When Irish Eyes are Smiling - prologue
Author: Elsa Rose Bryant

<i>When Irish eyes are smiling
Sure it's like a morning spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter,
You can hear the angels sing. When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.

There's a tear in your eye,
and I'm wondering why,
For it never should be there at all.
With such power in your smile,
sure a stone you'd beguile,
So there's never a teardrop should fall.
When your sweet lilting laughter's like some fairy song,
And your eyes twinkle bright as can be,
You should laugh all the while and all other times smile,
And now smile a smile for me.

Chorus:
When Irish eyes are smiling Sure it's like a morning spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter,
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.
	 
by Chauncey Olcott and George Graff, Jr.</i>


Brian Kinney stood at the top of his tower and stared out the window at the Pittsburgh sky. It was grey and swirled with winter storm clouds, not an unusual sight for the time of year. He was high enough up that he rarely pulled the heavy ultra suede draperies closed, but for once he decided to shut out the day. He hit the button on the hand held remote device that silently pulled the fabric across the vast expanse of glass that was the wall of his self-imposed prison. 

Reclusive to a degree that had he been living in a forest, he’d be considered a hermit. Brian’s home that he’d fashioned from an unobtrusive old building, that had once been Pittsburgh’s answer to art deco apartment living space, was well fortified. He lived on the top two floors, that rose much like a medieval tower of old, the building was tall and narrow, sandwiched between two more sprawling edifices. It was one of those buildings that circumstance makes almost disappear in a downtown core of other more impressive ones. 

He’d been lucky that the sale of his first novel to a California movie studio had coincided with the demise of the building’s owner and the subsequent offer of sale from the bankrupt estate. A private man, but not yet quite so reclusive, Brian had negotiated the building’s price to allow him to purchase it outright and begin renovations. He didn’t know why he wanted this particular building. It certainly wasn’t ever going to be a viable business. The space was too narrow to allow for companies to be on one floor; most would require at least two or more floors. And even with modernization; it would never be able to compete with its more imposing sister buildings that populated the downtown core of the city. On either side, the structures were new and no one would be interested in the valuable land Brian’s building sat on, there just wasn’t enough of it to do anything with. 

It suited the elusive Brian Kinney, Irish writer of adventure and romance, who believed in neither, to a T.

He’d grown up, one of Pittsburgh’s boys, son of hard working, hard drinking, Irish immigrants who never let a day go by not lamenting the fact that they weren’t back in Ireland. That they weren’t rich. That they had to work so hard for so little and that they’d spawned such an ungrateful snot of a son who didn’t understand that the back of their hand, or kick from their boots, was done to teach him to be tough in this harsh American world. 

Brian had learned a number of things from his childhood. He learned to trust no one, to believe nothing anyone said. He learned that love was only a figment of someone’s imagination; an elusive legend that abounded in stories and songs just to keep unwary listeners captivated by what might happen but never would. He learned that nothing was quite so pitiful as a drunk, especially a drunken woman. He learned to believe in only what was tangible and what could be touched and felt by his own hand and then to check twice, because god knows that too could be a lie. He learned to make his own way in the world. To listen only to himself. He learned early that the kind hand of an Irish priest usually meant something else and to be wary. He learned to ignore the looks of lust on the faces of beautiful women and handsome men; both only wanted one thing, his very soul. And that was something he would give no one. 

He’d forgotten, if he ever knew, how to smile, to laugh, to have a good time. He’d forgotten what it was to feel the soft touch of a hand or the tender caress of lips as they kissed him. It was better to keep to himself. You couldn’t be hurt by what you never knew or felt or touched or tasted. He embraced his natural Irish talent for weaving stories, first in his mind to retreat from reality, and then when he discovered the wonder of word processing, he spun his tales to earn a better than decent living. For who couldn’t spin a tale made up of lies and half-truths better than an Irishman?

His life was a lonely one. Not that he cared one way or another if he even thought about it. Which he rarely did. As far as Brian Kinney was concerned, he lived a rich and full life high in his tower like some kind of captive prince. Though he could come and go as he pleased, if he wanted to that is. He didn’t want to. Agoraphobia is a strange affliction. Even a mild case. It happens suddenly, but occasionally creeps up on a person, a silent stranger that envelopes a person refusing him that exit to a real life. Of course Brian didn’t have such an affliction. He chose not to leave his lair, his refuge from the world, all seven stories. It was easier that way. Easier to live his life and weave his lies of love and romance where the hero always found his ideal mate and they lived happily ever after. He was Irish after all and came honestly by his ability to tell wondrous tales. 

Brian did have contact with the outside world. His media room had the best of everything one could want for viewing television or movies. He had a state of the art sound system and his office was rich with fine woods and leathers. All of these things were installed and maintained by those from outside his realm. The top two floors of the Rosewood building, as his building had been named in the nineteen twenties when it was built, had been carefully designed and created to make his life comfortable and complete. And of course he had Fred and Sara, a couple he’d hired years before to look after the building and his own apartment. They were in their sixties, but healthy and rather enjoyed their own suite of rooms on the third floor. 

The rest of the building, Brian had left as it had been when he purchased it. He couldn’t decide what to do with it. His office had a special file with his drawings and ideas for the bottom 5 floors. But that’s all that happened. It was kind of a project to keep his mind active. When he was stuck on one of his novels, he’d begin plans for the lower floors. Ignoring the fact that the windows were dust filled and dirty and the rooms generally unused. He would walk the halls and climb up and down the stairs, an Irish haunt that lived and breathed, occasionally moved to repair this or that or just sit in an empty office or hallway while he thought of kings and princes, romance and lust and the mythical beast called true love.

The main door to the Rosewood building was a wonder of art deco design and always kept locked. The windows at the rear of the building, as well as the rear door, were all boarded over. Other than securing the boards years before when he’d first purchased the building, Brian hadn’t paid them any attention. In the days when he did come and go, he used the front door or occasionally, took the elevator to the parking area in the basement. It was dark and dank and poorly lit. The nineteen twenties didn’t make parking a priority under a building. And it was really only a renovation done in the fifties that had allowed for the few parking spaces there were. Brian had an iron gated parking door that could only be opened with a remote hand held device. He hadn’t used it often. His three cars sat dusty and unused in a quiet corner. 

What he had done over the years, more to amuse himself and keep the insurance premiums at a reasonable level, was to install video surveillance everywhere in the building. When the occasional rat or stray cat appeared on the monitors in his office, he’d arrange for animal control to come in and control the wildlife. So far it had worked well. And every now and then a stray human being would find their way inside – but didn’t stay long. 

At thirty, he was young to be the way he was, but he didn’t care. High in his tower, he was at peace for the first time in his life. He didn’t regret the decisions he’d made over the years. 

On a whim, a few years back, when someone had found their way into the building, Brian had arranged for one suite to become a one night only safe haven to any who happened upon it. Making sure that it was never easy to get in, but then the desperate rarely needed easy. His sanctuary of sorts was monitored by Fred and Sara though he could, through the video surveillance, see what was happening as well. He rarely bothered. Fred handled everything, including the physical removal of anyone who decided to stay longer than one night.  It had only happened a handful of times over the past ten years.

Justin stumbled down the alley, cold and doing his best not to cry. His face still stung from where his father had punched him on the jaw. He still couldn’t quite get his mind around the sudden brutality his father had shown to him just because he’d found out his son was gay.  To Justin it made no sense. One minute they were working together in the yard, raking up the last of the fall leaves and the next minute, from a slip of Justin’s tongue, was the knowledge he was gay and the consequences. 

How could a parent go from being a loving father to hating his own son in two seconds flat? It was crazy and yet here he was, wandering the back alleys of Pittsburgh in search of someplace warm and sheltered. All he had on was a hoodie that had seen better days. He’d been raking leaves and doing yard work, not looking for fashion. His father had refused to let him into the house to even get his backpack that at least had his wallet in it and his school stuff. He was seventeen and on the street. He ranked in the top two of his senior year at Saint James and he was on the street. He’d left a house full of food and clothing and warmth to be on the street. It didn’t compute in the least. 

And then there were the freaks. Who knew there were so many freaks in Pittsburgh that saw a blond on his own and thought he’d be a fine tasty dinner for whatever perversion they had in mind. The last encounter had driven Justin off the main street and into the back alley; there were better places to hide. And the cold wasn’t quite so biting when the wind didn’t have him unexposed. But it was still cold and he was hungry. A loud crash less than a block away followed by shouting voices told Justin his latest pursuers hadn’t given up. 

He stumbled backwards, his eyes searching frantically for a place to hide, but this part of the alley was surprisingly tidy. His hoodie caught on a loose nail that protruded from a large piece of plywood covering a doorway. When he pulled on it, the plywood moved. At the same time the sounds of the two men who were chasing him became louder and more violent in their shouting. Not caring if he fit or not, Justin squeezed himself between the plywood and the door of the building, his hand felt behind him for a door knob which he found and turned, finding himself on his ass on the floor of a surprisingly warm dark building. He quickly pulled the plywood closed and then shut and turned the lock on the door. Leaning against it finally to catch his breath, which was coming in gasps. 

At the top of the tower, Brian jumped when the unexpected alarm sounded telling him someone was in the building. It stopped as quickly as it had begun and for a moment he wondered if his imagination was playing tricks. He checked his security cameras, but nothing seemed out of place. Even the very lowest levels of the building showed no sign of anyone, not even a stray mouse. 

And then, when he checked the ground floor back hallway, he could hear it. Quiet sobs of despair echoed in the dark shadowed emptiness. Now this was something different Brian thought to himself. In ten years, his perimeters had seldom been breached by anyone human. He wondered what he should do. The sobs continued and Brian’s curiosity led him to a decision. He turned on a light at the far end of the hallway. The light would show the way to one of the less empty rooms on the second floor. At least there the windows weren’t boarded over and there was a rather nice suite of rooms. Brian figured it had probably been the apartment of one of the building’s offices. Perhaps a place for business meetings or illicit romance. Either way, it contained a bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. All decorated in the height of nineteen fifties art deco fashion. It was his one night sanctuary for the needy.

When Justin was finally able to pull himself together, he looked up from his place on the floor and saw the faint glow of a light. Figuring he couldn’t stay where he was, he might as well see what his refuge consisted of.  Walking slowly, the hallway was dark, Justin moved toward the lighted area. He hurried past all of the closed doors, not wanting to think about what was behind them. 

Justin had lived in Pittsburgh all his life. His father’s office was downtown and while he’d been there often, he didn’t remember this building. It seemed somehow familiar, but he wasn’t sure why. At the end of the hallway, he looked through the large glass door onto the Pittsburgh street. The fact that it was locked was somehow reassuring to Justin. He didn’t mind the fact it was a glass door. The art deco design fashioned out of metal that encased the door told Justin where he was. He’d often sketched the building while waiting for his father. He looked around the lobby pleased with what he saw. He was in the Rosewood Building. It was a Pittsburgh landmark. 

Feeling more confident than he had before, Justin walked across the lobby to the elevator. He looked at the thick brass door and then decided that since the building was supposed to be deserted, he didn’t want to risk being trapped in an elevator.  Instead he walked slowly up a rather grand staircase, too grand, considering that the building had held offices. He wished he had a sketchpad with him. Inside, the building was filled with classic art deco designs. He would have loved to copy them for future reference. 

There wasn’t a lot of light to see his way. Only what filtered through the heavy glass doors and the transom window above the doors. He wondered what it must have been like when the building was being used and the glass clean and gleaming. 

Smiling despite his swollen and split lip, Justin walked up the staircase imagining that it was the twenties and he was dressed in a white suit reminiscent of an old movie. Now if the lighting was better, he could almost see the apartment where his rendezvous with the handsome hero of the movie would be waiting for him. 

His former tears forgotten, Justin walked confidently to the partially opened door to his right at the top of the stairway. He’d like to explore the whole building, but for now all he wanted to do was rest; he felt like shit and his breathing was raspy. It was late, later than he was used to being up. He’d had a hell of a night, so if he could find a quiet and safe corner to curl up in, he’d be happy for now. 

Brian watched the blond kid from various cameras as he made his way to his room for the night. The kid was cocky, that was for sure, considering the condition his face was in. He reminded Brian a bit of himself at the same age. Fearful but refusing to allow fear to cow him into subservience. 

Not realizing he was following a path that had been waiting for someone like him, Justin opened the door and stepped inside a small apartment. It was clean, but of a former style and glory. It was like stepping back in time and Justin couldn’t help but grin as he circled the space. His hands shook from his day, but he reached out to touch this and that, loving the feel of the various textures. He never thought to turn on a light. The building wasn’t being used or so he thought. He could see enough through the surprisingly clean second story windows that let in the lights from a nighttime Pittsburgh. 

The kitchen was open to the living room though there was a glass block wall curving slightly to give it some kind of special difference. He wandered in for no other reason than he was curious and he liked kitchens, especially ones that held food. Not that he expected to see any food in this one – but he could hope. His stomach growled in anticipation. He opened the door and stepped back in surprise. There wasn’t a great deal of food in it. But there were three green apples, a block of fresh cheese, two bottles of Evian and a loaf of multi grain bread. Oh and there was a note:

<i>You are trespassing on private property, but I assume that if you are here you must be tired and hungry. Eat this food and sleep well, but please leave in the morning. The access route you took to find the entrance will be sealed once you’ve left.

This is a one-time refuge from your life. There are warm jackets in the closet, take one if you need it. Shower and enjoy the facilities, you’ll find an assortment of clean clothing to replace what you have. The twenty dollars on the nightstand in the bedroom is yours. You are not the first to find this place and you won’t be the last. But no repeats are allowed and I don’t want to know your name or your story. There are no writing instruments available to tell me, so don’t bother looking. </i>

Justin read the note and then read it again. He thought it was beyond weird, but he was hungry and wasn’t about to turn down any kind of food though he would have preferred a burger and fries. He took the food and one bottle of water from the fridge. And then searched in the cupboards for a plate and a glass. He found coffee, tea and cookies. Things were looking up as far as Justin was concerned. 

He sneezed three times in a row, thankful that there was a package of tissues handy. His head was feeling fuzzy and he knew from the wheeze that was forming in his chest that he was coming down with a cold. No doubt his night adventure running in the cold and November drizzle without a coat had lowered his immune system enough that he picked up a virus. He’d always been susceptible to things like that. Justin had glanced in the bathroom and was pleased to see there was a large old-fashioned tub. He’d eat and have a hot bath. That and a good night’s sleep should help him figure out what in hell he was going to do with his life. He still couldn’t believe that his father had threatened to fire Daphne’s father if she helped him. That was a dirty thing to do.

On the seventh floor, Brian sat in a chaise staring out the floor to ceiling window. He watched the steady drip of rainwater as it ran down the glass. It wouldn’t be long before that rain would turn to snow. Pittsburgh weather was predicable. 

“Mr. K” Sara walked into the room. “Fred has finished checking the doors and windows. Everything is locked up for the night.”

“And our trespasser?” Brian asked. 

“He found the apartment. The last time Fred checked, the boy had eaten and was about to take a warm bath. I’m afraid he seems rather ill, and Mr. K., the bruises on his face and body are just terrible. If he has caught himself a cold, he isn’t going to be in any shape to leave in the morning. The beating he took will be painful once those bruises have a chance to ripen and with a cold, well you have to see him to understand. He doesn’t look very old and he’s rather thin.”

“Fred can tell all this from a rather small video monitor?” Brian laughed. “You two just like to find someone to mother. Aren’t I enough for you?”

“Mr.K, you know that’s not true.” She laughed because his words did have some truth in them.

“When he’s asleep, see if Fred can check on him. Maybe leave something for his cold and bruises. And Sara, you could put a pot of your chicken soup in his fridge. I know it’ll be a strange breakfast, but it would probably do him more good than a piece of toast.” 

“You should see him Mr. K, he’s so…” she hesitated. “I don’t know how to put it. But he’s different than some that have found their way inside. There’s something about him. I don’t think he’s been on the street very long.” 

“I suppose each street kid has to have a first day.” Brian lifted his glass of wine and sipped it. 

“Yes, that’s very true.” She plumped up a couple of pillows. “It’s just that this boy is more refined than most.” 

“So, I suppose it was inevitable we’d get a better class of street person.” Brian huffed a laugh. “I’m not making fun of you Sara. I understand what you’re saying. But you know the rules. We give them food and clothing if they need it. A warm bed for the night and twenty bucks. It’s what we’ve been doing for years and it’s worked just fine.”

“We have had a few who’ve returned.” 

“Not many and it didn’t work.” He turned to her. “I can’t have anyone here more than once. That’s why we have the rules. I don’t mind giving shelter once, but after that they’re on their own, just like I was. I did okay.” 

“But you dear Mr. K are special.” She smiled and patted his cheek. He was like a son to her after all these years. “Take the time to check on the young man. It won’t hurt you to look, after all you let him into your lair.” 

“My lair.” He laughed. “Like I’m some kind of beast.” 

“Well, if the lair fits.” She laughed. “You’re a beast with a heart of gold.”

“That fairy tale has been exploited already by Disney.” Brian snickered. “The next thing you’ll be telling me is that the latest interloper is my Princess with the golden hair. In case you haven’t noticed, a wandering prince with a big dick and a high sex drive would be better.”

“You can say what you want Mr. K. You won’t shock me into leaving you alone. You do need someone in your life. So help me, one of these days I’m bringing you a dog.” 

“Christ no. I’ll check on the kid in the apartment. I promise, but not now.” Brian pretended surrender. “Now don’t you have a wife to get home to?” 

“Fred is waiting, but she’s used to that.” Sara smiled. “I’m going. I made some ginger cookies, low fat, so get that look off of your face.” 

Brian waved her away and went back to his contemplation of the raindrops. He had no intention of spying on the kid who had managed to find his way inside his tower. He found that things that could hurt him were best left unseen.

By the time Justin finished his bath, he was feeling worse than he had before. He searched through the cabinets for something to relieve his fever, but could only find Tylenol. And he couldn’t have that because of his allergies. Not sure what else to do, he drank another bottle of water and crawled into bed. Sighing with pleasure as his body hit the cool sheets. Asleep almost immediately, he was unaware of Fred who had been waiting and watching, as the old woman quietly appeared from a side door and covered him with a down filled duvet. She took a chance and felt his forehead, shocked at how hot he was. This wasn’t good. He was far too hot for it to be a normal fever. She wondered why he hadn’t taken any of the Tylenol. He must know it would help lower his temperature.

Brian still hadn’t finished his glass of wine. It was a good Bordeaux but he wasn’t in the mood and he wasn’t that big of a drinker anyway. It was like this occasionally between books. He was restless as he worked out the plot for his next book in his mind. Sara and Fred often accused him of brooding, but he was really working through some intricate plot or another as it twined with subplots. 

A quiet knock on the door to his loft caught his attention. “Mr. K.” Fred poked her head around the corner. 

“Hey Fred. Sara’s gone home.” Brian said. 

“I know, I stopped in. I had to tell you about the boy in the safe apartment. He’s sick. He has a fever and his breathing is strained.”

“We’ve had sick ones before. If he’s too bad have him taken to the hospital.”  Brian turned away. Wasn’t it enough that he did what he did? Why complicate things?

“I just wanted you to know Mr. K.” Fred smiled. “I’ll monitor him. If you see the ambulance lights later, don’t be alarmed.” She quietly left him alone.

Brian sighed. He hated being involved in the lives of others. He much preferred his solitary existence. An hour later he noticed the flash of blue and red lights, not a lot, he was high in his tower, but enough to know that Fred had to call an ambulance for the boy. 

Sighing heavily, Brian walked down to supervise the removal of the boy. He walked into the bedroom just as the paramedic placed an oxygen mask on a still white face. Eye lids fluttered and blue eyes opened, catching him frozen in time before closing again.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was touch and go with Justin. He’d been given Tylenol and had an instant reaction that resulted in his breathing stopping. That combined with the injuries he’d received from his father and the pneumonia he’d managed to catch, made Justin Taylor a very sick boy. 

“Justin, Justin honey, it’s your mother.” Jennifer wiped her son’s brow with a cool damp cloth. She’d been doing it for hours, ever since she’d found her son. This was the last straw as far as Craig Taylor was concerned. When Justin was awake, she was going to have her husband charged with Justin’s beating. Her heart broke as she wiped his face gently to avoid hurting the bruised flesh even more. Sending him out into the November weather without his coat and with nowhere to go even though he was well aware that Justin caught colds easily, was a crime and it wasn’t going to go unpunished. 

There was a knock at Justin’s hospital room door. Jennifer turned to see a young woman with short dark hair looking in. “Mrs. Taylor, I’m Melanie Marcus, I specialize in child abuse cases as well as divorce. My friend Nancy on the nursing staff called me. She said you needed someone.”

“Miss Marcus, it’s kind of you to come so early in the morning.” Jennifer’s lips quivered. “I don’t know what I would have done if your friend hadn’t found my number in Justin’s pocket.” It had been on a copy of a receipt for school supplies, balled up in the bottom of Justin’s pants pocket. 

“Can we talk, perhaps in the waiting room? Your son will be fine for a few minutes. Though if you don’t mind, I’m going to snap a couple of pictures. They might be needed later.” Justin was looking worse than ever. He was paper white, almost translucent and the bruises and split lip stood out stark and ugly in the harsh hospital lighting. 
Justin was awake. He just couldn’t convince his eyes that he was. The lids were heavy and he felt like shit. In his fever-fogged brain, he kept seeing art deco designs, heavy brass elevator doors, rooms out of another era. Justin wondered if it was real or if it was some kind of dream. And most of all, he saw bottomless green eyes flecked with gold and filled with an inner pain such as he’d never seen before. His dream had eyes.

He hurt, but he knew that was his father’s doing, the bastard. “Mom?” he said when he heard his mother’s voice again.

“Justin, thank goodness you’re awake.”

“What happened?” Justin asked. 

“You were out in the cold rain and became ill. Somehow you were given Tylenol and  you know what happens in that case.” She smiled. “But it’s all better now honey. I’m here and as soon as you’re able, we’ll go home.”

“I can’t, dad.” He began and his eyes filled with tears. 

“Let me worry about your father. He won’t hurt you again.” 

“He said he’d fire Mr. Chanders.” Justin began.

“No he won’t. Craig Taylor may have run the company for the last twenty years. But it is owned by me, and always has been. It was my grandfather’s legacy to me. I never gave Craig control before and he’ll find out just what a mistake it was not to get that control. I have a lawyer looking after things, don’t worry.” 

“Mom, you can’t do this. I’m not worth it. You and dad and Molly…” Justin’s voice trailed off as he closed his eyes, exhausted from his ordeal. “How did I get here?” he asked, the last few hours already a blur in his mind. Like some kind of nightmare that fades with the morning sun. 

“You were brought here by ambulance.”  Jennifer looked confused. “I was called by someone. I’m not sure who. I think it was someone from the hospital, a nurse.” But she wasn’t really sure. “Why does it really matter as long as you’re here and you’re recovering?”

“I don’t know, I thought….” Justin’s voice trailed off. Was his night inside the art deco building a dream fashioned from fever? It felt real. The note he’d read, read real. It didn’t make any sense. “Mom, about dad…” he began again. 

“Justin, I won’t have you thinking of it. You just get better, that’s all that matters, remember that. You have school to think of. You graduate this year and then you will have a wonderful year abroad before you begin University.”

“Mom…” Justin felt too tired and ill to protest his mother’s plan for him. It wasn’t what he wanted but now wasn’t the time to say anything. He closed his eyes and let darkness take him away to dreamland where he dreamed of green eyes and soft red lips. 

While Justin slept, Brian sat in front of his computer, his block forgotten as he wove a tale of romance, the hero, slight of build with eyes as blue as sea glass. His muse never knowing that he’d be on the bestseller list in a few months and perhaps someday, immortalized on the silver screen.