"Coup de Foudre" 104
Justin's bad day continues…
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, July 2016
Justin didn’t think his day could go any worse after the disastrous trips to Giant Eagle and the bookstore, but he was wrong.
“I’m going to be late!” Gus yelled. “Hurry up!”
“You’re not going to be late,” Justin said through gritted teeth. They were all sitting at the kitchen counter, trying to finish lunch. “At this moment Michael is eating a gyro and surfing the internet on his lunch hour. He’s not going to have a fit if you get there at 1:15 instead of 1:00.”
Gus glanced at Brian, who was, as usual, picking distractedly at his peanut butter and avocado sandwich, before he continued. “Just because you don’t give a shit about having a ‘long’ lunch hour doesn’t mean that everybody feels like that.”
Justin tried counting to ten. But it wasn’t working for him. Gus was going out of his way to be a dick. “Listen, Michael doesn’t…”
Brian looked up. “Gus, stop being a fucking brat. Get your shit together and go out to the Jeep. Justin will drive you over there in five minutes.”
“But, Dad…”
“Go,” said Brian. “Now. Five minutes.”
Gus slunk out of the kitchen, muttering to himself.
“You want me to take him over there?” Brian asked, pushing the half-eaten sandwich away.
“No,” said Justin. “Remember…”
“I’m not supposed to drive. Yeah, as everyone keeps reminding me.”
Justin put his arms around Brian. “It’s only temporary. Until everything gets… settled.”
Brian sniffed. “You mean until my brain gets back to normal. Whenever that will be.”
Justin understood Brian’s frustration because he was frustrated too. But he couldn’t allow those frustrated expectations to overwhelm both of them. They needed time. Time. It’s only time. He flinched at those words. How hollow they sounded now! What the fuck did that mean, anyway? It’s only time? Everything was time! But time was meaningless when you were facing a long recovery. Things would happen as they happened, sooner or later. And probably later than sooner.
“You want to ride over to Michael’s with me?”
Brian shrugged. “I think I’ll stay here.” He paused. “When will you be back?”
“I won’t be long. That new physical therapist is coming this afternoon.”
“Christ,” said Brian. “The last thing I need is more fucking physical therapy. Didn’t I get enough of that ‘Brian, can we pick up this rubber ball?’ and ‘Brian, can we hold this pencil?’ I wanted to shove that fucking pencil…”
Justin put his hand over Brian’s mouth. “They were assessing your manual dexterity. And you got a 100%, unlike me. Remember my fucking hand?”
Brian pushed that hand away from his mouth. “Your hand is fine.”
“Now it is,” Justin reminded him. “But not back then. And your shoulder is going to need therapy.”
“I don’t need some dork to tell me how to raise and lower my fucking arm!”
“We’ll see.” Justin kissed Brian softly. “I’ll drop off Gus and come right back, okay?”
“Okay,” said Brian. “It’s not like I’m going to wander off in my pajamas or anything.”
“Good,” said Justin. “See that you don’t.”
Gus was waiting in the Jeep, tapping his fingers on the edge of the door. “It’s about fucking time! I’m already late!”
“I thought you might want to drive?” said Justin.
Gus hesitated. “I… I don’t think I better.”
“Have you driven since… since the accident?”
Gus winced. “No! And not because I’m afraid. Because I’m not!”
Justin stared at him steadily. “Then why?”
“I… I’m not ready.” Gus looked away. “Just get in and fucking drive me to the store. I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me.”
Justin shook his head and got into the driver’s seat. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gus demanded.
“It means that you and your old man are too much alike. God help both of you.”
“Except I don’t like dick,” Gus said darkly.
Fuck! thought Justin. He reached over and grabbed Gus’s wrist tightly, digging his nails into the thin skin. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” Justin dug deeper.
“Ow!” cried Gus. “Yes, I’m listening!”
“I don’t want to hear any fucking homophobic comments from you - ever! Do you understand?”
Gus gasped. “I understand. But it wasn’t homophobic. It was true.”
“Is that so?” Justin narrowed his eyes at the boy. “Then get out of the Jeep, go into the house, and repeat it to your father. Then we’ll see what he says.”
“No,” Gus whined. “I… won’t. I can’t!”
“Why not… if it’s true?” said Justin.
But Gus didn’t reply.
Justin started up the Jeep and pulled out of the driveway. “Watch your mouth, especially around your father. I’m not kidding about that. Do you think saying shit like that is funny? Do you?”
“No,” said Gus sullenly.
“Then don’t say it.” Justin turned the Jeep down the hill, past the spot where the Harley had spun out. Every time he drove by it he held his breath. “And don’t whine. It’s almost as annoying as your stupid comments.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
Justin dropped Gus off on the sidewalk outside Red Cape Comics. Gus ran inside before Justin had a chance to say anything else to him. He probably hates me now even more, Justin thought. But I can’t worry about that. I have bigger, more important issues to deal with.
Back at the house Justin looked around for Brian. He wasn’t in the television room or the office. Justin also checked the gym in the basement, but it was empty. Maybe Brian was taking a nap. He went upstairs, but Brian wasn’t there. “Maybe he really did go wandering out in his pajamas!”
Justin heard the TV blaring from Carmel’s room. He’d asked her before to keep the volume down. He trudged down to the end of the hallway. The door was half-open.
“Carmel, have you seen Brian?”
“Hey, Sunshine!” said Brian. He was lounging in a reclining chair, while Carmel sat in the edge of the bed. They were both watching Carmel’s television set, an old tube model that had come with the house.
“What are you guys doing?”
“We are watching ‘La Rubia y La Morena,’” Carmel explained. “I was telling Mr. Brian about how the evil sister, Lupe, is trying to steal away her good sister’s novio. But the good sister, Consuelo, found out about it and she’s going to tell Lupe’s husband!”
“But the husband,” Brian interjected. “Is fucking the pool boy! And he’s hot as anything. I mean the pool boy.”
“The husband isn’t bad either,” said Carmel. “That’s Julio Aviles. He was also in ‘El Oro y La Plata.’ Aye, that was such a good show!”
“All these guys take their shirts off all the time,” Brian marveled. “Do they take their shirts off this much on American soaps? I gotta start watching those.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Justin. “Brian, the physical therapist is going to be here soon. I thought you might want to change.”
“Why?” Brian was staring intently at the screen. “Hey, who the hell is that?”
“That’s the young padre,” said Carmel. “Isn’t he so handsome?”
“A Father What-a-Waste,” Brian returned. “I’ve had a couple of those in my time.”
“You are so bad, Mr. Brian!” Carmel scolded. “Say a prayer quick!”
“No fucking way!”
“Brian, I hate to interrupt, but…” said Justin.
“You wait for the PT,” said Brian. “Call me when he gets here.”
Jesus, thought Justin. Brian Kinney watching Mexican soap operas. Well, at least he isn’t roaming the neighborhood in his pajamas!
Justin went into the kitchen and poured himself a lemonade. Beer, he thought, I really need a cold beer. Or something stronger. Much stronger. Except Brian isn’t supposed to have alcohol. And if it’s in this house, he’ll find it. Shit!
He heard a car pull into the drive. The new physical therapist. Dr. Peretti hadn’t told him anything about this guy except that he was good. And Justin had jokingly told her to find the hottest physical therapist in the Pitts and he’d be the perfect fit for Brian. Justin went to the door to greet the new PT.
“Hi! I’m Danny Mitchell!” He held out his hand. “You’re not Brian, are you?”
Justin gulped. He shook the offered hand limply. “No, I’m Justin. Brian’s upstairs. The exercise equipment is in the basement.”
“Great! Let’s go take a look at what you’ve got and then you can introduce me to my new client.”
“Sure.”
As Justin led the way to the basement his heart was sinking. Dr. Peretti hadn’t simply taken his words about the hottest physical therapist in Pittsburgh as a serious request, she’d delivered in spades. Because on a scale of one to ten in hotness, with Jonah Hill a one and Matthew McConaughey a ten, Danny Mitchell was an eleven. Maybe even a twelve.
“I hear your boy had a nasty motorcycle accident,” said Danny, taking a folder out of his gym bag and glancing over the information.
“Yes, he hit his head and also injured his collarbone.”
“Motorcycles can cause a lot of damage. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse.” Danny prowled around the equipment. “A bench. Some free weights. A treadmill. Oh, and a high bar. Great, just great!”
“This is the minimum stuff,” said Justin. “Brian is used to working out. In California he had a more complete set up. And he worked out at a regular gym, too.”
“Oh, is he from California?” Danny asked. “I love it out there. Sun, sand, surf… and sex!”
“He lived in L.A. for ten years, but he’s from Pittsburgh originally.” Justin watched Danny size up the equipment, the finished basement, even the washer and dryer in the corner. “He’s not supposed to do anything too strenuous. But he’ll try to. He thinks he can do more than he actually can. Brian thinks he’s invincible.”
“That’s typical,” said Danny. “Type A personality?”
Justin nodded. “You could call him that.”
“Great! Because I’m Type A, too!”
I bet you are, thought Justin. “I just don’t want him to hurt himself.”
“You leave that to me,” said Danny, grinning. Then he stripped off his shirt, leaving him wearing nothing but a pair of black gym shorts. “You can put him safely in my hands and I’ll do the rest. Got it?”
Yeah, thought Justin. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
But what he said was, “Yeah, I got it.”
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, July 2016
Justin didn’t think his day could go any worse after the disastrous trips to Giant Eagle and the bookstore, but he was wrong.
“I’m going to be late!” Gus yelled. “Hurry up!”
“You’re not going to be late,” Justin said through gritted teeth. They were all sitting at the kitchen counter, trying to finish lunch. “At this moment Michael is eating a gyro and surfing the internet on his lunch hour. He’s not going to have a fit if you get there at 1:15 instead of 1:00.”
Gus glanced at Brian, who was, as usual, picking distractedly at his peanut butter and avocado sandwich, before he continued. “Just because you don’t give a shit about having a ‘long’ lunch hour doesn’t mean that everybody feels like that.”
Justin tried counting to ten. But it wasn’t working for him. Gus was going out of his way to be a dick. “Listen, Michael doesn’t…”
Brian looked up. “Gus, stop being a fucking brat. Get your shit together and go out to the Jeep. Justin will drive you over there in five minutes.”
“But, Dad…”
“Go,” said Brian. “Now. Five minutes.”
Gus slunk out of the kitchen, muttering to himself.
“You want me to take him over there?” Brian asked, pushing the half-eaten sandwich away.
“No,” said Justin. “Remember…”
“I’m not supposed to drive. Yeah, as everyone keeps reminding me.”
Justin put his arms around Brian. “It’s only temporary. Until everything gets… settled.”
Brian sniffed. “You mean until my brain gets back to normal. Whenever that will be.”
Justin understood Brian’s frustration because he was frustrated too. But he couldn’t allow those frustrated expectations to overwhelm both of them. They needed time. Time. It’s only time. He flinched at those words. How hollow they sounded now! What the fuck did that mean, anyway? It’s only time? Everything was time! But time was meaningless when you were facing a long recovery. Things would happen as they happened, sooner or later. And probably later than sooner.
“You want to ride over to Michael’s with me?”
Brian shrugged. “I think I’ll stay here.” He paused. “When will you be back?”
“I won’t be long. That new physical therapist is coming this afternoon.”
“Christ,” said Brian. “The last thing I need is more fucking physical therapy. Didn’t I get enough of that ‘Brian, can we pick up this rubber ball?’ and ‘Brian, can we hold this pencil?’ I wanted to shove that fucking pencil…”
Justin put his hand over Brian’s mouth. “They were assessing your manual dexterity. And you got a 100%, unlike me. Remember my fucking hand?”
Brian pushed that hand away from his mouth. “Your hand is fine.”
“Now it is,” Justin reminded him. “But not back then. And your shoulder is going to need therapy.”
“I don’t need some dork to tell me how to raise and lower my fucking arm!”
“We’ll see.” Justin kissed Brian softly. “I’ll drop off Gus and come right back, okay?”
“Okay,” said Brian. “It’s not like I’m going to wander off in my pajamas or anything.”
“Good,” said Justin. “See that you don’t.”
Gus was waiting in the Jeep, tapping his fingers on the edge of the door. “It’s about fucking time! I’m already late!”
“I thought you might want to drive?” said Justin.
Gus hesitated. “I… I don’t think I better.”
“Have you driven since… since the accident?”
Gus winced. “No! And not because I’m afraid. Because I’m not!”
Justin stared at him steadily. “Then why?”
“I… I’m not ready.” Gus looked away. “Just get in and fucking drive me to the store. I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me.”
Justin shook his head and got into the driver’s seat. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gus demanded.
“It means that you and your old man are too much alike. God help both of you.”
“Except I don’t like dick,” Gus said darkly.
Fuck! thought Justin. He reached over and grabbed Gus’s wrist tightly, digging his nails into the thin skin. “Listen to me. Are you listening?” Justin dug deeper.
“Ow!” cried Gus. “Yes, I’m listening!”
“I don’t want to hear any fucking homophobic comments from you - ever! Do you understand?”
Gus gasped. “I understand. But it wasn’t homophobic. It was true.”
“Is that so?” Justin narrowed his eyes at the boy. “Then get out of the Jeep, go into the house, and repeat it to your father. Then we’ll see what he says.”
“No,” Gus whined. “I… won’t. I can’t!”
“Why not… if it’s true?” said Justin.
But Gus didn’t reply.
Justin started up the Jeep and pulled out of the driveway. “Watch your mouth, especially around your father. I’m not kidding about that. Do you think saying shit like that is funny? Do you?”
“No,” said Gus sullenly.
“Then don’t say it.” Justin turned the Jeep down the hill, past the spot where the Harley had spun out. Every time he drove by it he held his breath. “And don’t whine. It’s almost as annoying as your stupid comments.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
Justin dropped Gus off on the sidewalk outside Red Cape Comics. Gus ran inside before Justin had a chance to say anything else to him. He probably hates me now even more, Justin thought. But I can’t worry about that. I have bigger, more important issues to deal with.
Back at the house Justin looked around for Brian. He wasn’t in the television room or the office. Justin also checked the gym in the basement, but it was empty. Maybe Brian was taking a nap. He went upstairs, but Brian wasn’t there. “Maybe he really did go wandering out in his pajamas!”
Justin heard the TV blaring from Carmel’s room. He’d asked her before to keep the volume down. He trudged down to the end of the hallway. The door was half-open.
“Carmel, have you seen Brian?”
“Hey, Sunshine!” said Brian. He was lounging in a reclining chair, while Carmel sat in the edge of the bed. They were both watching Carmel’s television set, an old tube model that had come with the house.
“What are you guys doing?”
“We are watching ‘La Rubia y La Morena,’” Carmel explained. “I was telling Mr. Brian about how the evil sister, Lupe, is trying to steal away her good sister’s novio. But the good sister, Consuelo, found out about it and she’s going to tell Lupe’s husband!”
“But the husband,” Brian interjected. “Is fucking the pool boy! And he’s hot as anything. I mean the pool boy.”
“The husband isn’t bad either,” said Carmel. “That’s Julio Aviles. He was also in ‘El Oro y La Plata.’ Aye, that was such a good show!”
“All these guys take their shirts off all the time,” Brian marveled. “Do they take their shirts off this much on American soaps? I gotta start watching those.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Justin. “Brian, the physical therapist is going to be here soon. I thought you might want to change.”
“Why?” Brian was staring intently at the screen. “Hey, who the hell is that?”
“That’s the young padre,” said Carmel. “Isn’t he so handsome?”
“A Father What-a-Waste,” Brian returned. “I’ve had a couple of those in my time.”
“You are so bad, Mr. Brian!” Carmel scolded. “Say a prayer quick!”
“No fucking way!”
“Brian, I hate to interrupt, but…” said Justin.
“You wait for the PT,” said Brian. “Call me when he gets here.”
Jesus, thought Justin. Brian Kinney watching Mexican soap operas. Well, at least he isn’t roaming the neighborhood in his pajamas!
Justin went into the kitchen and poured himself a lemonade. Beer, he thought, I really need a cold beer. Or something stronger. Much stronger. Except Brian isn’t supposed to have alcohol. And if it’s in this house, he’ll find it. Shit!
He heard a car pull into the drive. The new physical therapist. Dr. Peretti hadn’t told him anything about this guy except that he was good. And Justin had jokingly told her to find the hottest physical therapist in the Pitts and he’d be the perfect fit for Brian. Justin went to the door to greet the new PT.
“Hi! I’m Danny Mitchell!” He held out his hand. “You’re not Brian, are you?”
Justin gulped. He shook the offered hand limply. “No, I’m Justin. Brian’s upstairs. The exercise equipment is in the basement.”
“Great! Let’s go take a look at what you’ve got and then you can introduce me to my new client.”
“Sure.”
As Justin led the way to the basement his heart was sinking. Dr. Peretti hadn’t simply taken his words about the hottest physical therapist in Pittsburgh as a serious request, she’d delivered in spades. Because on a scale of one to ten in hotness, with Jonah Hill a one and Matthew McConaughey a ten, Danny Mitchell was an eleven. Maybe even a twelve.
“I hear your boy had a nasty motorcycle accident,” said Danny, taking a folder out of his gym bag and glancing over the information.
“Yes, he hit his head and also injured his collarbone.”
“Motorcycles can cause a lot of damage. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse.” Danny prowled around the equipment. “A bench. Some free weights. A treadmill. Oh, and a high bar. Great, just great!”
“This is the minimum stuff,” said Justin. “Brian is used to working out. In California he had a more complete set up. And he worked out at a regular gym, too.”
“Oh, is he from California?” Danny asked. “I love it out there. Sun, sand, surf… and sex!”
“He lived in L.A. for ten years, but he’s from Pittsburgh originally.” Justin watched Danny size up the equipment, the finished basement, even the washer and dryer in the corner. “He’s not supposed to do anything too strenuous. But he’ll try to. He thinks he can do more than he actually can. Brian thinks he’s invincible.”
“That’s typical,” said Danny. “Type A personality?”
Justin nodded. “You could call him that.”
“Great! Because I’m Type A, too!”
I bet you are, thought Justin. “I just don’t want him to hurt himself.”
“You leave that to me,” said Danny, grinning. Then he stripped off his shirt, leaving him wearing nothing but a pair of black gym shorts. “You can put him safely in my hands and I’ll do the rest. Got it?”
Yeah, thought Justin. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
But what he said was, “Yeah, I got it.”