"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 96 "Impromptu"
Here's another chapter -- the first after the Anniversary.
That's all I'll say for now. It's up to you from here!
The Boys arrive in San Francisco... and Justin has a surprise waiting for him.
This is Chapter 96 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney, Leslie Marn, Leo, Dorian Folco, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin's Journal... and Getaway. San Francisco, 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. 93 "Logical"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/437756.html
Ch. 94 "Bird on the Wire"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/438195.html
Ch. 95 "Like a Rose"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/439245.html
By Gaedhal
Friday, February 20, 2004. Liberty Air, from L.A. to San Francisco.
We're on the plane on our way to San Francisco for the weekend. Business Class. I like the sound of First Class better, but it's Business Class. Brian is working on his laptop & so is Leslie, who is sitting on the other side of the aisle. I'm writing in this journal because I really need to catch up, since I haven't updated since Tuesday night.
When Brian told me that we were going to San Francisco I had a lot of reservations. He's just starting to get settled into his treatment &...
"Justin?"
"Huh?"
"Could you stop that for a minute?"
I close my journal and set down my pen. 'What's up, Brian?"
Brian looks very serious. It always worries me when he looks too serious. That means he's over-thinking things. I know Serious Brian is good sometimes, but not necessarily when you're going off for a supposedly fun weekend.
"Are you looking forward to this weekend?"
"Definitely," I say. "Are you going to show me all the hot spots in the Castro?"
Brian smiles. "Some of them. But we might need to take it a little easy. At least this trip."
"That's okay. I know you aren't feeling at your best. But you look good." And I mean that. He's gained a little weight and he's not constantly seesawing between puking and shitting.
"Suck up!"
"No, you do! You look great. You always look great. Even on your worst day, Brian, you're better than any other guy I know."
"You really must be in love with me if you think that, twat!" he snorts.
"I am. But you already know that."
"Yeah, I know it," he says, very serious again. "Listen, this weekend... it's going to be good, right?"
"I hope so," I say. Brian is working up to something, but I can't figure out what. "You tell me. You're the one who arranged it."
"Of course." He pauses. He seems nervous. But he's not sick. He hasn't been sick since after this treatment yesterday, and he didn't have one this morning, so...
"I'm looking forward to San Francisco. I should have gotten a guidebook, but everything happened so fast."
"I know," says Brian. "So fast. Maybe too fast."
"After your meeting this afternoon, we can rest up and then go out to dinner somewhere nice. Is Dorian staying overnight?"
Brian shakes his head. "No, he came up last night and he's leaving tonight. He has work to do on that Jude Law picture, 'Charisma,' if they're going to release it in the next few weeks. They want him to 'fix' the ending."
"How do you fix the ending of a movie that's already finished?"
Brian shrugs. "Fuck if I know. In the editing, I imagine, because Jude Law is back in England, filming something else now. Maybe he can do that with me in 'Red River' -- fix me in the editing."
Brian seems so insecure. It's not like him at all. I'll be happy when this cancer shit is over and he's back to his normal, arrogant self!
"I don't think anything will need to be fixed."
"Famous last words, Sunshine." He glances over at Leslie, who is watching us. She has a strange look on her face. Quizzical. But also knowing. It's odd. "I forgot what I was going to ask you." He drums his fingers on the closed lid of his Mac.
"It's the radiation. Short-term memory loss."
He glares. "I don't have fucking short-term memory loss! I wanted to ask you something."
"Ask away."
But he pauses again. I wish he'd get to the point. We're going to land soon and then it will be all about business until this evening.
"Justin," he begins again. "Where do you see yourself in five years? I mean, doing what? What's your plan? Your... dream?"
This is not at all what I was expecting him to say. I don't know what I was expecting, but not this.
I think of that first morning, when Brian dropped my off at school after fucking the life out of me. I asked when I could see him again and he said, "You can see me in your dreams." I've never forgotten that. I was never the same after that -- and I've never regretted it.
"My dream? I hope I'll be finished with school, once and for all. I'll have my BFA from CalArts. I'll be working on my art. Maybe I can get a job with one of the studios. Maybe doing art design. Or even animation. That used to be my big dream -- I wanted to be an animator. Like on 'Yellow Submarine.'"
"I remember you mentioning something like that."
I laugh. "Only about a million times! I always thought 'Rage' might make a neat animation project. But Michael and I need to get the comic book off the ground. Maybe now that Michael has some..." Oops! I don't think I was supposed to say anything about the Batman book.
"Relax," says Brian, much to my surprise. "I talked to Mikey and I know about the comic book. I hope he gets a shitload of money for it. But I also don't want him to blow it all on 'Rage.' I know he and Ben want to buy a house and all that crap. So I was thinking that I could bankroll the comic -- at least the first issue. Then we'll see if it sells. After that... you might not need my help."
I stare at Brian. "You can't do that! I thought you thought the comic book was kind of dumb."
"Of course I think it's dumb. Comic books are proof that Mikey is perpetually stuck at the age of 15. But it's also a way for you to get your art -- and your name -- out there. Apparently, comic books and superheroes are now, insanely enough, cool. Being connected with them isn't just for nerds and losers anymore. Besides, I have more cash than I know what to do with. It's burning a fucking hole in my pocket and if I don't spend it on something worthwhile, then I just may blow it on something stupid like buying Babylon."
That makes me laugh. "Yeah, you and the Sap!"
Brian rolls his eyes. "So why not invest it in my best friend and my... my partner?" He makes another face, like he's tasting the word. Then he repeats it. "My partner. That's where the money should go. If you two will stop dicking around and finish the damn thing, that is."
"Brian, I don't know what to say!"
"Say 'thank you' and then promise that you'll work with Michael to get this thing done. It's his fucking dream, after all."
"I know it is," I say. "And I promise that I'll help make it happen. No dicking around."
Brian nods to himself. "Good. Now... what the fuck is your dream? I mean, besides doing your art. That's a given because you're a fucking genius and nothing will stop you from drawing pictures of my dick."
"Every artist needs inspiration," I point out.
He snorts. "So how else do you see yourself? Seriously?"
That's easy. The easiest part of my dream. "I see myself happy. Living here in L.A. Living in the Pitts. Living in New York. Living in London."
Brian raises an eyebrow. "All those places? You're quite the little globetrotter."
"It's because I don't know where you'll be living," I reply. "Or where you'll be filming. Because that's where I'll be. So I'm letting you know that I don't really give a shit where I live as long as it's with you. That's where I've wanted to be since I was 17 -- with you. Everything else will fall into place."
Brian looks into my eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"
Sometimes Brian needs a lot of positive reinforcement. So I punch him on the arm. "What do you think? Jesus, Brian! Out of everything we've been through, all the shit we've endured, I would think you'd know that by now."
He closes his hand over mine on the armrest between our seats. "But things have changed... I've changed."
"Not really. You're still the same frustrating asshole you've always been. But that's why I love you. At least you're never boring."
"I'm always full of surprises," he says, looking away.
"Some good, some bad," I concede.
That's when Leslie, across the aisle, coughs. Brian frowns at her and she sighs and begins tapping at her laptop again.
"Listen, Justin, there's something else..."
But he's interrupted by the flight attendant -- all females on this particular run -- coming down the aisle, telling us to prepare for landing.
"Shit," Brian mumbles.
"Is everything all right, Mr. Kinney?" asks the attendant.
"No, everything's fine." He puts his laptop back in its case as I put my notebook in my messenger bag. "Thanks for a smooth flight."
"Thank you, Mr. Kinney," she says, beaming. "It was wonderful having you and your partner with us today."
The landing is always the most nerve-wracking part for me, but Brian, as usual, is unperturbed. The attendants hustle us off first. We just have carry-on bags, so we won't have to wonder if our suitcases made it with us to San Francisco. An eager man in a Liberty Air uniform is waiting to escort us to our car.
"Was everything to your liking, sir? Is there anything else I can get you?" This guy does everything but wag his tail.
"No, everything was fine. I told the flight attendant the same thing. Fine."
"Thank you for flying Liberty Air, Mr. Kinney! Have a nice day!"
"Jesus," says Brian when we're in the limo and on our way to the hotel. "Sometimes you just want people to leave you the fuck alone."
"But you're 'Brian Kinney -- Movie Star' and that's not going to change," I say.
"Never say never, Sunshine."
"Brian," says Leslie. "I have those... documents you wanted. Do you want me to print them out when we get to the hotel?"
"No, send them to my computer first. I need to look them over before the... meeting."
"Brian, I thought Dorian was handling all the business stuff?"
Brian bites his lip. "I'm not a potted plant here, twat. I have some fucking input."
"I didn't mean to suggest you didn't." And then I back off. I don't want to start our trip with an argument. The meeting is none of my business, but now that we're here in San Francisco it seems to be making Brian really jumpy. And when he gets nervous, his stomach starts to act up. And when that happens -- well, he'll be puking all weekend.
As we drive into the city Leslie points out all the landmarks. Tomorrow the driver is going to take us on a tour. I especially want to see the Castro and the Golden Gate Bridge and Haight-Ashbury. I like being a tourist.
"I brought my camera," I tell the driver, whose name is Leo. "I want to get some really great pictures of the Bridge."
"Oh, you'll see the Bridge," says Brian. "No fucking problem."
"That Bridge," Leo offers. "Did you know it's the number one suicide venue in the world?"
"A what venue?"
"Suicide venue," he replies. "People come from all over the world to jump off the Bridge. Sometimes they get five or so jumpers a week. A lot of 'em, they never find any trace of. Just a parked car or a pair of shoes next to the railing."
Okay! "Are you shitting me?"
"No, sir. It's a fun fact about the Bridge."
"And why don't you shut the fuck up!" barks Brian, his eyes blazing.
"Sorry, Mr. Kinney."
Leo doesn't give us any further fun facts, but I can tell Brian is pissed.
"Don't get mad. It's kind of funny."
"It's fucking sick. I'm going to ask for another driver tomorrow."
"Don't do that, Brian. It's gruesome, but it's also interesting. And we aren't planning to jump off the Bridge, so what's the damage?"
"At least not yet," says Brian. "But you might want to push me off before the weekend is through."
"I doubt that."
The hotel we're staying at is the Mandarin Oriental. And it's fucking amazing!
"I was wavering between the Mandarin and the Ritz-Carlton," says Brian as we're shown into our suite. "But I thought you'd enjoy the Mandarin more. It's got a younger, hipper vibe. We can stay at the Ritz when we're a couple of old homos -- like next year."
"Wow! Look at that view!" I can't tear myself away from the windows. There is the whole city, all laid out in front of us.
One of the assistant managers shows us where everything is. I follow him into the bathroom where there's a marble tub in front of a window -- and a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, shining red in the morning sun.
"Brian! You can sit in the tub and look at the Bridge!" I shout.
"I know," he says coming into the bathroom. "I told you that you'd see the Bridge. I knew you'd like that."
"Like it? I've never seen anything like this before!"
"If you're traveling with me, then I can see we'll have to travel First Class from now on. No more No Tell Motels. You can draw the Bridge while you're on the crapper."
"Mr. Kinney, the rest of your party checked in last night," says the manager. "They will meet you in the dining room at noon." He must mean Dorian.
"Thanks."
The guy leaves, taking Leslie to her room on a lower floor.
"Too bad Leslie can't stay in this suite with us."
Brian grimaces. "You want Leslie staying here? I thought this was going to be a Dirty Weekend."
"I guess not. I hope her room is nice."
Brian sweeps his arm in the direction of the window and the view of the Bay. "What do you think? Every room in this hotel is nice. Better than fucking nice, twat! Even if she doesn't have a marble tub."
"Too bad we couldn't bring Avi. And Carmel!"
"Now you're getting ridiculous."
Brian strips off his clothes and puts on one of the white robes provided by the hotel. Then he takes out his suit and calls the concierge to send someone up to press it.
"I can press that," I tell him.
"No you can't. That's why we're paying for First Class service. Take out your new suit. I want them to press that, too."
I take out the suit from one of Brian's favorite boutiques on Rodeo Drive. It's not exactly Armani, but it's pretty nice. He also insisted that I finally get a new tux to replace the one that got ruined last year when I was arrested. They're delivering that next week.
One of the concierges comes up to collect the suits and Brian sternly tells him that he wants them back at 11:45 -- no fucking later. "We're wearing them to lunch at noon, so don't be late or I'll have your balls."
"I understand, Mr. Kinney," says the guy, who is young and good-looking. But Brian doesn't even give him a second glance.
"I thought the suits were for dinner?"
Brian stares at me, frowning. "Oh, no. The meeting with the distribution guys is for lunch. So I want to look professional."
"And you want me to go, too?" That's weird. I didn't think I'd be going to the business meeting. "I was planning to lounge around in the tub and look at the Bridge."
Brian heads for the shower, even though he showered a few hours ago at home. "Don't you want to have a fancy lunch? I know you must be starving."
He's right about that. "Yeah, those peanuts on the plane didn't exactly fill me up."
"Then what's the problem?" Brian hangs up his robe and turns on the water. "You can soak in the tub tonight."
"Only if I can order champagne and strawberries. Or fake champagne. This hotel makes me feel very decadent."
"It's supposed to. You want to join me now?"
We both get in the shower. It feels great. It also feels like we're showering in public because of the huge windows. Of course, the only ones who could look in at us are seagulls, but it still feels very wrong. And very hot.
Brian washes me all over with some expensive soap that smells like oriental spices and then rubs me with a loofah. It's fucking heavenly and I'm not kidding! Then he gets on his knees and blows me, with the warm water cascading over us. It's like a porno flick, except better because we're in the middle of it.
"Oh, God!" I sigh as I shoot. "Yes!"
"If I'm God, then why am I the one on my knees?" Brian asks. Then he gets up. Slowly. "Shit. I'm getting old."
"I don't think so. You should hear my knees creaking sometimes."
"Liar." He wraps me in the fluffy white robe and then puts on his. "I've spent a lot of time in hotels. When I first started traveling for Marty Ryder's father I loved it -- the room service, the bellboys, the maids making your bed and bringing clean towels. I used to think I could spend my life living in hotels. But not anymore. It's fun, but I like home. I like my own stuff. My own space. Like the house." He pauses. "Like the loft. Sometimes I miss the loft."
"So do I," I admit. "But I love the house, too. I didn't think I'd ever think of Ron's house as my home, but that's what it feels like. Like we're making it ours."
"The final touch will be re-doing the office. Moving the last of Ron's shit into storage so I can make it mine. Unless..."
"Unless?"
"Unless you'd rather I sell the place and we move somewhere else."
That surprises me. I never thought of moving. "No. I love my studio. I'm comfortable there. And we're making new memories to replace any bad vibes."
Brian laughs. "Bad vibes? Now you sound like Diane!" We go into the bedroom and Brian sees the clock. "Shit! We have to get cracking! Those suits better be pressed."
And they are. The concierge has left them hanging on the bedroom door. My new suit fits perfectly -- Brian's tailor wouldn't do it any other way or Brian would have him killed. And Brian looks great too. Of course, he always looks great.
But then he surprises me again. He's staring beyond me. I see there's a full-length mirror on one wall of the bedroom. It reflects back and makes the whole room look huge. And he's looking at our reflections.
"You look beautiful," Brian says.
I blink. He's not one to hand out compliments, especially not to me. At least not to my face.
"I mean it," he says. "I don't say shit like that enough -- if I ever say it. But I feel it. I want you to know that -- and believe it."
"I believe it. And I've always known it, Brian. Don't be silly."
He bites his lip. "Listen, Justin..." Then he looks at the clock. "Fuck. We better go. Now."
The dining room is, like the entire hotel, Asian-themed. It's beautiful and the smell of the food is making my stomach growl. Brian loves Asian food, so I'm hoping he'll actually eat something.
"Brian! Over here!" Dorian stands up, smiling. And there's Diane next to him.
"I didn't know Diane was coming."
"Yeah," says Brian. "That's one thing I've been trying to tell you..." We walk up to the table. "See, there's something else..."
I see Dorian and Diane and Leslie. All grinning. All dressed up. But I don't see the movie people. Instead I see...
"Darling!" My mother throws her arms around me, practically strangling me. And Molly is here. She hugs me, too. "I'm so happy for you!"
"Mom!" I say, gaping at her. "What are you doing here?"
"We came in last night. Our room is so lovely!" she gushes. "Thank you for the flowers, Brian. Let me look at you two -- Oh, I think I'm going to cry!"
I look at Brian, who can't meet my eyes. Then at Dorian and Diane, who are beaming. And Leslie, who is shaking her head ruefully.
"I never thought I'd see the day!" Mom continues. She takes a wad of kleenex out of her bag and dabs her eyes. "But I'm so glad Molly and I could be here for your wedding!" And then she seriously bursts into tears.
I turn to Brian. His face is sheepish. I don't think I've ever before seen a sheepish Brian Kinney. It's freaky.
I grab his wrist and pull him away from the table.
"Brian," I say under my breath. "I think we need to talk. It's time."
That's all I'll say for now. It's up to you from here!
The Boys arrive in San Francisco... and Justin has a surprise waiting for him.
This is Chapter 96 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney, Leslie Marn, Leo, Dorian Folco, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin's Journal... and Getaway. San Francisco, 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. 93 "Logical"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/437756.html
Ch. 94 "Bird on the Wire"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/438195.html
Ch. 95 "Like a Rose"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/439245.html
By Gaedhal
Friday, February 20, 2004. Liberty Air, from L.A. to San Francisco.
We're on the plane on our way to San Francisco for the weekend. Business Class. I like the sound of First Class better, but it's Business Class. Brian is working on his laptop & so is Leslie, who is sitting on the other side of the aisle. I'm writing in this journal because I really need to catch up, since I haven't updated since Tuesday night.
When Brian told me that we were going to San Francisco I had a lot of reservations. He's just starting to get settled into his treatment &...
"Justin?"
"Huh?"
"Could you stop that for a minute?"
I close my journal and set down my pen. 'What's up, Brian?"
Brian looks very serious. It always worries me when he looks too serious. That means he's over-thinking things. I know Serious Brian is good sometimes, but not necessarily when you're going off for a supposedly fun weekend.
"Are you looking forward to this weekend?"
"Definitely," I say. "Are you going to show me all the hot spots in the Castro?"
Brian smiles. "Some of them. But we might need to take it a little easy. At least this trip."
"That's okay. I know you aren't feeling at your best. But you look good." And I mean that. He's gained a little weight and he's not constantly seesawing between puking and shitting.
"Suck up!"
"No, you do! You look great. You always look great. Even on your worst day, Brian, you're better than any other guy I know."
"You really must be in love with me if you think that, twat!" he snorts.
"I am. But you already know that."
"Yeah, I know it," he says, very serious again. "Listen, this weekend... it's going to be good, right?"
"I hope so," I say. Brian is working up to something, but I can't figure out what. "You tell me. You're the one who arranged it."
"Of course." He pauses. He seems nervous. But he's not sick. He hasn't been sick since after this treatment yesterday, and he didn't have one this morning, so...
"I'm looking forward to San Francisco. I should have gotten a guidebook, but everything happened so fast."
"I know," says Brian. "So fast. Maybe too fast."
"After your meeting this afternoon, we can rest up and then go out to dinner somewhere nice. Is Dorian staying overnight?"
Brian shakes his head. "No, he came up last night and he's leaving tonight. He has work to do on that Jude Law picture, 'Charisma,' if they're going to release it in the next few weeks. They want him to 'fix' the ending."
"How do you fix the ending of a movie that's already finished?"
Brian shrugs. "Fuck if I know. In the editing, I imagine, because Jude Law is back in England, filming something else now. Maybe he can do that with me in 'Red River' -- fix me in the editing."
Brian seems so insecure. It's not like him at all. I'll be happy when this cancer shit is over and he's back to his normal, arrogant self!
"I don't think anything will need to be fixed."
"Famous last words, Sunshine." He glances over at Leslie, who is watching us. She has a strange look on her face. Quizzical. But also knowing. It's odd. "I forgot what I was going to ask you." He drums his fingers on the closed lid of his Mac.
"It's the radiation. Short-term memory loss."
He glares. "I don't have fucking short-term memory loss! I wanted to ask you something."
"Ask away."
But he pauses again. I wish he'd get to the point. We're going to land soon and then it will be all about business until this evening.
"Justin," he begins again. "Where do you see yourself in five years? I mean, doing what? What's your plan? Your... dream?"
This is not at all what I was expecting him to say. I don't know what I was expecting, but not this.
I think of that first morning, when Brian dropped my off at school after fucking the life out of me. I asked when I could see him again and he said, "You can see me in your dreams." I've never forgotten that. I was never the same after that -- and I've never regretted it.
"My dream? I hope I'll be finished with school, once and for all. I'll have my BFA from CalArts. I'll be working on my art. Maybe I can get a job with one of the studios. Maybe doing art design. Or even animation. That used to be my big dream -- I wanted to be an animator. Like on 'Yellow Submarine.'"
"I remember you mentioning something like that."
I laugh. "Only about a million times! I always thought 'Rage' might make a neat animation project. But Michael and I need to get the comic book off the ground. Maybe now that Michael has some..." Oops! I don't think I was supposed to say anything about the Batman book.
"Relax," says Brian, much to my surprise. "I talked to Mikey and I know about the comic book. I hope he gets a shitload of money for it. But I also don't want him to blow it all on 'Rage.' I know he and Ben want to buy a house and all that crap. So I was thinking that I could bankroll the comic -- at least the first issue. Then we'll see if it sells. After that... you might not need my help."
I stare at Brian. "You can't do that! I thought you thought the comic book was kind of dumb."
"Of course I think it's dumb. Comic books are proof that Mikey is perpetually stuck at the age of 15. But it's also a way for you to get your art -- and your name -- out there. Apparently, comic books and superheroes are now, insanely enough, cool. Being connected with them isn't just for nerds and losers anymore. Besides, I have more cash than I know what to do with. It's burning a fucking hole in my pocket and if I don't spend it on something worthwhile, then I just may blow it on something stupid like buying Babylon."
That makes me laugh. "Yeah, you and the Sap!"
Brian rolls his eyes. "So why not invest it in my best friend and my... my partner?" He makes another face, like he's tasting the word. Then he repeats it. "My partner. That's where the money should go. If you two will stop dicking around and finish the damn thing, that is."
"Brian, I don't know what to say!"
"Say 'thank you' and then promise that you'll work with Michael to get this thing done. It's his fucking dream, after all."
"I know it is," I say. "And I promise that I'll help make it happen. No dicking around."
Brian nods to himself. "Good. Now... what the fuck is your dream? I mean, besides doing your art. That's a given because you're a fucking genius and nothing will stop you from drawing pictures of my dick."
"Every artist needs inspiration," I point out.
He snorts. "So how else do you see yourself? Seriously?"
That's easy. The easiest part of my dream. "I see myself happy. Living here in L.A. Living in the Pitts. Living in New York. Living in London."
Brian raises an eyebrow. "All those places? You're quite the little globetrotter."
"It's because I don't know where you'll be living," I reply. "Or where you'll be filming. Because that's where I'll be. So I'm letting you know that I don't really give a shit where I live as long as it's with you. That's where I've wanted to be since I was 17 -- with you. Everything else will fall into place."
Brian looks into my eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"
Sometimes Brian needs a lot of positive reinforcement. So I punch him on the arm. "What do you think? Jesus, Brian! Out of everything we've been through, all the shit we've endured, I would think you'd know that by now."
He closes his hand over mine on the armrest between our seats. "But things have changed... I've changed."
"Not really. You're still the same frustrating asshole you've always been. But that's why I love you. At least you're never boring."
"I'm always full of surprises," he says, looking away.
"Some good, some bad," I concede.
That's when Leslie, across the aisle, coughs. Brian frowns at her and she sighs and begins tapping at her laptop again.
"Listen, Justin, there's something else..."
But he's interrupted by the flight attendant -- all females on this particular run -- coming down the aisle, telling us to prepare for landing.
"Shit," Brian mumbles.
"Is everything all right, Mr. Kinney?" asks the attendant.
"No, everything's fine." He puts his laptop back in its case as I put my notebook in my messenger bag. "Thanks for a smooth flight."
"Thank you, Mr. Kinney," she says, beaming. "It was wonderful having you and your partner with us today."
The landing is always the most nerve-wracking part for me, but Brian, as usual, is unperturbed. The attendants hustle us off first. We just have carry-on bags, so we won't have to wonder if our suitcases made it with us to San Francisco. An eager man in a Liberty Air uniform is waiting to escort us to our car.
"Was everything to your liking, sir? Is there anything else I can get you?" This guy does everything but wag his tail.
"No, everything was fine. I told the flight attendant the same thing. Fine."
"Thank you for flying Liberty Air, Mr. Kinney! Have a nice day!"
"Jesus," says Brian when we're in the limo and on our way to the hotel. "Sometimes you just want people to leave you the fuck alone."
"But you're 'Brian Kinney -- Movie Star' and that's not going to change," I say.
"Never say never, Sunshine."
"Brian," says Leslie. "I have those... documents you wanted. Do you want me to print them out when we get to the hotel?"
"No, send them to my computer first. I need to look them over before the... meeting."
"Brian, I thought Dorian was handling all the business stuff?"
Brian bites his lip. "I'm not a potted plant here, twat. I have some fucking input."
"I didn't mean to suggest you didn't." And then I back off. I don't want to start our trip with an argument. The meeting is none of my business, but now that we're here in San Francisco it seems to be making Brian really jumpy. And when he gets nervous, his stomach starts to act up. And when that happens -- well, he'll be puking all weekend.
As we drive into the city Leslie points out all the landmarks. Tomorrow the driver is going to take us on a tour. I especially want to see the Castro and the Golden Gate Bridge and Haight-Ashbury. I like being a tourist.
"I brought my camera," I tell the driver, whose name is Leo. "I want to get some really great pictures of the Bridge."
"Oh, you'll see the Bridge," says Brian. "No fucking problem."
"That Bridge," Leo offers. "Did you know it's the number one suicide venue in the world?"
"A what venue?"
"Suicide venue," he replies. "People come from all over the world to jump off the Bridge. Sometimes they get five or so jumpers a week. A lot of 'em, they never find any trace of. Just a parked car or a pair of shoes next to the railing."
Okay! "Are you shitting me?"
"No, sir. It's a fun fact about the Bridge."
"And why don't you shut the fuck up!" barks Brian, his eyes blazing.
"Sorry, Mr. Kinney."
Leo doesn't give us any further fun facts, but I can tell Brian is pissed.
"Don't get mad. It's kind of funny."
"It's fucking sick. I'm going to ask for another driver tomorrow."
"Don't do that, Brian. It's gruesome, but it's also interesting. And we aren't planning to jump off the Bridge, so what's the damage?"
"At least not yet," says Brian. "But you might want to push me off before the weekend is through."
"I doubt that."
The hotel we're staying at is the Mandarin Oriental. And it's fucking amazing!
"I was wavering between the Mandarin and the Ritz-Carlton," says Brian as we're shown into our suite. "But I thought you'd enjoy the Mandarin more. It's got a younger, hipper vibe. We can stay at the Ritz when we're a couple of old homos -- like next year."
"Wow! Look at that view!" I can't tear myself away from the windows. There is the whole city, all laid out in front of us.
One of the assistant managers shows us where everything is. I follow him into the bathroom where there's a marble tub in front of a window -- and a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, shining red in the morning sun.
"Brian! You can sit in the tub and look at the Bridge!" I shout.
"I know," he says coming into the bathroom. "I told you that you'd see the Bridge. I knew you'd like that."
"Like it? I've never seen anything like this before!"
"If you're traveling with me, then I can see we'll have to travel First Class from now on. No more No Tell Motels. You can draw the Bridge while you're on the crapper."
"Mr. Kinney, the rest of your party checked in last night," says the manager. "They will meet you in the dining room at noon." He must mean Dorian.
"Thanks."
The guy leaves, taking Leslie to her room on a lower floor.
"Too bad Leslie can't stay in this suite with us."
Brian grimaces. "You want Leslie staying here? I thought this was going to be a Dirty Weekend."
"I guess not. I hope her room is nice."
Brian sweeps his arm in the direction of the window and the view of the Bay. "What do you think? Every room in this hotel is nice. Better than fucking nice, twat! Even if she doesn't have a marble tub."
"Too bad we couldn't bring Avi. And Carmel!"
"Now you're getting ridiculous."
Brian strips off his clothes and puts on one of the white robes provided by the hotel. Then he takes out his suit and calls the concierge to send someone up to press it.
"I can press that," I tell him.
"No you can't. That's why we're paying for First Class service. Take out your new suit. I want them to press that, too."
I take out the suit from one of Brian's favorite boutiques on Rodeo Drive. It's not exactly Armani, but it's pretty nice. He also insisted that I finally get a new tux to replace the one that got ruined last year when I was arrested. They're delivering that next week.
One of the concierges comes up to collect the suits and Brian sternly tells him that he wants them back at 11:45 -- no fucking later. "We're wearing them to lunch at noon, so don't be late or I'll have your balls."
"I understand, Mr. Kinney," says the guy, who is young and good-looking. But Brian doesn't even give him a second glance.
"I thought the suits were for dinner?"
Brian stares at me, frowning. "Oh, no. The meeting with the distribution guys is for lunch. So I want to look professional."
"And you want me to go, too?" That's weird. I didn't think I'd be going to the business meeting. "I was planning to lounge around in the tub and look at the Bridge."
Brian heads for the shower, even though he showered a few hours ago at home. "Don't you want to have a fancy lunch? I know you must be starving."
He's right about that. "Yeah, those peanuts on the plane didn't exactly fill me up."
"Then what's the problem?" Brian hangs up his robe and turns on the water. "You can soak in the tub tonight."
"Only if I can order champagne and strawberries. Or fake champagne. This hotel makes me feel very decadent."
"It's supposed to. You want to join me now?"
We both get in the shower. It feels great. It also feels like we're showering in public because of the huge windows. Of course, the only ones who could look in at us are seagulls, but it still feels very wrong. And very hot.
Brian washes me all over with some expensive soap that smells like oriental spices and then rubs me with a loofah. It's fucking heavenly and I'm not kidding! Then he gets on his knees and blows me, with the warm water cascading over us. It's like a porno flick, except better because we're in the middle of it.
"Oh, God!" I sigh as I shoot. "Yes!"
"If I'm God, then why am I the one on my knees?" Brian asks. Then he gets up. Slowly. "Shit. I'm getting old."
"I don't think so. You should hear my knees creaking sometimes."
"Liar." He wraps me in the fluffy white robe and then puts on his. "I've spent a lot of time in hotels. When I first started traveling for Marty Ryder's father I loved it -- the room service, the bellboys, the maids making your bed and bringing clean towels. I used to think I could spend my life living in hotels. But not anymore. It's fun, but I like home. I like my own stuff. My own space. Like the house." He pauses. "Like the loft. Sometimes I miss the loft."
"So do I," I admit. "But I love the house, too. I didn't think I'd ever think of Ron's house as my home, but that's what it feels like. Like we're making it ours."
"The final touch will be re-doing the office. Moving the last of Ron's shit into storage so I can make it mine. Unless..."
"Unless?"
"Unless you'd rather I sell the place and we move somewhere else."
That surprises me. I never thought of moving. "No. I love my studio. I'm comfortable there. And we're making new memories to replace any bad vibes."
Brian laughs. "Bad vibes? Now you sound like Diane!" We go into the bedroom and Brian sees the clock. "Shit! We have to get cracking! Those suits better be pressed."
And they are. The concierge has left them hanging on the bedroom door. My new suit fits perfectly -- Brian's tailor wouldn't do it any other way or Brian would have him killed. And Brian looks great too. Of course, he always looks great.
But then he surprises me again. He's staring beyond me. I see there's a full-length mirror on one wall of the bedroom. It reflects back and makes the whole room look huge. And he's looking at our reflections.
"You look beautiful," Brian says.
I blink. He's not one to hand out compliments, especially not to me. At least not to my face.
"I mean it," he says. "I don't say shit like that enough -- if I ever say it. But I feel it. I want you to know that -- and believe it."
"I believe it. And I've always known it, Brian. Don't be silly."
He bites his lip. "Listen, Justin..." Then he looks at the clock. "Fuck. We better go. Now."
The dining room is, like the entire hotel, Asian-themed. It's beautiful and the smell of the food is making my stomach growl. Brian loves Asian food, so I'm hoping he'll actually eat something.
"Brian! Over here!" Dorian stands up, smiling. And there's Diane next to him.
"I didn't know Diane was coming."
"Yeah," says Brian. "That's one thing I've been trying to tell you..." We walk up to the table. "See, there's something else..."
I see Dorian and Diane and Leslie. All grinning. All dressed up. But I don't see the movie people. Instead I see...
"Darling!" My mother throws her arms around me, practically strangling me. And Molly is here. She hugs me, too. "I'm so happy for you!"
"Mom!" I say, gaping at her. "What are you doing here?"
"We came in last night. Our room is so lovely!" she gushes. "Thank you for the flowers, Brian. Let me look at you two -- Oh, I think I'm going to cry!"
I look at Brian, who can't meet my eyes. Then at Dorian and Diane, who are beaming. And Leslie, who is shaking her head ruefully.
"I never thought I'd see the day!" Mom continues. She takes a wad of kleenex out of her bag and dabs her eyes. "But I'm so glad Molly and I could be here for your wedding!" And then she seriously bursts into tears.
I turn to Brian. His face is sheepish. I don't think I've ever before seen a sheepish Brian Kinney. It's freaky.
I grab his wrist and pull him away from the table.
"Brian," I say under my breath. "I think we need to talk. It's time."