This is Part 1 of Chapter 13 in the "Queer Theories" series.
Go back to "Shoot the Moon -- Part 2" , the previous chapter.
The narrator is Brian Kinney, and features Ron, Carmel, and Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: It's February 2002 and Brian is not in a very good mood after the 'rehearsal.'
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.
When I got into the car I was so upset I was fucking shaking.
I was angry at Ron. I was angry at Jimmy. I was fucking furious at that asshole Ross Preston.
And I was even more furious at myself.
What was I thinking? Why do I do these things to myself?
I was mad at Ron, so I took it out not just on him, but on myself. Just how stupid do you have to be to constantly make the wrong choice? Constantly do the wrong thing?
So, of course, I decided it would be the perfect time to go out and get totally fucked up. I mean, more so than I was.
The driver wasn't bad. I'd seen him before -- he was one of the regular studio drivers. He'd chauffeured Ron and me a couple of times. He looked a little white trashy, which is usually a big turn-off. I knew a guy like that once and I didn't want to be reminded of him. Except, maybe tonight I did.
"My name is...."
I cut him off. "Did I ask you what your fucking name was?"
"Right. Do you know...?" I mentioned a place in West Hollywood.
'Stan' turned around. "Yeah, I know it. You want to go THERE?"
I sat back in the seat. "Hit it, Stan."
The place I'd directed Stan to wasn't the kind of place where you wore an Armani suit. But fuck Armani. I was dressed exactly right. And Stan, in his chauffeur's get-up, fit right in, too.
I still had a couple of little bumps left from earlier in the evening, before the 'rehearsal,' so I even shared one with Stan. Not too much, of course -- he was driving.
Funny who you come across in a shithole like that. Literally the first person I saw when we walked in was a sitcom actor I'd met a few times with Ron -- he was represented by Freddy's agency (who wasn't, it seemed?). He'd also hit on me every time, so I wasn't surprised when he made a bee-line right over.
"Why, Petey, what are you doing here? Looking for a little rough trade?"
"Briiiian! You look HOT!" He had his hands under my leather jacket in two seconds flat. He really was an ass. And not very attractive. But neither was Stan, so I was batting a thousand.
"I know. I know. Tell you what, Petey? I'll let you blow me -- if my pal Stan here can watch? Huh?"
Jesus! It was just too easy, even out here.
He started to lead me to the backroom -- of course, in that place, just about the whole thing was 'backroom' -- but I dug in my heels.
"No. Do it here. Right here." We were standing practically at the front door. Stan smiled like the goon he was.
I could see the hesitation on Peter's face. And it was such a well-known face. I wondered what the CEO at his Disney-owned network would think of this little scenario. I doubted that it would be written into the next episode of his series. But he was looking at me intently.
"Okay." And he got right down and went to work.
Shit -- I really should have whipped down his jeans and fucked him in the doorway. That would have served him right. Like I should have broken the ass of that fucking Ross Preston. Talk about missed opportunities.
As it was, Petey drew quite a crowd. Famous people should be more careful about what they do in public. Not that this dive was Hollywood and Vine, but still....
I was pretty jacked up from the workout at the studio, so I shot in no time at all. And then Petey had no problem accommodating Stan. I strolled away and got a beer. I was thirsty as fuck.
I kept thinking back over the evening's entertainment. The look on Ross's face when I pushed him down and got on top of him was funny as hell. But then when I got into his mouth -- well, he was responding. I'm never wrong about that. I never should have stopped for a minute. It gave him time to think about what he was doing. And that's when he panicked, of course.
But the real surprise was Jimmy Hardy. He was more than 'going with the flow.' I could have fucked him right there in front of Ron and Ross and the crew and he wouldn't have batted an eye. And I'm sure he would have rationalized it as all in the name of 'learning his craft'! Christ! And people think there's something wrong with me? Hell, if they want it, I give it to them. End of story. And why not?
The Petey thing was getting a little out of hand across the room. So I wandered over and put a stop to it before any more guys tried to get in on it. I think poor old Petey was relieved. That was perhaps a bit more than he had bargained for.
I bought him and Stan some beers.
What is it with guys? They suck your dick and then think you want to hear about their "syndication deal'? The last thing I wanted was to hear Peter going on and on about his shit. I wanted to scream at him: I don't fucking CARE about your deal! I don't CARE about your life! I don't fucking CARE about YOU! I don't even LIKE you! And I sure as hell don't like Stan here -- but that doesn't mean I'm not planning to fuck the shit out him sometime before the end of the evening. The only thing I needed to figure out was where. As soon as I did that, I was out of here.
Peter then tried to give me his fucking phone number.
"What do I say when your wife answers, Petey? 'Tell him the guy he sucked off last night wants to hook up'? Or does she get a lot of calls like that?"
"That's my cell number. Call any time. And I mean any time."
Now he was getting touchy/feely. Running his hands up and down my arms. I hate that.
"I can't anyway. I heading out of town."
"You and Ron going to Hawaii again? I heard you did the New Year in the agency's place in Maui. How come I never get asked there? I've been their client for six years!"
"Maybe you haven't blown the right people over there. Yet. Give it some time -- I'm sure you'll be asked to the prom...."
Jesus. I said it before I even thought. I felt a little sick.
"I need to take a piss."
I pushed through the crowd and found the john. The scene in there was not pretty. Not pretty at all.
There was some nelly queen in there who made Emmett Honeycutt look like Jack Nicholson. And she was desperately looking for someone. Of course, I walked in and caught her attention immediately.
"Oh my God! OH my GOD! You're soooo beautiful!"
"Can I just get through here?" A toilet. A urinal. A sink. Anything would do right now.
"Oh, honey, please!" She had arms like Mike Tyson and they were pulling at me. She was also tweaked to the gills and crystal dicked.
"Lady -- just back off."
"Are you going to hit me?"
"If you want me to? Then NO! Just let me piss in peace, all right?"
"You can piss on ME! Please! Anything!"
I looked around. "Is this person with anyone here? Anybody?" No one came forward.
I hated to do it, but I gave her a clean punch in the stomach. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to send her reeling back and away from me. It felt good to hit her. That fucking scared me. But she just grinned. I'd given her exactly what she wanted.
"You're so beautiful."
"Quit saying that! You're fucking pissing me off!"
I did my business and beat it. At the bar I retrieved Stan and started to head out.
"Don't forget to call me when you get back in town," Peter called.
As if. "I'm not coming back to town!"
"That's what they ALL say, baby!"
I thought about taking Stan back and fucking him in the poolhouse or on Ron's desk in his office, but I knew I'd never get him past Carmel.
But what I really wanted to do what fuck him in the front yard. Right on the front lawn. I'd done that a few times -- it's especially nice if there's a big fucking picture window facing the lawn and you have an audience. But none of those things applied. Plus it was too dark.
I settled for doing it in the studio limo in the driveway of the house. There's always plenty of room in the back of one of those. It really isn't much of a challenge. Not like the MG Midget I fucked a guy in on the side of a road outside Stratford-upon-Avon during my junior year abroad. Now, THAT took determination AND coordination. My fondness for the Bard is similar to Ron's -- but for a completely different reason. Yes, my year in England will always have a special area in my memory labeled simply: Royal Shakespeare Company actors.
So Stan wasn't much of a challenge. He wasn't much of anything, actually. Actually, he was a horrible, greasy character with no technique or appreciation for someone with technique. So I didn't bother with any. I guess I wasn't looking for anything better or I would have gone somewhere where I could have found it.
The only compensation was knowing how many times in the past and how many times in the future 'Stan' would be picking Ron up in this very car and driving him to the studio and back. And he would sit right there where I'd fucked his driver. And Stan would be laughing at him.
And I would be long fucking gone.
I walked in and Carmel was waiting for me like the wife in a fucking sitcom. All that was missing was the rolling pin in her hand.
"Where have you been? Mr. Ron went out looking for you an hour ago!"
"I was out doing my laundry." I lit a cigarette in her 'smoke-free zone' and blew a long puff out at her.
"What do you think you are playing at, Mr. Brian?"
"I'm not playing at all. I'm totally serious."
I went to the refrigerator and got out a bottle of water and drank it down. I was so dehydrated I was seeing double. And two Carmels was not what I wanted to look at.
"That's that? That's ALL you have to say?"
"Hey, Lucy! I don't have no 'splainin' to do to YOU!"
"Well, excuse me, but...." A lovely string of Spanish expletives issued from Carmel. I think the last was 'fuck you and the caballo you rode in on.' I'll have to learn that one.
I was impressed. I didn't think she had it in her. "Brava, Carmel. And like I said: buenas noches."
She followed me out of the kitchen and down the hallway. "I warned Mr. Ron what happens when he picks up trash off the street!"
I stopped and turned around. "It's so nice to know your true feelings about me on this, the eve of our estrangement."
"What are you talking about? I never know what you are talking about!"
I went into Ron's office and slammed the door shut. Then I flipped through the phonebook. I called the reservation line for Liberty Air and ordered a ticket -- one way -- from L. A. to Pittsburgh for tomorrow. Soonest I could get was late afternoon. I took it.
Once I knew I had the ticket the relief I felt shocked me. I sat at the desk and held my head up with my hands for a few minutes. Then I went upstairs and started packing.
Continue on to "Drama Queen -- Part 2" , the next section.
©Gaedhal, May 2002
Pictures of Gale Harold from Flaunt and Showtime.
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Updated May 18, 2002