The Phantom speaks: What do I want with him? How many ways can I answer that loaded question? I want to walk through a park, holding his hand. I want to sit across from him in a booth and make him laugh. I want to inhale the side of his neck when he hugs me. I want soft, wet, lingering kisses with him. I want him to hug me so tightly that I can't breathe. I want to hear his voice on the telephone when he calls. I want to wake up in his arms. I want to feel his hair against my cheek. I want to know his body as well as I know my own. I want to run my index finger down the slope of his nose and feel his long legs entangled with mine. What do I want? I want everything! "I just want to tell you how much I appreciate your work," I say lamely, and wish I could disappear into the ether.
Last week on Transitions:
Brian visits an old friend of his father's who is an Irish Mafia boss. He tells him he wants Ethan "dealt with". The man tells Brian once he's made that decision, he can't go back. Brian later talks to Justin, who still won't tell him where he is. Ethan gets a warning of two roses, the gnomish Irishman's signature threat. Brian leaves for New Orleans, following a hunch that Justin may be there.
Scene 1: Windermere, England.
Trevor sat on a wooden bench in the back garden of his mother's house in the Lake District of England. He was surrounded by a profusion of colorful and fragrant flowers, planted in the studied chaos that was the trademark of an English garden. Beyond the garden was a magnificent view of Lake Windermere. It was quiet, it was beautiful and he had never felt more miserable. He sipped a gin and tonic, even though it was only three, and then he sighed.
The back door to the cottage, a two-story house that was built from the greenish-gray stone common to the area, opened and someone came out to sit beside him on the bench. "A little early for that, isn't it, chappie?" His sister. He glanced at her.
"What are you doing here? And it's the cocktail hour somewhere."
"An oldie but still a goodie," she patted his back. "Mum thought you needed some cheering up, so I came up from London. I took the train so I can drive back with you when you go. Want to talk?"
He shrugged. She nodded and took his glass from him, pouring the contents out on the gravel path. "This you don't need when you're depressed. It just sends you deeper down that well."
"If this is your idea of cheering me up, sod off! I can always refill that glass, Shannon, and I don't have a drinking problem so don't bathe me in your shrink shit, if you please!"
She nodded at his flare-up, not offended by it, feeling his pain. "What happened, Trev?"
"Look around. See Brian anywhere? You chivvy it out."
"I realize he's gone back, but why? Did you two have a confrontation?"
"No, no, nothing so reparable. The blond calls with a crisis and Brian's gone in a flash. To rescue him."
"Did you two ever...?"
"Fuck? No. Funnily enough, we were on the verge when his phone rang. Another five minutes and we would've been in the thick of it, so he would've let it ring. Even if he'd found out later, he might have reacted differently if we were lovers by then."
"Do you believe that?"
"Not entirely," he said with a sigh. "Alright, not at all."
"Trev, you're better off. If it had to be this way, better that you weren't yet intimate. You can still salvage a friendship out of this."
He looked over at her, his eyes reflecting his pain. "Friendship? I love Brian Kinney, Shannon. He is exactly the man I want. With all his flaws, I love him. He's a rough diamond. I came to know him even better on this trip and I love him just as he is."
She stroked his hand. "My darling brother, you knew he was in love with another, now didn't you? You told me so yourself."
"I think I convinced myself it was over, that Brian needed me. That I could make things right for him."
"That isn't love, that's your own ego wanting to save this beautiful man from himself. He has all the raw goods to do that without your intervention, darling. What you can't do is allow yourself to sink into a morass of self-pity and regret. You made a wonderful friend of him. You enjoy each other's company immensely. Is it either/or with you? Either he's your lover or he's nothing? Because you could save your friendship if it's important enough."
"I'm not sure I can be around Brian and not want to be WITH Brian, do you understand? Assuming this works out with his twink boyfriend, watching them together..." he winced. "Not sure I'm made of sturdy enough stuff."
Shannon smiled. "I know you better than that, and you are. I like Brian, but I love you, Trev. Your happiness is paramount with me. If he can add joy to your life as your friend, then treasure it. If he causes more pain than good, then you must move on with things. Those are your choices, aren't they? Very simple."
He glanced at his sister and managed a faint smile. "Sounds simpler than it is."
"I know, but I'm right, aren't I?"
He nodded. "As always. Bitch!"
She laughed. "And I'm rather proud of Brian for not leading you wrong."
"Don't be too proud," he teased. "He did try every which way to get into my knickers."
She smiled at him. "Then I'm proud of you for resisting. Not sure I could."
"He is beautiful, isn't he?"
"Oh my God...yes."
A mobile rang and they both checked, but it was his phone. He hit enter and tensed when he heard Brian's voice. "Hi Trev."
"Brian!" Shannon smiled and kissed her brother's forehead, leaving him alone with his call. She wished he didn't look so thrilled to hear Brian's voice. "Where are you?" Trevor asked.
"I'd rather not say, Trevor. I don't want to implicate you in any way. Or place you in a position where you might have to lie to the police."
"I can appreciate that. So why are you calling?"
"To, um, see how you are...to...I miss you, I guess."
Trevor smiled. "Do you? I miss you too."
"Yeah, well...are you okay?"
"I'm not saving up sleeping pills or loading pistols, Brian."
Brian laughed. "Not too worried about that."
"No, I'm not the dramatic type, damn it! They get all the attention." Silence. Trevor winced and added, "I don't mean Justin."
"It's alright. So, is there any way we can be friends now?"
"Funny, I was just talking to my sister about that."
"Tell her I said hi. What do you think? Is there?"
"Is that what you want, Brian? For us to be friends?"
"Because I like you. I like you very much. And I need a grown-up friend, and I don't want to lose you from my life."
Trevor sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he'd unknowingly picked up from Brian. "I don't want to lose you either."
"Then why can't we be friends? We're adults. We understand about these things, don't we?"
"Brian, all of the sexual innuendo and horseplay would have to stop. I'm not made of metal and I don't want to be your part-time fuck. If we decide to be friends, that's all it will be. Friends. I can't live in a netherworld, not the way I feel about you."
Brian sighed. "I have a long history of not fucking my friends. I can understand and honor that."
"So let's give it a try, shall we? We can only see how it goes. If it's too painful for me, I'll withdraw."
"I don't want that. I don't want to cause you pain."
"I know. So, I return to London tomorrow and then on to Pittsburgh the next day."
"Hopefully I'll be back about the same time you get in."
"Is everything alright?"
"Everything is so fucked up, I can't even describe it, but welcome to my world."
Trevor laughed. "God, I've missed your voice."
"Yours too," Brian said quietly. "I'm arriving at my hotel. Better go. You have a safe trip, and I'll call you when I'm back in town."
"Right. Brian? Be careful."
"No problem. Bye Trev."
"Cheers," Trevor ended the call, staring out at the flowers as he hoped he wasn't just prolonging his pain.
Scene 2: Soniat House, French Quarter
Brian had been to New Orleans several times. Mardi Gras twice, Southern Decadence once, and on business at least twice. He always looked forward to going, enjoying the food and the wide open ambiance, but he was always glad to leave. The weather, the tourists, the commercialism wore him down quickly. He found this quiet guest house on Chartres Street in the heart of the Quarter while on his second trip. He avoided the more notorious gay hotels and inns, preferring to have a refuge to escape to when he was partied-out.
His room was furnished with elegant antiques and he sat in the center of the queen sized bed, smoking and drinking chicory coffee served in fine porcelain. He studied the map of the Quarter and the concise written report of the private detective that told him fuck-all about Justin. It merely gave him general conclusions about where young, gay men gathered, while pointing out some of the lower cost, gay-friendly boarding opportunities in the Quarter. Also outside the Vieux Carre, as the Quarter was officially known.
Brian instinctively felt that Justin would stay here, in the heart of the city. Justin was an artist, and this was where artists congregated. He was gay, and this was the gay mecca of the south. He appreciated history, and this was New Orleans most historic center. He could find low profile, hourly employment here. Since the Quarter was full of fey young men, he would blend in beautifully. Brian referred to a Time Out guide on the gay nightlife in the city, locating bars and other hangouts on the map, something he'd routinely do when he hit a new town. This time it wasn't for his own fun. This time it was to find Justin. He also located the residences recommended by the P.I. He added one destination to his plan, a destination that would throw him open to ridicule by everyone he knew, if they ever found out. He was desperate. He went there first.
Scene 3: The VooDoo Museum, Bourbon Street
Brian felt foolish as he waited impatiently in the claustrophobic shop that purported to be a museum, but that subsisted on the sale of trinkets and tacky souvenirs with a voodoo theme. There were some more serious looking provisions sold from glass cases, an assortment of oddly twisted roots, ashen herbs, bags of gris-gris and parts of bats, newts and other strange animals. The "museum" part of the shop consisted mainly of badly drawn murals of voodoo rituals with written text to explain what was happening, along with some old voodoo dolls, voodoo flags from Haiti and minor sacred cloths and bowls.
The heavily made up Goth girl behind the counter kept eyeing him hopefully as a steady stream of tourists came and went, armed with books on the practice of voodoo and dolls to torture their bosses or spouses. In this group, Brian looked especially delectable. He wore a heavy sweater and leather jacket with jeans and comfortable running shoes, knowing he would be on his feet the better part of the day. He tucked his shades in the neckline of his sweater, the day too gloomy to require them. Brian knew what she was thinking. "Is he straight or not?" He'd gotten that look from women for as long as he could remember. Once, when he was young and callow, he even had a t-shirt made up that said only, "NOT" but he never explained what it meant.
"You want a Coke while you wait, sugar?" She asked him, her deep southern drawl incongruous with her gothic facade.
"No thanks," he replied. Still buzzing on caffeine, the last thing he needed was something sweet. A woman emerged from behind gossamer curtains accompanied by a couple who had to be from Des Moines. In sharp contrast, she was an exotic Caribbean black woman wearing Stevie Nicks' drag, lots of layers of colorful stuff with no recognizable theme, set off by large sparkly jewelry. Her long nails were painted blood red, and she smiled at Brian and motioned him behind the curtain.
Incense burned and he was so tall and lanky, he felt as if he overpowered the small cubbyhole holding a table covered by a cloth printed with stars. A few worn velvet chairs surrounded the table. The only light was provided by candles.
"Nervous?" she asked in that lilting accent of the tropics, and he shrugged. He felt more foolish than nervous. "Man don't believe in fortunetellers?"
"Not really," he admitted, thinking of Mysterious Marilyn, that ridiculous old drag queen.
"And yet you come here and you pay."
"Yes." Overpaid, he thought to himself.
"Because you're desperate."
Brian leaned back in his chair, glaring at her. "Yes."
"To find your lost love."
"To find a friend."
She took his right hand, rubbing her fingers down the top of it to his fingertips, then turning it over to study his palm. "Your lover," she corrected him. "A young man, frightened, in harm's way."
Brian grew silent. She smiled and went on. "He's in danger. You were right to come. He's very close by, but he's hiding and won't be easy to find. It's not you he fears, it's another. Someone who wants to do him harm."
"Go on," Brian urged her when she paused, but she held up a hand to silence him as her eyes closed, deep in concentration. Finally she spoke.
"I see animals, mules. I see water, I hear jazz playing. I see blond hair, do you have something of his?"
Brian hesitated, and then opened his wallet and withdrew a square of folded paper. "He wrote this."
She smoothed it out, scanning Justin's scrawl. "B, Roses are red, violets are blue, we're out of condoms and also of lube. Please stop at the store on your way home, XXXOOO, J." Justin had left that silly little note under a magnet on the fridge shortly before things began to disintegrate between them. Brian had put it in his wallet as a reminder, and when events intervened to drive them apart, he kept it there and looked at it often, remembering the playful sexuality that marked their love affair.
The fortuneteller showed no reaction to the content of the note as she smoothed her fingers over it and then closed her eyes again. "I keep returning to a chaotic scene in my mind. The devil, surrounded by decadent people. Does this have meaning to you? A ritual? A view of the netherworld?"
Brian shook his head. Justin was the opposite of goth. Cults and costumes were not his thing. He found the occult boring. "It's gone now," she said. "But it was very strong. A devil, surrounded by attractive, decadent people. An impression of water and of mules."
Brian listened to the rest of her predictions with one ear, concentrating on her weird clues about Justin. Of course, New Orleans fronted the water, not much there to narrow it down, but mules? In the city? And what was that devil thing? As he stood and offered her a generous tip, she grabbed his hand and said, "You loved once, when you were a boy. Now you find yourself in a shadow of that earlier relationship and, once again, you're in love. Don't lose this one. Without this man in your life, I see only sex without passion and a solitary existence on your horizon."
Brian nodded and left, that last image one he already knew only too well.
Scene 4: Jackson Square
Crossing Jackson Square after finishing his shift, Justin was headed for the bank to open an account so he could get his own ATM card and have a place to deposit his pay. He had never been on the lam before, and was innocent of the trail he would be leaving. Nervous at having twelve-hundred bucks in his pocket, he kept glancing around for pickpockets as he entered the Square. That was when it happened.
Just a glimpse, a man walking under the overhang of one of the Pontalba Buildings flanking the Square. He saw him from the back. Tall, slim, with that bow-legged soccer player strut that was so reminiscent of Brian. Black leather jacket...his first instinct was to run after him and throw himself into his arms. But then, he saw Brian everywhere he went, and he was always wrong. Not this time, this time he was certain. Someone bumped him and he straightened up, checking to ensure his wallet was in place. When he looked back for the man in the crowd, he was gone.
Justin reconsidered his plan about the bank. If it was Brian, he was busted and would be found. He had to leave. He had to run again. But where? It didn't matter. Somewhere they would never suspect. This was his future, running from people he loved to avoid incarceration for a crime he committed after weeks of physical and emotional torture. It wasn't fair.
He veered off of the main thoroughfares and took smaller side streets to Decatur Street, where his rooms awaited. He had to make travel plans, he had to think what to do, he had to protect himself from discovery by the one man he most wanted to see.
Brian sat down heavily on a bench in the Square. The bells at the Catholic Cathedral at the end of the Square began to toll the hour. Seven peals. He'd been at this all day and into the evening. His only nourishment had been a scanty breakfast on the plane. A need to piss away some of the water he had sucked down while he walked was reaching the point of desperation. He found the mules, pulling carts hitched a mere matter of yards from where he now was. He found the water, beyond the mules. What he did not find was Justin. No Justin, no devils, no devil worshippers. God, he had to piss. His feet hurt, his back hurt and there was no private place to duck in and relieve himself. The little shops along the walkways had no public johns. He forced himself to stand and he walked back to Decatur Street, the main drag off the Square and southernmost border of the Quarter.
The place was filled with cafes interspersed with more tourist shops, and he decided to have dinner. Every restaurant had bathrooms. He could pee, eat, reinforce his mood and maybe hit the gay clubs later, looking for the boy instead of looking to get laid. Walking into the first decent looking restaurant he came to, since almost all of the food in New Orleans was good, he asked for a table for one and the location of the john. Brian headed for the bathroom first and exhaled slowly as the relief of releasing a day's worth of urine coursed through him.
He was so involved in that simple pleasure, he almost missed the cruise from a handsome young man with dark curly hair and blue eyes. Dressed in the white shirt, dark trousers and print tie that was common waiter drag, he smiled at Brian when their eyes met over the urinals. Instinctively, Brian glanced down at the kid's cock. Not bad. They both smiled.
"That's the longest piss I've ever seen," the kid teased as Brian shook it off and buttoned his fly. They were together again over the sinks, washing their hands.
"I've been ignoring the call of nature all day."
"You can get a kidney infection that way."
"Thanks, Dr. Kildaire. You work here?"
"I do. You... uh, on your own? You came in alone."
He was very attractive to Brian. Slim, young, sexy. He realized it had been awhile since he had his cock sucked. His mission slipped a little. "I'm alone."
"Want a date? I get off at ten."
"Well, I..." Brian reached for a towel and noticed a stack of colorful postcards on the counter, piled on a silver tray. He picked one up. It was an ad for a restaurant, a color picture showing a mahogany bar, and behind it a huge, impressive mural of a devil surrounded by revelers. His heart flipped. He turned it over. Café Sbisa, the name of it was, and the address was on Decatur. "Where is this place?" he demanded of the boy, who looked askance.
"What do you mean?"
"This..this café with this painting!"
"What are you smoking, man? You're here. This is the Café Sbisa. Why would a joint put another restaurant's ad in their bathroom?"
Brian left the john and returned to the restaurant. The maitre'd showed him to his table, and only then did he look over at the bar and the painting. He'd been so desperate to pee, he hadn't even see it as he walked past earlier. He took the menu, but when the waiter came over, a different one from the kid in the john, he asked to see the manager. The manager took in Brian's good looks, expensive leather jacket and Cartier watch before smiling cordially.
"Is something wrong, sir?"
"No," Brian forced a casual air. "A friend of mine recommended this place." He withdrew his wallet, took out the photo of Justin and Gus. "He's the bigger one," Brian said with a forced smile. "Name is Justin. Have you seen him here?"
The manager tensed. He thought of Justin Taylor, a new waiter, and remembered his bruised face. Could this elegant young man be the one who caused those bruises? He wouldn't be surprised and he didn't want trouble. Fucking faggots. "We see a lot of people in here. Is he in some kind of trouble?"
"Why would he be?"
"I don't know, is he?"
"No, of course not. So have you seen him?"
"No, sorry. Enjoy your meal."
Brian sighed, ordered a neat scotch and glanced with a desultory glare at the menu. The waiter who returned with his drink was the kid from the john. Brian looked surprised and he smiled. "Traded stations," he glanced over his shoulder to make sure his manager had returned to his office. "Can I see that picture you showed him?" Brian handed it over. "Your baby?"
Brian nodded. "Have you seen the blond in here?"
"Did you beat him up?"
Brian forced calm. He had seen him! "Of course not, he's my...my partner."
"If he's your partner, why don't you know where he is?"
"It's a long story, but I would never harm him. I...I love him, you know?"
The kid sensed his desperate, raw emotion and sighed. He wanted to be loved that way. There was little enough storybook love in the world of fags. He had to do what he could to promote it. "He works here. He just started. But he has the lunch shift."
Brian felt a thrill as intense as an electric shock. "Do you know where he lives?"
"No, but somewhere nearby. He walks. He's cute, by the way."
Brian smiled and stood up. He pressed two twenties into the boy's hand and then touched his lips to his mouth. The waiter kissed him back, feeling the caress all the way down to his toes. "That's for the drink, you keep the rest." Brian said as he let him go. "Thanks so much."
The waiter nodded and watched him go, thinking Justin had all the fucking luck.
Scene 5: Decatur Street Guest House
Brian was exhausted. A light rain had begun to fall. His leather jacket protected him slightly, but his jeans were getting wet fast and his hair was plastered to his forehead. He leaned on the bell beside double doors until someone finally responded. The man on the other side of the doors looked like Harvey Fierstein in a caftan. Tony La Font held an umbrella over his head since some rain penetrated the open air corridor leading to the enclosed garden.
"Did you forget your key? Oh!" he gave Brian the once over, deciding he was a delightfully dangerous piece of trade. "No vacancies, sorry."
Brian was in no mood for cordiality as he pushed past him and entered the enclosure. He was shivering from the cold and damp, his lips tinged in blue. Water dripped off his hair onto his face. "I just need to ask you a question. Please. One minute. Can we go inside?"
Hugo Boss, Tony, the former label queen, realized as he got a better look at Brian's jacket. Not street trash, that's for sure. He waved him into his office and turned on the light. Brian shuddered, teeth chattering. When Tony saw how beautiful he was, his mood shifted. He retrieved towels for him and poured him a drink. Brian dried off first, then spread another towel over the seat of a velvet chair to protect it, and sat down heavily. Only then did he down the whiskey that warmed him instantly. He smiled gratefully at the fat man in the purple tent.
"Thanks, I'm freezing. I thought this was the south."
"It's still winter, honey. This place gets the worst of all weather, icy, wet winds in winter and hurricanes year round."
Brian winced, leaning over to massage his calves. "Christ, I'm sore. I've been walking all day and all night."
"Honey, you don't look like you can't afford a place to stay."
"I have a room at the Soniat House."
"Oh, I love that place. Isn't it grand? This is a step down, for sure, but I do what I can and it's clean and safe."
"No, it's very nice," Brian said politely. "In fact I think a friend of mine may be here. I want to surprise him."
Tony tensed. A friend? Surprise someone after walking around in the rain all day and night? This was a fishing expedition. He took the picture of Justin Brian offered him and shrugged, before handing it back. "We get so many blond twink types in here, I can't remember."
"He would have paid cash."
"Honey, they're fags. All of their cards are maxed out. They all pay cash."
"Think. He's about this tall, slim, has beautiful pale skin, a killer smile, very blue eyes. You look at him, you don't forget him," Brian was so tired and so discouraged, he heard himself babbling. Then he saw the picture tacked on the board. Justin, only his face was badly bruised. The bruises caused Brian's stomach to flip. For a moment, he thought he might vomit, but he got control and stood, taking the picture down.
"Hey!" Tony insisted angrily. "You can't have that!"
"Jesus," Brian said quietly, looking more closely at it. "What the fuck did that son of a bitch do to your face?"
"Someone beat the shit out of him, obviously," Tony huffed, not even attempting to take the picture from Brian. He knew better. "Someone much bigger, perhaps?"
Brian cut a glare in his direction. "I would never hurt him. What room is he in?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Then call his room and let me talk to him. He can tell me."
"It doesn't matter. He's not there."
"How do you know?"
"He checked out awhile ago."
Brian felt his stomach drop. "No, he couldn't have."
"To go where?"
"I don't know. He had a cab waiting and his bags, so he obviously is splitting."
"Fuck!" Brian kicked the wall, causing Tony to flinch. "FUCK!" he collapsed in the chair, covering his face with both hands as the tenuous remains of his energy vanished in a gush of emotion. Tony's suspicion of Brian, increased by his outburst, softened when he saw how totally devastated the man was by this news. He walked over to him and patted his shoulder gently while Brian sat there, face covered by his hands, trying to garner enough strength to think. His disappointment burned like fire, and if he was alone, he might just cry. But he wasn't alone, so he inhaled sharply and leaned back, his head cushioned in part by Tony's protruding belly as he stood behind Brian's chair.
"I can't fucking believe this."
"I'm sorry, honey."
"He didn't say anything, nothing, not where he was headed...you didn't hear what he said to the cabbie?"
"No, darlin', nothing."
Brian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together as he searched for some hidden resource for the strength he needed to move. To act. To plan. He took out his mobile and dialed a number as Tony refilled his drink glass and handed it to him. Trevor answered on the second ring.
"Brian, what's wrong?" he asked as soon as he heard his voice and Brian sighed, the sound of his sympathetic words cutting through all his frustration and disappointment to render him finally helpless.
"Christ, I don't know what to do, Trev," he said, his voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. He steadied it with a sip of whiskey.
"Where are you?"
"New Orleans." No harm to Trevor having that knowledge now. "Where are you?"
"Heathrow. I drove in from Mum's yesterday evening and spent the night at the house in Chelsea. My plane leaves in an hour. Shall I try to get a connection to New Orleans?"
"No, I probably won't be here. I don't know where I'll be." Tony disappeared from the office and Brian ran a fingertip over the image of Justin's bruised face. He related what had happened since his arrival, looking up when Tony brought him a bowl of red beans and rice. He was touched, but he shook his head. Tony pushed it at him.
"You need fuel," he said and Brian nodded and thanked him.
"Who's that?" Trevor asked.
"Manager of the place," Brian began to eat as if on auto pilot, surprised he could keep it down. It was warm and spicy, and the protein and carb combination seemed to help his flagging energy and sop up some of the depressive quality of the alcohol.
"What time is it there?"
He glanced at his Cartier. "Around midnight."
"How long has Justin been gone?"
Brian relayed Tony's response that Justin left around eleven. Trevor spoke to someone, then came back to Brian. "I'm in the Admiral's Club here. I asked them to see what flights left New Orleans after eleven. Hold on. Yes, she says there are no late night flights from that airport. The last flight out was at 11:25, so I doubt if he could have made that. But he might take the earliest flight out which is at five in the morning, on Delta. Delta to Atlanta, Georgia."
Brian nodded. He traveled enough to know Atlanta was a hub for Delta. That made sense and it gave him some time. "So he could hang at the airport?"
"Hold on. She says some airports stay open all night due to lagging flights, others do not. He would have to find a place to stay. She doesn't know about this one."
"Thanks, Trev. You helped me get some perspective on this."
"Brian, shall I fly to you? You sound like you need a...a friend."
Brian smiled. "I did. You were there. Thanks, and I'll be fine. Have a safe trip home."
"Okay, but keep me informed."
"I will. Later, Trev." He ended the call, and then asked Tony if he would summon a taxi for him. He was too tired to walk back.
Next week on Transitions:
Brian finally corners Justin and they share an emotional reunion.
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July 25, 2004