"The Enchanted Cottage" -- Part 25
A room with a view.
Pittsburgh, Pa., November 2006
"Darling, there's a delivery for you."
"I'm n... not interested." Justin turned away from his mother and walked back into his room.
Jennifer followed her son. "It's from Brian."
"Then I'm definitely n... not interested." Justin flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
"One of the boxes looks like a computer," said Jennifer. "Is that the computer Brian got you?"
"P... probably," Justin replied. "I d... don't want it."
"What am I supposed to do with it?" Jennifer said in exasperation.
"I don't give a f... fuck!" Justin sniffed. "Throw it out the w... window. D... drag it to the c... curb for the garbageman. Use it for t... target practice."
Jennifer put her hands on her hips. "If you want to be a brat, go ahead! But don't blame me! If you want to know the truth, I think Brian Kinney did you a favor by sending you home. He let you know exactly where you stand with him -- nowhere! But what did you expect? A long-term relationship? I've been talking to Debbie Horvath from PFLAG and she told me that Brian has never been in a relationship in his life! She doesn't think he's capable of a having one, especially not after the bombing. And she's known him since he was in high school!"
"B... before," Justin whispered. "Brian and her son Michael have been f... friends since they were 14."
Jennifer ran her fingers through her blonde hair. "Then you know what he's like! Yes, you're hurt! But at least he was honest with you. You can't spend your whole life hiding away, either at the cottage or in this room! Daphne's called about fifty times, wanting to see you. She doesn't understand why you won't talk to her. And Molly thinks you're mad at her! You've been home since Friday and she's barely even seen you! And you have to eat something! Or are you planning to starve yourself to death for love of this Brian Kinney?"
Justin sat up and glared at his mother. "I'm not s... starving myself! I'm n... not fucking hungry!"
"Fine," said Jennifer. "Suit yourself. By the way, Tannis from the Gay and Lesbian Center called to ask when you were going to bring over your pieces for the show."
Justin closed his eyes, shutting out the world. "I've d... decided I don't want to b... be in the art show."
Jennifer felt like she'd been punched. "Not be in the show? What are you talking about?"
"Wh... what's the point, Mom?" Justin spat. He held up his right hand, which was shaking as he tried to clench and unclench it. "L... look at my hand! It's as g... gimpy as it ever was! How c... can I pretend to be an artist? What's the f... fucking point?"
Jennifer shook her head. "This is the way you're going to deal with life? Like a petulant child? Then you're right, Justin. Stay in this room. Never come out. Hide away the minute things don't go your way. Shrivel up like a fragile flower so nothing will ever hurt you again. Now I agree with you. Brian was wrong. You aren't ready to live in the world, darling. You can't handle it."
Jennifer walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Justin went to the window and looked out. The tree outside was bare and wet with a brush of snow. Autumn was over and winter was here for certain. A long cold winter -- without Brian. Without his art. Without anything he cared about!
So what was the fucking point? What did he have? Now he didn't even have Las Encantadas, or Mrs. Minnett, or the Major. At least there, they understood. They didn't push him. Didn't fucking browbeat him, like his goddamn mother!
What did she know about how he felt?
"Shrivel up like a fragile flower so nothing will ever hurt you again."
Yes, what did she know? It wasn't her life!
Fuck.
A car came down the street and stopped in front of the condo. Molly ran out, laughing, and opened the door. She and her friend were going to the mall and then to the movies. Molly paused before she got in and looked up at his window, her red hair catching the fading light. Justin moved away, behind the curtains, so she wouldn't see him.
Hiding.
From the world.
"The Enchanted Cottage isn't a magical place, it's a trap, Justin."
He heard Brian's words echoing in his head.
"F... fuck you, Brian!" Justin whispered. "You can b... blackmail me, but you c... can't control my life!"
He stared at his right hand. Gimp hand. Fucked-up hand.
And yet...
His portfolio was in the corner, leaning against the wall.
He picked it up and laid it on the bed, unzipping it.
All the prints he'd made in the cottage were here.
Except one. The one of Brian and Gus. Brian had kept it.
He looked at each one, remembering how he'd taken the photo. How he'd scanned it into the computer. What he'd done to manipulate the picture. Broken it apart. Put it back together. Turned it around. Then printed it out. He thought about the first time he'd started doodling on one of the prints. It was of Brian, sitting at his computer, his face in profile.
Brian had a beautiful profile.
Still so beautiful.
He'd begun tracing shadows in the background of the photo. His hand was shaky, but that wasn't a problem. It gave the image a raw, tattered look. Then he got out his watercolors and began brushing them over the surface, saturating the paper here, moving lightly there. Layering the colors. Experimenting.
"That looks good."
He hadn't even been aware that Brian was behind him, watching.
Brian leaned on his back, pressing up against him.
"Art is hot," he whispered. "I like fucking an artist. How Bohemian!"
"We should m... move into a loft in Gr... Greenwich Village. Sleep on a futon. I'll be a famous p... painter and you can be my m... muse!"
"Futons give me a backache!" Brian snorted. And then he fucked Justin on the kitchen table, pushing the print to the side and hoisting his legs up high. The table shook like it was in an earthquake.
And it was an earthquake in Justin's life. That was the new beginning. Justin hadn't looked back.
He'd made all of these pieces. All of this art.
"Fuck you, Brian..."
He bundled the prints back into the portfolio and carried it downstairs. He put on his coat and took his mother's keys from the dish by the front door.
"Justin!" Jennifer came out from the kitchen. "Where are you going?"
"Out," he said shortly.
He hadn't driven much since he'd been bashed, but he knew he could do it. He drove the golf cart, after all. And Brian had let him drive the 'Vette around the grounds. He could certainly handle his mother's Honda. It wasn't that far to the GLC, just off Liberty Avenue.
He glanced at his watch as he got into the car. It wasn't even 7:00. They'd probably still be over at the Center, getting things ready for the art show.
He wanted to make sure his pieces were placed in the best possible spot. Right in front. Where everyone could see them.
A real artist wouldn't stand for anything less.
***
Pittsburgh, Pa., November 2006
"Darling, there's a delivery for you."
"I'm n... not interested." Justin turned away from his mother and walked back into his room.
Jennifer followed her son. "It's from Brian."
"Then I'm definitely n... not interested." Justin flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
"One of the boxes looks like a computer," said Jennifer. "Is that the computer Brian got you?"
"P... probably," Justin replied. "I d... don't want it."
"What am I supposed to do with it?" Jennifer said in exasperation.
"I don't give a f... fuck!" Justin sniffed. "Throw it out the w... window. D... drag it to the c... curb for the garbageman. Use it for t... target practice."
Jennifer put her hands on her hips. "If you want to be a brat, go ahead! But don't blame me! If you want to know the truth, I think Brian Kinney did you a favor by sending you home. He let you know exactly where you stand with him -- nowhere! But what did you expect? A long-term relationship? I've been talking to Debbie Horvath from PFLAG and she told me that Brian has never been in a relationship in his life! She doesn't think he's capable of a having one, especially not after the bombing. And she's known him since he was in high school!"
"B... before," Justin whispered. "Brian and her son Michael have been f... friends since they were 14."
Jennifer ran her fingers through her blonde hair. "Then you know what he's like! Yes, you're hurt! But at least he was honest with you. You can't spend your whole life hiding away, either at the cottage or in this room! Daphne's called about fifty times, wanting to see you. She doesn't understand why you won't talk to her. And Molly thinks you're mad at her! You've been home since Friday and she's barely even seen you! And you have to eat something! Or are you planning to starve yourself to death for love of this Brian Kinney?"
Justin sat up and glared at his mother. "I'm not s... starving myself! I'm n... not fucking hungry!"
"Fine," said Jennifer. "Suit yourself. By the way, Tannis from the Gay and Lesbian Center called to ask when you were going to bring over your pieces for the show."
Justin closed his eyes, shutting out the world. "I've d... decided I don't want to b... be in the art show."
Jennifer felt like she'd been punched. "Not be in the show? What are you talking about?"
"Wh... what's the point, Mom?" Justin spat. He held up his right hand, which was shaking as he tried to clench and unclench it. "L... look at my hand! It's as g... gimpy as it ever was! How c... can I pretend to be an artist? What's the f... fucking point?"
Jennifer shook her head. "This is the way you're going to deal with life? Like a petulant child? Then you're right, Justin. Stay in this room. Never come out. Hide away the minute things don't go your way. Shrivel up like a fragile flower so nothing will ever hurt you again. Now I agree with you. Brian was wrong. You aren't ready to live in the world, darling. You can't handle it."
Jennifer walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Justin went to the window and looked out. The tree outside was bare and wet with a brush of snow. Autumn was over and winter was here for certain. A long cold winter -- without Brian. Without his art. Without anything he cared about!
So what was the fucking point? What did he have? Now he didn't even have Las Encantadas, or Mrs. Minnett, or the Major. At least there, they understood. They didn't push him. Didn't fucking browbeat him, like his goddamn mother!
What did she know about how he felt?
"Shrivel up like a fragile flower so nothing will ever hurt you again."
Yes, what did she know? It wasn't her life!
Fuck.
A car came down the street and stopped in front of the condo. Molly ran out, laughing, and opened the door. She and her friend were going to the mall and then to the movies. Molly paused before she got in and looked up at his window, her red hair catching the fading light. Justin moved away, behind the curtains, so she wouldn't see him.
Hiding.
From the world.
"The Enchanted Cottage isn't a magical place, it's a trap, Justin."
He heard Brian's words echoing in his head.
"F... fuck you, Brian!" Justin whispered. "You can b... blackmail me, but you c... can't control my life!"
He stared at his right hand. Gimp hand. Fucked-up hand.
And yet...
His portfolio was in the corner, leaning against the wall.
He picked it up and laid it on the bed, unzipping it.
All the prints he'd made in the cottage were here.
Except one. The one of Brian and Gus. Brian had kept it.
He looked at each one, remembering how he'd taken the photo. How he'd scanned it into the computer. What he'd done to manipulate the picture. Broken it apart. Put it back together. Turned it around. Then printed it out. He thought about the first time he'd started doodling on one of the prints. It was of Brian, sitting at his computer, his face in profile.
Brian had a beautiful profile.
Still so beautiful.
He'd begun tracing shadows in the background of the photo. His hand was shaky, but that wasn't a problem. It gave the image a raw, tattered look. Then he got out his watercolors and began brushing them over the surface, saturating the paper here, moving lightly there. Layering the colors. Experimenting.
"That looks good."
He hadn't even been aware that Brian was behind him, watching.
Brian leaned on his back, pressing up against him.
"Art is hot," he whispered. "I like fucking an artist. How Bohemian!"
"We should m... move into a loft in Gr... Greenwich Village. Sleep on a futon. I'll be a famous p... painter and you can be my m... muse!"
"Futons give me a backache!" Brian snorted. And then he fucked Justin on the kitchen table, pushing the print to the side and hoisting his legs up high. The table shook like it was in an earthquake.
And it was an earthquake in Justin's life. That was the new beginning. Justin hadn't looked back.
He'd made all of these pieces. All of this art.
"Fuck you, Brian..."
He bundled the prints back into the portfolio and carried it downstairs. He put on his coat and took his mother's keys from the dish by the front door.
"Justin!" Jennifer came out from the kitchen. "Where are you going?"
"Out," he said shortly.
He hadn't driven much since he'd been bashed, but he knew he could do it. He drove the golf cart, after all. And Brian had let him drive the 'Vette around the grounds. He could certainly handle his mother's Honda. It wasn't that far to the GLC, just off Liberty Avenue.
He glanced at his watch as he got into the car. It wasn't even 7:00. They'd probably still be over at the Center, getting things ready for the art show.
He wanted to make sure his pieces were placed in the best possible spot. Right in front. Where everyone could see them.
A real artist wouldn't stand for anything less.
***