Saturday Night in Manhattan.   More lights than LA and Vegas combined.

Black suit, deep red silk shirt, open collar, Justin strolled into the hotel lobby, saw Watermeier already there, sharp in black on pin-striped white and steel-blue tie and conversing with another Guest like they were at an Opera intermission.  He watched Watermeier look his way, politely leave the Guest and walk toward him.

Justin matched the pace until they met beside an elaborate floral piece in the lobby, “You said this would be a little more than the last one…” scanned the room, the massive chandelier.  “I’d call that an understatement.”

“And you promised not to embarrass me,” Watermeier eyed him with approval. “Interesting choice.  Red.”

“It was either this or blue.  But I kinda liked THIS one.”  Reminded me of Brian’s.  And I always thought he looked super in it.

“It’ll certainly stand out in a crowd.  I think it needs a little something, though.”

“Like what?” Justin asked, hint of concern over Watermeier’s scrutinizing gaze.

Watermeier reached into an inside suit pocket, held out his hand.  “Try this on.”

Justin lifted the thin, mid-length serpentine chain with its platinum sparkle. “It’s…really nice.  But I’m not much on jewelry.”

“Think of it as status.”

“Well…if I have to look the part,” Justin eased out a breath, undid the clip.  “In or out?” he asked as he fastened it around his neck. 

“In.”  Watermeier tilted his head and smiled at how the strand subtly accented the V of Justin’s exposed pale skin, framed by red like full-blown roses.  “Perfect.”

“Just remind me to give it back before we leave,” Justin looked around.  “So which room is it?”

“Top floor.  This way,” Watermeier answered and pointed to the elevators.

Justin kept pace and rehearsed in his mind what he could say or do for the next few hours.  The relaxation of knowing that he’d been here before never really squelched the apprehension of facing another social scene. 

Saturday Night at Babylon.  A light show in its own class.

Brian studied the tide of faces, discreetly scouted along the recesses, up the catwalk, down to the restrooms.  Warded off a Gym Buck pressing for a dance, reconsidered a MetroCutie who offered to buy him a drink, “Maybe later,” then headed for the Back Room on a different kind of hunt and found a familiar staple trolling for a fuck.  “Hey, Todd.  Got a question for you.”

“Aw, yeah,” Todd beamed.  “Over here?  Or over there?”

“Not that question.  Do you remember seeing a new guy last night…call him hot, in black and keeping to himself?”

“Oh, that blond guy who kept turning everybody down?  I heard he’s a cop.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Not since last night.”

“If he shows up, let me know.”

“Okay,” Todd nodded and resumed his cruise.

On the way out, Brian slowed to side step a threesome center-aisle and working on Brandon.

Brandon noticed, called, “Want to take a number?”

“I already got your number,” Brian shot and kept moving.

Watching Brian leave, a Queeny Bystander elbow’d his Flippy Mate, “That’s the longest HE’s been back here in a while.”

“Yeah.  Now that he owns the place, he’s too good for the rest of us.”

A Stud Single wandered past, the two forgot about Brian and followed more promise.

Back on the main dance floor and heading for the bar, Brian saw another familiar face hurry by.  “Theodore.”

Ted halted, turned, “Brian,” and walked back.  “I was just looking for you.”

Brian stopped close so they could hear themselves over the music.  “Aren’t you supposed to be dining with Mother Schmidt tonight?”

“Well…I thought I’d just take a quick run over and -”

“Look for new members?”  Brian raised a brow.

Ted’s brows knit over steady eyes.  “A while ago I would’ve guessed you meant something seamy.”  He shifty-eyed the crowd, leaned closer to Brian.  “Is he here?” and quickly added, “Because something occurred to me last night.  The bombers haven’t been caught yet.”  He grabbed Brian’s arm and guided him to a quieter area, stretched close to his ear. “What if they’re still around and planning to finish the job?”  Ted watched Brian exhale, look off and shake his head.  “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Yeah I have,” Brian leveled.  “I also think part of it’s due to that little glass show yesterday.  So let’s not fan shit around on a pathetic guess, alright?”

Ted read the unspoken message, side-bobbed his head.  “I suppose…he COULD be a cop sent to keep an eye on the place.”

“Good,” Brian nodded without sharing his own reservations then gripped the back of Ted’s neck and walked him past the end of the bar. “Now go home to Mother before she discovers you’re missing.”

“She likes Blake better than me anyway.”

“I like Blake better than you.”

Ted stopped, turned up a grin. “Since it could possibly be detrimental to our business relationship, I won’t say Fuck You.”

Brian smiled, shoved Ted toward the lobby, “I’ll see you Monday, bright and early,” and sauntered back to the bar.  All the while, checking out faces in the crowd.

In Manhattan and checking out faces in a different crowd…

Justin sipped red wine from his crystal glass and stood beside Watermeier.  Surveyed the higher-class art enthusiasts mostly in ties and variations of black as they milled from one small group to another.  Commenting on sculptures, painting and politics.  Some lined at the large windows to enjoy the killer view.

An Afro-American Lady approached him, her exquisite face accented with rough-cut gemstones over slinky cocktail black.  “Justin Taylor,” she smiled and extended her hand like they were old friends. “I’m Maggie Gunner.  Editor for FineLine magazine.”

Justin shook her hand, “Pleased to meet you.  This is really a nice party.”

“Thank you.  And Richard,” she beamed at Watermeier, shook his offered hand.  “It’s so good to see you again,” then back to Justin, “I can’t tell you how much I love the intensity of your work.  Like Rimbaud translated to color.   I’d like to include a feature in our September issue if you’re interested.  Have you seen our magazine?”

Gulp.  Justin flicked an eye at Watermeier’s silent grin, turned his sunniest smile to Maggie.  “I’m sorta new to all of this and I’m just starting to learn about all the top publications.  Do you have a copy here tonight?  I’d really like to see it.”

“No,” she chuckled both charmed and flattered.  “But I’ll have a messenger drop one at your Gallery Monday.”

“Thanks.  I’ll look forward to it.”

She glanced at Watermeier, “Then maybe we can find a convenient date for an interview,” and back to Justin, “But enough about business.  Have you tried the foie gras?  It.  Is.  Just marvelous.  Right over there,” she pointed across the room, caught a Professor waving back from the long refreshment table.  “Can you excuse me?”

“Sure,” Justin nodded.

“Maggie,” Watermeier reached out and the two embraced.

She whispered, “He is adorable,” pulled back with a sparkly, “Gentlemen…” and flowed toward the waiting Professor.

Watching her, Justin eased a low, “You were supposed to save me.”

“From what?” Watermeier raised proud brows, “You’re personable, impressive, and I have no doubts you can mingle well on your own without my coaching.”

“Um-hm,” Justin lightly challenged.  “And what happens to your confidence if I slip out a four-letter word?”

“I’m sure it will have been in the right context.”

“Is she the buyer I was supposed to meet?”

“One of them.  And here come two more,” Watermeier discreetly added, eyes directing Justin’s. “Be ready to elaborate on design relevance but don’t volunteer ideas.  They’re still fishing.”

Justin cleared his throat and donned another smile at a duo that resembled Orson Wells with Ivanna Trump on his arm.

At Babylon’s long bar, Brian watched an Elvis clone groping a Madonna drag queen then downed another shot.  His own nature was stirring.

The adrenaline high of business schemes and deadlines didn’t stave his inborn high-charged sexuality, now twisted with tendrils of emotional need.  He knew he could still flame-on prowess that was beguiling or challenging.  But the one-sided conquest game had steadily lost its appeal   No conquest thrill came close to love.  And there was no going back.  Yet no real desire to steam ahead.  So what to do in limbo.  An occasional risk-assessed wild ride.  More often a simple fuck for pleasure.  Necessary compromise.

He turned attention to the MetroCutie who was practically in his face - thick dark hair, big eyes, tanned lifeguard body, smoky voice going on.

“I haven’t been here in awhile.  But I used to come every weekend…just to see you.”

Brian racked his brain.  I sure the fuck don’t remember YOU.  “Must’ve been some time ago.”

“Five years,” Metro grinned.  “I was a skinny kid with a phony ID and a ton of Clearasil.  Used to hide over there…” he pointed to a wide pillar, “…or up there…” the catwalk, “…knew I didn’t have a chance.”

Brian smiled at a blond memory and the vast improvement of his present fan.  “Five years does make a difference.”

“You wanna go somewhere?”

“Depends.  One-nighter?  Or Happily-Ever-After?”

“I’m flying back to Miami in the morning.”

“Right answer.  Follow me.”

Brian escorted his guest toward the hall leading to the Back Room, paused to check the surroundings before going off-guard.  That Fucker didn’t show up.  Just as well.

Minutes after Brian disappeared, Not-A-Cop sidled to the bar.  This time in a loose white tee shirt and dark pants.  He could tell from whispers and quick looks that some kind of rumor was grapevining along.  And his nearest neighbors had put more distance between him and them.

But he stayed with his mission.  His eyes sought out Brandon.

When Brandon realized he was being watched, he high-beamed a daring grin.

One of his doters cautioned. “Give it up. They say that guy’s a cop and a breeder.”

“I also heard Kinney wants him.  I guess he’ll have to settle for seconds.”

Arrogant and cocky, Brandon left his group.  Slinked over like a lazy but dangerous big cat and slouched on the bar.  “Scotch and water,” he smiled directly at his man. “You’re buying me a drink, right?”

NotCop hesitated, signaled, “Scotch and water…and a Seagrams straight up,” to the wary Bartender then turned a cool eye back on Brandon.  “Is it true what I heard…about Brian Kinney beating you in a fuck contest?”

Brandon's jaw twitched, eyes darkened.  He quickly masked the blood rush with a casual,  “Only because he bought the last one.  Nothing to do with talent.  He tried to get rid of me and ended up losing more instead.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well I’m still here.  And his live-in fuck left HIM.  I don’t have that problem,” Brandon boasted.  “If you’re interested, I can show you why.”

The Bartender set their drinks down, furtively eyed each then hustled out of sight.

In the Back Room…

Brian was plastered to a wall and hitting the glory edge, Metro on his knees and demonstrating five years of perfecting deep throat on the cock of his dreams.

Bartender approached on egg shells, uttered a soft, “Brian.  Your cop is at the bar talking to Brandon.”

“Fuck,” Brian hissed.  Panted hard, clamped his eyes shut and let loose.  The white-hot flash passed quickly and his breaths calmed.  He tapped Metro still draining the last output, “I’ll meet you outside in fifteen minutes,” waited until Metro left then leaned beside the Bartender’s ear.  “This is what you do.”

At the bar, Brandon was getting nowhere when the Bartender interrupted, “Hey.  Need you to pay up.”

NotCop fished a ten from his wallet, tossed it on the bar.  “Keep the change.”

Bartender snatched it, hurried off and was back in no time.  “This some kinda joke?  I got a special pen that says this thing’s a fake.”

“Can’t be,” NotCop snatched the bill, checked the mark, shook his head and dug out a twenty.  “Here.  And bring me the change.”

As the Bartender left, Brandon linked the problem to a face-saving out.  “Nice talking to you, but I don’t waste my time on petty crooks.”  And he headed for the dance floor.

Bartender stormed back.  “This one’s bad, too.  Now either pay up or I’ll call the…cops,” he almost faltered.  “No cash.  Credit card only, and only if it checks out good.”

Flustered and anxious to avoid attention, NotCop whipped a card from his wallet and handed it over.  Signed the return slip fast, pocketed his copy and made a hasty exit.

Brian moved into the vacated spot, watched the last of NotCop and turned questioning eyes on the Bartender who answered by waving the credit card slip.

“Good job,” Brian complimented.  “I trust we also got real bills for the burn we took last night?”

Bartender lit a big smile.

Brian matched, “You are officially redeemed,” took the slip, “I’ll have it back before you balance out,” then headed for the stairs to his VIP office, saw Brandon hitting on Metro and walked on.  Knock yourselves out.  I’ve got better shit to do.

Down the hall from the Penthouse doors…

Justin and Watermeier viewed prints and paintings along the wall.

“Thanks,” Justin sighed.  “I needed a break.  Especially after pissing off Renault.”

“I think he deserved it,” Watermeier bolstered, conscious of the rebel spark that seemed to fuel Justin’s enjoyment.

Justin perked his smile.  “Guess we’d better get back in there.  I’d hate to let him think he ran me off.”  And he started back to the doors.  “Any more parties like THIS, and I’ll probably end up blacklisted.”

“Oh…I highly doubt that,” Watermeier chuckled. “And you needn’t worry about ‘any more parties like this’ for awhile. I’ll be leaving for Seattle next Friday.  Spending two weeks in my resort cottage on Puget Sound.  I’d like you to join me.”

Justin stopped, raised his brows, not sure he’d heard that right. “What?”

“The scenery and fresh air are marvelous this time of year.  I think it would do you and your creativity a world of good.”

Sounded like a decent getaway.  “How many clients are going?”

“Just you.”  Watermeier saw Justin’s alarm and moved closer.  “In the five months I’ve known you, I’ve come to appreciate your integrity and passion.  Actually find it very compelling.”  Then his voice softened, “If you think I’m too old to hold your attention, I understand that I AM way past your prime.  But those years have taught me to have courtesy, respect and the insight not to pass up anything worthwhile.  It wouldn’t be your obligation.  It would be my privilege.”

Justin studied the sincerity in his eyes.  The guy never touched him, made a pass or gave hint through innuendo.  Yet the charge in the air around him said he would if invited.  All the advantages seemed attractive but one.  He wasn’t Brian.  “Can I think about it?”

“Of course you can.”  Watermeier checked his wristwatch to quell an awkward moment.  “Well, we’d better get going and take Maggie’s suggestion about the hors d’oeuvres.”

Justin joined him and ignored the mild tension of Watermeier’s attraction.  It felt harmless and comfortably non-reciprocal.  Certainly made sailing with the big players less harrowing.

Entering through the double oak doors, they crossed to the refreshment table, Justin making a point of tossing the aristocratic and bearded Renault his best smile.

Watermeier asked, “Have you ever had fois gras?”

Justin darkened with a far off pinch.  “At a picnic.  Once.”  Then he slowly warmed to glowing.  “And again at Kinnetik Agency’s Grand Opening.”  He noticed a waiter pass by with a tray of wine glasses and realized how dry his throat had gotten  “I could go for a zinfandel right about now.”  Brian said white with liver pate hors d’oeuvres.

Watermeier was impressed.  “I believe I’ll have one, too.”  He spied the waiter and started away.  “Be right back.”

Justin watched Watermeier, the well-dressed guests, their moves and sporadic laughter over a background of smooth, low jazz.  A lingering memory fused to the scene.  And suddenly floating through the crowd were Kinnetik’s favorite clients, the special Liberty Diner guests.  And Brian.  Dynamic in black with that white shirt and scarlet tie…working the floor and as home in this element as any other.  He was always magic.  He could slip a fuck or two, and nobody cared.

Then Justin felt one image so strongly, for a moment it was real again…

He had been talking with Michael and glancing out once in a while to watch Brian celebrate Kinnetik’s first official day of existence.  Didn’t expect to be more than just around.  The clients had priority and he knew that.

He felt an eerie charge and looked up to see Brian standing, staring at him.  Twenty feet away but radiating so strongly, Justin felt the energy wrap around him like a blanket.  It seemed to last for minutes.  Like nobody else was there but the two of them.  Reminding each other who was most important.

The moment flashed to the here and now of a New York party filled with beautiful strangers.  All past images gone.

Except one.

In the crowd of Manhattan penthouse guests, Justin sees Brian.  Not really there, but there.  Standing alone with eyes on only him.

Song: “I Wish You Were Here” by Incubus

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