CHAPTER TWO

JUSTIN

“So, everything’s fine there?”  Brian’s voice is carefully neutral.

“Yeah.  Yeah, of course,” I reply as enthusiastically as I can.  I don’t want him worrying.

“And you’re okay at September’s until you can find a studio?”

“Yeah.  When I get my next cheque from Michael I should be able to come up with a deposit.”

“If you need anything at all, just say so.”

Only you, you idiot.  “I miss you, Brian.”

There’s a pause; then he says softly, “Me too, Sunshine.”  There’s an unmistakable catch as he says my name.

“Well, next Friday you’ll be able to give me a personal demonstration.  Except for the opening, I’m not planning to let you out of bed for the whole weekend!” 

He doesn’t react at all.  No laugh, no joke, no comment.

I try again.  “I’m so looking forward to seeing everyone … and Babylon!  I can’t believe we can dance there again!”

Silence.  I feel a cold finger press against my spine.  “Brian?”

I hear him take a shaky breath.  Then he starts talking, quickly, so I have no chance to interrupt.  “Okay, I’m just gonna say this.  It’s not a good idea for you to come up for the opening.  In fact, it’s not a good idea for you to come back, period.  I’m sorry, Justin, but that’s the way it is.”

My stomach gives a little uneasy lurch.  “Brian … what, do you have to go away or something?  Have you postponed the party?”

“No. No, Babylon’s opening on schedule.”

“Then why don’t you want me to come?”

He’s quiet again.  Then he says simply, “Because there’s no point.  We’re not going anywhere.”

I feel like he’s slapped me, the shock is that great.  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Justin.  Please listen to me.”  I can picture him pinching his nose, eyes squeezed shut.  “We always knew there was a good chance this thing wouldn’t work out.  You’ve got your own life now, and I’ve got mine.  Just let it go.”

“This thing?” I repeat, my voice climbing several octaves.  “This thing?  This thing where we were going to get married?  We always knew there was a chance it wouldn’t fucking work out?”  My heart is beating so hard now, I think he can probably hear it.

“But we didn’t get married, did we.  You went to New York.  And it was probably for the best, Justin.  Better we find out now than after we’ve fucked each other up.”

“But … you said it,” I insist.  The anger’s fading quickly, being replaced by pure terror.  “You said you fucking loved me!”

“And I meant it.  I still do.”

“Then what the fuck are you talking about?  If you still love me, and I love you, then what…”

“Justin.”  He cuts me off.  “Loving you and being able to change for you are not the same thing.  You were the one who told me you didn’t want me to change … well, I’ve found I haven’t.  We’ve been apart a few months now, and it’s given me chance to think.  To see things clearly … you were right, I guess it was just the shock of the bombing … Mikey nearly dying … yeah, I over-reacted to everything.  Now I’m back to normal, just like you said.”

“What, fucking?” I spit at him.  I can hardly get the words out, my breath hitching as I fight back the tears.

“All of that.  And I’m enjoying it.  I can’t give you what you need, Sunshine.  I never could, I never can.  Better you accept it now, and go on.”

“Brian …”  This can’t be happening.  It fucking can’t.  “Brian, please … I’ll come back tomorrow, we’ll talk, don’t just end it like this …”

“No!” he yells.  “You are not coming back here.”  He takes a harsh breath.  When he speaks again, his voice is gentler.  “I don’t want you to.  That’s all there is to it.  Please, Justin, don’t make this harder than it is.  I’m trying to do the right thing, here.”

“The right thing for who!  Brian, you’ve done this too many times before, trying to shove me away because you think it’s right for me!  Well, it’s not happening.  You’re not being a fucking coward and doing this over the phone!  I’m getting a Greyhound tomorrow…”

“Then you’d better arrange somewhere to stay.  I’ve had the locks changed, and I won’t be answering the buzzer.  Stay where you are, Justin.  You’ll be happier, I promise.  Take care of yourself.”  And he fucking hangs up on me.

I’m crying so hard now I can hardly see my fucking cell, but I punch speed-dial and it goes straight to voice-mail.  I try another seven times before I figure he’s not going to pick up.

It’s a while before I can get my breathing under control and start to think clearly again.  I head for the bathroom and splash my face with cold water, relieved that September wasn’t here to witness my melt-down.  She’s a great girl but she’s as big a fag-hag as Daph; September would have had my best friend cutting short her back-packing trip to Europe and had her scampering back to pick up the pieces.

I gaze at myself in the mirror, at my red, puffy eyes.  Deep breaths, Justin.  Calm down.  Think.  What a fucking fool I am, not to realise that Brian would eventually work himself into a funk about my living in New York.  He’s so predictable, I should have expected it.  But he’d seemed so happy those weeks after Britin, so relaxed … I really thought all this shit was finally behind us.  But if I think about it, his calls have been getting a little strange recently … kind of formal.  I figured it was just that he was working too hard … but I should have picked up on it.  I probably would have if I hadn’t been so fucking tired all the time. Well, I’ll just have to what I always do, and show him he can’t push me away no matter what he does.  I’ve seen the worst he can do, after all, and I’m still here, still fighting.  I’ll go home and tell him he’s right; this isn’t working out, but not for the reasons he thinks.  It’s not working out because it never will work out.  I don’t have what it takes to succeed here – not the determination, not the ruthlessness, not the talent.  Fuck, there are guys with more ability than me doing street-paintings for a living!

They never understood, Brian, Linds, Deb … even my Mom.  I’m an unknown kid from Pittsburgh who’s never even had his own show; who got thrown out of PIFA, who never graduated, who got sacked from his internship for gross misconduct.  Impressive CV, huh?  Guaranteed to have any employer champing at the bit to sign me up. 

But they expected me to turn up here with nothing but one complementary review from that ass-licking critic and I’m supposed to take the art world by storm.

If only Linds had kept her mouth shut about that damn article, none of this would have happened.  I told her that Brian was my big opportunity, not New York; but would she listen?  No, she had to go running to Brian and get him all worked up about my sacrificing my career for him, and acting like an idiot.  Because nobody believes in me more than Brian does.

As if I couldn’t see through him!  When will he learn that I’m on to him?  I saw how happy he was when we were planning the wedding, everybody could … and then Linds sticks her nose in and suddenly Brian’s all sarky and reluctant again.

And he wouldn’t have stopped.  He’d have gone on acting all martyred and ridiculous, and it would have spoiled everything … and our wedding was too important to be clouded by any misunderstanding between us.  I know better than to argue when Brian gets an idea in his head, particularly when it involves the welfare of someone he cares about.  Never mind if it’s all bullshit!  I figured it was much easier just to postpone things, come out here and do what he wanted, and get it over with.  A few months and we could get back to the way we were supposed to be.

And it’s not like I haven’t tried, because Brian would have expected me to give New York my best shot.  And I have… lugging my portfolio to every gallery and agent I could find, always getting the same response.  Yes, it’s good; yes, it shows promise: it’s also a little angry.  Angry isn’t really the thing at the moment.  It’s too dark; too depressing. Take my card and give me a ring when you have some more pieces.  Fuck, I can’t even afford a place to paint.  And agents don’t come free, either.

I remember how in LA, every busboy and shopgirl was a wannabe actor just waiting to be discovered.  Here, there are artists and poets, models and rock-stars; all jostling and hustling and climbing over each other to be recognised.  Only the very best, or the very worst, survive to make it to the top.

And I just don’t have that kind of mind-set; not the drive nor the ambition.  Hello, I refused to go to Dartmouth because I knew I could never make it as a businessman!  I want my art to be my pleasure, my passion, my comfort – I never want to use it as a leg-up to the world of celebrity and wealth, to pimp it to gain things I don’t even want in the first place.  If people like my work enough to buy a piece now and then, to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly – well, I’m more than happy with that.

I was going to tell Brian at the re-launch of Babylon that I’d had enough; that I’d rather work as a busboy in the Pitts surrounded by my friends and family than work as a waiter in New York surrounded by strangers.  That I’d rather have my grungy studio at home than sleep on the couch of Daph’s old room mate.  That I’d rather be with him than be cold and lonely and scared.  That it wasn’t even a question of whether my art was good enough for New York; it was a question of New York not being good enough for me.

But he’s taken the ground from under me, as usual.  So I’d better ring the restaurant and tell them I’ve got a family crisis and I won’t be in for a few days.  I’ve got a Greyhound to catch.

I don’t intend to be coming back.

***************************************************

BRIAN

I turn off my cell, knowing he’ll be trying to call.

I pour myself a large Beam and down half of it in one go.  Not so long ago I would have had to get wasted before I called, hoping there’d be large chunks of the conversation I wouldn’t remember in the morning.

But I’d wanted to do him the justice of being sober … plus, I wanted to be absolutely sure how I spoke to him.  Because … fuck, I didn’t want to hurt him.  Not more than I had to.  And when I heard him tearing up, getting so panicky … Christ, I don’t know how I held it together.   I hadn’t meant to, but now I’m glad I told him I still love him.  I could say the stuff about getting my old life back, but even over the phone I couldn’t lie to him about that.  Funny how after all the years I spent denying it, now I’m completely unable to.

And although he’s hurting now, he’ll be fine, I know he will; like I told him after the bombing, if anyone can come through disaster unscathed, it’s him.  I have total faith in him.  Once he thinks about it, he’ll see this is really the only way.  And when he’s fabulously wealthy and famous, he’ll laugh.

But at the moment, I don’t think he’ll let go so easily.  In fact, I know he won’t, because he’s always been such a fucking pit-bull where I’m concerned.  And if Plan A fails, and he comes back home, then I’ll have to resort to Plan B.  And Christ, there’s no way I ever want him to find about Plan B.

TBC