This is Part 3 of Chapter 117 in the "Queer Theories" series.
Go back to "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out -- Part 2", the previous section.
The narrator is Ron Rosenblum, featuring Dane, Manny Fishman, Jimmy Hardy.
Rated R and contains no warnings.
Summary: Ron contemplates the inevitable. Los Angeles, December, 2002.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.
"Take me home tonight
Where there's music and there's people
Who are young and alive.
Driving in your car
I never want to go home,
Because I haven't got one anymore.
Take me home tonight.
Because I want to see people
And I want to see life.
Driving in your car,
Oh please don't drop me home,
Because it's not my home, it's their home,
And I'm welcome no more...."
"That was really fabulous," the guy says, falling back against the pillow. "Jesus, you are an intense lover! I came at least twice!"
"It's nothing," I say. "Nothing at all." And I mean that. It WAS nothing. He's nothing. Less than nothing. If Brian hadn't given him to me I never would have even bothered with him. He has a decent body and he's all right, I guess -- but what the fuck are you supposed to do with the rest of your miserable fucking life once you've had Brian Kinney? Had him -- and lost him. Is THIS how I have to spend the rest of my life? I don't think so.
"I knew you would be good," he continues. This idiot just will NOT shut up! "You're a fucking genius and I've never been fucked by a genius before! I mean, I've fucked directors before and a lot of actors I met on Graham's show, but they were just hacks. But you -- you're bloody amazing!"
"Sure. If you say so." I wish I had a joint. Or a drink. Then I could get myself fucked up and not have to listen to him. This kind of flattery I don't need from some fucking stranger! I try to think of a way to get him out of here. But he doesn't show any sign of leaving. You don't have this problem with hustlers. In fact, they are in a hurry to take the cash and then get the fuck out. I wish this limey would take the hint. "Look, Dean...."
"Whatever. I have a big day tomorrow, and...."
"Sure. That's fine. I'm sleepy anyway. Maybe when we wake up, then...."
"Right." I reach over to the nightstand for a Xanax and swallow it down dry. Then I roll over and try to get some sleep.
I try, but I'm not having much success. I keep hearing Brian's voice in my head. He's trying to connect with me, but he keeps getting blocked. By that fucking Justin. And by Jimmy and Tess, too. Dorian. Sir Ken. Even by this guy in my bed. There's always some fucking idiot in the way. Getting between us. Interrupting us when we are trying to have an important discussion!
Finally I give up trying to sleep. I get up and wander around the room. I should just wake up Dean or Dan or whatever the hell his name is and tell him to hit the road. But he's snoring away. I admit I took some of my frustrations out on him, but he liked it. He liked it a lot. Well, if they can't take it, then they shouldn't be here with me. Brian always liked it like that. Always. And he still does. He still will.
I go out into the suite and get myself a drink at the minibar. They're getting low on scotch. I guess I've gone through most of it. But they won't restock the bar until the maid comes in tomorrow -- after we've all checked out. Brian and that kid are going out to some country house and Jimmy and Tess are going with them. I wasn't invited, of course. Who would invite ME, anyway? I only wrote and directed the fucking picture they are all taking credit for! But I don't need the approval of a bunch of talentless losers and ass-kissers.
Because while they are all out in the country freezing their butts off in some English barn, I'm going back to Los Angeles. I have things to do there. Important things. Starting with a meeting with my lawyer on Monday afternoon. I have the changes in my will all ready. All I have to do is go over them with my personal attorney, Manny Fishman, and then sign the fucking thing. Yes, once that's out of the way, then everything will be set. It makes me feel good, knowing that I have all the pieces in place. That makes things a lot easier. Then I can focus. Just focus on what I have to do.
I finish up my drink. Brian's suede fringed jacket is draped over the back of the couch. I hate this damned jacket. It looks ratty and I like Brian to look clean and perfect. This is something some hippy would wear, not the star of a hit motion picture. I pick it up and stroke it. Smell it. It smells like wet leather on the outside, but on the inside it smells like Brian. There's no mistaking that scent. Sweat and spice and cum -- that's Brian. Sometimes I wake up and I can smell him in the dark. Like he's been in my room. I know what he's doing. I know he's been there when I'm asleep. When I'm not around. That's what lets me know he's thinking about me, even when he can't admit it.
I put down the jacket and go back to bed. This guy -- this Dane -- I know what he's doing here. He's just a gift. I can do anything I want to him. Everything that Brian wants me to do. That's why the guy is here.
So I wake Dane up and fuck the shit out of him again. Fuck him until he's yelling. And he likes it. I fuck him so hard. So hard. Like Brian wants me to.
Manny Fishman's office is in Beverly Hills -- where else? It's spacious and full of expensive furniture and abstract paintings that Manny doesn't understand but paid a mint for. All of his clients live in Beverly Hills, of course. He wouldn't even think about handling anyone from the Valley or -- God forbid -- Pasadena! Manny has been my attorney for about 5 years, ever since I started to make some serious money. He wouldn't have even given me an appointment otherwise -- and I respect the fact that he's a total fucking shark. When I hire a lawyer I want him to be a bastard -- the biggest bastard around. My only regret is that I didn't call Manny that day Brian walked into my office at the studio with that cheap sleazebag lawyer in the polyester suit. But it was already too late by then. It doesn't matter now, anyway. None of that shit matters now.
Manny handled the trust funds I set up for my mother and my sisters. I set those up the minute 'The Olympian' got the go ahead. I always wanted to see that my family was well taken care of -- and they are. Of course, I've given my sisters plenty of money over the years, even when I couldn't really afford it, so they should have no complaints after... afterwards. And my mother -- she has her condo in Florida, her big boat of a Buick, the Social Security and other money from my dad, as well as the allowance she gets from me every month, which will continue from the trust fund after... after I'm not here anymore. Anyway, I know that Mama would never try to break my will. She's not like that. She'd be well-fixed just on what my father left her, but I wanted to make sure that her condo and car, her cruises and vacations with her pals, all that shit she likes, are secure, no matter what might happen to me. And they are. Manny made certain. No fucking problem.
Funny, but last winter when I went in and changed my will the last time, I was surprised when Manny gave me a hard time.
"Ron, I think you should talk this over with Freddy Weinstein before you make this move," he told me.
I glared at Manny. "Why the fuck would I want to do that? Freddy's my agent and he has nothing to do with this! This about my personal life and not about my films or my career."
But Manny frowned back at me. He kept reading over the stuff about Brian and making faces. He's a homophobic asshole, like all the rest. "I just think you ought to reconsider making some guy that you've barely known for a month into your principle heir. You don't really know shit about him, Ron! He could be a con man. Or a fucking hustler!"
I winced at that one. "I don't think that is any of your business, Manny! And you're wrong about not knowing Brian. I've known him for many years and he's not a fucking con man! He's very successful in his own right. And if I love him and want to make him my heir, then it's your fucking job to draw up the papers and keep your ignorant comments to yourself!"
In the end Manny shrugged and made the changes I wanted. But I never told Brian what I did. I didn't think it was necessary. He's never given a shit about my money. He's like a little kid -- if he has money, then he buys toys. If he has a lot of money, then he buys more toys. And he always buys presents for everyone he knows. But fancy gifts and big displays don't impress him too much. When I gave him the Mustang for Valentine's Day he loved it, of course, but he didn't act like it was that big a deal. And it wasn't. It was just what he deserved. And he accepted it as such.
Manny gives me the papers to go over. Jimmy Hardy may be an asshole, but he's still the executor of my estate. He's been my producing partner and what passes for my best friend for a lot of years now, so even though I'm pissed at him at the moment, he's the only one who can do it. Jimmy is also overseeing the various trusts I've set up and since there will be minors involved I want to make sure that the person who is in charge is someone I can trust. Jimmy knows he's my executor -- we talked about it when I made my original will -- and I trust Jimmy to carry out my wishes more than anyone else in the world. And Tess will make sure that they are carried out. In a way, I trust Tess a lot more than Jimmy in that respect, so between the two of them, I'm satisfied.
There are a few things that Manny wants clarified. I've made one special provision that he questions. All the money from the porno flicks I made under my various pseudonyms and all the rights to them are going into one special trust in the name of one particular person. Gay porn is a big industry these days and even though some of the films are over 10 years old, they still generate income. But I'm very clear about what I want done with the films and where I want that income to go. Everyone is going to be so surprised when the will is read. They all think I hate that kid, but it's what I know Brian would want done, so it's what I have to do. He would want Justin to be taken care of, and although I know Brian has made provisions for him in his own will, I'm just making certain of it. Because Brian is the voice of reason in my head, after all. Always the voice of reason. But it will be a fucking sweet irony. Yes, it will be that!
I also arrange for the income from my Navarro Videos -- my gay Romantic comedies -- to fund a chair in Gay Film Studies at a certain university in a certain city back East. I indicate very specifically the person who is to fill that position. See, I don't hold grudges, Ben. Not at all. But every day I want Ben Bruckner to think about who he owes his fucking job to! That's the best revenge of all.
"Now, I want it to be extremely clear that except for the trusts and special bequests I've made to certain people, everything -- money, intellectual property rights, my stock portfolio, the house, the cars, whatever the fuck -- all goes to Brian. And that if Brian is deceased that it all goes to his children."
"Well, it will go to Brian's estate, then, which I assume means his family," says Manny, sitting back in his chair and puffing a big cigar. He looks like the old Central Casting cliché of a big shot lawyer. Manny likes to project that image.
"That's his kids. His son and a baby who isn't born yet," I tell Manny. I want this to be completely clear, with no possible fuck ups. Because I don't want his homophobic mother or his bitch of a sister getting a single cent of my money. "I've seen Brian's will, Manny, and except for his loft and its contents, his Jeep, his personal effects, his stocks, a savings account in Pittsburgh, and a couple of insurance policies, as well as some other smaller bequests, it specifies his son and any other offspring. Nothing to anyone else in his family."
"I haven't seen that will, Ron, so how the fuck do I know what it says?" Manny bitches.
"I'm telling you!" I say. "I just want to make certain that my money goes to Brian's estate -- to his kids! -- and not to his fucking family! Not to the Kinneys -- whoever the fuck they are! Because those people have fucked Brian over all his life and I don't want them to profit by his...." I stop myself. To profit by his death, I almost say. And I get a sick feeling that I quickly shake off.
Manny sighs. "I've made it as clear as I can, Ron. But I don't think either of you guys will need to worry about this shit for a long, long time." Manny puts his pen down on the desk. "So, does this mean that the two of you are getting back together? You and Brian? I mean, because after the hoo-ha over in England -- that press conference with his new boyfriend and all that mishegoss -- well, I was sure you were coming in here today to cut the bastard OUT of your will!"
But I only sit back in my chair. "Of course Brian and I are getting back together, Manny! We're going to be together forever. And I mean that. The kid -- Justin -- he's just one of Brian's fuck buddies. He's a nice kid, but he's inconsequential to the bigger picture. Inconsequential to my relationship with Brian." I smile. "You don't understand our relationship, Manny. It isn't exactly conventional."
"That's for damn sure!" he replies. Then Manny sighs and pushes the papers across the desk. "Sign away, Ron. You're all set."
"That's what I wanted to hear," I say. And I pick up the pen. I'm ready now.
I'm just leaving Manny's office in Beverly Hills when my cellphone buzzes. It's Jimmy. That son of a bitch!
"What's up, Ronnie?" Jimmy sounds so perky.
"Fuck you, Jimmy," I reply.
"Ronnie!" Jimmy sounds all hurt. "Is that any way to talk to your best friend? Huh, Ron?"
"You're not my best friend, Jimmy," I say, coldly. "You're an immature prick! You treated me like shit while we were in England and you know it! You were so busy trying to get your head up Brian's ass that you couldn't even bother to be civil to me. And without ME you wouldn't have your big fucking hit movie! So just leave me alone!"
"Ronnie, don't be like that!" Jimmy cajoles. "You know how it is. Things just kind of... got crazy. And that tabloid thing really threw me. It threw us all. But now we're all back home and things are peachy again, right Ron? Right?"
I sigh. "What the fuck do you want, Jimmy?" He wouldn't be calling if he didn't want something.
"Well... You know I'm starting that picture in January up in Toronto," he says.
"You mean that piece of shit cop movie? With Chuckie Ranger? What about it?"
"See, Ronnie, they just sent me the updated script and... frankly, it needs some help. A lot of help, actually. And I was wondering if you could take a look at it. Maybe punch up my lines a little bit? I don't want Chuckie Ranger to get all the good lines here, Ron. I sound like a stiff!"
I have to laugh. I told Jimmy not to take this part. Chuckie Ranger is a young black comedian who is this week's bargain basement Eddie Murphy. Of course Jimmy is going to look like a stiff in this picture! They hired him to play the stupid and dull-witted white guy that Ranger is going to make look stupid for 2 hours! Jimmy will never learn. "Because you ARE a stiff, Jimmy. That's the part you are playing. And I'm NOT rewriting your fucking lines on the sly! I know I've done it before -- but I'm NOT doing it again! I'm sick of being your personal re-write man. If you don't like the lines, then take it up with the producer. Or refuse to say them! You're an Academy Award winner, for fucksake!"
"I know, Ronnie, but I'd feel better if you would do it." Jimmy's got that wheedling tone in his voice.
But I'm sick of Jimmy's whining. "Have fun. Goodbye, Jimmy!"
"Don't hang up, Ron! Come on!" he says. "Hey, have you heard from Brian? He said you wanted to go over your schedule for 'Red River' with him this week. I'm glad you two are making nice-nice again."
I hesitate. Jimmy is always trying to mix things up between me and Brian. It's his natural perversity at play. "Brian told you that we were getting together?"
"Yeah, Ronnie. He mentioned it. We all came back from England on the same flight. We just got in a couple hours ago, actually. You really should have gone to that house party at Harry Collins' place, Ron. It was fun! It's a huge house, like from an old movie. We went riding and we drank and ate a lot of heavy English food. And on Saturday night we all played Charades. Except Brian, of course, he refused, but everybody else played. All we needed was a dead body and we would have had an Agatha Christie murder mystery!"
"What else did Brian say about me?" I ask, trying not to sound too eager.
"Nothing really," says Jimmy. "You know, I just had a fun idea. What if I do a cameo in 'Red River'? Like I could play an Indian or a bandit or something with lots of make-up. Like an 'in' joke, you know?"
"No fucking way, Jimmy. There are no parts for you in 'Red River'! Not even as a dance hall girl in drag -- or a fucking rock! So just stop thinking about it!"
"But it's going to be you and Bri out in the desert with Clint Eastwood! Come on, Ron! I want in on the fun!" Jimmy stops and then adds slyly. "And Justy, too. He'll make it lots of fun out in the desert. I bet he'll prance around the set in his little short shorts and cut-off tee shirt and keep things hopping. I bet you won't be able to get Brian out of his trailer!" Jimmy guffaws.
"Fuck YOU! I'm hanging up!"
Jimmy snorts. "Just deal with little Baby Blue, Ron. He's a fact of Brian's life, so get used to him. He's really tight with Diane Rhys, you know. I hear her new series has a big buzz going. Maybe I could get a gig on that. I should go over with Justy on Wednesday for the taping and invite myself on as a guest star!"
"What taping on Wednesday?" I say.
"For Diane Rhys' new TV show, 'Here's Diane.' They're taping an episode on Wednesday evening and Justin's going as her guest. He asked Tess if Annie wanted to go, too, but it's a school night."
"Is Brian going to this taping?"
"Naw," says Jimmy. "He said he didn't want it to be some kind of media circus -- which it would be if Brian showed up. So, no, he's not going. Just Baby Blue."
"Thanks, Jimmy. You know, I'm late for an appointment. I'll talk to you later."
"And don't forget that you are going to help me with that script, right, Ronnie?"
"I'll think about it." No fucking way!
"Okie-dokie, Ron," Jimmy says. "Over and out."
I put away my cellphone and start up the Jag. Wednesday evening. And that's just perfect. The night when Brian and I will become Hollywood legends. The night we will become immortal. I tear out of the parking lot and head back up into the hills to begin my preparations.
Continue on to "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out -- Part 4", the next section.
©Gaedhal, August 2003.
Updated August 31, 2003.