Liberty Diner’s Saturday lunch rush.

Horvath, alone in a booth with a burger platter caught Debbie on a fly-by. “Sweetheart?  Thought you were on a break.”

“Oh, Honey,” Debbie touched his shoulder, gave a woeful, “That new boy didn’t show up yet,” then a harder, “It’s times like this I really miss my Sunshine.  Think I’ll run in back and call Kiki while I got a minute.  And put some green on that,” she blustered as Horvath lifted the plain burger.  “A little lettuce and tomato won’t kill you.  That burger without it might.”

Horvath watched her hustle to the back and bump through the doorway to the office.  Checked his watch, shook his head and startled when Brian dropped into the booth across from him.  “Brian.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“If you’re here for lunch, you might have a long wait.” And he uncapped the burger, added lettuce.

“I just stopped by to ask a favor.”

“Oh?”

Brian leaned close on crossed arms, “Would you mind asking Undercover to send a GAY cop to Babylon if they have to?” then slouched back.  “Another stiff like last night’s is bad for business.”  He carefully watched Horvath through half-closed eyes.  Didn’t like the vibe from Horvath’s stare.  “That WAS one of yours, wasn’t it?”

Horvath refocused on positioning a tomato slice, answered an easy, “What makes you think I’d tell you that whether I’m in OR outta the office.”

“Just thought I’d ask,” Brian resigned, stood up.  “Enjoy your green.”

Horvath lifted and eyed his sandwich, added a casual, “If he comes around again, you might wanna keep an eye on him.”  Then he took a big bite.  Talk over.

Brian stared a moment.  Not a cop.  And Horvath wasn’t offering anything more.

In a small booth at a noisy Manhattan eatery…

Justin stretched the collar of his white tee shirt, let it softly snap back as he volleyed attention from his coffee cup to the front door.  Then glowed and waved when he saw Daphne in a classy coral summer suit step inside.  “Daph!”

“Justin!” she beamed, darted over with open arms.

Justin bounced up and gathered her in, his face in her mat of wavy hair.  “God, you look great.  Come on.  Sit down.”  He dropped to his bench.  “Are you hungry?  I’ll buy.”

“I had breakfast before the flight.” Daphne flung her purse onto her bench, plopped down, squeezed his right hand and frowned at the feel and sight of the elastic bandage.  “What happened to your hand?”

“This?” He waved her off.  “Nothing.  I just use it for support once in awhile.  So how long are you staying?”

She eyed his hand and barely smiled.  “Just for the Bio-Med Seminar.  Then I’ve got a flight at five.  I have to be back for tomorrow’s mandatory and boring Chalmers Family Picnic,” then tentatively added, “Are you sure it’s okay?” with another glance at his hand.

Justin exhaled a sharp breath, pulled the fastener off the bandage, unwrapped it, “See?” wriggled his fingers and dropped the elastic beside him.

“Okay.  I’m convinced.”  Not.  But no need to waste the short visit arguing.

The booth behind Justin got louder as a College Guy joined three others already there.

“Ask him,” Guy One shoved.

“No, YOU ask him,” Two chuckled.

New Guy browsed a menu.  “Ask me what.”

Two answered, “Would you suck a guy’s dick for a million dollars?”

“Hunh?”

“Suck a guy’s dick for a million dollars.  HE would,” Two pointed to One, “…and HE said he would.”

Justin and Daphne grinned at each other in amusement.

New Guy scrutinized.  “You would…and YOU would?  No,” shook his head and returned to his menu.  “Maybe.  Depends what he looks like.”

Daphne and Justin leaned toward each other as she giggled under the Guys’ laughter. “At least you got a fun gay crowd here.”

Four College Women trooped in and stopped beside the Guys, shared a few kisses and lovey greetings.

Justin raised a brow at Daphne, discreetly quipped, “So is that how the other half lives?”

Before Daphne could answer, one of the Women leaned toward them with a polite, “Excuse me, but would you mind moving down one booth so we can sit together?”

“Not at all,” Daphne smiled, grabbed her purse.  “We were just leaving anyway.”

“Thank you.”

Justin jammed the bandage into his pocket, followed Daphne’s lead.  “Don’t you want to hang around and hear more?”

“And let you in on all our secrets?” Daphne grinned as they stepped outside into sunny morning activity.  “Besides…I’d rather hear YOU.  Oh.  Hold up a minute.”  She stopped, dug through her purse and proudly handed Justin a newspaper clipping.  “This ran in last week’s Arts section.  You know, you’re a big deal back home.”

Justin smiled at the color photo of his latest work with its Local-Artist-Wows-New-York caption.  “I think it’s a little inflated compared to the reality.  At least they know I’m not starving.”  He started to hand it back but Daphne blocked his arm.

“No.  Keep it.  I saved it for you.  I really wanted to check out the Gallery and see your work but that early flight doesn’t run on Saturday.”

Justin folded the clip and slid it into his back pocket.  “Not much to see anyway.  Most of it sold, but I’m working on another display for next month.”

Daphne looked down with a disappointed, “Oh,” and brighter afterthought, “That is so GREAT!  You must be making decent money now.”     

Resuming an easy pace, Justin shrugged, “Hasn’t made me a millionaire yet.  But I pay my rent and eat every day.  And now that the Gallery’s sponsoring me, I can use the back room for work.  All it costs me is a percentage on each sale and makes it a whole lot easier to do big pieces.” 

“So…are you seeing anybody?”

“A lot of people,” Justin lightly parried. “Reporters…critics…buyers…critics…”

“Jerk.  You know what I mean.”

Justin smiled a quick, “Are you still going with Lamar?”

“I would’ve TOLD you if I wasn’t.  And don’t change the subject.  It’s just that…I know you’ve been back home a couple times since you moved here…and you sent me this long email the weekend Brian came out.  Then nothing for the last two months.  I just thought that…well…”

“Summer is a busy time for him. And I’m up to three Digital Art classes a week.”  Had it really been that long.

“Don’t get me wrong…like, I’m sure you’re terrific at it…but do you really like teaching?”

“It’s just a Gallery promotion.  I like to think of it as just sharing what I know about computer art.  Which wouldn’t be much if Brian hadn’t pushed me to try it…a few years ago.”

Daphne caught the drop in tone.  “Do you miss him?”

Justin raised a warm smile, “Always miss him.  But we have an understanding about what we need right now.  And I do see other guys.  But not in the ‘always’ sense.”

“Yeah?” Daphne disagreed.  “Well I don’t think that makes ANY sense.”

Justin swung an arm around her shoulder and whispered close to her ear, “That’s because you’re a girl.”

Daphne pushed him off.  “I’ll ignore that.  Considering it came from someone who gets off on hearing straight guys talk about sucking dick.”  Then she checked her watch.  “Shit.  I hafta go.”

“And I’m due at the Gallery to finish a painting.”

They stopped and hugged tightly.

“Daph, thanks for calling.”

“Like I’d get this close without telling you?  I just wish I had more time.   I’ve got a vacation week in September.  Maybe I’ll drive out.  That’s if you’re not too rich and famous to hang out with the lesser crowd.”

“Who knows.  Once you discover a cure for cancer, you may be too busy to hang out with the Bohemian art crowd.”

Daphne pulled back with a soft, “I’ll make time.”

Justin smiled wide, glanced past her shoulder.  “There’s a cab.” He grabbed her hand, stepped to the curb, waved the yellow cab in and hugged her one last time as the taxi pulled up.  “If you see Brian -”

“I’ll tell him you’re doing fine.”  And you miss him.

Justin opened the back door, Daphne slid inside, they each called a “Bye” then Justin shut the door and watched a piece of home drive away.  But he didn’t feel sadness or longing.  If anything, their brief visit reaffirmed the caring compromise and resilience of the deepest, most genuine relationships.  Which often gave time and distance a sense of here and now.

But not always.

Justin hiked up the street with its ever-present foot traffic.  Today the City didn’t have its usual excitement and energy.  That’s how it was when a painting wasn’t quite working.

Gallery Workshop.  A room like his old studio except for small high glass block windows, their mute light split by shadows of security bars outside.

Justin sat on a stool, leaned forward on stiff arms, hands gripping a spot of exposed edge between splayed knees.  Eyes combing sections of a six-by-eight foot work in progress.  Patches of color and line swept past.  Like a view through binoculars hunting for a bird in a vast forest.  Shit.  I was going somewhere with this before we closed last night.

An eerie presence made him dart a glance at the doorway, and he sucked a startled breath before easing it out.  Leo Ruggieri.  A sturdy, hard-edged high school dropout dressed like a scruffy war vet.  Dark intense eyes that didn’t stare as much as they dug in. “Hey, Leo.  Class isn’t till Monday.”

Leo cocked his head with thoughtless indifference.  “You said you’d look at my stuff.” 

Justin saw in Leo’s grip a 12x15 black faux-leather folio that looked like the best he could do with his last buck.  No need to hazard a guess where Leo came up with the hundred-dollar fee for a once-a-week six week class.  Still, Leo was a student.  And Justin was feeling his way through new territory as a creative mentor.  “Sure.”

Leo handed over his work, stood at Justin’s shoulder.

Justin opened the folio on his lap and studied the first sketch.  A scant-clad Super Woman with exaggerated proportions.  Next page.  This one had cascading dark tresses.  Next one.  Red Dolly Parton wig.  And the next - another of several blondes.  All with saline tits, Jay-Lo asses, vampy stares and desire-driving poses that seemed more from hands-on experience than wishful thinking.  One common feature.  “These are rendered really well.  And the compositions are thought out.”  Justin turned another page to stall for more to say.

“That’s it?”  Leo challenged.  “Or you got a problem with the subject?  ‘Cause rumor is, you got other interests.”

Justin tensed.  Kept his eyes on the drawing.  Could almost sense a homophobic knife in Leo’s boot and waiting for an excuse.  Figment of past fear?  Or reality of present?  Against gut reaction, Justin summoned fact, aimed steady eyes up at Leo’s. “If you don’t think I can give honest feedback, why are you here?”

“That’s.  It?” Leo repeated as if Justin hadn’t spoken.

Justin held firm, answered matter-of-fact.  “They look to me like cloned peaches.  All the same, just different colors.  If you want to draw figures, they’re good.  If you want to draw people, they should each be unique.”  Saying that made Justin’s blood pound a little harder.  Leo didn’t seem like one for criticism.  And poking creative heart was always risky.  How do you defend your opinion of something as subjective as art.

Then Leo kissed him. Dry and soft on the lips.  A little longer than quick.  But not long enough for Justin to pull back.  Frozen on short-circuit, Justin stared at Leo who had eased back to pre-deed position with no change in expression, his eyes still mining deep.  Blank for words, Justin dropped his eyes to a drawing but didn’t see it.  What the FUCK just happened.

“That your newest piece?” Leo asked nonchalant, eyed the large painting and added before Justin could answer, “Lotta frustration in it.”

A designer-suited, silver-coiffed Matron with a regal face and raspy voice halted her sudden entry.  “Oh.  I’m sorry, Justin.  I didn’t know you had company.”

Justin snapped to formal intros.  “It’s okay.  Leo Ruggieri’s one of …my students,” and a fleet glance at Leo.  “Mrs. Rockway’s the Assistant Manager.”

She nodded to Leo, refocused on Justin.  “If you can break away for just a moment, Mr. Watermeier is here to see you.”

Leo clipped, “S’okay.  I’m going,” as he sauntered past Rockway and headed for the door.

Justin shut the portfolio. “Wait.  You forgot this.”

Leo glanced back with a flat, “I’ll pick it up Monday.  You didn’t see the last page,” then disappeared, getting Justin’s smile of relief.

Rockway apologized, “I didn’t mean to intrude.  But Mr. Watermeier HAS sold a good deal of your work.”

“Can you give me a couple minutes?”

He watched Mrs. Rockway nod and leave, stared at the portfolio in his hand, turned it over and lifted the back cover.  The skin prickled up his neck. 

A beautifully rendered male nude lounging on a resting lion. The Man’s close-eyed profile skyward, his gold hair laced with the lion’s full mane, one pale arm along the animal’s outstretched forelimb, hand clutching tawny fur.  The Man’s chest was high and he was twisted at the waist over the curve of the lion’s girth, so that his legs were bent and spread and his relaxed cock showed great detail.  The Man’s other arm was hidden behind his raised hip.

It might have been erotic and appealing.  But the Man was him.  Every feature in his face.  The lines of his body.  And a disturbing accuracy of detail and color in areas Leo had never seen.  How the fuck did Leo get all that in only six classes from the back row.

Miffed and perplexed, Justin slapped the folio shut, bolted to a stand and tossed the work onto a table just as Watermeier walked in - a sprite-eyed, thirtyish fifties who smelled of spice and money.  Though his earthy demeanor made him fun and likeable, he had never owned a pair of jeans.  “Mr. Watermeier - ”

“Richard.” Watermeier extended his hand. “Don’t tell me you forgot.  It hasn’t been THAT long.”

“Richard,” Justin mildly blushed, shook the hand and let go.  Watermeier’s having only a couple height inches on Justin, their blue eyes met near level. “What can I do for you?”

“I came to ask if you’d join me at a private cocktail party tonight. One of the buyers would like to meet you.”

“I…” Justin winced, shook his head, “I’m really behind on my work…”

“As your Agent, I think you should consider it.  Could mean a long-term commission.  You could trade Hell’s Kitchen for a place like my Chelsea Loft on Sixth.”

Justin blinked at Watermeier’s dropped chin and rolled up eyes.  Brian did that sometimes and it always worked. “Sure.  What time?”

“It’s planned to start at seven and I can send a car around six-thirty if that’s alright.”

“Okay,” Justin nodded.

“It’ll also be a bit more black tie than the last one.”

“Black tie?”  Justin wrinkled his nose, shook his head, “I quit wearing ties.  Just not me.”

“Society always affords a little extra individuality to an artist.   If Bjork can show up dressed in a dead swan, I’m sure you can come without a tie.”

Justin perked a sunny smile.  “I promise not to embarrass you.”

“Do, and I’ll raise my commission,” Watermeier winked, swung a look at the painting.  “This one is shaping up to be…darker than your other works.”

“Yeah,” Justin barely spoke up.  “It’s still in the early stages.”

“Well, I’d better get out of your hair and let you finish.  I’ll see you tonight,” he smiled.

“Sure,” Justin nodded, watched Watermeier leave and stared at the doorway long after he was gone.  He sat heavily on his stool to study his painting.  But his mind wasn’t into it and he soon found himself absently looking around until he saw Leo’s portfolio.

As if critics and buyers weren’t enough…along with even his limited fame came other complications.

Unsure how to handle it, Justin grabbed the portfolio, headed for a small information desk where Mrs. Rockway was refilling brochure holders.  “Mrs. Rockway?  I have to do some work at home then I’m meeting a new buyer later so I probably won’t be back tonight.”

“Thank you, Justin.  I’ll lock up before I leave.  How’s your painting coming along?”

“Fine.  It’s fine.”  Well…it WILL be.  “See you Monday.”

And he left before she thought of any more questions that he was too distracted to answer.

9^th Avenue Cheyenne Diner – a corner spot much like the Liberty Diner. 

Leo swaggered out the front door.  On his arm, a Cover-worthy blonde in form-fit jeans, tank top and generous cleavage, sacky bag slung on a shoulder.  They briefly kissed.  She purred, “Thanks for lunch,” started toward the side street and noticed he hadn’t moved. “We meeting Gino or what?”

“Keep moving.  Be right there.”

“Okay,” she smiled.  Knew his moods.  Slowly paced alone.

In the shadows of the overhang, he slouched against the Diner wall, eyes on Justin standing across the street and flipping through Time Magazine, a familiar portfolio clamped under one arm.  Leo didn’t follow.  Watched as if the show was so intriguing, passing blurs of bodies and vehicles hardly broke his attention.

Unaware of the spotlight, Justin halted on a racy Eyeconics ad and smiled.  Had to have been Brian’s choice to show the stud-model’s body in profile.  Then his smile dulled with the thought that their contact had dwindled to this.

Justin tears a page from the magazine and throws the rest away, folds the page small, slips it into his back pocket.  Leo finds his Girl back beside him, swings an arm around her and glances at Justin blending into the City.  They walk their opposite ways in dark reflection.

Song: “Today” by POB

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