"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 103 "Income"
Happy Birthday, Gale!
And here's the new chapter. Enjoy!
This is Chapter 103 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Ted Schmidt, and features Brian Kinney, Justin Taylor, Avi Massarsky, Hilly Nussbaum, Ramon, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: A trip to the West Coast. Los Angeles, March 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. 99 "I Will Survive"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/441469.html
Ch. 100 "Impotent"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/442509.html
Ch. 101 "If I Should Fall Behind"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/443380.html
Ch. 102 "Interrupted"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/443967.html
By Gaedhal
It's been a long time since I've been to Los Angeles.
Emmett and I always planned to go -- we were going to stay with his friend Shelly -- but it never seemed to be the right set of circumstances. I was always working, and then when I could get away Emmett didn't have any money, and then when Em had some extra money, I had a big project to do for Wertshafter. You know how it goes.
So we never did get to go together.
Last night I gave him a call while I was packing. I almost said something to him -- but then I remembered what Brian would do to my balls if I let anything slip. So I just said that I'd be busy for the next few days in case he was trying to get hold of me.
"Sure, Teddy," said Em. "Maybe we can catch a movie over the weekend. Any new Matthew McConaughey flicks playing now?"
"If there aren't we can always rent one," I replied.
"Okey dokey! Talk to you later!"
I feel bad lying to Emmett. Well, not lying, exactly, but not telling him the truth, either. But as Brian would say, "It's business, Theodore. So zip it."
Zipping. Zipping.
I can't say I'm looking forward to this trip. It's not a vacation, after all. It's business.
Brian A. Kinney business.
And Brian is far from my favorite person in the world. Or at least he hasn't been.
But something's changed recently. Changed a lot.
I guess I'm still kind of amazed that Brian has told me personal things about himself. Things that almost no one in the Pitts -- or anywhere, for that matter -- knows.
I mean -- Brian. With cancer. It seems impossible. He's always been so larger than life -- and cancer seems so... so real. So... not Brian Kinney.
I check my briefcase again to make certain I have everything. It wouldn't do to be missing anything. Yes, everything is here, plus extra copies -- just in case. I want to be prepared. Extra prepared.
TransCon Airways. Nice waiting room, especially since I'm flying Business Class. It would be wonderful to travel like this all the time. To live like this all the time.
Not that I'm complaining about my life. Not at all. My life is great -- now. I'm sober. I'm clean. I dodged a huge bullet and got help when I needed it. And -- who would have thought? -- I have Brian to thank for it. He got me into a good treatment program, one I never could have gotten into -- or been able to afford -- on my own. I came so close to losing everything -- not just my condo and my car, but my friends. And my life.
But things are looking up. I like working independently and not being a faceless drone in the Wertshafter Sausage Factory. Like Brian advised me -- start small and work your way up. Gain a little confidence. Then no one will think about what a loser and failure you've been in the past.
Yes, thank you, Bri -- and fuck you.
But the truth is that he was right. Brian might be a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them. And he's been to rehab. He knew how difficult it was for me to ask for help, even when I was drowning. But I'll never make those mistakes again. I know I can avoid fucking up. I have my meetings to keep me steady. And Emmett has been a rock. Even Michael is coming around. He's not so wary of me now. He even apologized about not inviting me to his wedding last summer. But that's all right, since it turned out that even Michael didn't want to go to that!
Yes, I like Michael much better now that he's back with Ben. David was so judgmental -- yeah, like he's so perfect! I always felt that he was looking down on me. And on Emmett, too. And forget the way he treated Brian. Well, Brian's the one who has come through for everyone. I know he likes to do things quietly and behind the scenes, but the truth is he's always there when you need him. That's part of the reason I'm going out to L.A.
What a great seat. Comfortable. And room to stretch out. Business Class really is a different universe.
"No, thank you, no alcohol. May I have club soda? Yes, with a twist. That would be perfect."
This is the life. And all courtesy of Brian A. Kinney. The Great God Kinney, we used to say facetiously. But now, God help me, it's practically true.
I better check my briefcase again. No, everything is in order. It better be. I don't want to think about what Brian would really do to me if anything was less than perfect.
Relax, Schmidt. Everything is going to be fine. One step at a time. Just one step forward. And then another. And another. That makes the journey.
The flight is uneventful, but very pleasant. I don't usually find travel enjoyable, but this is different. The attendant brings me another club soda and an extra pillow. Superstar treatment.
Yes, I could get used to this.
Too bad I'm not really a movie star. Or Brian Kinney. Or both.
***
There's a limousine waiting for me at LAX. The driver is holding a sign that says, "Theodore."
"Mr. Schmidt?"
"That's me."
"My name is Ramon. I am at your service, Mr. Schmidt."
"Um... thanks -- Ramon."
He takes my bag. Ramon is possibly the handsomest man I've ever seen in the flesh -- and I've attended the Porn Awards. He has perfect caramel skin, an amazing body -- even under his chauffeur's uniform you can tell -- and dark bedroom eyes. Too bad I'm not in the business anymore, because this guy would have been a sensation on Jerk-at-Work. The Chauffeur and the Lonely Businessman from Out of Town -- it's already pure porn and we haven't even left the airport.
"Did you have a pleasant trip, Mr. Schmidt?"
"Oh, yes. Very pleasant. I was thinking while I was on the airplane -- this is very pleasant. Extremely pleasant. Pleasant would be the word."
Shut up, Ted. You're babbling.
"Very good, Mr. Schmidt."
The entire drive from LAX to Brian's house up in the Hollywood Hills -- and it's a fairly long drive -- is an extended plunge into a sexual fantasy about Ramon. It makes me realize just how celibate I've been since I got out of rehab. So celibate that my head is ready to pop. If Brian knows this -- and I'm thoroughly convinced The Great God Kinney is truly all-knowing and all-seeing -- then he's hand-selected Driver Ramon to tempt and torture me.
Yes, that's exactly what Brian would do. Damn him.
The house isn't very large, but it's located high in the hills above Hollywood. A beautiful setting, I must say. A gate and a long driveway up to the house. Sort of Spanish, sort of modern. A big garage. I see a number of vehicles inside, with a vintage Mustang parked in the drive.
"Do you need help with your bag, Mr. Schmidt?" Ramon says as he takes my suitcase out of the trunk.
"Um... No thank you, Ramon. I'm fine. It was a wonderful ride. And I mean that."
"It was my pleasure, sir," he replies in a voice like Spanish honey. I fumble in my pocket for some bills to give him a tip, but he waves me away. "No, Mr. Schmidt. Mr. Kinney has taken care of everything." He flashes a blindingly white smile.
"Oh," I gulp. "Thanks again." And then I watch as he gets in the limo and drives away.
Jesus. I'm sweating.
I trudge up to the front door and ring the bell. A tall, dark-haired young man opens it. "You must be Ted. I'm Avi. Come on in." I step inside. It's cool and dim. "Can I take your bag?"
"Yes, thanks." This must be the personal assistant Brian mentioned. I guess he actually has a couple of them. One is a woman I spoke with on the phone -- Leslie. I know there's also a maid or housekeeper or something like that, as well. Brian Kinney with a houseful of servants. So weird.
I'm following Avi when someone else comes down the stairs and stops abruptly when he sees me.
"Ted?" Justin's stares at me. He obviously has no idea I was coming. "What are you doing here? I thought it was Brian's accountant!"
"And it is. Or one of them." I know Brian has someone here in L.A. who handles most of his finances, but there's also me. Apparently Justin doesn't know all of Brian's secrets, even though they're married. Which is another completely bizarre thing I still need to process. "I'm here for a business meeting."
Justin shakes his head. "I can't believe you're here! How is everybody in the Pitts? You know my mother and sister just went home yesterday. They came out for the wedding. And Mom went to the Oscars with Jimmy Hardy."
"I know. I saw them on TV." Of course, I was watching with Emmett. When he saw Jennifer Taylor on the Red Carpet he almost had a heart attack. "Your mother looked beautiful."
Justin glances away, like he's uneasy. "I know. But I'm not exactly thrilled about her dating Jimmy."
Interesting. So Jimmy Hardy, one of the world's most acclaimed and wealthy actors, isn't good enough for Little Sunshine's mommy? There's a story there, that's for sure. And I better get every detail to tell Em. Unless Brian puts it on the Forbidden List. Zipping. Zipping.
"I'm glad to see you, Ted, but I don't understand why you're here," Justin continues.
"It's business," says another voice.
Brian Kinney, in all his glory, comes down the stairs. He's barefoot, wearing a pair of faded 501's, a white tee shirt, and a serious case of bedhead. In other words, he's his usual gorgeous self. Maybe a little thin, but Brian's always been thin. But as he gets closer I can see the shadows under his eyes. Maybe even an extra line on his forehead. But those are the only signs that he's been sick. That he has... cancer.
No, it's still too improbable! Guys like Brian don't get sick! They get all the hottest guys and all the fame and all the fortune. They get young blond boyfriends and houses in the Hollywood Hills and large bank accounts full of money from making movies. They don't get testicles cut off or get blasted with radiation. It doesn't work that way.
Until it does.
I say a prayer, thanking God that I'm healthy and I'm clean and I'm sober. I never thought I'd ever he happy I wasn't Brian Kinney, but right this moment I am.
"Theodore," says Brian. He's speaking to me, but his eyes are on Justin. He puts his arm around his shoulder and gently touches his blond hair. It's a tender moment, really. Brian isn't someone I would ever think of as tender, but I'm seeing it with my own eyes. "How was your flight?"
"Wonderful. Excellent. First Class all the way. I mean, Business Class. Which was first class."
"Good." He finally looks directly at me. "Nice ride from the airport?" And then he smiles fiendishly. Damn you, Brian Kinney!
"Yes, very nice."
"Ramon is an excellent driver. He always offers a smooth, tight ride."
Justin smirks. "You didn't send Ramon, did you?" Brian nods. Then Justin sticks his pink tongue out at me. "Ramon is hotter than shit!"
"Down, blond boy," says Brian. "I'm sure Theodore noted that fact. Didn't you, Theodore?""
Gulp again. "Duly noted."
Bastard.
"This way."
Brian gives me a brief tour of the house. Living room, kitchen, pool, poolhouse -- which is apparently now a studio for the Boy Wonder, as Michael calls Justin -- and, finally, the office.
"Hilly should be here shortly," says Brian, sitting in the big leather chair, while Justin perches on the arm. "He's chronically late."
"What's this all about?" Justin asks. "No offense, Ted, but why are you here? What's going on?"
"Cool your jets," says Brian. "All will be explained."
Avi, the assistant, pours me a lemonade, and also one for Justin, while I note that Brian is drinking ginger ale. We chitchat about home -- Michael and Ben, Debbie and the cop, Emmett dealing with his catering business without Vic -- until Brian's business manager, arrives.
"The fucking traffic!" he exclaims before he even says hello. "Everyone in this town drives like a verkakte meshugener, if you'll excuse the expression."
"Theodore Schmidt, meet Hilliard Nussbaum," says Brian. "Two accountants in the same room together -- I can feel the electricity in the air."
"Nice to meet you," I say, extending my hand. "Please call me Ted."
"And you can call me Hilly," he replies coolly. He shakes my hand, but he isn't smiling. "All the way from the East Coast this one brings you." He grunts in Brian's direction. "We could have done this on a conference call."
"It's my dime," says Brian, his face impassive. "Why do you give a fuck?"
"It's my job to give a fuck, or two, or three fucks," Nussbaum huffs. "Your gelt is my job." He narrows his eyes at me. "All your money, no matter where it is -- Los Angeles or Pittsville."
"Pittsburgh," I counter.
"Whatever."
So, this guy is jealous of his territory. I can understand that. Brian is -- to put it bluntly -- loaded. Maybe he's not loaded like a lot of big Hollywood stars, say, Jimmy Hardy or Tom Cruise, but by Pittsburgh standards, he's more than comfortably fixed. And Hilly Nussbaum doesn't want to share him. So Brian-like! Men fighting over him.
Then Justin steps into the fray. "Brian, are you going to tell me what's going on?"
"Justin and I are now officially and legally jointed at the dick," Brian explains. "Which means that you, Sunshine, need to know my business -- all of my business. And that starts with my money. Which means bringing in the accountants. Hilly, why don't you begin?"
Hilly Nussbaum opens his briefcase and takes out a folder, which he hands to Brian. "These are your investments, your bank accounts, your trusts, and your properties. I've made a list so you can see what you've got -- simple and straightforward."
"Neither of us is an idiot," Brian reminds Nussbaum. It's never a good idea to underestimate Brian Kinney. Or to suggest Justin is less than able to understand a list of figures. As I remember, Justin almost went to Dartmouth to study business -- that is until he entered Father Kinney's Home for Young Queer Artists Rebelling Against Their Fathers.
"Did I say you were?" He frowns. "I just want the boychik to be able to follow this -- since he's now... whatever he is."
"My partner. My spouse. My husband." Brian crosses his arms.
"I know," Nussbaum shrugs. "I'm a shmuck. So sue me! Look at the list and make sure it's right."
Brian's holdings aren't extensive, but they aren't bupkis, either -- I can toss a little Yiddish around myself when I need to. I'm no little pisher! -- The house we're sitting in is worth a couple of million bucks. And both Brian and Justin have inheritances from Ron Rosenblum's estate. Then there's a portfolio of stocks and investment properties, all of which look quite solid. Brian also has money invested in this film he's just made, 'Red Shirt.' And something called Castle in the Air Stables.
"What's that?" I ask.
Nussbaum snorts. "That's the nag living out in the Valley that Brian and Jimmy own. It's supposed to be a racehorse, but all it is is an eating and shitting machine. I told them to get rid of the thing a hundred times, but they never listen to me!"
"He's part of Ron's estate. We're keeping him," says Brian. "Skip to the next item."
Brian's boat, La Diva. His cars. Justin's P.T. Cruiser. Insurance policies. The usual stuff. Brian closes the folder and passes it back to Nussbaum.
Now it's my turn. "Since last summer," I begin. "I've been in charge of Brian's finances in Pittsburgh."
"Since when?" asks Justin, his blue eyes wide.
"Listen and learn, twat," Brian says into his ear.
"Brian has been investing -- rather quietly -- in a number of businesses, as well as putting me in charge of the trusts for his two children, Gus Peterson-Marcus and Charity Peterson-Marcus." I hand Brian my folder and he opens it. "The children's trusts are on top. I have their money invested in very solid, slow-growth mutual funds, plus the money that you've been adding out of your recent earnings." I pause. "There's also the trust fund for Justin, available to him when he turns 30."
Justin turns to Brian. "What the fuck is that? I already have money from Ron. When did you do this?"
Brian raises one eyebrow. "A while ago. But you can't get the cash until you're an old man like me, so think of it as an insurance policy for your Golden Years. Plus the money you'll inherit as my husband when I croak."
"Asshole," Justin says under his breath.
"Blond bitch," Brian replies serenely.
"If I may continue?" I say. Brian nods. "Your loft in Pittsburgh and its contents, including your Jeep are your main possessions there. But you also have your business investments. The main one is Babylon, Incorporated, of which you now hold 100% interest."
"Huh?" Justin stares at me, then turns to his partner.
"Don't say anything. Let him finish," says Brian.
"Also the Liberty Diner, which you now own outright. Also a 33% share in Fabulous Catering and Party Planning as a silent partner, with 33% owned by Emmett Honeycutt, and the remaining third shared by Mrs. Debra Grassi Novotny and Timothy Reilly."
"You own the diner?" says Justin. "Since when?"
"It's a good investment," Brian says. But we all know that's not why he bought it -- it's Deb's insurance for her future. It's the same reason he paid off her mortgage and Vic's medical expenses and also staked Emmett and Vic the money to start their catering business. And the reason he managed to get Michael the money he needed for that Captain Astro comic on eBay so he could buy Red Cape. Because that's what Brian Kinney does.
"Also a minority partnership in the Vangard Advertising Agency. And another silent partnership interest in Theodore Schmidt Associates Accounting, Inc." I look away because I can't really look at Brian. Yes, I owe my job -- my new business -- to Brian A. Kinney. Of course, right now I'm the only employee, but I'm planning to open an actual office and hire staff this summer -- all thanks to Brian and his recommendations -- starting with some overflow business from Gardner Vance and Vangard.
I outline a few other items -- property investments and charity donations, including setting up some kind of HIV/AIDS foundation in Vic's name. But that's something that will need to be worked out. I have a note on Brian's folder with a few suggestions Tim made for the best way to honor Vic's memory.
"That looks like it," says Brian. "Good job, Ted."
"Thanks, Bri," I reply. I'm proud because I know I've done well by Brian. And that means he won't have me killed.
"I could have done all that," Nussbaum gripes. "You don't really need this shmegege to buy a crummy dance club and a diner!"
"I know," says Brian, standing up. When Brian looms over you like that, it can be more than a little intimidating. "But you're not in Pittsburgh. Theodore is. It's not up to you to question my motives -- is it, Hilly?"
I see Nussbaum shrink down in his seat, squirming. "I'm not questioning. I'm just... saying."
"I think we're finished here." Brian takes Justin's hand and walks out of the office. "Ted, your room is upstairs. Hilly, I'll talk to you next week. Now Justin and I need to take a nap. A long nap."
As they head up the stairs I hear Justin say, "I cannot believe you bought Babylon! That's just crazy!"
"I know," Brian answers. "My own private fuck palace. Ironic, huh?"
Nussbaum silently packs his briefcase, not looking at me as he does it. Avi is waiting outside the office to show me to my room.
"Don't mind Hilly," he says as we go upstairs. "He's like a dog and Brian is his bone, you know?"
"I know all too well."
"This is Brian and Justin's room." Avi points to the first door. "There's no 'Do Not Disturb' sign on it, but it's understood. Get my drift?"
I nod. "I get it loud and clear."
"Brian told me that you know about his... situation," Avi continues. "We all know in the house, but not many others do, so don't say anything unless it's to me, or Leslie, or Carmel, the housekeeper. Hilly knows, but we don't really discuss it with him. Justin's afraid that if too many people know it'll get out to the tabloids."
"I understand."
"Brian usually rests during the afternoon, then has an early dinner because he gets tired in the evening. Justin will take him to his treatment at 9:30 tomorrow and then they'll come back to the house. If you want to do anything while you're here, just let me know. I can drive you. Or we can arrange for a driver." Avi gives me a funny smile when he says 'driver.'
"That sounds great, but I'm only staying for a few days."
"Brian wants you to enjoy yourself while you're here, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Avi stops at another door. "This is your room. Your bag is inside." He smiles at me again. "I'll see you at dinner."
I go into the room. It's rather dark, with the curtains drawn. The first thing I do is trip over my suitcase. It figures. I switch on the light.
"Mr. Schmidt," says a voice from the bed. "How may I be of service?"
Ramon is lying there, the most amazing specimen of naked manliness I've ever seen.
"Um... um... Hello," I manage to blurt out. "And you can call me... Ted."
He stands up and walks toward me. He reaches out and begins to unbutton my shirt. "Hello to you, Ted. And welcome to Los Angeles. I hope you will have a very pleasant stay."
Gulp.
Bless you, Brian A. Kinney.
I think this is going to be a wonderful trip after all.
And here's the new chapter. Enjoy!
This is Chapter 103 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Ted Schmidt, and features Brian Kinney, Justin Taylor, Avi Massarsky, Hilly Nussbaum, Ramon, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: A trip to the West Coast. Los Angeles, March 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. 99 "I Will Survive"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/441469.html
Ch. 100 "Impotent"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/442509.html
Ch. 101 "If I Should Fall Behind"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/443380.html
Ch. 102 "Interrupted"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/443967.html
By Gaedhal
It's been a long time since I've been to Los Angeles.
Emmett and I always planned to go -- we were going to stay with his friend Shelly -- but it never seemed to be the right set of circumstances. I was always working, and then when I could get away Emmett didn't have any money, and then when Em had some extra money, I had a big project to do for Wertshafter. You know how it goes.
So we never did get to go together.
Last night I gave him a call while I was packing. I almost said something to him -- but then I remembered what Brian would do to my balls if I let anything slip. So I just said that I'd be busy for the next few days in case he was trying to get hold of me.
"Sure, Teddy," said Em. "Maybe we can catch a movie over the weekend. Any new Matthew McConaughey flicks playing now?"
"If there aren't we can always rent one," I replied.
"Okey dokey! Talk to you later!"
I feel bad lying to Emmett. Well, not lying, exactly, but not telling him the truth, either. But as Brian would say, "It's business, Theodore. So zip it."
Zipping. Zipping.
I can't say I'm looking forward to this trip. It's not a vacation, after all. It's business.
Brian A. Kinney business.
And Brian is far from my favorite person in the world. Or at least he hasn't been.
But something's changed recently. Changed a lot.
I guess I'm still kind of amazed that Brian has told me personal things about himself. Things that almost no one in the Pitts -- or anywhere, for that matter -- knows.
I mean -- Brian. With cancer. It seems impossible. He's always been so larger than life -- and cancer seems so... so real. So... not Brian Kinney.
I check my briefcase again to make certain I have everything. It wouldn't do to be missing anything. Yes, everything is here, plus extra copies -- just in case. I want to be prepared. Extra prepared.
TransCon Airways. Nice waiting room, especially since I'm flying Business Class. It would be wonderful to travel like this all the time. To live like this all the time.
Not that I'm complaining about my life. Not at all. My life is great -- now. I'm sober. I'm clean. I dodged a huge bullet and got help when I needed it. And -- who would have thought? -- I have Brian to thank for it. He got me into a good treatment program, one I never could have gotten into -- or been able to afford -- on my own. I came so close to losing everything -- not just my condo and my car, but my friends. And my life.
But things are looking up. I like working independently and not being a faceless drone in the Wertshafter Sausage Factory. Like Brian advised me -- start small and work your way up. Gain a little confidence. Then no one will think about what a loser and failure you've been in the past.
Yes, thank you, Bri -- and fuck you.
But the truth is that he was right. Brian might be a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them. And he's been to rehab. He knew how difficult it was for me to ask for help, even when I was drowning. But I'll never make those mistakes again. I know I can avoid fucking up. I have my meetings to keep me steady. And Emmett has been a rock. Even Michael is coming around. He's not so wary of me now. He even apologized about not inviting me to his wedding last summer. But that's all right, since it turned out that even Michael didn't want to go to that!
Yes, I like Michael much better now that he's back with Ben. David was so judgmental -- yeah, like he's so perfect! I always felt that he was looking down on me. And on Emmett, too. And forget the way he treated Brian. Well, Brian's the one who has come through for everyone. I know he likes to do things quietly and behind the scenes, but the truth is he's always there when you need him. That's part of the reason I'm going out to L.A.
What a great seat. Comfortable. And room to stretch out. Business Class really is a different universe.
"No, thank you, no alcohol. May I have club soda? Yes, with a twist. That would be perfect."
This is the life. And all courtesy of Brian A. Kinney. The Great God Kinney, we used to say facetiously. But now, God help me, it's practically true.
I better check my briefcase again. No, everything is in order. It better be. I don't want to think about what Brian would really do to me if anything was less than perfect.
Relax, Schmidt. Everything is going to be fine. One step at a time. Just one step forward. And then another. And another. That makes the journey.
The flight is uneventful, but very pleasant. I don't usually find travel enjoyable, but this is different. The attendant brings me another club soda and an extra pillow. Superstar treatment.
Yes, I could get used to this.
Too bad I'm not really a movie star. Or Brian Kinney. Or both.
***
There's a limousine waiting for me at LAX. The driver is holding a sign that says, "Theodore."
"Mr. Schmidt?"
"That's me."
"My name is Ramon. I am at your service, Mr. Schmidt."
"Um... thanks -- Ramon."
He takes my bag. Ramon is possibly the handsomest man I've ever seen in the flesh -- and I've attended the Porn Awards. He has perfect caramel skin, an amazing body -- even under his chauffeur's uniform you can tell -- and dark bedroom eyes. Too bad I'm not in the business anymore, because this guy would have been a sensation on Jerk-at-Work. The Chauffeur and the Lonely Businessman from Out of Town -- it's already pure porn and we haven't even left the airport.
"Did you have a pleasant trip, Mr. Schmidt?"
"Oh, yes. Very pleasant. I was thinking while I was on the airplane -- this is very pleasant. Extremely pleasant. Pleasant would be the word."
Shut up, Ted. You're babbling.
"Very good, Mr. Schmidt."
The entire drive from LAX to Brian's house up in the Hollywood Hills -- and it's a fairly long drive -- is an extended plunge into a sexual fantasy about Ramon. It makes me realize just how celibate I've been since I got out of rehab. So celibate that my head is ready to pop. If Brian knows this -- and I'm thoroughly convinced The Great God Kinney is truly all-knowing and all-seeing -- then he's hand-selected Driver Ramon to tempt and torture me.
Yes, that's exactly what Brian would do. Damn him.
The house isn't very large, but it's located high in the hills above Hollywood. A beautiful setting, I must say. A gate and a long driveway up to the house. Sort of Spanish, sort of modern. A big garage. I see a number of vehicles inside, with a vintage Mustang parked in the drive.
"Do you need help with your bag, Mr. Schmidt?" Ramon says as he takes my suitcase out of the trunk.
"Um... No thank you, Ramon. I'm fine. It was a wonderful ride. And I mean that."
"It was my pleasure, sir," he replies in a voice like Spanish honey. I fumble in my pocket for some bills to give him a tip, but he waves me away. "No, Mr. Schmidt. Mr. Kinney has taken care of everything." He flashes a blindingly white smile.
"Oh," I gulp. "Thanks again." And then I watch as he gets in the limo and drives away.
Jesus. I'm sweating.
I trudge up to the front door and ring the bell. A tall, dark-haired young man opens it. "You must be Ted. I'm Avi. Come on in." I step inside. It's cool and dim. "Can I take your bag?"
"Yes, thanks." This must be the personal assistant Brian mentioned. I guess he actually has a couple of them. One is a woman I spoke with on the phone -- Leslie. I know there's also a maid or housekeeper or something like that, as well. Brian Kinney with a houseful of servants. So weird.
I'm following Avi when someone else comes down the stairs and stops abruptly when he sees me.
"Ted?" Justin's stares at me. He obviously has no idea I was coming. "What are you doing here? I thought it was Brian's accountant!"
"And it is. Or one of them." I know Brian has someone here in L.A. who handles most of his finances, but there's also me. Apparently Justin doesn't know all of Brian's secrets, even though they're married. Which is another completely bizarre thing I still need to process. "I'm here for a business meeting."
Justin shakes his head. "I can't believe you're here! How is everybody in the Pitts? You know my mother and sister just went home yesterday. They came out for the wedding. And Mom went to the Oscars with Jimmy Hardy."
"I know. I saw them on TV." Of course, I was watching with Emmett. When he saw Jennifer Taylor on the Red Carpet he almost had a heart attack. "Your mother looked beautiful."
Justin glances away, like he's uneasy. "I know. But I'm not exactly thrilled about her dating Jimmy."
Interesting. So Jimmy Hardy, one of the world's most acclaimed and wealthy actors, isn't good enough for Little Sunshine's mommy? There's a story there, that's for sure. And I better get every detail to tell Em. Unless Brian puts it on the Forbidden List. Zipping. Zipping.
"I'm glad to see you, Ted, but I don't understand why you're here," Justin continues.
"It's business," says another voice.
Brian Kinney, in all his glory, comes down the stairs. He's barefoot, wearing a pair of faded 501's, a white tee shirt, and a serious case of bedhead. In other words, he's his usual gorgeous self. Maybe a little thin, but Brian's always been thin. But as he gets closer I can see the shadows under his eyes. Maybe even an extra line on his forehead. But those are the only signs that he's been sick. That he has... cancer.
No, it's still too improbable! Guys like Brian don't get sick! They get all the hottest guys and all the fame and all the fortune. They get young blond boyfriends and houses in the Hollywood Hills and large bank accounts full of money from making movies. They don't get testicles cut off or get blasted with radiation. It doesn't work that way.
Until it does.
I say a prayer, thanking God that I'm healthy and I'm clean and I'm sober. I never thought I'd ever he happy I wasn't Brian Kinney, but right this moment I am.
"Theodore," says Brian. He's speaking to me, but his eyes are on Justin. He puts his arm around his shoulder and gently touches his blond hair. It's a tender moment, really. Brian isn't someone I would ever think of as tender, but I'm seeing it with my own eyes. "How was your flight?"
"Wonderful. Excellent. First Class all the way. I mean, Business Class. Which was first class."
"Good." He finally looks directly at me. "Nice ride from the airport?" And then he smiles fiendishly. Damn you, Brian Kinney!
"Yes, very nice."
"Ramon is an excellent driver. He always offers a smooth, tight ride."
Justin smirks. "You didn't send Ramon, did you?" Brian nods. Then Justin sticks his pink tongue out at me. "Ramon is hotter than shit!"
"Down, blond boy," says Brian. "I'm sure Theodore noted that fact. Didn't you, Theodore?""
Gulp again. "Duly noted."
Bastard.
"This way."
Brian gives me a brief tour of the house. Living room, kitchen, pool, poolhouse -- which is apparently now a studio for the Boy Wonder, as Michael calls Justin -- and, finally, the office.
"Hilly should be here shortly," says Brian, sitting in the big leather chair, while Justin perches on the arm. "He's chronically late."
"What's this all about?" Justin asks. "No offense, Ted, but why are you here? What's going on?"
"Cool your jets," says Brian. "All will be explained."
Avi, the assistant, pours me a lemonade, and also one for Justin, while I note that Brian is drinking ginger ale. We chitchat about home -- Michael and Ben, Debbie and the cop, Emmett dealing with his catering business without Vic -- until Brian's business manager, arrives.
"The fucking traffic!" he exclaims before he even says hello. "Everyone in this town drives like a verkakte meshugener, if you'll excuse the expression."
"Theodore Schmidt, meet Hilliard Nussbaum," says Brian. "Two accountants in the same room together -- I can feel the electricity in the air."
"Nice to meet you," I say, extending my hand. "Please call me Ted."
"And you can call me Hilly," he replies coolly. He shakes my hand, but he isn't smiling. "All the way from the East Coast this one brings you." He grunts in Brian's direction. "We could have done this on a conference call."
"It's my dime," says Brian, his face impassive. "Why do you give a fuck?"
"It's my job to give a fuck, or two, or three fucks," Nussbaum huffs. "Your gelt is my job." He narrows his eyes at me. "All your money, no matter where it is -- Los Angeles or Pittsville."
"Pittsburgh," I counter.
"Whatever."
So, this guy is jealous of his territory. I can understand that. Brian is -- to put it bluntly -- loaded. Maybe he's not loaded like a lot of big Hollywood stars, say, Jimmy Hardy or Tom Cruise, but by Pittsburgh standards, he's more than comfortably fixed. And Hilly Nussbaum doesn't want to share him. So Brian-like! Men fighting over him.
Then Justin steps into the fray. "Brian, are you going to tell me what's going on?"
"Justin and I are now officially and legally jointed at the dick," Brian explains. "Which means that you, Sunshine, need to know my business -- all of my business. And that starts with my money. Which means bringing in the accountants. Hilly, why don't you begin?"
Hilly Nussbaum opens his briefcase and takes out a folder, which he hands to Brian. "These are your investments, your bank accounts, your trusts, and your properties. I've made a list so you can see what you've got -- simple and straightforward."
"Neither of us is an idiot," Brian reminds Nussbaum. It's never a good idea to underestimate Brian Kinney. Or to suggest Justin is less than able to understand a list of figures. As I remember, Justin almost went to Dartmouth to study business -- that is until he entered Father Kinney's Home for Young Queer Artists Rebelling Against Their Fathers.
"Did I say you were?" He frowns. "I just want the boychik to be able to follow this -- since he's now... whatever he is."
"My partner. My spouse. My husband." Brian crosses his arms.
"I know," Nussbaum shrugs. "I'm a shmuck. So sue me! Look at the list and make sure it's right."
Brian's holdings aren't extensive, but they aren't bupkis, either -- I can toss a little Yiddish around myself when I need to. I'm no little pisher! -- The house we're sitting in is worth a couple of million bucks. And both Brian and Justin have inheritances from Ron Rosenblum's estate. Then there's a portfolio of stocks and investment properties, all of which look quite solid. Brian also has money invested in this film he's just made, 'Red Shirt.' And something called Castle in the Air Stables.
"What's that?" I ask.
Nussbaum snorts. "That's the nag living out in the Valley that Brian and Jimmy own. It's supposed to be a racehorse, but all it is is an eating and shitting machine. I told them to get rid of the thing a hundred times, but they never listen to me!"
"He's part of Ron's estate. We're keeping him," says Brian. "Skip to the next item."
Brian's boat, La Diva. His cars. Justin's P.T. Cruiser. Insurance policies. The usual stuff. Brian closes the folder and passes it back to Nussbaum.
Now it's my turn. "Since last summer," I begin. "I've been in charge of Brian's finances in Pittsburgh."
"Since when?" asks Justin, his blue eyes wide.
"Listen and learn, twat," Brian says into his ear.
"Brian has been investing -- rather quietly -- in a number of businesses, as well as putting me in charge of the trusts for his two children, Gus Peterson-Marcus and Charity Peterson-Marcus." I hand Brian my folder and he opens it. "The children's trusts are on top. I have their money invested in very solid, slow-growth mutual funds, plus the money that you've been adding out of your recent earnings." I pause. "There's also the trust fund for Justin, available to him when he turns 30."
Justin turns to Brian. "What the fuck is that? I already have money from Ron. When did you do this?"
Brian raises one eyebrow. "A while ago. But you can't get the cash until you're an old man like me, so think of it as an insurance policy for your Golden Years. Plus the money you'll inherit as my husband when I croak."
"Asshole," Justin says under his breath.
"Blond bitch," Brian replies serenely.
"If I may continue?" I say. Brian nods. "Your loft in Pittsburgh and its contents, including your Jeep are your main possessions there. But you also have your business investments. The main one is Babylon, Incorporated, of which you now hold 100% interest."
"Huh?" Justin stares at me, then turns to his partner.
"Don't say anything. Let him finish," says Brian.
"Also the Liberty Diner, which you now own outright. Also a 33% share in Fabulous Catering and Party Planning as a silent partner, with 33% owned by Emmett Honeycutt, and the remaining third shared by Mrs. Debra Grassi Novotny and Timothy Reilly."
"You own the diner?" says Justin. "Since when?"
"It's a good investment," Brian says. But we all know that's not why he bought it -- it's Deb's insurance for her future. It's the same reason he paid off her mortgage and Vic's medical expenses and also staked Emmett and Vic the money to start their catering business. And the reason he managed to get Michael the money he needed for that Captain Astro comic on eBay so he could buy Red Cape. Because that's what Brian Kinney does.
"Also a minority partnership in the Vangard Advertising Agency. And another silent partnership interest in Theodore Schmidt Associates Accounting, Inc." I look away because I can't really look at Brian. Yes, I owe my job -- my new business -- to Brian A. Kinney. Of course, right now I'm the only employee, but I'm planning to open an actual office and hire staff this summer -- all thanks to Brian and his recommendations -- starting with some overflow business from Gardner Vance and Vangard.
I outline a few other items -- property investments and charity donations, including setting up some kind of HIV/AIDS foundation in Vic's name. But that's something that will need to be worked out. I have a note on Brian's folder with a few suggestions Tim made for the best way to honor Vic's memory.
"That looks like it," says Brian. "Good job, Ted."
"Thanks, Bri," I reply. I'm proud because I know I've done well by Brian. And that means he won't have me killed.
"I could have done all that," Nussbaum gripes. "You don't really need this shmegege to buy a crummy dance club and a diner!"
"I know," says Brian, standing up. When Brian looms over you like that, it can be more than a little intimidating. "But you're not in Pittsburgh. Theodore is. It's not up to you to question my motives -- is it, Hilly?"
I see Nussbaum shrink down in his seat, squirming. "I'm not questioning. I'm just... saying."
"I think we're finished here." Brian takes Justin's hand and walks out of the office. "Ted, your room is upstairs. Hilly, I'll talk to you next week. Now Justin and I need to take a nap. A long nap."
As they head up the stairs I hear Justin say, "I cannot believe you bought Babylon! That's just crazy!"
"I know," Brian answers. "My own private fuck palace. Ironic, huh?"
Nussbaum silently packs his briefcase, not looking at me as he does it. Avi is waiting outside the office to show me to my room.
"Don't mind Hilly," he says as we go upstairs. "He's like a dog and Brian is his bone, you know?"
"I know all too well."
"This is Brian and Justin's room." Avi points to the first door. "There's no 'Do Not Disturb' sign on it, but it's understood. Get my drift?"
I nod. "I get it loud and clear."
"Brian told me that you know about his... situation," Avi continues. "We all know in the house, but not many others do, so don't say anything unless it's to me, or Leslie, or Carmel, the housekeeper. Hilly knows, but we don't really discuss it with him. Justin's afraid that if too many people know it'll get out to the tabloids."
"I understand."
"Brian usually rests during the afternoon, then has an early dinner because he gets tired in the evening. Justin will take him to his treatment at 9:30 tomorrow and then they'll come back to the house. If you want to do anything while you're here, just let me know. I can drive you. Or we can arrange for a driver." Avi gives me a funny smile when he says 'driver.'
"That sounds great, but I'm only staying for a few days."
"Brian wants you to enjoy yourself while you're here, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Avi stops at another door. "This is your room. Your bag is inside." He smiles at me again. "I'll see you at dinner."
I go into the room. It's rather dark, with the curtains drawn. The first thing I do is trip over my suitcase. It figures. I switch on the light.
"Mr. Schmidt," says a voice from the bed. "How may I be of service?"
Ramon is lying there, the most amazing specimen of naked manliness I've ever seen.
"Um... um... Hello," I manage to blurt out. "And you can call me... Ted."
He stands up and walks toward me. He reaches out and begins to unbutton my shirt. "Hello to you, Ted. And welcome to Los Angeles. I hope you will have a very pleasant stay."
Gulp.
Bless you, Brian A. Kinney.
I think this is going to be a wonderful trip after all.