At Mel and Linz’s, Mel in a maternity top and sweat pants listened to Linz in her chic work attire as Linz icily waved a stack of legal papers.

“I thought you went part-time to lighten up your load.”

“We never said anything about bringing work HOME.  And I told you I can handle it.”

The doorbell rang.  Linz slapped the papers on Mel’s desk.  “Maybe you can handle the door, too.  I’m going to check on Gus,” she turned and stomped up the stairs.

Mel peeked through the door curtain, tensed her jaw and opened the door.  “Brian.  Nice of you to call before you came.”

“Trouble on the Isle of Lesbos?” he stepped inside, shut the door.

“So how’s JOB hunting?” she speared back with a sharp smile.

“Point taken,” Brian faked a stab wound; Mel relaxed to a mere on guard.

“If you came to see Gus, he’s upstairs with Linz.”

“Actually, I came to see YOU.”

Mel’s brows furrowed.  “What for?” she motioned him to the couch then crossed her arms over her chest and kept the look-down-on-you power stand.

Keep your power.  I’m not here to play, Brian sat down. “I need a partnership contract.”

“For what?  S Corp?  Company deal?” she shook her head.

Linz stopped on the top step.  Her smile widened on hearing Brian, but business talk halted her descent.

“The same type of agreement you and Linz have.”

“For whom?”

“I want this kept confidential,” Brian shifted uncomfortably, “Justin and me.”

“Uh...what?” Mel eased into a chair, mouth open.

Linz prayer-folded her hands to her mouth to hold an ecstatic shout.

Brian leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees.  “I might be starting a new job next week and I need it to cover Justin under the health plan.”

Mel’s eyes narrowed and she leaned back.  “Health plan.  Sounds like you reeeeally thought this out,” she leaned forward perturbed.  “Is this a joke?  Do you have any idea what you’re asking?  It’s the closest thing there is to a MARRIAGE contract!”

“Can we not use that word,” Brian flinched.

Linz’s face hardened at Mel’s tone and she forced herself to sit on a step and silently tap a foot rather than barrel into the conversation.

Brian refused to defend or explain.  “Will you do it or not?”

“It would make you equal partners in all you own, meaning if something should happen to one of you, the other has full legal right to the estate.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you also understand that there’s full legal responsibility?” Mel lasered Brian’s eyes.  “Have you discussed this with Justin?”

“Not yet.”

“Well you’d better do that first.  If he signs that contract and something happens to YOU, he’s a nineteen-year-old kid starting life a hundred thousand dollars in debt.  That would be one fucking gem of a wedding present.”

Another flinch.  Then Brian straightened, “Half of it’s paid down.” 

“Oh,” Mel flipped a hand, “THAT news hasn’t gotten around yet.”

“The chance of my early demise is a lot less than the chance that he might need a first-rate doctor, not some student intern,” then quickly added, “Down the road.”

Caught Mel’s attention.  “Is something wrong with Justin?”

“Not that I know,” Brian lazed back with a smile.  “But the Diner only carries liability, and he works with his hands all day.   If you were an artist what would your hands be worth to YOU?”

“Let me think about it,” Mel fingered her chin, kept a steady eye on Brian.

Linz bolted up, hiked downstairs.  “Brian!”

“Linz!” Brian mimicked, stood up, “How’s Gus?”

“He’s up in the playroom.  Why don’t you…go up and say hello?”

“Just watch your mouth,” Mel added.  “He’s getting to be like a parrot.”

“How will you know if he got it from me or you?” Brian arched a brow at Mel’s sneer and strolled to the stairs.

Linz held her smile until Brian was out of sight then turned a frown on Mel, kept her voice low,  “How could you refuse to do it?  All he asked for-”

“You heard that?  I will NOT be a party to insurance fraud,” Mel jabbed a finger at Linz, softened, “And I take our contract too seriously to turn it into some frivolous Kinney whim.”

“I don’t think it’s a whim.”

Mel stared back waiting for a hint of doubt, but Linz’s eyes stayed firm.

Upstairs, Brian stretched on his side on the floor, alongside the bright-eyed boy who was kneeling and handing him toy cars.

“DIS one,” Gus handed over a car.

Brian accepted it with a smile, watched the light play off the plastic as he moved his hand.  “Corvette.  You have good taste.”

“Go-BET!”

“You know, Sonny Boy?” he watched the toddler who was engrossed with deciding on the next show-and-tell.  “They say that life is a circle.  If you’re lucky, you’ll break out of it and not end up like me,” he stared off darkly, “Because…for all I did to break out…I’m still about to become my FUCKing Dad.”

“Fuck!”

Brian snapped up, glanced at the empty doorway, quickly grabbed a  “Truck.  See this?  TRUCK.”

“TUCK!” Gus beamed.

“Close enough.  Remember that,” Brian handed the truck to Gus.  Then his cell phone rang.

Mel followed Linz up the stairs, whispered, “Confidential.  Don’t mention anything.”

“Thanks for…you know,” Linz smiled at the top of the stairs, walked into the playroom and almost bumped into Brian.

He grabbed her shoulders and gently moved her aside.  “I have to run.  Something came up,” and he skirted past Mel without a word.

“Doesn’t it always,” Mel snarked low.

“I wonder what THAT was about,” Linz called from her crouch beside Gus, smiled at the baby, “Did you have fun with your Daddy?”

“Du-tin in…in…ail,” Gus looked up with a serious frown.

“Oh honey,” Linz chuckled.  “No.  Yale would’ve been nice, but Justin’s in PIFA.”

“Go-BET,” Gus proudly displayed the Corvette to his smiling Moms.  And since THAT went over so well… “Fuck!”

Linz’s smile froze.  Mel turned away with a low, “That goddamned Brian.”

Leaving the Police Station, Justin looked back at Brian and gruffed, “Conventional as it seems, MOST people keep the owner’s card in the glove compartment.”

“I’ll remind Mikey.  We UNconventional types keep a copy in our wallets,” Brian hung an arm on Justin’s shoulder, saw Justin eye cops ahead and leaned close.  “Unless you want to become the next Bird Man of Alcatraz, don’t stick your tongue out unless I’m in front of it.”

Justin side-glanced with a smile, slapped Brian’s arm and reflected on the many times they somehow kept each other grounded.

Brian stopped at Scott’s truck, caught Justin flexing his right hand. “We can leave the car until later,”

“I can drive,” Justin retorted, “It’s stress from Stockwell’s Ambush Squad out to get us.  Who the fuck ever heard of detaining somebody for an owner’s card.”

Brian handed Justin the Vette key.  “You don’t call a nineteen-year-old waiter in somebody else’s thirty thousand dollar car loaded with new computers suspicious?”

“But I wasn’t doing anything WRONG.”

Brian scanned for an all clear then spoke low.  “All we have to do is LOOK wrong...be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  We can’t give them that.”

Justin did an emphatic nod.  More insight into Brian’s side of the bathhouse deal.

Outside the Loft building, Justin stacked four boxes on the sidewalk beside the parked Vette, watched Brian swing out of the truck behind it.

“Can you grab those?” Justin motioned with a nod, picked up his two.

“What IS all this?” Brian grunted as he lifted the other two boxes.

“I’m doing what you said,” Justin set his boxes down and opened the door,  “Furthering my art.”  He lifted his two, backed the door open and held it for Brian.  “This way we can both work without time share.”

“From the looks of it,” Brian spotted the Pentium Four logo, “I’ll be stealing time on YOUR system.”  He set his load in front of the elevator, raised the gate, leg-shoved the boxes in.

“Graphics programs use a lot of power,” Justin joined Brian, set his boxes on top.  “It’ll take some time to learn, but I’ve got a project that’s worth it.”

Brian circled his arms around Justin. “What’s that old saying…nothing worthwhile ever comes easy?”

Tell me about it, Justin leaned his head back with raised brows, blinked at Brian, got a brief kiss.

After checking on Scott, Brian stepped down from the bedroom to the front window where Justin was deciding how to set up his system. “He’s out of it.”  Brian glanced at a digital clock.  Four PM.  “I have to go see a man about a job.”

“Brian,” Justin gleamed.  Faded at Brian’s flat look.

“It’s not a sure thing, but it’s worth checking out.  Will you be okay for awhile?” Brian side-shot the bedroom.

“I have to be at work soon anyway,” Justin shrugged, got Brian’s nod.  He expected Brian to don some Prada, but Brian headed for the door as was.  “You’re going like THAT?”

Brian surveyed his jeans and dark tee shirt, “I don’t want to overdress for this one. I’ll let you know how it goes,” he cast a dim smile and hurried out.

Justin listened to the closing door.  Something wasn’t right.  He glanced at his watch, at the bedroom, breathed out a decision that Scott’s presence wouldn’t keep him from a shower and fresh clothes.

Justin crept to his drawer, looked at Scott’s closed eyes, bare torso and stretched right arm.  He leaned closer to check the arm for signs of leakage or swelling, startled when Scott moved.

“If you REALLY want to help me out-”

“I could tell you how to get to the Baths from here,” Justin coolly finished, opened a drawer, fished for a shirt.

“Now is that any way to thank me for Brian’s interview?”

“You…” Justin halted with a glow that quickly died.  “I don’t whore myself out as gratitude,” he grumbled, went into the bathroom.

Scott followed, leaned his naked body with his right arm in the doorframe so Justin couldn’t slam the door.  “Jobs are hard to come by.  It’s a buyers’ market and most do background checks.  Why do you think he’s having such a hard time getting notice?”

“Because he’s too good for them,” Justin got in Scott’s face before realizing how close.

“Because he’s a middle-aged high-priced white-collar with a sordid past and no references,” Scott straight-faced.

“I can’t believe you’re friends,” Justin hissed.

“I don’t whitewash with him,” Scott countered, “Did he tell you Vangard’s contesting his unemployment?”

Justin’s eyes widened.  “No.”

“I thought you boys shared everything.  Sorry I blew that,” Scott looked off with mock sincerity.  “He’ll lose, and he knows it.  Next step is bankruptcy, and you know what THAT does to a credit record,” he watched Justin’s eyes narrow.  “If you don’t believe me, the hearing notice is beside a stack of applications on the desk.”

“He’s got a deal lined up,” Justin raised his chin.

“It’s not firm and he’s out of time.  I can fix him up with a phone call.”

“Then DO it.”

“Maybe after a shower.  You COULD let me wash your back…” Scott cocked a brow.

Justin swallowed, remembered Brian’s warning and decided not to pull a Kip.  He stood firm, eyes steady.  “Do what you want, Scott.  I’m not part of your deal.  If you want to know the truth, yeah.  I know a great body when I see one, but I like a lot more connected to it.  If you can’t help him as a friend, or tell the cops what you saw at Adonis, as far as I’m concerned all you are is…” Justin glanced at his cock, his face “…a big dick.”  He flung his shirt on the sink, “Now move aside.  I’m already late for work.”

Scott blocked him with an outstretched left arm and met defiant eyes.  “I would’ve made the call anyway.”

Justin studied Scott’s face, saw his arm drop to let him pass and cooled down.  “Thanks,” he said low and walked out, not sure what just happened.

Scott leaned back on the doorframe, watched Justin turn from view.  He’d just been ego-bashed, snubbed and left with a hard cock getting hotter.  Over an intriguing bold young man who painted, knew a great body when he saw one, and was about to be spending some long nights alone.

Scott reached down and picked up the bedside cordless.

Brian read the Turner Lumber Office sign on the mobile home door, checked the number 1600 then walked into Dave Turner’s office.  He froze open-mouthed before he even noticed Dave at the desk.  Hanging on the wall behind him was Justin’s abstract twat painting.

“Mr. Kinney.  Dave Turner, Scotty’s brother?  Have a seat.” 

Brian pulled up a chair, scouted Dave – a darker version of Scott, paunchier with a more passive manner.  Obviously the Kid who tagged along behind his more aggressive older brother.   Then he eyed Justin’s work again. 

Dave glanced over a shoulder and back with a proud grin.  “Like that?  The boys pitched in and got it for my birthday.  They wanted to add some class to my office, and thought it said a lot about me.  Truth is…” he leaned forward and spoke low, “…I don’t understand it.  Maybe YOU do.  I mean,” Dave lifted Brian’s faxed application and quirked a brow, “You were in advertising.”

Brian cocked his head, “I honestly can’t tell you.”  But I think I’m getting the picture.

Dave turned serious.  “Scotty had some good words to say, but this is no glitz job.  Think you can handle it?”

“I applied for the job, not the glitz.  And, yeah, I’d done this kind of work before.”  Back in my ignorant youth.  “It kept me in beer money and out of the house.”

“You’ll fit right in,” Dave smiled, reached a hand across his desk.

Sounds like a swell bunch.  Brian shook that hand firmly. “I take it I’m hired?”

“There’s a little matter of a physical and some paperwork, but I don’t think you’ll have a problem.  Let’s take a walk over to the main building so you can get a look at our operation.”

Brian nodded, stood up and followed Dave out to…

…the center of Hell.  Brian panned the huge warehouse with its fifteen giant overhead doors, racks of lumber, forklifts and tractors.  And a dozen workmen in filthy, sweat-marked jeans and shirts.  Blue collar at its finest. 

Dave shouted over the din of beeps, whirs and clacks of lumber being piled.  “We’re non-union.  You have to buy your own shoes, gloves and earplugs.  Come on,” Dave waved him over to a door below a stairway

Brian’s gaze followed the stairs up to a catwalk in front of two open dark doorways and windows.  “What’s up there?”

“Those?” Dave pointed up, “They used to be my offices, but the noise and dirt got to be too much.  Just a couple empty rooms.”

Brian nodded.  Noise and dirt.  Lovely.  He trailed Dave into a large room with two long tables decked in used cups, paper plates and plastic ware.  A couple bombed-out couches were strewn with cycle and girlie mags.

Dave closed the door, muffling the noise.  “This is the break room.  Full kitchen,” Dave waved to a refrigerator, stove and sink in matching grime.  “The men cook in, but once in awhile they barbecue out back unless the flies get too bad.”

Brian made a mental note.  Bring lunch. “What about the work?”

“Uh…soon as we make the formal offer, you can meet the Foreman, and he’ll fill you in,” Dave headed back to the door.

Brian hesitated before following.  You don’t know what goes on, do you?  At least now I get the painting.

Brian follows Dave out, takes a last look at the dock and its surreal rhythm.

Song: “Music Play (Satoshi Tomiie) ” by DJ Nukem

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