"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 101 "If I Should Fall Behind"
Another chapter. Enjoy.
This is Chapter 101 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Brian Kinney, and features Justin Taylor, Jennifer Taylor, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: More complications. Los Angeles, February 2004.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 98 "Maybe I'm Amazed"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/441326.html
Ch. 99 "I Will Survive"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/441469.html
Ch. 100 "Impotent"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/442509.html
By Gaedhal
"We said we'd walk together, Baby, come what may,
That come the twilight should we lose our way,
If as we're walking a hand should slip free,
I'll wait for you,
And should I fall behind,
Wait for me.
We swore we'd travel, Darlin', side by side,
We'd help each other stay in stride,
But each lover's steps fall so differently,
But I'll wait for you,
And should I fall behind,
Wait for me..."
***
"I just heard it on the news -- Rosie O'Donnell got married up in San Francisco today," Justin informs me.
"Fucking copycat," I sniff. "She probably saw all the press we got and had to jump on the bandwagon."
"But we were first," he says, smirking.
"Tell that to all the queers who got married before us, Sunshine."
"I mean the first famous homos." He curls himself around me. "How are you feeling?"
I shrug. "Fine."
Of course, I'm not fine, but that's the fiction we uphold.
"Where's Avi?" I ask. "I need him to do some work on Ron's archives. They're supposed to pick up his papers to take over to UCLA next week and I want everything labeled before it leaves the house."
"Avi's out with my mother. She and Diane had fittings for their dresses and then were going to pick out jewelry to wear." Justin shakes his head. "She's only been here a few days and she's totally into the whole Hollywood thing. And Diane is egging her on. Mom told me that Diane told her that she loved having a 'shopping buddy' to hang out with."
"That's utter bullshit!" I say. "Diane has plenty of shopping buddies. I ought to know -- I used to be one when I was a Hollywood Wife."
Justin laughs. "And now that's my position!"
I slap his hand. "No, it's not. You're no one's fucking wife!"
He pretend pouts. "I'm only kidding, Bri Bri."
"And no stupid names, either, twat. Baby talk makes my dick..." I stop. Shit. I can't say that because... well, because my fucking dick really is soft.
Justin touches my face. His hand feels cool. He smells like lemons and paint -- he's been working on that canvas he started ages ago. He keeps poking at it, trying to figure out why it's not right. Fuck if I know. It looks perfect to me.
He looks perfect to me.
Jesus! Why am I such a fucking pussy? Is this what marriage does to you? Turns you into a lesbian? Or Dagwood Bumstead?
"What are you thinking?" he asks.
"I'm thinking that I better butch up before I grow a fucking vagina!"
And he laughs. That cackling, water-spewing, twat-like laugh that everyone loves. "If you do that and turn me straight, you'll have a lot to answer for!"
"I can spend the rest of my career as Jimmy's co-star in a string of romantic comedies. Did you know that he actually pitched me some bullshit about two guys on... what the fuck did he call it? A 'man date' -- that was it."
Justin makes a face. "What the hell is a man date?"
I shrug. "No idea. Two guys on a fucking date, I guess. What a stupid concept, huh?"
"Yeah." Justin gives me a sharp poke in the ribs. "What a concept." He's quiet for a moment or two -- and when Justin is quiet that's something serious. "Hey, I was reading online..."
"About man dates?"
"No!" He pokes me again. "Shut up and let me finish!"
"Yes, dear," I say in a eunuch voice. God, I have to stop doing that. I sound like Emmett -- or, even worse, Theodore.
"Be serious! I was reading about this cancer specialist who believes in a holistic approach to treatment. He says that having the right frame of mind is as important as the right drugs when you're fighting cancer."
"Great," I groan. "Some New Age horseshit. Why not ask Zen Ben to come out here, feed me some of his barf-inducing soy casserole, and chant over me?"
"It's not New Age and it's not horseshit," Justin insists. "It's to put your mind into a positive state. Don't knock it until you try it. Don't you always say that attitude is the key to success? If you think you can do it, then you can?"
"Well, then I'm full of horseshit, too," I return. "Because my attitude is fucked."
"No, it's not," says Justin. "If you really believed that you never would have arranged the wedding. There would have been no point."
"It was all a publicity stunt." I yawn and roll over.
"Now THAT is horseshit," he says. "Come on, try it. Think science fiction. Think 'Star Trek' or 'Star Wars.' You're supposed to picture the cancer cells as an enemy invasion. Then you're supposed to picture the radiation as beams of powerful light. Like lasers. Or phasers. Or whatever. The radiation is your weapon. And the rays are blasting the enemy and exploding them! Bam! Bam bam!" He points his finger like a gun directly at my dick.
"Hold it, Captain Kirk! This is getting a little too violent for my taste." I grab his hand and hold it still. "Besides, that's an old technique. They call it 'visualization.' We use it in creative brainstorming for advertising."
"Just like in art class. The same difference. Then you know what to do," he says. "So think of the enemy army..."
"Wait! Yes, I know about it, but thinking of my cancer as fucking little aliens I'm supposed to blast like this is some kind of video game is ridiculous."
His face is quizzical. "Why is that ridiculous?"
Jesus. "Because I'm not a fucking Pac-Man game! And my mind isn't going to direct the radiation anywhere. Either the treatment works or it doesn't. Dr. Sun says it'll work and he's the fucking expert. So I'll leave it to science."
Justin frowns. "It couldn't hurt to try it, Brian." He hesitates. "I want you to try everything. You never know what will make you better."
"I am trying everything -- everything the docs tell me to do. They cut out my fucking diseased ball and now they're burning any stray cancer cells, along with what's left of my nut-sack, to a crisp. That's all they can do. And what we can do is go along with it. Wait for it to be over. And hope for the best outcome."
"And pray," Justin adds. "That can't hurt."
"If you want to waste your time doing that, be my guest."
"I will," he says. "I already have." He lays his head against my chest. "I'll do anything -- anything. And I mean it. If anything happens to you -- I don't want to be left behind."
"You won't be left behind. I'll wait for you, if that's what you want. For as long as it takes."
"And I'll wait for you, Brian," he says. "But in the meanwhile, I'm going to think only positive thoughts. And if that includes praying, well..."
I feel a tightness in my throat.
"Whatever it takes. Knock yourself out, Sunshine," I whisper.
***
After all that talk about aliens and laser beams and various New Age bullshit, when I fall sleep I dream that I'm strapped down on a table while some faceless maniac is torturing me with his death ray. It's like one of Mikey's comic books gone very, very wrong -- and I'm in the middle of it.
I've had this dream before and it freaks me the fuck out. Sometimes I'm strapped to the table, sometimes hanging by chains from a wall. That might be hot -- except for the death rays zapping me. Sometimes it's the faceless torturer and other times it's someone I know -- Ron, or Vic, or even David Cameron. Why them? I can understand Cameron -- he always hated me -- but why Vic? We always got along well. And I thought I'd made my peace with Ron.
Maybe not.
Dreams are fucked up. My head is fucked up.
I hear a lot of noise downstairs. People talking. Laughing. Justin's laugh. I hear Carmel's booming voice. I glance at the clock. Dinner time.
It's so strange that Jennifer Taylor is here. My mother-in-law. That's even stranger.
We've had our differences, but she's a nice woman. She cares about Justin. She's fiercely protective of him. Unlike my old lady, who rarely gave a shit what happened to me. "It's in God's hands," she'd always say. But God apparently hadn't gotten the message.
I close my eyes again.
"Brian? Are you coming down? My mom made meatloaf."
Meatloaf. Jesus Christ.
"I'm not really hungry."
He lies beside me on the bed. "You have to eat something. There's salad, too. Or I can order something else if you want. Italian. Thai. Mongolian." He pauses and I hear his breathing. "My mother's meatloaf is pretty good. I grew up eating it and I turned out okay."
"Yeah," I agree. "You turned out okay."
What else can I fucking say to him? I hate being in this limbo. I hate being powerless. I hate knowing that my body is out of my control -- that my life is out of my control. Maybe that's why I wanted to get married -- because it was something I could DO. Something that wasn't about illness and death, but about life and hope.
Jesus, Kinney. Get a fucking grip!
"You want to come downstairs?"
"Yes," I say. "I want to."
***
The meatloaf turns out to be not bad. Better than anything my mother ever made, while not up to Deb's best. I manage to eat a full helping. Jennifer smiles at me, but she keeps glancing over at Justin. She's worried. And she ought to be. He's hitched to me and that should worry any concerned parent.
"How was shopping with Diane?" I ask.
That perks her up. "It was wonderful! She knows all the best shops and all the sales people. We found a wonderful dress. Of course, she had hers picked out already -- it's so lovely! But mine -- it's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen! And then we went to select jewelry. Although I feel funny about borrowing it."
"They all do it," I say. "Then on the Red Carpet you give them a plug. It's all free advertising. Last year Diane was wearing about a million bucks worth of baubles. No one can afford to actually buy that much bling -- except Liz Taylor."
"I picked out diamond earrings and a lovely bracelet," Jennifer continues. "Diane said I don't need a necklace because the neckline is already interesting."
"Sounds great, Mom," says Justin. "Did you tell them to send the bill for the dress to Brian?"
Jennifer frowns. "That's the thing, honey -- Jimmy told me to send the bill to him. I mean, since he asked me."
"No," I say perhaps a little too firmly. "I don't want Jimmy Hardy paying. I'll pay for the dress. If he wants to do something, he can spring for the limo."
"But..." Jennifer hesitates. "It's actually two dresses, Brian. We're going to a pre-Oscar party on Saturday night. He said I'd need another dress for that."
Shit. Fuck. Piss. I count to ten. "Jennifer, I wouldn't let myself get too beholden to Jimmy. I'll pay for both dresses. It's no problem."
"But I already told the boutique to send him the bill!" Jennifer looks at Justin for back-up. "Diane gave them the information."
So now Diane is in on this, too. This pisses me off royally. Jennifer is now my mother-in-law. She's my fucking responsibility, not Jimmy Hardy's. "Don't worry. I'll straighten it out with Jimmy."
"I don't want to make any trouble," she says. "But... this is the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me!"
And that's when I see what this is all about. Justin's and my wedding wasn't enough -- Jimmy had to prove that he could top her own son's wedding. That's what it's really all about -- Jimmy's fucking ego.
"It's okay, Mom," Justin says soothingly. "I only want you to have a great time."
Later in bed I'm still steamed.
"Fucking Jimmy! Why do you have to have a blonde mother who's fairly attractive? Why can't you have a mother like Deb?"
Justin swats me on the arm. "Then Debbie would be your mother-in-law and she'd probably move in here 24/7. And how do you know Jimmy wouldn't make a play for her, too? If he's just trying to one-up you, then it wouldn't matter what my mother looked like. Besides, Deb is attractive in her way. At least Carl thinks so."
"Yeah, well."
"Come on!" Justin coaxes. "It isn't so bad. She's excited about going to the Oscars and it'll keep Jimmy out of our hair for a couple of nights."
I snort. "Don't come crying to me if Jimmy Hardy ends up as your stepfather."
Justin sighs. "Now you're being ridiculous."
"You're right. Jimmy would never give up dick for ridiculous."
"And whatever you do, please don't tell my mother that you've fucked her movie star date, Brian," Justin pleads.
"Jesus! Don't remind me. I promise that I'll never breathe a word. It's too creepy anyway."
"That's for sure."
Justin falls right to sleep, but I lie awake, turning all the ironies over and over in my head. Fucking marriage! It makes you think too much. It makes you wonder about too many things. Like the future. And the past. About your failures. And about your successes.
I try to focus on the successes.
My stomach starts to curdle again, so I go downstairs to get some ginger ale.
Jennifer Taylor is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of warm milk. Yeah, people who can't sleep really do that kind of shit. Personally, I'd rather drink warm insect repellant.
"Insomnia, Mother Taylor?"
She rolls her eyes. "Please don't call me that, Brian. It makes me feel about a million years old."
"Sorry -- Jennifer."
I pour myself a glass of ginger ale and join her at the table. It feels... not that weird. It feels... almost right. How fucking weird is that?
"Are you feeling all right?" she asks.
"Sure." I shrug. "As okay as my blasted former-ball allows me to feel."
She winces. "I had an aunt who went through radiation for breast cancer. It's no walk in the park."
"I try to focus on the alternative." We sit in silence for a few minutes. I can hear a car move down the canyon. The night insects. The suck of the pool drain.
"I know you really love Justin," she says, finally. "I never expected this, though. When I suspected Justin was gay I was sad for him. Not because of his being gay, exactly, but for what I thought he'd miss in life -- marriage, a family, a stable home. But now... it's all possible. You have children. Maybe one day Justin will have children, too."
This is getting into an uncomfortable area. "Gus already loves Justin," I say. "And the baby... we'll spend more time with both the kids... eventually. When they get older, they can come out here. Like for vacations. And holidays. And we'll always come to the Pitts every year."
"I know." She stares down into her dwindling glass of milk. "It's just that I want Justin to have everything he can in life. He's always been my little golden boy -- the perfect baby, the perfect son, the perfect student. So when he came out, everything changed."
I think about Justin telling me that Jennifer had said that sometimes she wished she hadn't had him. Looking at her I realize that was one of Justin's drama princess moments. I can't believe she ever thought that -- ever. Craig, on the other hand -- I tend to believe anything bad about that fuckwad.
"Nothing's changed -- except that your son likes dick."
Jennifer stares at me -- and then she laughs. "At least you're honest, Brian! That's something I appreciate, especially after dealing with my ex-husband. I know we've had our issues over the years, but... I know Justin loves you and now that you're married I know you'll take care of him. Because I know you're a man of your word, above everything else. Justin is so young and in many ways he's still naive. I'm trusting you with my son, my beautiful golden child. So don't fuck it up."
"I'll try not to," I say. I take a deep breath. "I mean, I won't. I promise."
They say when you marry someone, you marry the entire family. And now I truly understand what that means.
Jennifer takes my hand. "You'll be fine, Brian. You'll be completely cured and live a long, long time. You and Justin -- together."
Frankly, I don't want to picture myself a long, long time from now -- grey-haired, hairline receding, teeth falling out, a fucking wreck with a bad back and a leaky prostate. But somehow I can't picture Justin old. All I can see is the way he looked that first night -- impossibly young and glowing in the fucking dark. And me, moving towards him like a guided missile that finally found its target.
I finish my ginger ale and go back upstairs.
Justin is sound asleep.
I stretch out beside him.
I close my eyes.
Please -- don't let me fall behind.
***
"Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true,
But you and I know what this world can do,
So let's make our steps clear that the other may see,
And I'll wait for you,
If I should fall behind,
Wait for me.
Now there's a beautiful river on the valley ahead,
There 'neath the oak's bough soon we will be wed,
Should we lose each other in the shadow of the evening trees,
I'll wait for you,
And should I fall behind,
Wait for me.
I'll wait for you,
Should I fall behind,
Wait for me."
(Bruce Springsteen)
This is Chapter 101 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Brian Kinney, and features Justin Taylor, Jennifer Taylor, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: More complications. Los Angeles, February 2004.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 98 "Maybe I'm Amazed"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/441326.html
Ch. 99 "I Will Survive"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/441469.html
Ch. 100 "Impotent"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/442509.html
By Gaedhal
"We said we'd walk together, Baby, come what may,
That come the twilight should we lose our way,
If as we're walking a hand should slip free,
I'll wait for you,
And should I fall behind,
Wait for me.
We swore we'd travel, Darlin', side by side,
We'd help each other stay in stride,
But each lover's steps fall so differently,
But I'll wait for you,
And should I fall behind,
Wait for me..."
***
"I just heard it on the news -- Rosie O'Donnell got married up in San Francisco today," Justin informs me.
"Fucking copycat," I sniff. "She probably saw all the press we got and had to jump on the bandwagon."
"But we were first," he says, smirking.
"Tell that to all the queers who got married before us, Sunshine."
"I mean the first famous homos." He curls himself around me. "How are you feeling?"
I shrug. "Fine."
Of course, I'm not fine, but that's the fiction we uphold.
"Where's Avi?" I ask. "I need him to do some work on Ron's archives. They're supposed to pick up his papers to take over to UCLA next week and I want everything labeled before it leaves the house."
"Avi's out with my mother. She and Diane had fittings for their dresses and then were going to pick out jewelry to wear." Justin shakes his head. "She's only been here a few days and she's totally into the whole Hollywood thing. And Diane is egging her on. Mom told me that Diane told her that she loved having a 'shopping buddy' to hang out with."
"That's utter bullshit!" I say. "Diane has plenty of shopping buddies. I ought to know -- I used to be one when I was a Hollywood Wife."
Justin laughs. "And now that's my position!"
I slap his hand. "No, it's not. You're no one's fucking wife!"
He pretend pouts. "I'm only kidding, Bri Bri."
"And no stupid names, either, twat. Baby talk makes my dick..." I stop. Shit. I can't say that because... well, because my fucking dick really is soft.
Justin touches my face. His hand feels cool. He smells like lemons and paint -- he's been working on that canvas he started ages ago. He keeps poking at it, trying to figure out why it's not right. Fuck if I know. It looks perfect to me.
He looks perfect to me.
Jesus! Why am I such a fucking pussy? Is this what marriage does to you? Turns you into a lesbian? Or Dagwood Bumstead?
"What are you thinking?" he asks.
"I'm thinking that I better butch up before I grow a fucking vagina!"
And he laughs. That cackling, water-spewing, twat-like laugh that everyone loves. "If you do that and turn me straight, you'll have a lot to answer for!"
"I can spend the rest of my career as Jimmy's co-star in a string of romantic comedies. Did you know that he actually pitched me some bullshit about two guys on... what the fuck did he call it? A 'man date' -- that was it."
Justin makes a face. "What the hell is a man date?"
I shrug. "No idea. Two guys on a fucking date, I guess. What a stupid concept, huh?"
"Yeah." Justin gives me a sharp poke in the ribs. "What a concept." He's quiet for a moment or two -- and when Justin is quiet that's something serious. "Hey, I was reading online..."
"About man dates?"
"No!" He pokes me again. "Shut up and let me finish!"
"Yes, dear," I say in a eunuch voice. God, I have to stop doing that. I sound like Emmett -- or, even worse, Theodore.
"Be serious! I was reading about this cancer specialist who believes in a holistic approach to treatment. He says that having the right frame of mind is as important as the right drugs when you're fighting cancer."
"Great," I groan. "Some New Age horseshit. Why not ask Zen Ben to come out here, feed me some of his barf-inducing soy casserole, and chant over me?"
"It's not New Age and it's not horseshit," Justin insists. "It's to put your mind into a positive state. Don't knock it until you try it. Don't you always say that attitude is the key to success? If you think you can do it, then you can?"
"Well, then I'm full of horseshit, too," I return. "Because my attitude is fucked."
"No, it's not," says Justin. "If you really believed that you never would have arranged the wedding. There would have been no point."
"It was all a publicity stunt." I yawn and roll over.
"Now THAT is horseshit," he says. "Come on, try it. Think science fiction. Think 'Star Trek' or 'Star Wars.' You're supposed to picture the cancer cells as an enemy invasion. Then you're supposed to picture the radiation as beams of powerful light. Like lasers. Or phasers. Or whatever. The radiation is your weapon. And the rays are blasting the enemy and exploding them! Bam! Bam bam!" He points his finger like a gun directly at my dick.
"Hold it, Captain Kirk! This is getting a little too violent for my taste." I grab his hand and hold it still. "Besides, that's an old technique. They call it 'visualization.' We use it in creative brainstorming for advertising."
"Just like in art class. The same difference. Then you know what to do," he says. "So think of the enemy army..."
"Wait! Yes, I know about it, but thinking of my cancer as fucking little aliens I'm supposed to blast like this is some kind of video game is ridiculous."
His face is quizzical. "Why is that ridiculous?"
Jesus. "Because I'm not a fucking Pac-Man game! And my mind isn't going to direct the radiation anywhere. Either the treatment works or it doesn't. Dr. Sun says it'll work and he's the fucking expert. So I'll leave it to science."
Justin frowns. "It couldn't hurt to try it, Brian." He hesitates. "I want you to try everything. You never know what will make you better."
"I am trying everything -- everything the docs tell me to do. They cut out my fucking diseased ball and now they're burning any stray cancer cells, along with what's left of my nut-sack, to a crisp. That's all they can do. And what we can do is go along with it. Wait for it to be over. And hope for the best outcome."
"And pray," Justin adds. "That can't hurt."
"If you want to waste your time doing that, be my guest."
"I will," he says. "I already have." He lays his head against my chest. "I'll do anything -- anything. And I mean it. If anything happens to you -- I don't want to be left behind."
"You won't be left behind. I'll wait for you, if that's what you want. For as long as it takes."
"And I'll wait for you, Brian," he says. "But in the meanwhile, I'm going to think only positive thoughts. And if that includes praying, well..."
I feel a tightness in my throat.
"Whatever it takes. Knock yourself out, Sunshine," I whisper.
***
After all that talk about aliens and laser beams and various New Age bullshit, when I fall sleep I dream that I'm strapped down on a table while some faceless maniac is torturing me with his death ray. It's like one of Mikey's comic books gone very, very wrong -- and I'm in the middle of it.
I've had this dream before and it freaks me the fuck out. Sometimes I'm strapped to the table, sometimes hanging by chains from a wall. That might be hot -- except for the death rays zapping me. Sometimes it's the faceless torturer and other times it's someone I know -- Ron, or Vic, or even David Cameron. Why them? I can understand Cameron -- he always hated me -- but why Vic? We always got along well. And I thought I'd made my peace with Ron.
Maybe not.
Dreams are fucked up. My head is fucked up.
I hear a lot of noise downstairs. People talking. Laughing. Justin's laugh. I hear Carmel's booming voice. I glance at the clock. Dinner time.
It's so strange that Jennifer Taylor is here. My mother-in-law. That's even stranger.
We've had our differences, but she's a nice woman. She cares about Justin. She's fiercely protective of him. Unlike my old lady, who rarely gave a shit what happened to me. "It's in God's hands," she'd always say. But God apparently hadn't gotten the message.
I close my eyes again.
"Brian? Are you coming down? My mom made meatloaf."
Meatloaf. Jesus Christ.
"I'm not really hungry."
He lies beside me on the bed. "You have to eat something. There's salad, too. Or I can order something else if you want. Italian. Thai. Mongolian." He pauses and I hear his breathing. "My mother's meatloaf is pretty good. I grew up eating it and I turned out okay."
"Yeah," I agree. "You turned out okay."
What else can I fucking say to him? I hate being in this limbo. I hate being powerless. I hate knowing that my body is out of my control -- that my life is out of my control. Maybe that's why I wanted to get married -- because it was something I could DO. Something that wasn't about illness and death, but about life and hope.
Jesus, Kinney. Get a fucking grip!
"You want to come downstairs?"
"Yes," I say. "I want to."
***
The meatloaf turns out to be not bad. Better than anything my mother ever made, while not up to Deb's best. I manage to eat a full helping. Jennifer smiles at me, but she keeps glancing over at Justin. She's worried. And she ought to be. He's hitched to me and that should worry any concerned parent.
"How was shopping with Diane?" I ask.
That perks her up. "It was wonderful! She knows all the best shops and all the sales people. We found a wonderful dress. Of course, she had hers picked out already -- it's so lovely! But mine -- it's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen! And then we went to select jewelry. Although I feel funny about borrowing it."
"They all do it," I say. "Then on the Red Carpet you give them a plug. It's all free advertising. Last year Diane was wearing about a million bucks worth of baubles. No one can afford to actually buy that much bling -- except Liz Taylor."
"I picked out diamond earrings and a lovely bracelet," Jennifer continues. "Diane said I don't need a necklace because the neckline is already interesting."
"Sounds great, Mom," says Justin. "Did you tell them to send the bill for the dress to Brian?"
Jennifer frowns. "That's the thing, honey -- Jimmy told me to send the bill to him. I mean, since he asked me."
"No," I say perhaps a little too firmly. "I don't want Jimmy Hardy paying. I'll pay for the dress. If he wants to do something, he can spring for the limo."
"But..." Jennifer hesitates. "It's actually two dresses, Brian. We're going to a pre-Oscar party on Saturday night. He said I'd need another dress for that."
Shit. Fuck. Piss. I count to ten. "Jennifer, I wouldn't let myself get too beholden to Jimmy. I'll pay for both dresses. It's no problem."
"But I already told the boutique to send him the bill!" Jennifer looks at Justin for back-up. "Diane gave them the information."
So now Diane is in on this, too. This pisses me off royally. Jennifer is now my mother-in-law. She's my fucking responsibility, not Jimmy Hardy's. "Don't worry. I'll straighten it out with Jimmy."
"I don't want to make any trouble," she says. "But... this is the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me!"
And that's when I see what this is all about. Justin's and my wedding wasn't enough -- Jimmy had to prove that he could top her own son's wedding. That's what it's really all about -- Jimmy's fucking ego.
"It's okay, Mom," Justin says soothingly. "I only want you to have a great time."
Later in bed I'm still steamed.
"Fucking Jimmy! Why do you have to have a blonde mother who's fairly attractive? Why can't you have a mother like Deb?"
Justin swats me on the arm. "Then Debbie would be your mother-in-law and she'd probably move in here 24/7. And how do you know Jimmy wouldn't make a play for her, too? If he's just trying to one-up you, then it wouldn't matter what my mother looked like. Besides, Deb is attractive in her way. At least Carl thinks so."
"Yeah, well."
"Come on!" Justin coaxes. "It isn't so bad. She's excited about going to the Oscars and it'll keep Jimmy out of our hair for a couple of nights."
I snort. "Don't come crying to me if Jimmy Hardy ends up as your stepfather."
Justin sighs. "Now you're being ridiculous."
"You're right. Jimmy would never give up dick for ridiculous."
"And whatever you do, please don't tell my mother that you've fucked her movie star date, Brian," Justin pleads.
"Jesus! Don't remind me. I promise that I'll never breathe a word. It's too creepy anyway."
"That's for sure."
Justin falls right to sleep, but I lie awake, turning all the ironies over and over in my head. Fucking marriage! It makes you think too much. It makes you wonder about too many things. Like the future. And the past. About your failures. And about your successes.
I try to focus on the successes.
My stomach starts to curdle again, so I go downstairs to get some ginger ale.
Jennifer Taylor is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of warm milk. Yeah, people who can't sleep really do that kind of shit. Personally, I'd rather drink warm insect repellant.
"Insomnia, Mother Taylor?"
She rolls her eyes. "Please don't call me that, Brian. It makes me feel about a million years old."
"Sorry -- Jennifer."
I pour myself a glass of ginger ale and join her at the table. It feels... not that weird. It feels... almost right. How fucking weird is that?
"Are you feeling all right?" she asks.
"Sure." I shrug. "As okay as my blasted former-ball allows me to feel."
She winces. "I had an aunt who went through radiation for breast cancer. It's no walk in the park."
"I try to focus on the alternative." We sit in silence for a few minutes. I can hear a car move down the canyon. The night insects. The suck of the pool drain.
"I know you really love Justin," she says, finally. "I never expected this, though. When I suspected Justin was gay I was sad for him. Not because of his being gay, exactly, but for what I thought he'd miss in life -- marriage, a family, a stable home. But now... it's all possible. You have children. Maybe one day Justin will have children, too."
This is getting into an uncomfortable area. "Gus already loves Justin," I say. "And the baby... we'll spend more time with both the kids... eventually. When they get older, they can come out here. Like for vacations. And holidays. And we'll always come to the Pitts every year."
"I know." She stares down into her dwindling glass of milk. "It's just that I want Justin to have everything he can in life. He's always been my little golden boy -- the perfect baby, the perfect son, the perfect student. So when he came out, everything changed."
I think about Justin telling me that Jennifer had said that sometimes she wished she hadn't had him. Looking at her I realize that was one of Justin's drama princess moments. I can't believe she ever thought that -- ever. Craig, on the other hand -- I tend to believe anything bad about that fuckwad.
"Nothing's changed -- except that your son likes dick."
Jennifer stares at me -- and then she laughs. "At least you're honest, Brian! That's something I appreciate, especially after dealing with my ex-husband. I know we've had our issues over the years, but... I know Justin loves you and now that you're married I know you'll take care of him. Because I know you're a man of your word, above everything else. Justin is so young and in many ways he's still naive. I'm trusting you with my son, my beautiful golden child. So don't fuck it up."
"I'll try not to," I say. I take a deep breath. "I mean, I won't. I promise."
They say when you marry someone, you marry the entire family. And now I truly understand what that means.
Jennifer takes my hand. "You'll be fine, Brian. You'll be completely cured and live a long, long time. You and Justin -- together."
Frankly, I don't want to picture myself a long, long time from now -- grey-haired, hairline receding, teeth falling out, a fucking wreck with a bad back and a leaky prostate. But somehow I can't picture Justin old. All I can see is the way he looked that first night -- impossibly young and glowing in the fucking dark. And me, moving towards him like a guided missile that finally found its target.
I finish my ginger ale and go back upstairs.
Justin is sound asleep.
I stretch out beside him.
I close my eyes.
Please -- don't let me fall behind.
***
"Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true,
But you and I know what this world can do,
So let's make our steps clear that the other may see,
And I'll wait for you,
If I should fall behind,
Wait for me.
Now there's a beautiful river on the valley ahead,
There 'neath the oak's bough soon we will be wed,
Should we lose each other in the shadow of the evening trees,
I'll wait for you,
And should I fall behind,
Wait for me.
I'll wait for you,
Should I fall behind,
Wait for me."
(Bruce Springsteen)