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Adrian to Brian, Brian to Adrian Chapter 4

A month later:

B,

I haven't heard from you. Are you any better? Is he still with the other man? Do you still love him?

A

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A,

Sorry, I've been really busy at work. I'm okay. Yes, he's still with the other man. Yes, I still love him. How are you?

B

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B,

Lonely.

A

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A,

What's wrong?

B

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B,

Sorry. Gloomy weather. Gloomy stock market. Gloomy love life. Need to get out in the sun. Want to meet up somewhere?

A

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A,

I'm not ready. It wouldn't be fair to you.

B

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B,

Of course. You're right. I'm sorry to have asked. Impulse. I don't want it to be this way when or perhaps I should say "if" I next see you, Brian. Not with you loving another. I think I'll take some of my massive bank of holidays not yet used by me, and go sailing in the Caribbean. I'll be offline for awhile. I'll send you a silly postcard from some exotic port. Take care, beautiful Brian. Oh, you missed my birthday. But no matter. Happy birthday to you, as I shall most likely be gone when yours arrives. Bon voyage,

A

Later.

Postcard from Adrian to Brian:

I know it looks idyllic, palm trees, pink sand beaches, azure water, but here's the real story: sunburn, seasickness, an ameobic infection from the water that gave me hot and cold running diarrhea, insect bites, too much rum, ridiculously high prices, paradise running together to form a blur. Miss the gloom. Miss you too.

Fondly, Adrian

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Even later:

A,

If I calculated correctly, you should be back in London now. Wired again. Got the card, thanks. Things just keep on getting better here. I decked Mikey at a party when he said I should have just let Justin die. That was sweet. Seeing Justin at the party with the fiddler, well, it really hurt. It hurt. I know that my pain is what caused Mikey to say such a dumb thing. No excuse for it, however. In his stunted way, he cared how I felt while everyone else seems perfectly happy to replace me with the fiddler in their happy little circle. In fact, when I arrived I was treated like a gate crasher. I suspect Justin had enough class to offer to bow out to make things easier, but they insisted he come along with his new boyfriend and who gives a fuck how Brian may feel about it. Before the decking, I caught him alone a minute. I told him I hoped he was happy. Oddly enough, I meant it but he seemed very uncomfortable by my saying so. Since I can't seem to accomplish happiness for him, then I hope that this fiddler does. As for me, tricks and work. That's my life. Things are getting weird here. The body of a young gay guy was found in a dumpster behind the diner. And no, it wasn't food poisoning. (Sorry, bad joke.) The Police Commissioner, Stockwell, is running for re-election on an anti-gay platform and things are getting rough for the faggots in this town. The pendulum swings.

B

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B,

Glad to be back in inclement London. Sick of the fucking sun! I will never again drink rum. Bravo on the decking of Mikey, I would have done the same! What the hell was he thinking? Isn't Justin his creative partner? The political climate sounds troubling. Be careful. I know how you are. I don't want to see you get jacked on a lewd charge or worse. By the way, I brought home a souvenir of the trip. His name is Owen. He was crew on our yacht, a Brighton boy. Well, he's twenty-four, so not illegal. But young and very brash. Reminds me of you in some ways but without your polish and integrity. It's probably not going to mean much, but it's fun for now. How are you doing emotionally, Brian? Are you feeling any better about yourself? Is the loss less painful with time?

A

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Two months:

A,

Is it okay if I'm jealous of Owen? A little? A lot going on here. Believe it or not, Stockwell, the facist police commissioner, hired Vance to advertise his campaign, largely on the basis of my pitch. I'm now in charge of it. Swell. We get along okay, but it has made me no friends among "our people". They can't separate business from personal beliefs. He doesn't know I'm gay. As for my feelings? I'm fine. Really. Over it. Ran into Justin at Woody's. He was alone and seemed very blue. He said the fiddler was out of town on business. He didn't want to talk. I take no pleasure from anything that hurts him. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but trouble in paradise?

B

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B,

Be careful, Brian. If it is trouble, you don't want to become a safe harbor. Be a friend, certainly, but mind your heart. You're still so bloody vulnerable to him. I just don't want you to be disappointed again.

A

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A,

No way. Probably just a lover's spat, anyway. I'm too busy trying to keep from being assassinated by the fags who are outraged at Stockwell. Look, I hate everything he stands for, too, but it's work, Adrian. It's what I do. It's how I survive. Part of me resents how naïve these fags are, but part of me feels like Benedict Arnold. Sucks.

B

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B,

Benedict Arnold, the national hero?

A

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A,

LOL!

B

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B,

Dating anyone?

A

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A,

Remember me? I'm the guy who doesn't date. The dykes (Gus's mom and her partner, Mel) asked me to donate another load in their manless quest to have more kids. We did pretty well with Gus, so I was willing until I found it was MEL who will be the womb this time! I fear my swimmers would die in the turkey baster when they got a view of her steel-jawed twat! They finally convinced me, but then Mel decided to go for Mikey's goo. Interesting, I had to give up my rights to Gus so the lesbos could have peace together, and yet, with Mikey, they are giving him full recognition. It would seem all those big issues they hit me with don't apply with him. That's fucked up.

B

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B,

Forgive me, beautiful Brian, but you really need some new mates.

A

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Later:

A,

News flash: Justin broke up with the fiddler. Caught him cheating, I was told. I feel for him. Bless his little domestic heart. He has no luck choosing men. First me, now this loser. It hasn't changed our relationship, I mean we aren't getting back together or anything. Frying pan, fire. So how is Owen, the sailor?

B

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B,

Owen the sailor sailed, so save your jealousy. Owen left along with many of my small electronics, a watch and the petty cash I had on hand. Fool. Me, that is. To trust him alone in my home. He was too stupid to recognize the value of the art and other collectibles, so no harm done. Nothing irreplaceable. Just my pride wounded. I fear becoming one of those older men with younger lovers who leech off of them and everyone sniggers behind their backs. As for Stockwell, it's immature to think we only do business with those we admire. That's not how commerce works. If that's your lot in life, go help Mother Teresa in Calcutta. I'm sorry for Justin, but we all get burned, don't we? Brian, be careful. I know what you want, no matter what you say otherwise. Don't let him break your heart again.

A

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A,

No way. Not that dumb.

B

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B,

Just bit through my tongue.

A

Continue to Chapter 5