Ten Tremont - Chapter 3
In which Adrian and Marc have a discussion about a purchase....




Brian Kinney’s social life and Marc Spencer’s work schedule are not at all in sync. This was made abundantly clear last night when my usually mild-mannered, eager to please, good-hearted, and downright friendly partner bolted up in bed and yelled, “Tell him to shut the fuck up!”

Less than ten hours sleep in three days will do that to a person, I guess. Marc had just begun to doze off when the hollering started. “Brian!” I was passing by one of our front windows and saw what was playing out in the street below.

“It’s the kid, Marc.”

“Brian!” the fair-haired jailbait belted out again. He was standing in the middle of the street looking up at the top floor loft. There was a car with a young woman in it idling behind him.

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s the pope,” Marc replied. “Jesus, can’t that son of a bitch take no for an answer?” He stormed into the kitchen to get a drink of water, and I stood there for a minute thinking about what I had just heard. I walked into the hallway and grabbed his arm as he was re-entering the bedroom.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing. Forget it. I just want to get some sleep.” He plopped down on the bed and burrowed back under the covers. It wasn’t all that late but I know Marc well enough to realize that now was not the best time to pump him for information. He was off the next day, and he’d be far more talkative after he had a good night’s sleep. I crawled in next to him and lay back to think.

Marc’s the type of guy who goes to bed either to fuck or to sleep whereas I can read, eat, work, watch TV, do my taxes, or simply lie there and daydream for hours. That night, I thought about Brian Kinney.

What’s this guy’s history and what does he do for a living? From the quick look I got of his place, whatever it is, he makes good money and has impeccable taste. He’s obviously not partnered at the moment, but I wondered if he ever was. How many hearts has he broken? Or, let’s be honest, what I really want to know is if anyone has ever broken his. Does he have family here? I can’t see this guy with a sack full of brothers, like I have. I picture him being raised as an only child with money and doting parents who sent him away to the best boarding schools; probably somewhere in Europe. But if he did that, what’s he doing in Pittsburgh? Maybe he works for the government. Undercover FBI agent or some shit like that. But then again, what would he be doing in Pittsburgh? And what about the kid? Where did they meet? Brian’s certainly not a high school teacher. I’m a decent looking guy and I’ve done my share of clubbing, but I never caught a piece of ass like that. Could the kid be a hustler?

This is how my mind works. Marc had been sleeping peacefully for a good two hours while I imagined every possible scenario for my neighbor and his lovesick boy toy. I certainly hoped I wasn’t setting myself up for a huge let down once I finally found out the truth.

One person I was sure about was my man. Over cereal and coffee the next morning, Marc was much more talkative regarding Brian’s business.

“So what did you mean last night about the kid not taking no for an answer?” I asked as I casually thumbed through the newspaper.

“Your exhibitionist told him to take a hike,” he responded nonchalantly.

“What?” I asked, incredulously.

“Oh Jesus,” he said with a touch of resignation in his voice, “I wasn’t going to say anything because I know how you get.”

“What do you mean, ‘how I get?’”

Marc chuckled and reached across the table to grab my hand and spoke calmly.

“Adrian, you are like a man possessed. How would you feel if someone was stalking us?”

“I am not stalking!” I assured him. “I’m simply looking out my window at opportune times.”

“Well, since I’ve already said too much, and since I know you won’t let this go until I tell you….” He looked me in the eye and asked, “Will you promise me that if this kid is history, you will leave the guy next door alone?”

History? The kid is history? Not judging from what I’ve seen.

“I promise,” I said, crossing my toes under the table. I can be so juvenile at times.

Marc continued. “Okay then. One night last week when I was coming through the alley, BRIAN (he emphasized the word) was telling JUSTIN (ditto) that he’s too old for him, and since he has already ‘had’ him, the kid should just toddle on home and do his schoolwork.”

“Wow, that’s harsh.” I replied.

“Yeah,” Marc agreed, “but sometimes it’s the only way to get rid of somebody.”

“Justin, huh?” I pondered this for a second. “The name fits: Brian and Justin. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Mark shook his head as if to dismiss the subject, “Doesn’t matter, he dumped him.”

“So how old are they?” I asked, innocently enough.

“See? This is what I mean,” Mark said. “It’s none of our damn business how old either of them are or how many guys our neighbor sticks his dick into.”

“Oh, come on,” I guess you could say I pleaded, “if one of those guys is keeping us from getting a decent night’s sleep, we’ve at least earned the right to be nosey.”

Mark smirked, took a final swig of his coffee and set the cup down with a clang. “If it will shut you up, Brian is your age and Justin is 17. If it were us in that situation, that would make me 41.”

“If it were us in that situation, that doesn’t sound as creepy…or as hot,” I quipped.

“Whatever,” he swatted me as he carried his cereal bowl to the sink. “Apparently it’s over now so you can quit your gawking.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I was thinking about what I saw a couple of nights ago. “When did you hear that conversation?”

“I don’t remember, Thursday…Friday…I don’t know.”

“Think!” I demanded.

“Why?” He looked at me suspiciously.

“Because I have a feeling Brian Kinney is saying one thing and doing something else.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been spying again.” He sounded a little desperate.

“I bought binoculars.”

“Jesus Christ, Adrian!”

“Oh, calm down,” I assured him. “They’re small. Nobody’s gonna see me. Brian’s too busy fucking or getting fucked...I haven’t figured that one out yet...hence the reason for the glasses. And that kid…Justin…appears too love-struck to notice anything or anybody else. So think, tell me when you heard the conversation.”

Marc was back at the table now. He stretched his legs out and crossed them in front of him, with his elbows up on the arms of the dining room chair. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at me. “It was the evening after you told me you were spying.”

“I knew it!” I slapped my hand down on the table hard enough to make him jump. “Justin’s been there. Brian’s brought him home since then, and from the way they were dressed, it was pretty obvious they had been out clubbing. They fucked…and fucked...and fucked. Problem is, they did most of it in the bedroom and I really couldn’t get a good look in there.”

Marc had his head in his hand and was shaking it slightly. I knew what was coming.

“You’re sick.”

“But you love me,” I smiled and placed my hand on his thigh.

He batted it away. “Not enough to visit you in jail.”

“You won’t be able to stay away on conjugal visit night,” I said.

“I’m serious, Adrian. If the police show up, I know nothing of your criminal activities.”

“You worry too much,” I advised him as I knelt and wormed my way between his legs.