CHAPTER EIGHT

BRIAN

“So what the fuck’s going on, Brian?” Mikey’s voice is strident enough to make me wince and hold the phone away from my ear.

“I suggest you ask J.R.’s mother about that,” I tell him.

“I’m fucking asking you!” he shouts.  “Mel said Lindsey was going to stay with her parents for a couple of weeks, but now they’re saying she and Gus have left without a forwarding address, and you won’t take any of Mel’s calls!  She’s frantic!”

“Yeah, I bet.”  I take a mouthful of beer and watch James Dean moodily strutting his stuff on the muted T.V.  “I’d say she’s got good fucking reason.”

He huffs.  “Whatever problems they have are between them.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mikey.  And I’m sure you’d feel a little different if Linds were the one slapping your precious daughter around.”

“Jesus, Brian, that was a misunderstanding!  Gus was out of order and Mel spanked him, that’s all … you don’t really think she’d hurt him, do you?  She’d die for that kid!”

“You call it what you want, Mikey.  The way Linds tells it, it was fucking assault.  And if it comes to believing her or that rabid bitch she married, I’m betting on the House.”

“Yeah, like the way you did when Mel and I were fighting for custody of J.R.!  Lindsey came bleating to you and next thing we knew you’d hired her that fancy lawyer and everything was more fucked up than it was in the first place!  And now she’s got you interfering again!”

“I’m not interfering, Mikey.  I’m supporting Linds because right now she needs me.  And until she can get a job and a place to live and a school for Gus, I’ll continue to support her.”

He’s silent for a minute.  Then he says incredulously, “You mean she’s not going back to Toronto?”

I laugh.  “You’d better believe she isn’t going back!  And if Melanie thought she was, then she’s an even bigger idiot than I gave her credit for.  She crossed the line, Mikey.  No second chances.”

“Hang on a moment, what do you mean, Mel crossed the line?  What about Lindsey and that professor at the art school she was fucking?  Did she tell you about that?”

“As a matter of fact, she did.  And she wasn’t fucking him, it was just Mel being her usual crazy paranoid jealous-bitch self.  And did you know she’s been hitting Linds as well as Gus?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard she fucking deserves it!” Mikey yells.

“Like I used to, Mikey?” I ask softly.

“It is not the same!” he shouts.  “It is not the same at all!”

“Keep telling yourself that the next time you see a bruise on J.R, and Mel says its because she fell down the stairs or tripped over her toys or fell off her swing,” I snap.  “Because I’ve heard it all before.  I thought you were smarter than that, Michael!”

I can hear him breathing heavily.  Then he says in a quieter voice, “And I thought you were smart too, Brian.  Smart enough to know when someone’s manipulating you … the way they’ve always manipulated you!”

“There’s only one person who fits that description, Mikey.  And we both know I’m talking to him right now!” 

I slam the phone down on him.

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

I’ve been to Redwood, I’ve been to Hollywood,

I’ve crossed the ocean for a heart of gold,

I’ve been in my mind, it’s such a fine line

That keeps me searching for a heart of gold;

And I’m getting old.

- Neil Young

JUSTIN

“Jesus, J.T., it’s fucking brilliant!” Dylan says in an awe-struck voice.

I study the page that’s just slid out of the printer and smile.  It’s not brilliant, but it’s pretty good.

Dylan’s working on an anthology of his poems called Black Dog.  He’s hoping to get Daddy to  finance a limited publication and sell it to his Goth friends at college.  He’s persuaded me to illustrate it.

Actually, I’m finding the project far more enjoyable than I expected.  I don’t think for a moment Dyl is ever going to fulfil his ambition of being acclaimed as a major poet, but his words have a dark, edgy resonance that suits my mood very well.  He’s encouraged me to make my own interpretations of his work and I have to admit the results are interesting.  He says I’m giving him new insight and inspiration.

Fuck, I’m another muse.

“Do you want your reward now or later?”  He’s making sexy-eyes at me.

“It’ll have to be later, Dyl.  I have to get to work.”

He scowls.  “Why the fuck are you still at Gino’s?  You don’t have to … you know the bills are all covered.  And now we’re together, maybe Dad will …”

I sigh.  This argument is becoming a constant issue.  He can’t understand why I refuse to simply sit back and let his father pay for everything.  I’ve got to admit it’s great to sleep in a comfortable bed again, to live in a little luxury, to enjoy good food and the occasional dip into Dylan’s bottomless drug supply.  But even when I was with Brian I paid my own way as much as I could, and I’m not about to become a kept boyfriend now, no matter how tempting it sometimes seems.  At least this way I can salvage some pride, knowing that I still at least pay for my own clothes and drinks and art supplies.  Not much maybe, but better than nothing.

Really I need to get my own place, because Dylan is getting way too possessive; but I can’t pay the ridiculous fucking rents without a good job.  And I can’t get a decent job without going back to college and finishing my education; only I can’t pay the fees without working, and if I’m working I won’t have time to go to classes in the first place! 

It just keeps going round and fucking round.

“Dyl.  I’ve tried to explain … I don’t want your father paying for everything.  And we’re not together … not in the way you mean.  I told you, I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

“No.  That’s why you won’t stop tricking!” he snaps.

“I don’t do it front of you, Dyl,” I say softly.   “And remember, you were the one who wanted me to move in.  We both agreed, no strings.”

I see that hurt look come into his eyes and feel a twinge of guilt.  I like him okay, and he’s fun to hang out with most of the time, but I know that he’s looking for more than I can give him.  I don’t do very much to make him happy, considering how generous he’s been to me – even if it is with his father’s money - which is why I’d agreed to work on Black Dog with him.

“I’ll be home early,” I tell him, trying to make amends.  I give him a kiss on the cheek, but I draw away when he tries to reach my lips.  Fuck, now he’s looking hurt again.

I walk away from him and head for the bathroom. 

Standing in front of the mirror, I feel a slight shock when I look at myself.  I wonder how long it will take before I get used to my new look and I stop thinking Who the fuck is that? every time I catch sight of myself in a shop window.  I think I like it.  I think I do.

Somehow it all got on my nerves, the barely concealed snide comments from Dylan friends about blond bimbos.  It reminded me of the time with Ethan, when his pretentious arty friends had assumed me to be nothing more than an air-headed trophy wife; or Cody’s malicious dig about my looking like Meg Ryan.  So I decided to do something about it.

Dylan definitely approves, that’s for sure.  I’d barely moved in before he confirmed what I’d already suspected, that he’s a total bottom.  Not only that, but he’s got a strong masochistic streak, particularly when he’s high; and he says my new look makes me appear older, more dominant, more dangerous.  That suits me fine; I left my taste for tenderness and love-making behind me in Pittsburgh, and if Dylan wants it hard and rough and mindless, I’m happy to oblige.  It’s funny, but I understand Brian’s attitude better now – how topping keeps you in emotional as well as physical control.  You can maintain a level of detachment which is impossible when you bottom, because then you’re vulnerable.  Then you have to trust your partner, the way I always trusted Brian. 

Sex with Dylan is like sex with everybody else now … it gets me off.  That’s all I want, all I expect.

I brush my teeth and tie my hair back in a ponytail.  Then I go back to the bedroom to get my work clothes from the closet.  White dress shirt, black pants, clip on black bow tie, black shoes.  Very respectable.

When I get back to the lounge, Dylan’s using a credit card to cut lines of coke on the coffee table.  He rolls up a dollar bill and snorts a couple of lines.  He wipes his nose and looks up at me, still a little sulky.  “Want a hit?”

I’d done coke a few times with Brian.  I’m always wary of trying new stuff because of my allergies, but I’d known he’d keep an eye on me, that he’d make sure I was safe.  I trusted him.  The first time, he’d been working non-stop on some new account Ryder wanted him to land, and he needed to meet his deadline.  So he’d kept going on coke and caffeine: when he’d finally finished, he let me snort half a line and then fucked me senseless to celebrate.  That was also the first time he tied me up.  But he never did coke often because he said the high was too addictive, not to mention expensive.  And also because prolonged use tends to suppress the sex drive, which was by far the most potent reason for him to avoid it.  When I was in L.A., of course, it had been available everywhere, all the time.  At one party that Brett took me to, the host simply put a crystal glass bowl filled with the stuff on the table and let his guests help themselves.  But I’d never really got into that scene.  I’d been running on adrenaline and enthusiasm, and they were all the drugs I’d really needed.

Now?  I do it sometimes.  When Dylan goes on one of his BDSM jags, the quick high helps.  And sometimes, when I’m tired or down or just fucking bored.  And sometimes, like now, when dressing up like a penguin and waiting in fucking Gino’s is the last thing on earth I want to do.

So I take the bill from him and snort quickly, knowing that the buzz will last at least until I get to work.  I’ll smile, and wiggle my butt, and flirt, just like always.  Maybe some hot guy will appreciate it.  And when I get home, Dylan will be waiting for me.

No, I’m beginning to get the feeling of having jumped out of the frying pan straight into the damn fire.  I really, really have to get out of here before Dylan gets any more fixated on me than he already is.  What I need to do is figure out how.

TBC