I don't want to be pregnant while I'm still doing the show. 'Here's Diane!' is about a fun-loving single gal, so they can't write it into the show. And it's a bitch to stand behind furniture and have them put potted plants in front of your belly to hide the bulge!"
"I was just wondering," I say just as Diane's assistant comes in with a large tray.
"Here's our lunch!" Diane dumps Armani on the floor and rubs her hands together. "I ordered Thai. I know you like it."
"Great!" I'm starving. But then I'm always starving. "Let's dig in."
And we do.
***
After lunch with Diane, she gets back to the set and I head home.
I'm working on a large piece that was inspired by some photos I took in Arizona. It's a mixed media piece, with different textures that are supposed to suggest elements of the desert -- sky, sand, rock, sage, cactus, and iguana.
The iguana is the hardest part. How do you capture the illusive nature of the lizard? I try different greens and grays, but nothing is working. I keep painting the iguana out, then painting him back in. I can't leave him out, because when I think of the Arizona desert, I think of that crazy iguana scaring the shit out of me!
I work on the piece for a couple of hours and then leave it to dry. The paint is in layers and when it's that thick, it takes a long time to dry. I clean my brushes and then check my e-mail. It's almost 5:00, but Brian is going to be late and I had a big lunch with Diane, so my stomach isn't complaining -- yet!
I have mail from Em, Daphne, my mom, and PIFA. The Institute is sending information about the Fall Semester. I've already signed up for my classes, so most of it is stuff I already know.
I also have an e-mail from a professor at Cal Arts. That's a place in Valencia that was founded by Walt Disney. Really -- that Walt Disney. Many of the Disney animators were trained there and from the information I've been gathering on the internet, it would be ideal for the kind of art I want to do. So I contacted one of the professors in the School of Art and sent him some reviews of the Andy Warhol exhibit, as well as gifs of my Warhol-inspired portraits of Brian, Lindsay, and Emmett. He thinks I should come over and talk to him, so I set up a meeting with him next week. I'm going to bring my portfolio -- just in case!
If I can transfer my credits from PIFA to Cal Arts, then I won't have to leave L.A. Even if Brian is filming in Europe, I can hold down the fort here. I won't have to go home like a fucking schoolboy at the end of his summer vacation. My home -- my life! -- is here, and not in Pittsburgh. Not anymore...
The door of the poolhouse, which was slightly open, swings wide.
There's Brian, standing framed in the doorway, all in shadow.
Except his green and gold eyes. I see those gleaming, like a panther's in the dark.
"Jesus, Brian! You scared the shit out of me!"
But he doesn't answer. His face is... weird. Like he can't speak.
That really scares the shit out of me!
"Brian! What the hell happened?" I run over to him. Grab his arm. Look into his face. "Why aren't you at the studio?"
"I knew it," he says, finally. "Motherfuckinggoddamnittohell!"
"Knew what? For fuck sake, tell me!"
"I need a drink," he says. And I see that he has a bottle of Jim Beam clutched in his hand. He must have brought it back to the house, since we don't have any liquor here. Or we didn't until now. "You want to join me?" But he's already had a drink. More than just one drink. The bottle is open and I can smell it on him. "Come on, Sonny Boy!"
I lead him into the poolhouse. "Sit down over here. Let me get you some water." I gently try to take the bottle away.
"I don't need any fucking water!" He jerks away from me. "I don't need fucking anything! Except this! So are you going to join me or not?"
"No," I say. "Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on!"
"Nothing," he says, his voice flat. "Nothing is going on. That's it."
"What's it?" I don't know what he's trying to tell me.
"Nothing!" he shouts. "The inevitable nothing!" He slides down on the foldout sofa, cradling the bottle in his arms like a baby. "And it was inevitable, you know. Ever since that fucking article came out! Inevitable!"
That's when I realize what has happened. Why the driver brought him home early. Why he has the bottle. I sink down next to him on the sofa.
And he's right. Given Hollywood and given Brian Kinney and given the state of the fucking world, that's what it was.
Inevitable.
I reach for the bottle and take a swig. What else is there for us to do?