BURN, Chapter 23

Posting for Brian. Enjoy, Ran

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The kids fell sleep on the way to Canard Rouge, but Boyd suspected that wasn’t why Brian was suddenly so quiet. He turned down the music in Brian’s, or was it Ted’s, Range Rover. Boyd’s car was waiting for him at home and this one would get Brian back to New Orleans when he needed to leave.

“Wassup?” Boyd asked as Brian slumped low in the passenger seat, the soles of his feet propped up on the dash. Outside, an evening rain shower steamed off the asphalt like smoke. Brian looked over his shoulder, as if to confirm the kids were asleep, and then answered,

“Nothing.”

Boyd smiled. “Yeah, right. What?”

“Why does something have to be ‘up’? Can’t I just be quiet?” Brian stared straight ahead as he answered. The city was already far behind them, and soon the highway would give way to the roads of the bayou. Boyd thought about letting him have his space, but then decided against it.

“Is it Moody?”

That inquiry drew a response from Brian, who laughed and used his thumb and forefinger to thump Boyd’s head. “Yeah, that’s it, Boyd. I’m mooning over Moody. Shit.”

“Don’t make me guess. Talk to me.”

Brian sighed. How could he tell Boyd he didn’t want to go back to Canard Rouge? His impression of the town, with some exceptions, was overwhelmingly negative. Why not? He felt they came close to lynching him for a crime he didn’t commit. He was shot and seriously wounded in that town. It was a tiny place with nothing to recommend it other than the fact he found the love of his life there. For that he would be eternally grateful to Canard Rouge. But okay, that was done. Going back to it held no appeal. The misery of being separated from Boyd was all that forced him into this visit.

“I’m just thinking of all the shit I have to get done. Being sick really set me back.”

“You could’ve stayed in town,” Boyd offered, relieved and a little surprised that he hadn’t.

“I think it’s important for the two of us to be together when the kids first come home, don’t you? Give them a sense of where they stand.” Saying it, Brian knew that was right, and he let go of his bad memories about the town as he thought about the children. Some things were more important than his grudge.

Boyd smiled at his lover’s classic profile, never loving him more than he did at that moment and never less able to show him how he felt. Brian flipped open his mobile and pushed speed dial. Finally, someone answered.

“Hello, Melanie. It’s Brian. Is Lindsay around?” He gave Boyd an exaggerated shimmer of horror directed at Melanie. Boyd laughed and shook his head. Lindsay was chirpy when she answered.

“Hi, Brian! I was beginning to wonder if you’d disappeared in the swamp! Maybe got eaten by an alligator?”

“No, I only let Boyd munch on me these days,” he grinned at the driver, who winced. “How is everyone?”

“Meaning?”

“Everyone.”

“Mel and I are fine, Gus is fine, you can talk to him in a minute, Debbie is the same, still cursing you for leaving. Vic said to say hello if we spoke. Michael is still sulking, he thinks you don’t love him anymore. Emmett is fabulous, as always. And Justin is home.”

“He is?” He was careful not to sound too interested. “Why?”

“He lives here, Brian. He’s visiting his mother and friends. But he’s going back to Italy.”

“Ah, good.” He didn’t want Justin to relinquish his dream. “Boyfriend with him?” Casual, he cautioned himself, be casual about it. He didn’t want Boyd to get the wrong idea about his interest. It was more a hope that Justin was happy than personal curiosity.

“No, that didn’t last, but he still seems fine. He loves Italy. He loves the academy.”

“I knew he would.” Brian wondered what happened with the boyfriend. Justin was too young to settle down, anyway. He learned that about him the hard way, and it wasn’t any easier for Justin. “Tell him hello for me.”
“I will. How’s Boyd?”

“Boyd is great,” he said, smiling at his partner, who shrugged as if to say he was getting by. “We bought a house.”

“In that awful little town?”

“No, in New Orleans. Area called Faubourg Marigny.”

“Wow. How breeder-ish.”

He let her casual insult roll off his back. He refused to be shamed by Lindsay. “It’s a beautiful place. Six bedrooms, a library, swimming pool, coach house. A showplace.”

Boyd laughed and shook his head at Brian’s bragging. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to jab, Lindsay or Boyd. It didn’t matter. Boyd had a plan about how to get Brian engaged in that house. “How much does something like that cost?” Lindsay pried and Brian shrugged.

“More than a breadbox and less than Versailles.”

She giggled. “A million?”

“Don’t be rude and don’t be cheap. Let me talk to Gus.”

“Hold on.”

“Daddy, come home!” Gus opened with a demand.

“I think you should come down here and visit me,” Brian countered. One more kid was just what they didn’t need, but he missed Gus.

“Okay! Now?”

“Soon, sure, why not?”

“What’re you doing, Daddy?”

“Riding in the car with Boyd.”

“I want to ride in the car with Boy’!”

They chatted for awhile, and when Lindsay came back on, she said, “You can’t just issue an invitation like that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

“You have so much going on.”

“We have a nanny, Linds. I’d really like you to fly Gus down for a visit,” he cast a sheepish look at Boyd for not asking first. Boyd shrugged and smiled. He was always happy to see Gus. A little more hectic intrusion into their already hectic lives wouldn’t even raise a ripple.

When they reached the mill house, each carried a sleeping kid upstairs and tucked them in. Seated in the main room with glasses of wine, and Coltrane on the sound system, Boyd said, “Any ETA on Gus?”

“She said she’d get back to me. Sorry to just invite him down without talking to you first. I miss him. When I heard his voice, the invitation just came out of me.”

“I’ll be glad to see him, Brian. Any time. Our home is his home.”

Brian smiled at him and tapped his glass with his own. “Thanks.”

“Speaking of, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?” Brian raised a cautious brow. “Does it involve a butt plug?”

“It could, but then what couldn’t?” They both chuckled. “Seriously, I need your help.”

“I’m listening.”

“When you go back to New Orleans, I want you to meet with a guy named Sebastian Slade.”

Brian laughed. “Why? Is he casting a gay porn movie? No one is named Sebastian Slade.”

“I suspect he was born with a much less lyrical name than that, but it’s what he goes by now and it’s served him well. He’s pretty well known around here.”

“As?”

“Interior designer. The hot studio to use. I would’ve used him at the gallery but the asshole I called was supposed to be an expert in the art game.”

“Some game, anyway. What do you want me to do? Meet him at your gallery? I really don’t think I should. I don’t have as clear a vision for it as you do.”

“Not the gallery. Our house.”

Brian stared at him. “You want me to lead on finishing out the house?”

“Sure. Why not? You have exquisite taste. I’ll leave it all to you.”

“Bullshit. It’ll end up looking like some Bauhaus fuck den, not a family place. All scaled down and spare and contemporary.”

Boyd shrugged. “If that’s how you see the place, then that’s how it’ll be.”

Brian glared at his partner. His suspicions were aroused. “Why should I have to do all of it?”

“It would help me out. I have to run the mill, close up my law practice, get the kids settled in school and get the gallery started. I realize you’re trying to launch a business, too, but you’ll be in town more often than I and the designer will do all the leg work. You just have to guide them.”

Brian laughed and shook his head. “You’re as transparent as glass, Boyd. You think if I get involved in how the house turns out, I’ll feel more attached to it.”

Boyd shrugged. “And? Am I wrong?”

“Don’t play me.”

“I’m not playing you, Brian. I’m asking you to take the lead in designing the house we plan to share. Will you at least meet with the guy?”

“You set it up, I’ll meet with him,” Brian conceded. “But if you don’t like what we come up with, it’s your own damn fault.”

“I’ll like it if you like it.”

“Are we going to set a budget?”

“Whatever you think we can afford.”

“I have no clue what you can afford. Are you keeping this place furnished?”

“Yes, let’s go from ground up. And let’s worry about the cost when we have estimates.”

“I like spare, I like clean and it’s a more elaborate house than that.”

“I like a new look in an old space. Like here, like your loft. No rules, Brian.”

Brian moved closer to him on the sofa and took his wine glass from him, setting it on the table. “No rules? I like that.” Boyd leaned back as Brian kissed him. The phone interrupted and Boyd frowned as he picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Brian Kinney?”

“Hold on,” he wiggled the receiver at Brian, who frowned as he took it from him.

“Yeah?”

“Is this Brian Kinney?”

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“You’re going to burn in hell, you faggot, and so is your boyfriend and those twisted kids you’re raising. Burn in hell!”

Brian hung up with a scowl and Boyd read his look. “What was that?”

Brian checked caller ID, but there was no number. It just read “out of area”. “A lovely greeting from your Southern Gothic brethren,” he said and got up to refill their wine glasses, suddenly out of the mood.

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Daphne expected some smooth and urban cafe, but Bellamy took her on a drive. “Is there no decent food in New Orleans?” she joked as the rain let up at the borders of the city. He drove a sensible car, an American- made SUV without a lot of bells, whistles and luxuries. She suspected he’d rather have something flashier, but his political aspirations militated against fancy cars. Apparently that prohibition didn’t extend to tailoring. He looked handsome and stylish in a Hugo Boss suit and open-collared shirt.

“I thought you might want something a bit more adventurous,” he responded, taking in her lacy pale yellow camisole and skirt that she wore with a flimsy little jacket covering her shoulders. Her hair was loose instead of pulled up and he liked it better that way. She looked like a schoolgirl, but he had his people verify she was the college graduate she claimed to be. Getting caught with an underage girl was not in his stars.

“I like adventure,” she admitted. And she liked him. What was there not to like? Okay, he was mean to his mother, apparently. That was bad. She liked his mother. But then, she didn’t have all the facts. Her mobile rang and she excused herself and withdrew it from her purse. “Brian, I’m on a date.”

“With what?” he demanded and she rolled her eyes.

“This is my personal space, remember? Can I call you later?”

“I want you to find out everything you can on some interior designer named Sebastian Slade.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the dad and I say so.”

She giggled at that. “Ok, whatever. Bye.”

“Wait. We got a crank call at home. We need to turn up the heat on the Christians.”

“Do you know how weird that sounds?”

“Yes. So who are you with?”

“Goodnight, Brian.” She hung up and apologized to Bellamy. “I have a boss with no clue about personal boundaries.”

“What was so urgent?”

“He wants me to look up some interior designer named Sebastian Slade.”

“I know Sebastian.”

“You do?”

“Very well. He was responsible for the work I did in my house when I moved in after my father’s partner moved to Savannah.”

“His ‘partner’?”

“Yeah, Charles. Charles is my mother, in all the ways that really matter.”

Daphne regrouped. His father was gay? But…what did he mean about ‘all the ways that matter’? Wasn’t that a direct diss of his real mother? Could Bellamy be gay, too? Was she so accustomed to being around gay men that she could no longer gauge when a man was interested in her as a woman?

“Shocked?” he asked. “If so, you really failed to do your groundwork on me before our meeting. When you asked me what I thought of homos, you should have already known I was raised by a gay couple.”

“Why? Where was your mother?”

“That’s a whole other story.”

“Where’s your dad now?”

“He died, but Charles and I remain close. I make no secret of this. I couldn’t if I tried. My father was very well known, famous, in fact. As was his relationship with Charles. So if you want to know how I feel about homos, I guess I’d have to say that I have the utmost respect for many of them. But I’m not gay, if that’s the next question.”

She sighed, relieved. “So you never lived with your mother?”

“As an infant, but not when I was old enough to remember things clearly. We don’t see eye to eye, never have.”

He pulled up to a small wooden structure built on stilts that overlooked a stretch of bayou. Several cars were parked helter skelter on the gravel drive and three large oil drums beside the building had been converted into smokers and were sending out a heavenly aroma. “Best barbecue in the south,” Bellamy said as he led her up the steps, across the rickety porch and into a large room crowded with tiny tables draped in red and white plaid oilcloth.

The proprietor, a scrawny man the color of rubbed ebony, greeted Bellamy with a hug and called his plump wife over to add to the warmth. They were given a prime table befitting Bellamy’s status. He recommended the “hard” lemonade to Daphne, but asked for unleaded for himself. A drunk driving scandal was another trap that Bellamy intended to avoid.

Bellamy asked if he could order for her. What was delivered was more food than Daphne would eat in a week. Served on brown paper to absorb the juices, her sliced beef sandwich, was a mile high and dripping with smoky sauce. Corn on the cob came in a paper jacket and a plastic bowl held turnip greens with pepper sauce and ham hocks. As soon as she started eating it, she forgot about her waistline and gave in to the divinity of the flavor.

Midway through the meal, she realized this was a first date nightmare of a menu. Corn on the cob was notorious for sticking in the teeth and barbecue sauce would not only be all over her face, but also under her nails. If the corn didn’t stick to her smile, the turnip greens would. As soon as she finished, she fled to the ladies room to be sure she was presentable. She returned to a plate of hot peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream melting on the side.

“You must be joking,” she said as he handed her a spoon.

“I thought we could share it.”

“Bellamy, I weigh 102. I’ve already eaten my weight in barbecue.”

He smiled. “Just have a bite.”

Half a cobbler later, she felt like she was waddling as he left a generous tip and escorted her to the car. “I can’t breathe,” she complained and he laughed.

“I like a girl with a healthy appetite.”

“Do you like a girl who outweighs you?”

“I might. Depends on the girl.”

She giggled at that. “Where are we going?”

“I thought you might want to do some homework.”

“Homework?”

“For your boss. See Sebastian Slade’s work.”

She grinned at him. “Which is code for saying you’re taking me to your place?”

“Wouldn’t take a windtalker to break that one.”

“I may regret it, but why not?”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with a grin, silently thanking her boss for giving him the perfect entrée to a sometimes clumsy invitation.