CHAPTER TITLE: Even Older Women Get It _Thirty-One_of One Hundred
RATING: this chapter: PG
WORD COUNT: this chapter: 750
WARNINGS: this chapter: none, Justin POV
DISCLAIMER: Nothing I can say that hasn’t been said already? Not mine.
Originally Beta’ed by herefordroad, all subsequent mistakes are mine
Story throughout contains excerpts from The Brian Kinney Operating Manual including commentary from the Editors
SUMMARY FROM THE EDITORS:‘ ‘So I ended up explaining to her not only how I work but why.‘
Justin has an in-flight epiphany
AUTHOR‘S NOTES: This story projects 59 years into the future and reflects all that that entails, many of the loose ends are tied-up. I dance with POV, I dance with time, in essence, I just dance to the song Brian & Justin sang to me.
Contains: Brian_others, Justin_others. They grow old, they are always together for just as long as time allows, but, ultimately, they will die.
As someone wise once said, ‘In the end, it’s all about Brian and Justin’ and I can only agree
A Time From Now
Even Older Women Get It
One Week Later - Late afternoon flight between New York & Pittsburgh
Seemed like I was on this freakin’ plane every other week. Well, maybe not actually every other week and maybe not always this exact plane, but the routine had become familiar. Think I would’ve gotten used to it by now…and yet. Main problem, I could never get comfortable…EVER. I‘d even heard, through secret sources naturally, that the airline people periodically made the seats incrementally smaller so they could cram even more of us into the same space, hoping we wouldn’t notice. But we did…oh yes we did. But since there was nothing we could do about it, no one complained including me. It seemed like they were also importing glare, it had become unavoidable, making my screen unseeable and very annoying. How was I supposed to work under these primitive conditions?
But in other and actually good news, I would be getting in a little early so…Brian and I would have some quality time before tonight. Wait. Shit…tonight. All the people, the press, officials…I’d be fine, I would be fine. In fact, I would be the definition of fine…the very epitome of cool, calm and collected. Who me? Freakin’ out? Never. I would be one with serenity.
Okay, laptop, what’s your problem…could you actually be any slower? Oh…well alright then, that’s a little better. Now, where was --?
“That’s beautiful,” an older woman in the seat next to me said. “It looks like it could be an oil painting.”
“Actually it is or will be anyway.” I’d noticed I was almost always seated next to older women. Mostly we ignored each other, mutually agreed to, but not always.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you wouldn’t mind telling me, I’d love to hear more,” she said.
“Well, sure. I start each work on the computer, have the image output and use that print as my inspiration and then work from there…in layers.” She nodded knowingly and I wondered if she was just humoring me but…no matter. “The painting will be pretty large. I could work from the monitor directly, but I’m afraid I’ll drip paint on it.” She nodded again indicating that that, obviously, wouldn’t be a good thing. “So I need to get the print as large-scale as I can while still marinating the clarity, so I have what’s called a…”
And I ended up explaining to her not only how I worked but why. I explained about my hand and from there about the bashing and from there about the bombing and from there about tonight. Suddenly the flight was over, we had arrived.
As we were getting ready to leave, she said, “I had been wondering if I should attend, if you think it would be appropriate, perhaps I will. I, of course, had read all about what had happened in the paper. I remember clearly seeing all their young faces and I was appalled. What possesses some people to do such harm I will never understand. I could come pay my respects and see your work first hand. Do you think it would be alright?”
“Of course. Just promise you’ll find me.” She did promise. Maybe I should reevaluate my ban on talking to people on planes; this really hadn’t been too bad. Brian and I passed her on our way out of the airport and she and I exchanged smiles. Nodding toward Brian, she mouthed the words, ‘He’s hot,” while pretending to fan herself with her hand. Brian was, naturally, confused when I randomly started chuckling on our way out of the airport. And I’d be fucked if I was going to tell him why. His ego was already big enough, but truth was, even older straight women got it. Straight guys, gay guys, lesbians and even older straight women got it.
Brian, my Brian, was hot…fuck yeah.
The Brian Kinney Operating Manual - A Life Examined
the chapter titled - ‘Justin Actually Does Have a Life of His Own. No…Really’
Mrs. Edith Roderick will become a patron, following in the tradition of her late husband, Charles who, at the time of his death two years earlier, had been not only a retired business man, but an internationally known and, even more importantly, an internationally respected art collector. During their lifetime together, Edith had left much of the collecting to Charles, she not only completely trusted his instincts, but since 1987 she’d had her own work to do running the trust she and Charles had set up when their only son, Thomas, had died, too soon at 26, of AIDS. All that will change now that she’d found Justin Taylor. The trust work would continue, of course, but at the time of her death in 26 years, she would have joined the ranks of internationally known and respected collectors along with her husband.
And in her, Justin would have found his first true patron.
Next Chapter: Jennifer thinks about Justin, Brian and momentous moments
for original post & additional chapters, please see here