The Loft bathroom.  Private and occupied.  In cargo pants and sweater, Justin slouched on the closed commode, legs stretched and ankles crossed, cell to his ear.  He exhaled a breath, bare foot tapping air while he waited for an answer.

“Hi Linz!  Mel around?  Good.  Everything’s on for next Saturday.  No, he’s not in intensive,” Justin rolled his eyes then hunched forward and braced his arms on drawn-up knees.  “I have this idea…so Mel won’t suspect anything,” he bit his lip, “Bring Gus along and tell her…Brian wanted to see him,” he sank his head into a hand, raked his hair, “That way you won’t need a sitter, and Dusty can come, too.”  Closed his eyes.  Not cheating if everybody wins.

Brian, shirtless in unbuttoned jeans and scarecrow hair twisted the bathroom doorknob.  Locked?  “POLICE!  OPEN UP!”

The toilet flushed, the door whipped open and Justin’s wide eyes narrowed at Brian’s grin.  “That is SO not funny,” with a tart smile and relief over Brian’s recovery.

“Neither is locking me out of the bathroom,” Brian crabbed past him.

“What did you expect to do?  Sit in my lap?”

“You could’ve slid back a little and spread your legs,” Brian kicked up the toilet seat as Justin groaned and turned to leave.  “And your Mommy’s on the business line,” he fished out his cock, locked eyes on Justin’s swivel back.  “She said she tried your cell but it was busy.”

Justin spun away, “Probably hit a wrong number.” Close one.

Brian eyed him a moment, raised a brow then finished what he started.  After a rough night on a sleeper, things were bound to seem more out of whack than they already were.  Yet…fuck.  I’ll connect the dots later if needed.

Justin leaned against Brian’s desk and picked up the loose receiver, touched the blinking hold button.  “Hi, Mom,” he bowed his head with a soft smile, “Thanks,” and twirled the cord on a finger while listening to her over Brian’s running shower.  “I’d LIKE to, but…I’ve got plans.  I can come by tomorrow though.  Just…don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”  The shower stopped, hairdryer started. “Gotta go, Mom.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  Me, too. Bye.”  He hung up, watched Brian saunter to the closet, pick a casual image and get into it.  Did he look different today?  Did ANYTHING look different.

Ready to go out, Brian stopped in the bedroom doorway when he saw Justin standing pensive at the front window.  A melancholy pose of leaving something behind.  Brian trailed quietly over, eased his arms around Justin’s waist and kissed the back of his head.

Justin crossed his arms over Brian’s.  “It all still looks the same.”

“Wait until you hit thirty.”

Justin smiled, turned in Brian’s hold, circled his arms around Brian’s waist and stared into his eyes. I didn’t expect you to remember, and it’s enough to know that you did. “I don’t expect anything else.” 

“Then we’ll just play it by ear,” Brian leaned into the kiss with delayed motion.  To make it long and special without precursing a hotter agenda.  This one isn’t about sex, Justin.  It’s…well…fuck it.  I’ll trust that you’ll get the idea.  Not what I planned, but then… neither were YOU…so I won’t bitch.

At Novotny’s, Vic answered the front door to Jennifer in stretch pants, loose shirt and big shoulder bag.  “Jennifer!  Come on in.”

“I brought that Lake Club cookbook we talked about,” she stepped inside and pulled a small book from the bag, head swiveling from thumps upstairs to pot-bangs in the kitchen.  “Hope I didn’t come at a bad -”

“That’s just Emmett,” Vic took the book, glanced at the kitchen, “Our oven died so we’re improvising.  And that?” Vic rolled his eyes to the noisy ceiling, thought a second and smiled.  “Actually, you came at a great time.  We started redoing Michael’s room and Sis could use some moral support.  If you’re interested, she’s upstairs.”

Jennifer warmed.  “She was always there for Justin and me.”  And she rushed up the steps, leaving Vic pleased with his suggestion.

Debbie stood in Michael’s doorway, face ready to burst as two Bears with heat machines and scrapers stripped away sheets of memories.  Furniture gone.  A barren window where Super Heroes once hung.  She twisted back when she heard Jennifer’s “Debbie?”

“Jennifer,” she smiled, quick-wiped a tear.  “By next week, this will be…” she choked off and swerved back to the room.

“Are you all right?” Jennifer edged close, dug a tissue from her purse and held it out.

“Of course I am,” Debbie toughened, snatched the tissue, perused Jennifer’s doubting gaze then dropped the guise and dabbed an eye.  “No I’m not.”  She turned back despite the torture, felt Jennifer’s hands rub her arms.  “It was like he was still here…even when he wasn’t.  Now he’s grown…and this Partnership Agreement with Ben…”

Jennifer froze.  Eyelids fluttered.  “Wha…what?” she touched her forehead.  Think.  Justin didn’t say contract.  He’d said partnership agreement.

Watching the Bears, Debbie answered, “It’s like a gay marriage agree -”

“That’s…wonderful,” Jennifer eeked out, grabbed the tissue from Deb’s hand covered her mouth, imploded with eyes welling.  With BRIAN?

Debbie turned at the squeak in Jennifer’s voice and was engulfed by a hug as Jennifer’s tears broke from her distraught face over Deb’s shoulder.  “Thank you, Honey,” Debbie squeezed.  This is one SHIT of a joyful reaction.  You’re right.  I should be happy.

“I…have to go now,” Jennifer backed off dabbing, smile taut and strained.

Vic, standing in the living room and flipping through the cookbook, snapped a look at the two women sweeping to the door where they stopped and hugged again, Jennifer in tears and sniffling an “Everything will be okay,” before she finally left.

“What was THAT all about?” he joined Debbie at the front window, watched Jennifer in her car and dabbing more tissue at her eyes.

“She’s happy for Ben and Michael.”

“It’s not in stone yet,” Vic cautioned, but Deb ignored him – mind made up.

Emmett in a hairnet and apron leaned out the kitchen doorway.  “Vic, Sweetie?  We have to hurry.  Can’t keep those pigs waiting.”  And he ducked away.

“Yes, Dear,” Vic shook his head, saw Debbie’s flabbergasted look.  “The FOOD, not the clients,” then flipped a brow out the window, “Thank god it’s not JUSTIN or she’d be…”

“…total chaos,” Justin panned the passing suburban strip malls as the Corvette crept along the right lane - Brian watching signs.  “What’re we doing here?  I thought you HATED shopping on Saturday.”

 “I sold the Vette,” Brian’s palm skimmed the steering wheel in reluctant goodbye.  “The costs were too high so I got a good deal on a previously owned Honda.”

“You fucked a repo man?”

“Not THAT kind of business deal,” Brian feather-punched Justin’s thigh.  “With the profit…minus fucking State tax…I’ll get more of THIS paid down,” he lifted three envelopes off the dash and tossed them back.  “In fact,” he craned a look past Justin out the passenger window, “That’s it.”

Brian turned at a Midnight Auto sign, parked beside a black car in front of the main showroom and rummaged through the glove compartment for the title.  Before he was out and around the Vette, Justin was outside standing and staring at the Honda.  “A four-door?”  Not very Brian.  Except for the color.

“It’ll be easier to haul artwork…drop off unwanted company…and when the rear seat folds down there’s plenty of leg room in the trunk.”

Justin did an emphatic nod.  “You gave up your dream car.  Glad to know it wasn’t without serious thought.”

“Always,” Brian raised that enigmatic grin, swung the key around a finger and turned toward the main door.

Justin joined him at the front bumper, noticed the envelopes in the windshield. “How Freudian.  Aren’t you forgetting something?” he stopped and motioned.  Saw Brian raise his brows.  “I didn’t say ANYTHING about age,” Justin blinked innocent brat.

“Careful,” Brian warned as he walked back, “You’re getting up there, too,” looked down and paused.  Visible through the windshield beneath the city sticker, the second letter’s Vanguard Agency logo and return address.  Catching himself, Brian opened the door, retrieved the envelopes, shut the door for the last time and folded the mail into his jeans pocket on his stroll to rejoin Justin.  Fuck business shit today.

Justin was preoccupied with activity near a Banquet Hall at the end of the strip.  “Some really weird people just went into that Hall.”

“Suburban breeders,” Brian noted a lone smoker then palmed Justin’s shoulder and guided him to the door.

Inside the Banquet Hall …

Not the average wedding.  Soft sounds of lutes.  Tables of whole roasted pigs. Emmett swept his eyes around his successful Court of King Arthur, guests in garb from serfs to knights in full armor, medieval ladies right out of Arts & Artifacts catalogue.  More goblets and swords than he ever saw at Woody’s or the Baths.

His musing was shorted by an arm grab from an ecstatic matron MiLady in Greensleeve elegance, her gray-haired Sir Lancelot in ninety pounds of custom made metal beside her.

“Mr. Hunnicut?  Methinks thou hast assembled an event most worthy.”

He glanced around, modestly swished a hand, “Not much work at all, considering everybody actually OWNS all this,” off low, “…hard as it is to believe.”

“Well, the Castle Club has never seen a finer wedding reception.  I even heard talk of considering you for honorary knighthood,” she winked.

“REAL-ly?” Emmett beamed at her then Lancelot.  “You mean the once, twice, thrice -”

“Movies,” he chuckled.  “Knighthood is a recognition of valor, courage and stamina.  We conduct our ceremonies in upstate New York when the temperature drops below freezing.  The initiate is stripped bare, doused in ice water - the sword delivers a hard blow to the back that knocks him to the ground – and the words: Let this be the last blow you take that goes unreturned,” sounding Shakespearian and proud.

“I’m a big fan of…returning blows,” Emmett static smiled.  “As for knighthood?  I…uh…think I have a booking that day.  Now I DO have to run.”

“Before you go,” Lancelot worked a business card from his sleeve, handed it over, “I work for Na-Tec Software, and we’re thinking of having a cocktail party for some potential buyers.  If you’re available, I’d like you to consider it.”

Emmett took the card, tried not to look too hungry.  “I’ll certainly do that.”

“Food can be the standard fare, but there’s a crack bartender I want.  You might even know him. Ted Schmidt?”

“T-Ted…” Emmett stammered, shrugged off, “Well…it’s a pretty common name.”

“I’m willing to pay extra if you can snag him for us.  He works Backstage bar across from Heinz Hall theatre.  You ought to check him out.”

“I might already HAVE…and-” Em’s tragedy mask went faux-cheery, “- thanks!” he waved the card in a good-bye, drifted through literal and mental past history, smile sinking with each step.  How bad do I need this money.  Emmett pulled his cell phone from a pocket, paused with doubt between each keyed number.

Deal done, Brian drove to the Mall exit lane as Justin folded away his cell.

“Daph’s stopping by later,” Justin stated then quieted. Between Brian, Daphne, pending decisions and tangled thoughts, he was ready for some time alone. 

Before Brian could question the solemn gaze, he side-eyed an oncoming car.  No turn signal, it cut them off and made Brian slam his brakes.

“Fucking -” Brian hit the horn.

“- Asshole!” Michael finished as Emmett shouted from the passenger seat.

“ohmyGOD.  It’s -”

“- Michael and Em!” Justin rolled down his window and hung out, “HEY!”

Brian saw Michael fly from the car stopped in the exit lane, and rolled his own window down.  “Who the fuck gave YOU a license?” with a grin behind the rant.

“Where’s the VETTE?” Michael stared wide-eyed.

“Down-sized,” Brian tapped the steering wheel.  “So are you two cruising the Burbs or just student driving?”

“Emmett did a wedding -” Michael ignored the cut, nodded toward the Hall.

Brian side-mouthed to Justin, “That explains the weird people.”

“- and Vic was supposed to pick him up.  But Em has to go to this new bar to see a guy about a job and Vic had a date with Rodney, so I said I’D go,” then more serious, “The guy might be Ted.”

“Ted’s out of rehab?” Justin leaned over.

“We don’t know.  But if you two aren’t doing anything, why don’t you come WITH us?  Em’s really mixed about this,” Michael glanced back at Emmett quietly staring, “And if it IS Ted -”

The courteous Beep-beep from a waiting Shopper’s sub-compact rushed the issue.

Justin touched Brian’s arm.  “Why don’t YOU go?  I have some stuff to do on my own anyway.”

Shopper hit the horn harder, and a van behind followed suit.

Brian studied Justin’s eyes.  Played it by ear.  He got out, told Michael, “I’LL drive,” then eyed Justin sliding to the driver’s side. “We’ll be at Babylon around ten.”

“Okay.  Later,” Justin smiled, nodded, closed his eyes for Brian’s quick kiss then watched him jog with Michael to Ted’s car in time to evade the auto lynch mob forming around them. 

Impressionist paintings circled an Art Institute room deserted at closing time.  Except for one other person.  Justin stopped in the doorway when he saw Jennifer sitting on the long center bench.  He could see her gray face and swollen eyes over her smile of recognition.

“Mom,” he paced with deep concern, “What are you doing here?”

She watched him sit beside her, saw his face at seventeen strip slowly away like the wallpaper in Michael’s room.  Until before her was a man with his own wants, needs, life.  “I know what it is…that agreement between you and Brian.  It’s like Michael and Ben’s, isn’t it?”

Justin swallowed but didn’t falter.  “I told you so you wouldn’t worry about that insurance bill.  Don’t ask me to explain it because that part’s only for Brian and me. We’re not like Michael and Ben.  And we’re not like you and Dad.  We’re just us.  And even without the paper…we’ll still be…us.”

“Do you love him that much?”

Justin thoughtfully smiled at his lap,  “No,” then soft and direct to ease her alarm, “A lot more…but there isn’t a word for it.”

No schoolboy glib or pause of doubt.  She saw his eyes light, face glow…and knew he was no longer hers.  “It’s your birthday,” she tried to lighten, “What are you doing here by yourself?”

His eyes roamed the paintings without seeing them.  “Just a place to think.”

A passing Security Guard said low, “We’re closing,” and walked on.

“We’d better go,” Justin stood and held out his hand.

She took it, rose and walked beside him through the lobby.  “Do you need a ride?  I’m parked down the block,” she pointed right.

“I’ve got the car in the lot,” he waved left on their way out the main doors.  “Mom?” he stopped and turned to her, “Privileged information?”

She nodded understanding, hugged him tight…then they went their separate ways.

Backstage bar. Like a mini Woody’s with fewer tables, title track from All That Jazz on low.  A theatre mix of the Beautiful in designer wear, the Bohemian in wild individuality and aspiring Writers in turtlenecks, jeans and shirtjacks.  All masters of illusion, anybody could’ve been gay or straight with no shit about it.

First in, Brian cased the poster-lined walls, the long bar.  “Where’s the back room?”

Michael edged in behind him, huffed, “Down at the end,” and pointed to a Restroom sign.  “See anybody we know?” he panned.  “And where’s the bartender?”

“He’s probably been replaced by a kiosk,” Brian looked past Michael’s shoulder.  “Why don’t you find Mrs. Ex while I do a little survey?  Tell him not to worry…the place is full of drama queens.”

Michael checked behind him, grumbled, “Fuck you, Emmett,” narrow-eyed Brian, “Just don’t forget why we’re here,” and trudged back outside.

Brian sauntered to the vacant end of the bar just as Ted, in a black tux and bow tie, sprang up like a jack-in-the-box at the crowded end and too busy to notice the loner.

Ted rustled drinks with maestro animation.  Blinding smile.  This was his kind of crowd…his element…his domain.  And they LOVED him.

“Hey Ted,” a Gorgeous Hunk quipped, held out a fifty, “Do I get an airline discount?”

“When Backstage becomes an official airline,” Ted snatched the bill to a round of laughs, turned to the register…and saw Brian grinning, chin propped on his hand.  Ted’s smile faded.  Eyes dropped.  Steps labored a death row pace.  His old life was anonymous here.  Now an invader who knew the truth could spill heartless venom.

“Whatever Happened To Theodore Schmidt,” Brian sweet-toned.

Ted turned to the register, his back to Brian, head drooped.  “Brian,” he punched keys, flit side-eyed looks like a dog facing a rolled newspaper.  Glanced at the group at the other end and saw Todd stretch up and wave.  Ted grit his teeth and spun with both hands spread on the bar in front of Brian.  “Look.  If you came here to gloat and remind me what a pathetic loser I am, just say it and allow me the opportunity to tell you to go fuck yourself. You may be the King of Liberty Avenue, but I’ve found a lot more worth having than THAT and I don’t give a shit what you think anymore.” 

All the while, Brian sat still, little smirk.  “Bra-VO.  I’m impressed.  Is that the ONLY reason why you’re hiding out?”  Brian gave a cheeky blink, watched Ted rear tall and wide-eyed, mouth sagging open.  But not at him.  Brian craned back and saw Michael standing with fire-eyed Emmett.  Michael stayed put as Emmett moved in with the weight of old hurt and humiliation challenging Ted’s softened face of affection laced with sorrow.

Brian rose and passed Em with a low, “It’s YOUR turn to buy,” and coursed away, tapped Michael’s shoulder and tipped a nod to the door.  Then they both took a walk outside.  Where Brian could think about what Ted said without letting on that he was.

“Em,” Ted mumbled, eyes rolling to other points.

“Ted,” Emmett swallowed a bitter lump despite Ted’s contrite smile.

Hunk yelled, “Hey Ted.  One more before the curtain rises,” to a follow up chorus from the rest of his group.

“I…uh…I’ll be right back,” Ted spun to the register, made change and hustled to work.

Emmett leaned on the bar, seriously watched the Ted he’d known for years, recalled the Ted who blighted his life – and wondered which was real.

One of the Patrons left the group and as an afterthought, tossed a ten on the bar as he passed.  Emmett saw Todd step out, follow and take the bill.  With angered reflex, Emmett flew over and grabbed Todd’s wrist, “Honey?  I think that belongs to Ted?”

“Emmett,” Todd sheep-eyed. “I know that.  But sometimes he gets busy and I’ve seen him get ripped off, so I kinda watch out for him because we’re like, together.”

“You – you’re…with Ted?”  Emmett released his arm.

“Well…not REAL together, but sort of.  Anyway, he said he lost a good friend, and as soon as he makes up the money he owes him, they might be friends again,” Todd held up the bill with sincerity.  “It’s real important to him, so I’ve gotta get this back.”

Emmett watched Todd hurry over and hand the bill to Ted.  He tensed his lips in thought, dug the Na-Tec business card from his pocket and edged a warmer smile.

It was already dark when Daphne parked down the block from the Loft.  She shouldered her purse strap, grabbed a plastic grocery bag off the passenger seat, left her car and started walking.  Slowed to a wary pace when she saw someone sitting on the landing.

“Justin?” she smiled relief.

“Hey, Daph.”  Lackluster at best.

She dropped to a seat beside him.  “What’re you DOING out here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Where’s Brian?” she fished through her purse.

“At some new bar.  With Mikey.”

Daphne pulled a cigarette and lighter, frowned, “TODAY?  I love him to death, but god, sometimes he can be such a shit.”  She lit the cig, took a drag and had it snatched away.

“He’s not a shit,” Justin smoked a puff, coughed.  Well…sometimes.  But not today.

Daphne swiped the cig back.  “I thought you quit.”

“Special occasion.”

“I know,” she lit, “And I really think you’ll like this.  Happy Birthday,” she kissed his cheek as she handed over the bag.  “No comments on the wrapping, please.”

“Daph,” Justin felt a warm tint, opened the bag and lifted a furry item into hall light through the door glass.  A small toy elephant with large velvet tusks.  “It’s…interesting.”

“You have to squeeze it.”

He did.  The three intended mad-bull-elephant shrieks were loud and weird enough to make him laugh.

“I KNEW you’d like it,” Daphne smiled wide.  “Anytime you get so mad you could scream but don’t want to lose control…you squeeze HIM,” she tapped the fuzzy beast.

“Thanks,” he held soft eyes on her.

“When I turned twenty -” she puffed on the cig, offered it to him but he shook a no, “- my lab partner threw this surprise party at her place,” she reminisced with a splitting smile, “And I got so wasted I woke up in the bathtub next to an empty beer keg.”  She watched his light chuckle.  “So you’re not doing ANYTHING?” 

Justin absently turned the toy in his hands. “Just doesn’t mean much anymore.  Parties.  Gifts.  Getting wasted,” he flickered a playful smile, she punched his arm and he quieted again.  “I don’t feel any wiser…or any better.  Just…I’m not a teenager anymore…and what I want…doesn’t seem to matter as much as what I want to DO, and why.”  My Dad always took care of things.  And Brian…okay, he’s different…but sorta the same.  I want to be a good man.  Not just in major battles…in the small ones every day.  It’s the How that’s hanging me up.  But I’m working on it. 

Daphne watched his dark silence until she had to reach over and squeeze the elephant. Its loud shrieks spooked a passing man to a near run and got them both laughing.

“Come on,” Daphne tugged his sleeve, stood, dropped the cig and stamped it out.  “Let’s go do something wild, immature and foolish at the Mall.”

“What?  Take a fishing pole to the fountain?” Forget any more thought-sharing.  Was it just Daphne?  Or because women were so different?  “Besides, I told Brian I’d meet him at Babylon.”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, sly grin.  “Thought you weren’t DOING anything.  At least let me drop you off.”

“Sure.” He remembered the elephant.  “Not with HIM, though.”  This enigma of juvenile frivolity…adult catharsis.  He crushed the bag into one hand, stood.  “Come on.  I hafta grab some bills I need to mail, and you’re not leaving till I show off our place.”

Daphne eagerly followed.  Justin sparkled as he’d said that, and all seemed right again.

Later, Justin watched Daphne drive off, stopped at the mailbox and stared at the envelopes in his hand…the box.  Fuck.  Kill me later.  He quickly dumped them in, took a breath and headed for Babylon.  There were other times when he hadn’t felt like going.  But once there, a few rounds on the dance floor and a chaser with Brian in the back room… somehow the night always ended well.  So Justin hiked alone and optimistic.  Threw a customary glance at his lamppost and stopped cold.

Brian.  Slouched against it and looking hot and dangerous.

Masking elation with cruiser suave, Justin slowly approached until they stood two feet apart.  “Had a busy night?”

Brian raised a brow and quirky grin that hinted need-you-ask, but ended, “Plan to.  Ready to dance?”

“Sure.  You?”

“Yeah.”

Message understood, Brian swung his arm around Justin’s shoulders and turned him away from Babylon.  Then Justin locked an arm around his waist.  They flowed through the strobes and against the current of incoming patrons until they were a single shadow framed by buildings at the dark end of the alley, against the light of Liberty Avenue.

The Loft bedroom was nearly dark with all the doors closed.  From inside, the erotic sounds of kisses, moans and the soft friction of sheets beneath active limbs.

Then three LOUD shrieks.  The heavy thud of feet hitting the floor and Brian’s “WHAT the FUCK was THAT?”

“So THAT’S where it is,” Justin laughed at Rage queening over a toy.

The light blasted on, one glass door opened, and the elephant sailed out.

The elephant lands on the floor beside letters jutting from the pocket of Brian’s rumpled jeans;  inside the mailbox and on a pile of letters, a card addressed to Joan Kinney.

Song: “Close To The Border Line” by Billy Joel

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