Jun. 5th, 2005: 06:40 pm - BURN, Chapter 1

 

Swamp Gang, I decided to drop in a Boyd and Brian update. I will NOT be posting every day 
because I really am working on my novel. But I would like to shoot for at least once a week. 
What do you think? Will that be enough to hold your interest? If I have time, I'll shoot for 
more. Interested in your thoughts. Big B (PS, Big THANKS to Heather for the great icon!)



“Come on, Daphne, you know you want it,” Brian’s voice was low and intimate, the telephone 
amplifying the sensuality in his tone. Daphne giggled and responded,

“I’m scared, Brian.”

“I know you better than that. Nothing scares you. You’re fearless. It’s here, waiting for you, 
Daphne. All you have to do is reach out and grab it.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with it if I did grab it, Brian.”

“I’ll help you. I’ll show you what to do. You can learn a lot from me. I’ve grabbed more than 
my fair share. Come on, it’s ready for you and you’re ready for it. It’s hot, it’s filthy, it’s boiling 
over. Grab it, Daphne. Grab it with both hands and pull hard.”

“Brian, I don’t know…”

“Come on, Daphne, do it. Don’t tease me, don’t make me beg, you know you want it, too.”

“Brian…”

“Do it!”

“I’ll grab it, I’ll grab it!” She finally relented.

He smiled. “That’s my girl. A ticket will be waiting for you at the American counter. See you 
soon. Dress for the heat.”

When he hung up, Boyd laughed and shook his head. “You’re sick, you know that? That was 
the filthiest job solicitation I’ve ever heard.”

Brian rolled over on the bed to be closer to his partner. He took the book from his hands. “You 
have a dirty mind.”

“And you love me for it.”

“I love you for something. Is that it?”

Boyd’s glasses were shed, deposited on the table beside their bed. He knew he wasn’t going to 
be allowed back into his book that night. “Why Daphne? She’s just a kid.”

“I’ve always admired her… dare I use the word, ‘spunk’? She just got her degree in marketing, 
so she’ll work cheap. I need an apprentice to run the promotional side for me, because I’ll be 
damned if I’ll pay some advertising agency to promote Burn when I know the game so much 
better than they do. But I can’t do it all. She may not be gay, but she has youth and 
enthusiasm on her side. Besides which, Daphne was always loyal to me when no one else 
bothered.”

“Loyal in what way?”

“In supporting me with Justin, when he was going through his post-traumatic stress phase and 
even when he left me for Ethan. She believed I cared for him when others who had known me 
a lot longer and who knew me a lot better just shrugged me off.”

“Ok, Brian. Your call. I trust your judgment.”

“You’ll love her. She’s very loveable. A doll, too.”

“I love her already.”

Brian chuckled at his lover’s sarcasm. “Don’t love her too much. You do have those latent 
breeder tendencies. I don’t want to encourage that perversion.”

“Latent?” Boyd reached under the sheets to let his hand rest low on Brian’s abdomen. His 
fingers traced up, along the faint ridge that remained of his scar from the bullet wound that 
saved Belle’s life. Touching this scar had become a ritual with them. It was an acceptance, a 
quiet pronouncement of their shared commitment to each other and to the three kids who had 
been combined into their family. One of those kids, Brian’s son, was long distance, but no less 
a part of their dynamic. “So latent that I can’t even remember what it feels like to fuck a 
woman.”

“Wet,” Brian reminded him. Boyd winced and spread out on top of his lover, pinning his wrists 
to the bed.

“It’s been even longer for you. How do you know?”

“I have a better memory.”

They kissed and then Brian whispered, “Isn’t it kinky to fuck with the bedroom door open?”

Boyd’s sister Lisette, and her partner, Petra, had taken Boyd’s two kids to the beach for a long 
weeked. The mother of his children had been dead for almost two months, now, the victim of a 
greedy, deranged man who also shot Brian. The time had been tough for everyone. Brian was 
recuperating from his physical wounds, as well as the mental stress of having been charged 
with serious crimes he never committed, since dismissed. Boyd and Brian as a couple, were 
tasked with putting a relationship together under intense public scrutiny and the stress of 
helping two small kids understand the loss of their mother. Boyd was principally charged with 
having to meld all these aspects of his life together into a seamless working unit. Added to 
that, Brian was putting together a business in New Orleans. 

Many couples with far more experience at being partners and at being custodial parents would 
have buckled under much less challenging circumstances, but so far, their union was stronger 
than ever. As Brian put it, “We survived the hurricane, the rest is just a strong breeze.”

They were facing huge decisions that had to be made quickly. They approached each one as a 
team, open to differing viewpoints and searching for compromise. What began as a fiery 
sexual infatuation, had matured into love, and was now solidifying into a strong partnership. 
And yet, underneath it all, the sex still fumed and bellowed. The sex was the glue that mended 
the inevitable rips. 

“I love having some time alone with you, Brian, but I do feel uneasy with the kids being so far 
away. I know that’s stupid, that Petra and Lis are wonderful and competent, but since Bonnie’s 
death I feel like I have to be there for them every minute.”

Brian reached up and pushed Boyd’s fair hair off his forehead. “To make them crazy, you 
mean? Because that’s what you’ll do if you smother them. We’ve had this conversation before. 
The shrink has had this conversation with you. The best thing you can do for those kids is to 
help them understand that a sense of normalcy is possible. That you’ll be around, even if you 
aren’t in their face every second.”

“I know, but…”

Brian shook his head. “No ‘but’. Open up that fist a little, Dad. Let them breathe.”

“And you? Am I holding you too tightly in my fist?” Brian leered at that remark causing Boyd to 
roll his eyes. “Stop. You know what I mean.”

“Trust me, I’d tell you. Are you going to make yourself crazy when I stay over in New Orleans? 
As I’ll have to do from time to time? Imagining I’m tricking or whatever the fuck you have in 
that creative brain of yours?”

“I thought we settled this. The shrink thinks its best for the kids that we leave them in this 
familiar environment and school for at least a semester. That means you and I have to be 
grown ups about the fact you have a business in New Orleans and you’ll have to go there, 
sometimes for more than a day or a couple of days. Believe it or not, Kinney, I trust your 
skinny ass.”

Brian shrugged. “Your character flaw, not mine.” Boyd slammed him with a pillow and Brian 
slammed it back. “Hey! I’m an invalid.”

“I think you’ve milked that one as much as it can be milked.”

Brian pulled him into his arms. “You’re going to look for a place in the Garden District, right? I 
mean we aren’t going to be commuters forever, are we?”

“I told you. As soon as the shrink thinks it’s good, we’re moving. I’m already looking at 
schools. I just don’t think I can have the kids living on the same property with Burn.”

“I understand and I’m not asking you to do that.”

“In the mean time, I don’t see why you won’t stay with Lisette. They have all that room.”

“Because I thought it might be uncomfortable for her and for Petra when I bring tricks home.”

“Brian, that is so not funny.”

He smiled the innocent smile of a naughty child. “What?”

Boyd reached down and grabbed Brian’s cock, squeezing until he winced. “You may not be 
needing this thing for long.”

“You hurt that thing, what are you going to do for a hobby?”

Boyd released him and then stood up and motioned for him to follow. “We have the place to 
ourselves. Let’s go fuck in the living room.”

Brian laughed and crossed an arm behind his head. “But I’m all comfy…”

“My ass is going to be in the living room. If you want it, come get it.”

“Christ, there is nothing worse than a bossy bottom,” Brian pretended to complain as he threw 
off the sheets and followed after his lover. On the way out of the bedroom, he caught a 
glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bureau and paused, staring at the narrow red line 
that zipped one side of his abdomen. It was fading, but still visible. His vanity regretted the 
flaw, but his ego was proud of it, because it represented a heroic moment in his life. 

While Brian talked a good line, he was terrified of where they were now in their relationship. 
He had no guideposts to help him gauge if he was stumbling. His one prior love affair 
concluded in a sad ending for him. Except for Boyd, neither did he have a role model of how to 
be a father. He was worried about his ability to remain faithful, even though he didn’t want 
anyone but Boyd. Would he always be that strong? Nothing mattered more to him than making 
this work, nothing, but was he man enough to accomplish that goal? He wondered. The scar 
gave him hope that he had hidden depths he’d never plumbed. Before the shooting, would he 
have believed that he’d take a bullet for a kid he hardly knew? Maybe, but when it happened, 
he felt no hesitation at all.

“What the hell are you doing?” Boyd complained from afar. 

“Nothing,” Brian left the bedroom and walked over to where his lover was stretched out on the 
couch. “Does it bother you?” he let his long fingers trail the scar. “Tell me the truth.”

Boyd reached up and pulled him closer, pressing his cheek to the line and then tracing it with 
his tongue. Brian shuddered at the sensation. “It’s become my favorite part of you. It’s the 
one visible sign of what a good guy you are underneath all your Irish bullshit.”

Brian smiled and buried his hands in Boyd’s hair as he let his face move down Brian’s body, his 
tongue lacing the pubes before he began to suck him. Brian closed his eyes, letting the 
sensation carry him. No matter how often they did it, it always felt brand new. Boyd buried his 
fingertips in the crack of Brian’s ass, his thumbs cradled in the flesh of his buttocks as he 
reeled him in and sucked him deep. 

“I want to come this way,” Brian pleaded. “Don’t stop.”

Boyd knew there was always more where this erection came from with Brian, so he had no 
regret about getting him off, even though he wanted desperately to feel him inside his own 
body. Just before the moment when Brian lost it down Boyd’s waiting throat, the phone rang. 
“No fucking way,” Brian warned him, tightening his grip on the back of Boyd’s head as if he 
were afraid that Boyd would withdraw.

Boyd had no intention of stopping until he felt that geyser spray the deep palette of his mouth 
and throat, swallowing it as it came. When he leaned back, and smiled up at Brian, Brian said, 
“Okay, go look at the caller ID. I know you’re worried that it was the kids. By the time you 
walk back over here, I’ll be hard again,” he demonstrated by giving his cock a yank and Boyd 
rushed to the phone. 

“It isn’t…” but before he could conclude that thought, it rang again and he impulsively picked it 
up, causing Brian to curse.

“Boyd? It’s Ted.”

“Not a good time, Ted.”

“Tell Brian the Christians are restless. The Republicans are stirring shit up. There’s a move 
afoot to prevent the deconstruction of the church into Burn.”

“Perfect,” Boyd said and hung up, grimacing at the thought of one more pressure point in their 
life. 

“What’s perfect?” Brian asked, leaning back on the cushions with one foot on the floor, the 
other on the back of the sofa, his fist wrapped tightly around his cock as he stroked it into a 
firm erection. Boyd stared at that sight and decided that the Republicans would just have to 
wait. 

"Your cock."

Brian smiled, letting Boyd have that one. 

Current Mood:  flirty

Jun. 10th, 2005 07:18 am - BURN, Chapter 2

 

Hi, It's Randall in my editing and posting role again! BWAHAA! Have fun! (P.S. Brian and I both 
send good, healthy karma and healing wishes out to Susan)

Brian was awake, and yet not awake. The sound of rain hammering the roof and the windows 
was soothing to his ear. He could smell the moisture in the air, trapped by the heat. The scent 
lingered as a cloying miasma that even state of the art air conditioning couldn’t completely 
overcome. He was learning that the atmosphere of the swamp was a demanding mistress. 
Keeping her at bay was a constant challenge. She seeped in to peel wallpaper off walls and 
turn salt and sugar into solid clumps, while depositing a thin layer of mold on shoes left too 
long in the bottom of a dark closet. 

She could take your breath away on a hot day, making you feel as if you were trying to 
breathe underwater. But on that rare day when the humidity was low and a Gulf breeze blew 
in, she could make you feel as if you were basking in the afterglow of great sex. 

He turned on his side and reached for Boyd, feeling the pleasant tingle of morning wood 
weighing heavily at his groin. All he touched was sheet, and he squinted one eye, confirming 
that he was alone. 

“Brian,” he heard the soft voice of another man. Perhaps not so alone, after all. He smiled and 
threw back the sheets, displaying his erection as he said,

“Does this give you any ideas?”

“None that you’d let me complete.”

Ted.

Brian groaned and covered himself up, glaring at the man standing over him. “What the fuck? 
Where’s Boyd?”

Ted wore a wistful expression. Brian wasn’t sure if it meant Ted was longing for a piece of 
Brian’s dick, or whether he was longing to be hung like Brian. Maybe both. There were times 
when Brian felt uneasy over Ted’s superficial envy/lust. “Boyd let me in and said he had an 
early court appointment. He said he’d told you about it last night, but that you’d have 
forgotten, since you slept. He asked me to wake you up. He didn’t warn me that you awoke 
with your batteries fully charged.”

Brian lit a cigarette and exhaled with a cough. Smoking wasn’t nearly as much fun as it was 
before he had been shot. Something in his blood chemistry changed. If he had half a brain, 
he’d quit, but that seemed like such a concession to the norm. “Don’t worry, Theodore. Seeing 
you acts as an instant battery drain.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Brian shrugged, annoyed that Boyd left without a morning fuck. They always liked to take 
advantage of early wood. He knew it was Boyd’s way of ensuring that Brian got more rest, but 
it still annoyed him. “Why are you here?”

“We have an appointment in New Orleans. We’re meeting with the contractor. Given that we 
seem to be in the midst of a monsoon, I thought we’d better allow ourselves some extra time.”

Always the clock puncher, Brian observed to himself. He didn’t repeat that thought aloud, 
because he needed Ted, so he had to retain some level of civility if he wanted to keep him 
here. Money only went so far. It seemed to be very important to Ted that he be viewed as 
Brian’s friend. Ted enjoyed his de facto job as gatekeeper between Brian and the Pittsburgh 
gang. It gave him a certain amount of power and some credentials as an insider in Brian’s 
world. Pathetic, but then, in many ways, Ted was his friend and Brian reminded himself often 
of that fact. Especially when Ted was needy and annoying. Brian noticed his cock hadn’t lost 
much of its tumescence, which he attributed to a raging need to piss, not to the company. He 
got up and walked past Ted to the bathroom, kicking up the lid on the toilet and forcing a 
stream past his engorged tissues. The blood seemed to retreat as the urine emptied. 

“Stop staring at my ass,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to where Ted stood in the 
doorway. It was a joke, but when Ted turned burgundy, Brian realized, with a grimace, that he 
had been, in fact, staring at his ass. He flushed the john and turned on the shower, instructing 
Ted, “Why don’t you make some coffee and I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”

A shower and shave later, Brian pulled on a robe and walked into the kitchen. Ted handed him 
a mug of fresh coffee. Brian accepted it and plopped down on the couch where he and Boyd 
had engaged in more interesting activities the night before. “What’s our schedule, Theodore? 
How far behind are we? By the way, what are the Christians and the Republicans up to?”

“In reverse order, we’re going over the progress reports with the contractor. We need to light 
a fire if Burn is going to burn brightly and on time. There’s a fundamentalist church in Metarie 
where the preacher, a real fire and brimstone kind of guy, and a complete homophobe, 
preached a sermon Sunday about the horrors of a former house of God being turned into a den 
of inequity.”

“Since when do the holy rollers give a shit what the Catholics are doing? Don’t they believe the 
Pope is the son of Satan?”

“I guess they hate queers even more. He’s starting a campaign to prevent this so-called 
‘desecration’. The usual carnivorous politicians are scenting blood and throwing their verbosity 
into the crusade.”

“Good. All publicity is good publicity. We need a spin plan and I need to know how he can hurt 
us. Building permits, land use issues, union issues, little old ladies throwing burning bibles at 
us, whatever the potential harm. Liquor license is one that jumps out at me right away.”

“I’ll start looking into it.”

“We need positive press on rehabbing and reusing abandoned property, boosting the tax rolls, 
raising employment, and we need to be making contributions to various palatable GLBT 
causes. Queer kids with big baskets or whatever the most breeder-friendly issue may be.”

“I could play up your heroism when you saved Belle’s life. And Mac’s.”

Brian threw a pillow at him. “Only if you don’t mind dying middle-aged. I don’t trade on Boyd’s 
kids.”

“But…”

“Moving on, Theodore. Let’s take your car, not the Vette. The weather’s too lousy for that.” 
Brian had purchased Ted a “company” car. It was a Range Rover, and it could handle any 
terrain. It was more car than Ted had ever owned. He loved it and loved Brian for buying it. 
“I’ll drive,” Brian said, causing Ted to wince. He was protective of his car and felt that Brian 
failed to show it the proper respect. Brian ignored him and went to dress. The phone rang 
before they left the house. 

“Yes?”

“Brian?”

He smiled. “Hi, Ma Bell.” He had a series of names for Belle. Ma Bell, Christmas Bell, Silver 
Bell, Cow Bell, and his particular favorite, Hells Bells. She giggled as she always did, as if 
hearing it for the first time.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Going out in the rain. You?”

“Going to the beach.”

“You win.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“In court this morning. Fighting for truth, justice and the American way.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s being a lawyer.”

“Oh. Boring. I miss him. You too.”

“We miss you, too. Not. No, we do, kind of. Well, not really, but…”

She giggled again. “You’re silly, Brian.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Well you’re a big green goose, then.”

“Then you’re a big pink penguin.”

“I happen to be partial to pink penguins, so that’s a nice thing to say.”

“Can you and Daddy come to Florida, Brian?”

“Why? You don’t love Lisette and Petra anymore?”

“Yes, but I miss you and Daddy.”

“We’ll see you in a couple days. Until then, put some sun in a bottle and send it to us, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hug Lis and Petra and Mac for your Dad. I’ll tell him you called.”


“I’ll hug Lis and Petra. Not Mac.”

“I don’t blame you. Boys stink.”

She giggled and said goodbye. Brian hung up and then glared at Ted’s knowing smirk. “What’s 
your problem, Theodore?”

“Big Bad Brian Kinney has become so domesticated.”

“Would you like to see what Big Bad Brian Kinney can do to erase that smirk from your face?”

Ted’s smile froze. “Uh, no. Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

In the car, Brian drove at a rate of speed Ted considered unsafe for the weather and road 
conditions. He leaned over to turn down the volume of the music as he said, “I have some 
news from Pittsburgh.”

“What?”

“You won’t like it.”

“I don’t like that you think you know me well enough to tell me what I’ll like and not like. What 
is it?”

“Justin apparently has a boyfriend.”

Brian laughed at that. “Damn! And here I was thinking he’d be celibate in honor of our failed 
relationship for the rest of his life. Join a monastery, maybe. Live on top of a mountain in Tibet 
and dress in saffron robes.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Do I have a choice? Go ahead.” Brian wondered when his friends would understand or accept 
that all he wanted for Justin was happiness. He had found his own bliss. He had no desire to 
see Justin go without. He cared enough for him that he wanted the guy Justin selected to 
deserve his interest, but he knew that whomever Justin chose, it wouldn’t be Brian’s call. Brian 
had given up any attempt at such control. The Pittsburgh gang was perpetually caught in a 
time warp, viewing Brian as he had been with Justin, or how he was as the club stud or, in 
Michael’s case, when he was even younger. Even Ted, who saw up close what Brian and Boyd 
meant to each other, often regressed into those old, comfortable images. Somehow the 
Pittsburgh contingency seemed to believe they could be forever young if they kept Brian 
Kinney in a time capsule. Sorry, but Brian had other plans for the rest of his life. 

His even darker belief was that they resented his good looks, his sexual prowess and his 
financial success so much that they had to keep him seriously flawed in order to find him 
palatable. Adding to his other advantages a stable, loving and mutual relationship would cause 
harm to their own comparative images. No matter what the old Brian had going for him, they 
liked the fact he was still an emotional retard and a romantic failure. A complete loner. 
Dropping him into a partnership just didn’t work for them. But dropped in it he was, and they 
would just have to deal.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Brian asked as he avoided a particularly deep crater in the road. Ted 
shuddered when they came perilously close to the bank of the swamp. 

“Want me to drive?” Ted pleaded.

“And get us there by tomorrow afternoon? No. I want you to answer my question.”

“Some guy he met over there. He’s American, ironically. Teaches art history. Was taking a 
group around and ran into Justin in front of the David.”

Brian chuckled. “He’s in Florence now? So much for Venice. Yes, in front of the David is where 
I would expect Justin to be, although behind the David is not a bad place to land either.”

Ted remembered how Brian got angry once when the gang suggested he was eerily similar in 
appearance to that masterpiece in marble. He argued that his dick was far bigger than David’s, 
and his arms were more proportionate. Lacking ego was never a problem for Brian. “Anyway, 
don’t know much else, other than he says he’s having a fabulous time and to say hello to you.”

“Good. Hello, back. I knew he’d love Italy. It’s a great place for him to be right now.”

“Regrets?”

Brian gave his companion a hard, side glance. He wanted to snap that it was none of his 
business, but he was working to make himself appear more human, less volatile. “Of course I 
have regrets, Theodore. I’m human.” He re-emphasized his goal. “But do I regret being with 
Boyd? How my life has changed? Not at all. Do I regret the failure with Justin? Of course.”

Ted swallowed his gum. When Brian met an inquiry with utter candor, Ted always felt such 
shock that he didn’t have a follow up question ready. During their silence, the swish of the 
windshield wipers underscored the music and soon the highway replaced the primordial beauty 
of the swamp. Ted glanced at Brian’s elegant profile and chanced one more push. “Why Boyd, 
Brian?”

He saw Brian’s jaw flex. He cringed, expecting the worst. Instead, Brian said, simply, “Ted, the 
only way I can answer that question is to give a shout out to our good friends, the Christians, 
and say what my Irish gran used to say when something good happened in her life, ‘God 
smiled’.”

Ted nodded, unable to follow the simplistic beauty of that remark with another word.

Current Mood:  amused



Jun. 16th, 2005 - 04:25 am - BURN, Chapter 3
 
Dora Lafite would have made a great looking man. She was tall, broad shouldered, slim-
hipped, with biceps that Brian envied. She must have been behind the door when the dicks 
were being levied out, since she missed that call. Instead, she was a big, butch dyke who was 
also one of the best contractors in town. She specialized in historic building rehabs, so the 
French Quarter was a prime target for her work. She came recommended by Lisette and Petra. 
Dora completed the work on the reconstruction of their townhouse, turning the disaster left by 
a prior contractor into a showplace, without altering the historic beauty of the building. Despite 
the fact Brian found Dora physically intimidating, he had few complaints about her work. What 
pissed him off were the bureaucratic delays that slowed their progress. 

Brian had come to believe that in New Orleans, scratching your balls required a permit or a 
license. There were permits and licenses for destruction, construction, turning water off and 
on, sidewalk repairs, gas, electricity and telephone accessibility, changing anything on an 
historic building, signage, sale of liquor, food or cigarettes, parking, adult-themed businesses, 
disturbing native vegetation, egress and access, trash removal, use of heavy machinery, noise 
reduction. There was an occupational license, a sales and use license, licenses for the sale of 
tobacco, alcohol and entertainment, certificate of occupancy for both the business and the 
home on the premises, sales tax certificates and an amusement tax permit, due to the fact live 
entertainment would be performed. This was in addition to incorporating the company that 
would hold and operate Burn, filing of the trade name, trademarks and DBA’s. 

Then there were the Commissions. The Vieux Carre Commission had to approve any business 
operating within the French Quarter. The Historic District Landmark Commission had to 
approve any alterations to an historic building within that same area and beyond. The City 
Planning Commission had to write and recommend any zoning adjustments. 

Brian already had a file cabinet full of documents relating to the property conversion, and the 
rehab was just beginning to boil. The bureaucracy wasn’t Dora’s fault, but he had a tendency 
to unload all of his frustration on either Ted or his project manager. His project manager was 
“man” enough to take it. Ted had a tendency to brood when Brian got testy. 

Because of all the equipment and activity at the site, they had to park far away in a 
commercial lot and walk through a misty rain to the old church. They were handed hard hats 
as soon as they entered the perimeter. Dora strode over, wearing denim shorts cut midway up 
her muscular thighs with heavy-duty work boots and thick white socks. A dusty wifebeater 
showed off her biceps. A tool belt, containing the ususal and some tools Brian couldn’t even 
identify, hung low at her slim hips. For Dora, this was more than a hot looking fantasy 
accessory.

“Hey, boss,” she shook his hand in a steel grip and nodded a gruff recognition to Ted. “Let’s 
step into my office. It’s cooler and drier.”

Her “office” was a small trailer parked on property, just big enough to contain a metal desk, 
four chairs and an under counter fridge. On the counter was a plugged-in coffeemaker, and 
building plans that were rolled up and secured with thick rubber bands. All of the permits 
needed for this work were tacked up on the walls, like art. An air conditioner hummed away, 
filling the space with false frigidity. 

Brian immediately peeled off his damp denim shirt, despite the air conditioner. He wore a 
black, sleeveless t-shirt beneath it, and he surreptitiously compared his biceps to Dora’s and 
scowled at his internal analysis. The bitch had to be on the juice, he decided. “It looks like 
nothing’s happening,” he challenged her.

She crossed her ankles on the edge of the desk and grinned at him. If she were a guy and 
Boyd wasn’t in his life, Brian would trick with her. Fate being what it was, he was just paying 
her huge sums of money, instead. “Boss, if you were seeing a lot of work from the street, we’d 
be in big trouble because one of the conditions of our permit is that we aren’t making 
significant alterations to the facies of the church.”

“The what-sies?” Ted asked as Brian lit a cigarette, coughed, and then ground it out with a 
frown. Fucking surgery.

“The ediface of the building, Theodore. They get picky when you alter the ediface of their old 
structures.”

“They get picky enough to shut you down,” Dora corrected him. “We were lucky to get the 
gardens and back terrace changes approved, but that’s mainly because it’s not facing any 
street. That wall between the club and the house is still a problem though.”

“I need the wall,” Brian insisted. “I need the separation. Can’t have a bunch of tweaked, 
oversexed queers having it off in my rose bushes.”

“Like you wouldn’t have done that.” Ted laughed.

“Exactly my point.”

“What do you plan to do with that house anyway, Brian? Since you and Boyd are looking for a 
place outside the Quarter.” Ted’s curiosity frequently overcame his good sense.

“Don’t worry your pointy little head about those things, Ted. Just concentrate on what matters. 
Like the wall.”

“The wall is now my job?” Ted asked, exasperated, and Brian shrugged.

“The wall was always your job, Ted. I hit a wall, you break the wall down. See how that 
works?”

“I’m now a wrecking ball?”

“Don’t glorify it, Theodore.”

She laughed. “You two bicker like lovers.”

Brian raised a single brow. “Those are fighting words.”

She chuckled at that, taking in his slim physique with a silent glance. He didn’t like that look at 
all. He knew what she was thinking, that she could take him in a fight, and she was probably 
right. He was still several pounds under his ideal weight since the surgery, and was only now 
able to work out with any vigor. His stamina was still flagging. But what Dora didn’t know was 
that he was a scrappy Irish brawler, who would let himself be beaten senseless before he’d 
capitulate to an opponent. 

“I need to get you over to my gym and bulk you up, boss.”

“What’s that? Some dyke gym?”

“Hell no! It’s for boxers. I train with boxers. I like to mix it up a little, helps release the 
tension, you know?” She feigned a couple jabs and Brian reanalyzed his chances against her, 
taking them down a notch or two. 

“I have to protect my hands. They’re insured by Lloyds of London for millions of dollars,” he 
wiggled his long, tapering fingers as she bit into the joke.

“Piano player, are you?”

“No, but I’m an expert at fingering a flute.”

They laughed. 

“Why don’t you boys come inside the church with me and take a look at where we are? You 
might feel a little encouraged. We’re making progress.”

They left the cool of the office for the muggy heat of the church. Huge industrial fans failed to 
displace the weight of the super-heated humidity. Brian and Ted both looked at the sweaty, 
straining men working with tools, sifting the hot bodies from the rest. They exchanged a 
glance and a smile, silently acknowledging the fantasies inherent in this scene. 

Despite the occasional hot guy, the site was chaotic. All the pews had been removed, stored, 
making the space appear cavernous. The stained glass was protected with cross hatches of 
plywood to avoid accidental breakage. The apse was being converted into a bar and the design 
was slowly taking shape. Trays of wiring were strewn across the floor or hung on temporary 
supports from the sloping ceiling. The religious statues had been removed, wrapped, and 
stored while Brian decided what to do with them. Even his wry sense of humor couldn’t feature 
Jesus, with a bleeding heart, overlooking a crowd of writhing gay men on the dance floor. His 
sacreligion went just so far. 

Canvas sheets covered the floor. The new hardwoods would be one of the last things placed in 
the space. Ted watched Brian’s scowl over what he viewed as a lack of progress turn into a 
wide smile that he knew meant only one thing: Boyd. He followed Brian’s gaze to the doorway. 
Boyd, wearing the dress shirt and trousers of his court clothes, but neither tie nor jacket, 
entered. A hard hat covered his blond hair and dark glasses concealed his eyes, but he still 
looked hot. Brian was right about that. Brian stopped in mid-sentence, turning from them, 
walking to meet Boyd halfway. He placed his hands on Boyd’s shoulders, squeezing tightly, 
resisting the urge to kiss him in front of all these redneck workmen. The last thing he needed 
was to distract them with hatred and prejudice. 

Boyd let his fingers spread along Brian’s slender waist, smiling at him as he said, “I thought 
maybe we could have lunch in town. Hell, maybe we could even spend the night here. I don’t 
have a busy afternoon.”

“You left without waking me, you bastard,” Brian mocked him and Boyd shrugged.

“You need your rest.”

“That’s not what I needed this morning.”

“Last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“What’s ‘enough’?”

Boyd lowered his dark glasses to flash a blue-eyed promise at him. “Later.”

Brian sighed and released him, motioning for him to come over and hear Dora’s progress 
report. After walking the work site, absorbing each sign of completion, they all retired to the 
nearest Gumbo Shop for lunch. Dora pulled a shirt over her wifebeater and left behind the tool 
belt, but otherwise she looked like exactly what she was: a hard working construction 
manager. Under the table, Boyd rested his hand on Brian’s thigh and Brian wrapped his fingers 
with his, squeezing tightly and holding on to him. 

“The projected cost overruns are troublesome, Dora,” Boyd said as they got down to the 
numbers over bowls of soup that were fragrant with the sassafras powder the Cajuns borrowed 
from the Choctaw Indians and renamed “file”. It provided a rich, woodsy taste to the thick 
brew served over hunks of shrimp and a mound of white rice, with a side order of crusty 
French bread and butter. 

“Labor ain’t cheap in this town, Boyd. We can try to get a grant from the Development Board 
where they give you so much credit to train people on the job. It provides the workers with a 
skill and the city with a future revenue earner. There’s some paperwork, of course, and the 
unskilled boys slow things down, but there’s some money in it.”

“I’d rather use pros and get it done more quickly,” Brian said. “Can’t they work a longer day?”

“Sure, boss. For time and a half. These are Union boys, remember? You don’t get to work 
them until they drop and then bring in a new crew.”

Boyd gave his lover a wry smile. “Slavery was ended by that pesky little war, Brian.”

“Says the boy who grew up on a plantation.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that like it’s a cotton farm stocked with families we bought and sold. 
It’s just an old house.”

Brian and Ted shared a look. Some things about the south were not so quaint and charming. 
Some things had a very loaded, terrifying history. Boyd took in their communiqué with a 
scowl. “We were sugar millers, and my family wasn’t even here before the war.”

“Carpetbaggers,” Brian teased and then retreated when he saw that he had touched a nerve 
with his lover. He squeezed his hand, but Boyd didn’t squeeze back, so Brian leaned over to 
kiss his neck. Boyd shuddered and looked around, relieved that no one seemed to notice. 

“You’re a carpetbagger too, you know,” Boyd teased him. “A modern version.” All was forgiven 
between them. Their flares never lasted long.

“What can I say? I fell in love with the south.”

“Is that what it is?”

“Something like that. Hey, Belle called this morning.”

“I talked to her. They were at the beach, and she loved getting a call on Lis’s mobile while 
enjoying the ocean. It’s only a matter of time before the sand and salt kills that device.”

“She sounded a little homesick to me.”

“She’s fine now, but you know how it is. The kids are still pretty shaky.”

“I know,” Brian rested his hand on the back of Boyd’s neck, gently massaging his tense 
muscles. Boyd closed his eyes, relaxing into that embrace. Dora watched them. She knew the 
basics, because the scandal was big news around the area. The Coulters were a prominent 
family. She knew about the death of Boyd’s former wife. The news wasn’t clear about the role 
of Bonnie’s murderer, whether he was her boyfriend or partner in crime. Dora read that the 
man was shot to death in self-defense by a New Orleans cop. She knew Brian’s intervention 
had landed him in the hospital with a bullet wound, and now the papers were featuring the 
saga of Rex Berenson, Boyd’s brother in law. He was portrayed as a bisexual who may or may 
not have played a role in the murder of a gay hustler. She followed it with the same salacious 
interest as everyone else. A story filled with rich people, sex, murder and greed was prime 
fodder in New Orleans. To her credit, she never asked any of them anything about it. It was 
tolerable to follow the public story, but rude to pry.

“How many kids do you have?” she asked, and they answered in unison.

“Three.”

“Two with us, and Brian’s son is a part-timer between here and his moms’ place in Pittsburgh,” 
Boyd clarified.

She nodded. “I just have the one and that’s enough. God, is that ever enough! Of course he’s 
at that wild ass teenaged stage now, which is probably the worst stage boys go through. 
Raising him on my own has been a real trial, believe me. I can build a house in record time, 
but raising a teenaged boy on your own is a skill I haven’t acquired.”

“No partner?” Boyd asked and she shook her head.

“We were together for eight years, but she took off with a girly-girl and they live in New York, 
now. My son is the result of a sperm donation from her brother to me, but he wants nothing to 
do with Scottie, either.”

Brian was having a hard time picturing this bull dyke pregnant or giving birth, and he shook 
his head to clear it of that image. “Is she still involved with your son?”

“No, the bitch is involved with herself, that’s it. Well, herself and her girly-girl. Scottie’s better 
off. She didn’t have a single maternal instinct.”

“Sorry, but you don’t strike me as the maternal type, Dora,” Ted observed and she turned her 
attention to him.

“Why? Because I’m butch? I happen to be a very good mother. Always have been. Think 
outside the box, Ted.”

Brian chuckled. “His box has impermeable walls. Speaking of walls, Theodore, what have you 
done today to get that wall between the house and the club cleared?”

Ted stared at him in shock. “When would I have had time to do anything since you just gave 
me this chore today?”

“What are you doing now?”

“Eating lunch, Brian. Remember our earlier conversation about that pesky little war that ended 
slavery?”

Boyd leaned over and whispered something to Brian, and the color rose in Brian’s smooth 
cheeks as he took it in and then smiled at his lover. “This has been fun, but Boyd and I have 
something we have to do. I’ll check on the site later, Dora. Ted, put this lunch on the business. 
And you can keep the car,” he threw him the keys to the Rover. “Boyd and I are staying in 
town tonight.”

They left the restaurant as Dora turned to Ted to ask, “What was that all about?”

He shook his head as he answered, “Boyd and Brian. Get used to it. They can’t go an hour 
without crawling all over each other.”

She smiled. “Young love.”

“Even worse. True love.”

They both looked a little wistful as they resumed eating, their envy over that rare find 
unexpressed. 
Current Mood: busy


Jun. 19th, 2005  08:43 pm - BURN, Chapter 4

 

Boyd and Brian decided not to stay at Lisette and Petra’s house. They knew the women 
wouldn’t mind, and Boyd had a key and they both had an open invitation. But for what they 
wanted to do, a hotel seemed sexier than his sister’s house. On the way to their favorite place, 
the drizzle turned into a downpour. They sprinted to their sanctuary, trying to stay under 
building overhangs and awnings, but they were both soaked to the skin by the time they 
arrived at the enclosed courtyard leading to the expensive boutique hotel’s offices. 

The manager, a gay man in his mid to late fifties, remembered the attractive couple from 
before. He fetched towels for them, enjoying the way their clothes were pasted to their wet, 
gleaming skin. That effect wasn’t lost on Brian or Boyd, either, as they stood with their 
shoulders and arms touching, desperate for contact. The hotel was fully booked, but the 
manager always held out a room for emergencies or unexpected arrivals. These two qualified, 
luggage or not. As he ran Boyd’s credit card, he said,

“They haven’t cleaned the room yet, so it won’t be ready for an hour or two. Check-in isn’t 
until three. But feel free to make yourself comfortable in the lounge, have a nice cool drink, 
and some snacks. Dry out a bit.”

The two guests exchanged a look that registered like pain or panic. Waiting a couple hours was 
not the plan. Boyd wrapped his hand around Brian’s wrist as he said, “Can we just take it as 
is?”

The manager looked horrified. “Dirty linens? No! We just can’t, we don’t, no, we just couldn’t!” 
His prissy reaction to such an abomination made Brian smile. He had enjoyed sex in places 
that would make dirty linens look like the Ritz. Sometimes dirty added to the pleasure.

“How about you give it to us for an hour and then we let them come in and clean?” he 
suggested.

“Mr. –uh,” the manager glanced at the credit slip and then looked at Boyd. “Coulter, I’m sure 
you want to get out of those wet things.” He misread their urgency. “Maybe if I had robes 
brought to you, you could slip into them in the men’s room and we’d be happy to take care of 
your clothes while you waited.”

Brian and Boyd both mentally calculated what else could be accomplished in the men’s room 
and decided it was a workable compromise. “How soon can you get us those robes?”

“Right away. I’ll have one of the girls bring them. Coulter…are you related to….?” He hesitated 
as the scandal came to mind. Boyd’s steely glare combined with Brian’s protective tension to 
cause him to retreat. “Let me call for those robes.”

Ten minutes later, robes in hand, they went to check out the men’s room located off the cozy 
lounge. While it was nice and utilitarian, a peek in the nearby ladies’ room provided them with 
a different alternative. The women were treated to a thoughtfully furnished retreat, with an 
antique fainting chaise, a wicker basket of fresh hand towels, a bottle of fine, French hand 
lotion, and a sink built into an old marble vanity stand. The only fixture that screamed 
modernity was the toilet. The room accommodated only one lady at a time, so they could lock 
the door and be assured of privacy. Which is what they did. 

They quickly peeled off wet clothes as they kissed, touched, and revealed. They could glimpse 
a reflection of their slick bodies in the ornate oval mirror hanging above the sink, which added 
to the eroticism. There was an element of self-love in all man-on-man sex, even when the 
lovers were emotionally involved, so the mirror increased that aspect of it. The chaise was 
empire styled with one arm and a sloping back that stretched the length of the furniture. Boyd 
knelt on the cushions, holding onto the arm as he looked over his shoulder at Brian in silent 
invitation.

“No lube,” Brian realized and Boyd shrugged. 

“Try the lotion.”

Brian used a small amount to grease his erection, climbing up behind Boyd to enter him from 
the back. Brian looped an arm under Boyd’s belly to pull him up tight against his pelvis as he 
penetrated. He felt his lover’s erection brush his forearm with each lunge. They both watched 
the reflection of the rutting lovers. They discovered that it looked almost as hot as it felt. But 
not quite. Nothing else felt quite like this did.

Nothing.

Brian licked the nape of Boyd’s neck as he arched over his back, hammering into him, and 
then took a mouthful of wet hair between his lips, sucking the damp from it. He buried his 
nose in Boyd’s mane as he let go of the lock he sucked and deeply inhaled his lover’s scent. 
Brian’s hands slid under Boyd’s chest to flick his hard nipples with his thumbs, feeling his heart 
pound against his palm. Boyd used his own fist to stroke himself. The pressure on his prostate 
rapidly brought him towards an orgasm. 

Brian withdrew for a stroke or two, using his engorged cock to trace the back of Boyd’s ball 
sac. He then lifted Boyd’s balls on the shaft, and touched the base of his dick with the head of 
his own cock. Boyd reached through to rub Brian in his fist. Brian moaned and re-inserted his 
cock in Boyd’s tight ass. This act of penetration caused Boyd to shoot. Brian quickly followed 
his lead. They collapsed together on the chaise. A warmer, stickier moisture glued them 
together, and replaced the cold veil of the rain. 

Later, as cleaned up as the little towels permitted them to be, and wrapped in plush, hotel 
robes, they examined the chaise with a critical eye. The red brocade had a new, slightly darker 
pattern in a few places, but they were hopeful that these marks would fade as they dried. 

“Well,” Boyd finally proclaimed, dropping the last of the towels in the linen bin. “We can’t be 
the first to have tested that chaise over the centuries of its life.”

“No, but we may be the first to have tested that brocade upholstery,” Brian observed. Boyd 
laughed and hip-checked him. 

“That’s the best I can do without some kind of spot remover.”

“You really are a messy boy,” Brian taunted him, pulling him against his body for a kiss. 

“Easy for you to say. You have a place to leave yours.”

A knock on the door interrupted their interlude and they gathered their clothes and walked 
past a startled maid as they retreated to the parlor. They found that they weren’t alone. 
Holding regal court over a solicitous staff, Lady P was a vision in white linen. Her hair was 
wound up in a white turban, and the curves of her body were concealed beneath a white tank, 
slacks and duster. She accented it with chunky jewelry made of hammered silver and mabe 
pearls. She glanced at them and smiled.

“Join me for tea, boys?” her gesture took in a Georgian silver tea service as a waiter retreated 
to fetch two more set ups. They sat across from her on the couch while the manager took their 
clothes after they removed the debris from their pockets. 

“Sorry to be so casual,” Boyd explained. “We got caught in the weather and our room isn’t 
ready.”

Her glance wandered to the ladies’ room and then back to them. Her smile was knowledgeable. 
“So nice to see that your passion hasn’t waned.”

“No, it seems to prefer the waxing phase to the waning phase,” Brian replied. “Even when 
circumstances intervene.”

She poured tea into the cups that were brought for them, but they both declined the delicate 
sandwiches. Lunch was still too fresh. “So, you were shot,” she said bluntly, centering her gaze 
on Brian. 

“What’s that? Voodoo? You can see it in my eyes?”

“No, Mr. Kinney. I saw it on the news. I read it in the papers. Very fortunate, you are, to have 
come through it with so little damage.”

“How do you know how damaged I am? They didn’t report the details.”

“Oh that part IS voodoo,” she smiled. “Bullet went in here,” she touched her side where he had 
been hit. “Broke a rib, collapsed a lung, nicked some veins, but didn’t damage a major organ. 
Very lucky indeed. It wasn’t your time.”

Brian felt Boyd tense, so he rested his hand on his lover’s forearm. Boyd still had a visceral 
reaction to the danger Brian had survived. “Moving on…are you permanent here now? At the 
hotel?”

“It feels so. But no, still working on the house. Things move quite slowly in the Vieux Carre.”

“I’ve noticed, same issues with getting my club rebuilt. I’ll be in town off and on, for various 
reasons. How do you like it here? I’m thinking of taking a room.”

“You are?” Boyd asked, causing Brian to shrug. 

“Well, yeah. I’m thinking I could get a better rate if I cut a monthly deal. If we find a place in 
the Garden District, I’ll let the room go.”

“You won’t be staying here for a month at a time, will you? I mean you may get a lower per 
diem, but when you add up all the days that you won’t be using it, you still lose.”

“But I’d have the certainty of a place and I could leave some clothes here, and some other 
things. If I’m not here, I could put Ted up if he needs to be in town, or even Daphne.” Boyd 
grew silent and Brian studied his profile, trying to read between the lines as Lady P smiled. 
“Still feeling your way along, boys. Good. It takes bending and growing.”

“We’re pretty good at bending and growing,” Brian said with a smirk and she nodded at his 
beaming face.

“Oh yes, you’re very good at the sex part of it, I can feel your combined heat. Yet the more 
difficult task is making the emotional part of it work, no?”

“Yes,” Boyd agreed, with too much enthusiasm to suit Brian. 

“Yes we’re good at the sex or yes we suck at the rest?” Brian demanded of his lover, who 
shrugged.

“Yes we’re good at the sex and yes the rest is harder.”

“Nice,” Brian leaned back, glaring straight ahead as Lady P intervened. 

“The love is strong, so don’t let the day to day struggle obscure its beauty. This kind of love is 
a gift. You have no right to risk it.”

“Right?” Brian pressed in, his annoyance with this conversation obvious. “This is personal, 
between Boyd and me, not a national treasure. What we do with it is our business.”

“Ah, so that’s what you think, is it?” she exhibited utter calm and that calm seemed to annoy 
Brian even more.

“That’s a fact.”

“Brian,” Boyd, the southern gentleman, the peacemaker, said in a soft tone of voice, but Brian, 
the confrontational yankee, ignored his subtle warning.

“Why do you think it’s anyone’s business but our own?”

“I don’t think the personal details are my business or anyone’s business, Mr. Kinney. But I do 
believe that emotion, all emotion, has a community element. Love, hate, passion, grief, 
happiness, it affects us all. You boys found each other against incredible odds. Many, if not 
most, people go through their entire life and never have such good fortune. My caution to you 
both is that you not allow the details of your lives to interfere with the purity of your shared 
emotion.”

Brian narrowed his eyes at the voodoo queen and asked, “You ever been in love, Lady P?”

“Yes, and I was foolish with it. I was young and I let it fail. Not a day passes that I don’t regret 
that foolishness.”

“You’re a beautiful woman. You must have had many men fall under your spell.”

She smiled. “There have been men, but only one pure emotion.”

“Anyone I know?” Brian dug in, but they were interrupted by the manager, who told them their 
room was available. Once they were alone in their suite, Boyd fell back on the bed, his arms 
crossed behind his head as he stared up at the high, ornate plaster ceiling. A fan with white 
wicker blades spun languidly, stirring the humidity. The air conditioning kept the temperature 
cool. Brian sat beside him, feeling the distance. It was an unusual sensation with Boyd, so 
Brian experienced a ripple of fear. 

“What’s wrong? And if you say nothing I swear to God, I’ll deck you.”

Boyd sat up and glared at him. “Brian, who would deck whom? Be real. I have twenty pounds 
of hard muscle on you. I was a pretty damned good athlete when I was in college and besides 
which, we aren’t the kind of people who deck each other.”

“Joke, Boyd. Jesus, what’s up your ass?” he winced. “Besides the obvious, I mean.”

“So you’re going to take a room here? Just how much time are you planning on spending in 
New Orleans, anyway? I mean before the club opens and before we all move here?”

“Why? Is there a quota of days you’ve established for me to be off the leash?”

“Why are you being so nasty?”

Brian started to snap back, but he stopped. He heard his own voice in his head and he hated 
what he heard. He reached out and spread his hand on Boyd’s neck. He felt him tense and 
regretted that response. “I don’t know. It’s reflex, I guess. It’s what I do. But not with you. 
Never with you. I’m sorry.”

Boyd sighed and leaned forward to rest his forehead on Brian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, too. I 
don’t mean to put you in a cage, Brian. I was just…surprised, I guess. I knew you’d be 
spending time in the city. I just minimized it in my head. I don’t want to be away from you. 
Not even for a night. I know it’s inevitable, but it hurts.”

“Me too, but we can’t be Romeo and Juliet about it, right? I’ve got a business to launch and 
you have responsibilities that limit your flexibility. Boyd, if we can’t spend some time apart 
without imploding, what chance do we have in the long run?”

“I don’t think we’ll implode, Brian. I just know how much I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll try to keep the absence to a minimum. When I am in town, it won’t matter. I won’t be 
tricking. You believe that, right? I need for you to believe that.”

“I do believe that, Brian. That wasn’t the problem. The empty half of the bed is the problem.”

Brian smiled and leaned him back with his weight, reaching under Boyd’s robe to smooth his 
skin. “I feel it too. But right now, we’re together. Just us. Let’s not waste it.”

They kissed and then Boyd’s phone rang and he groaned as he recognized his sister’s mobile 
number on the screen. “It’s the kids.”

“God, I feel so sit-com dad. Answer it.”

“Daddy?” A small voice demanded. 

“Hi, Mac.”

“Tell Brian to tell Belle to give me back my sand dollar.”

“Why do I have to tell Brian to do it?”

“Cuz she listens to Brian.”

Boyd began to laugh and passed Brian the phone, laughing too hard to explain.
Current Mood:  horny


Jun. 23rd, 2005 04:45 am - BURN, Chapter 5

 
Gang, posting a day early for Brian as we are going to Texas for a few days. Enjoy! Ran



Daphne balanced a barf bag on her knee because she suddenly felt like throwing up. The plane 
had just begun its descent into the New Orleans’ airport. She wasn’t airsick, she was terrified. 
Cold sweat. Stomach cramps. Shaky hands. 

What the hell was she doing?

Damn that Brian Kinney and his ability to talk the spots off a leopard!

She’d never been south of the Mason-Dixon line and she was scared of the south. Her fear had 
two faces. Being so far from home, from her family and friends and the familiar was one face. 
The other was a fear of prejudice against a young woman of color. 

Justin brought that up when they shared an unpleasant and expensive telephone conversation 
shortly before she left. He was feeling displaced as her best friend and suspicious about the 
whole offer, but she convinced him she wasn’t shifting her friendship from Justin to Brian. This 
was simply a great opportunity to de-virginize her recent degree in marketing. It all sounded 
so logical when she said it to Justin. Now she felt sick. She was choking on second guesses. 

By the time the plane bumped its wheels on the runway and taxied to a jetbridge, Daphne’s 
nausea had passed. She played the petite, pretty young girl in order to incent a male to bring 
down her weighty rollaboard from the luggage bin. The bag was neon orange with a hot pink 
zipper, and her coordinating tote was hot pink with a neon orange zipper. She slipped the tote 
over the handle and slung her overstuffed purse across her shoulder as she stepped off the 
plane, out of her past, and into her future.

**********************************************

Ted had absolutely no experience with young women. In high school, his singular disinterest in 
his female classmates was returned with equal enthusiasm by them. In college, he didn’t even 
try to play the game since he came out his freshman year during a drunken fraternity binge. 
From that moment on, his life had been boys, boys, boys. Well, maybe not that many boys, 
but that was where his interest resided. 

He never had his own fag hag, so Daphne was a total cipher to him. When Brian ordered Ted 
to pick her up at the airport, he feared the long, tense silences during the drive back to New 
Orleans. He needn’t have worried. 

“Omigod,” her chatter began. “All I did was walk from the terminal to the car and all those 
hours spent flat-ironing my hair are totally gassed! Instant perm in this humidity! Are we in 
New Orleans? Because this is completely not what I expected.”

“This is Metarie, a suburb.”

“Oh, okay. So how is Brian? I couldn’t believe he got shot! Omigod! I mean what the fuck? 
First that weird murder charge and Brian would totally not murder anyone, and then he’s 
almost killed? When I heard about it, I couldn’t stop crying. I love Brian, you know what I 
mean? Not as a girl/guy kind of thing. I mean I know he’s totally gay, but he’s so sweet. He 
can be an asshole, but fundamentally he’s sweet. I’m just sorry he couldn’t make it work with 
Justin, and don’t get me wrong. I know Justin left him for Ethan. Eww. Justin’s my best friend, 
I adore him, but I never got the Ethan thing. I was so right about him. So tell me. What do 
you think of Boyd?”

Ted was careful of his response. “Daphne, let me give you a little clue. If you’re going to work 
for Brian Kinney, you need to understand one thing. Boyd is perfect. No matter what, Boyd is 
perfect. The truth is, he’s a very nice guy. He’s good looking, he’s a good father, rich, devoted 
to Brian, so it’s not so hard to tow the company line. But, officially, Boyd is perfect.”

She giggled. “Working for Brian is going to be such a trip! I wish I’d been in town when he 
came to Pittsburgh with Boyd, but I heard everyone liked him. Everyone except Justin and 
Mikey, but you know, come on. How could they like him, since they both love Brian? So, is 
Brian happy?”

“I’ll let you decide that. Brian is Brian.”

“He said he’d get a hotel for me. Do you know where I’m going because I don’t?”

“Yeah, I know.”

She watched the drab, tract housing and low profile industrial sites that fringed the highway 
give way to skyscrapers on one side of Canal Street and the low rise decrepitude of the French 
Quarter on the other. Brian chose a hotel for her that was part of an upscale chain, safe, 
secure, luxurious enough, and far from the small boutique hotel he intended to use as his city 
base. Brian told Ted to be sure Daphne was checked in and the bill was directed to his 
business account before he left her there. Ted did so, and then gave her a mobile phone and a 
Blackberry. He also gave her Brian’s number and Blackberry address as well as Dora’s, and his 
own, and said, 

“Brian requires that you keep these devices live, 24/7. Word of advice. Use it more as a 
receive-only than as a way to be chatting up Brian. He isn’t fond of being interrupted, but he 
will want to be able to reach you when he wants you.”

“Okay, I get it.”

“Dinner tonight at seven at Arnaud’s. It’s just a few blocks from here. Any cab can take you 
there, which I suggest you do, because the Quarter isn’t the safest place in the universe, 
especially after dark.”

And with that ominous exit line, Daphne was suddenly on her own in the big city. A few hours 
later, she was enjoying her first Planter’s Punch while seated in the sedate dining room of 
Arnaud’s. The floor was overlaid with tiny black and white tiles, the wood trim was dark 
mahogany, and the waiters wore formal clothes. A Mardi Gras museum was on premise, but 
the food was the primary attraction of this venerable establishment. Daphne was regaling Dora 
and Ted with her initial impressions of New Orleans, when Brian and Boyd entered. They 
looked louche, fucked out, almost drugged. The endorphin high of endless sex had been 
replaced by a limp fatigue.

“Brian!” Daphne stood and ran into his arms. Her gesture surprised him and surprised Boyd 
too, who met his expression with a smirk before he dropped down in a chair with a tired sigh. 
Brian gave Daphne a brief hug and disentangled himself from her embrace as he sat down 
beside his lover. He introduced the two of them. She grinned at Boyd.

“You’re hot! I knew you would be, Brian would only… well…but you look so skinny, Brian. 
Good, but skinny.”

“You take a bullet and survive the surgery and see how skinny you would be, Daphne,” Brian 
said with a scowl, as she giggled.

“There are easier ways to lose weight.”

“No shit. What’s with the poof thing on top of your head?” he motioned to her hairstyle and 
she giggled again.

“This punch is way! It’s the humidity, it makes it curl up and then it felt hot on my neck so I 
just pulled it up. Like it?”

Brian winced, feeling Boyd’s instructive elbow bore into his ribs. “Whatever. So, you got your 
phone and Blackberry?”

“Yes,” she dug them out of her purse. The mobile now resided in a pink leather case encrusted 
with large glass jewels and the Blackberry was snuggled inside a matching ensemble piece, 
with a clip on the back to fit onto a belt or a pocket. He stared at the accessories and then at 
her.

“What have you done to them?”

“You like? I found this little place off Dumaine Street and they had all kinds of holders, 
including some for guys. I could pick one up for you.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘less is more’?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve heard the words before, but what does it mean?”

“Mies van der Rohe, the famous designer and architect, lived by that theory,” Brian said after 
pausing to order drinks for Boyd and himself. “You know that glass table in my loft? That was 
by him.”

“You have a Mies van der Rohe table?” Boyd was surprised and Brian nodded. “Where is it 
now? I didn’t notice it when we stayed in your loft.”

“I put a lot of the good stuff in storage for safekeeping.”

“We should have your good stuff shipped and dress up whatever place we buy.”

“Sure, I’ll do that. Blend our collections.”

They lost the crowd in a private smile and then Dora said, “Do you know where that phrase 
really originated? It’s in a Robert Browning poem in which he attributes it to the painter, 
Andrea del Santo. Browning has del Santo say it to his beautiful but dumb wife, Lucrezia, when 
she smears a commissioned painting with her skirts while walking by. He ends up losing the 
painting commission because of it and says, ‘Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged’.”

They all stared at the butch contractor in silence and she grinned and then said with an 
apologetic shrug, “I love Browning.”

“So,” Brian forced his attention back to Daphne. “Do you have my information loaded?”

“Yes, Ted did it.”

“And do I have hers, Ted?”

Ted nodded. “It’s all there in your address and calling list in each device, Brian.”

“And she has yours and Dora’s and Boyd’s?”

“I didn’t give her Boyd’s. I didn’t know I was supposed to do that.”

“If you tried to find me and couldn’t, who would you call first? Who will always know where I 
am?”

“Boyd.”

“Give the man a kewpie doll. Enter it.”

Boyd laughed. “With the understanding that just because I know where he is, doesn’t mean I 
can make him answer a call, or do much of anything he doesn’t want to do.”

They all responded affirmatively and Ted winced as the waiter saw him take the phone out of 
the gaudy pink sling to program it. “It’s not mine, it’s…” he shrugged, giving up. They ordered 
food. Over appetizers, Daphne asked the big question. 

“What do you see me doing for this money you’re paying me, Brian?”

“Whatever it takes. We’re a lean, multi-tasking crew. Marketing, media placement, damage 
control, press, promotion, hell, we’ll make it up as we go.”

“Where are you going to live, honey?” Dora asked and when Daphne shrugged, Brian gave his 
contractor a knowing smile. 

“She’s too young and too straight for you, Dora.”

“Don’t send your lifestyle my way, Boss. I told you I was the maternal type and the Quarter is 
a tricky place. I don’t want to see her end up in the wrong block of the wrong street.”

“Lis and Petra have that flat above the garage or carriage house or whatever you want to call it 
at their place,” Boyd recalled. “They always talk about leasing it but are too picky about 
tenants. It’s not big, but it’s very nice and it’s safe.” They had discussed using the apartment 
as a city base but decided it was too close to home. Sometimes a little distance kept strong 
relationships viable. 

“Who are they?” Daphne asked.

“My sister and her partner.”

“I rehabbed that flat myself,” Dora added. “It’s more than liveable. Has an alarm system and 
all the appliances and fixtures are state of the art.”

“Would she lease it to me? Can I afford it?”

“Not with what I pay you,” Brian teased. “But since she’s in the family, maybe we could twist 
her arm. Now eat up. We have a stop to make tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“The competition,” Brian beamed a smile at Boyd, who nodded. “If we want to have the best 
gay club in town, we have to know who to beat.”

“Carbon?” Dora asked. Brian nodded.

“Not a straight friendly place, Boss.”

“I know. That’s why you’re going as her ‘date’.” Carbon wasn’t overly friendly to lesbians 
either, but at least they could get in the door, up to an unstated quota that made sure the 
male to female ratio was at least twenty to one.

Daphne giggled, excited by the idea of being on a fake lesbian date with a real lesbian as her 
partner. “It’s not like I haven’t been in a gay bar, Brian. I’ve been to Woody’s and Babylon 
plenty of times.”

“Not the competition, Daph. Carbon is. Not all gay bars are created equal. I want you to take it 
all in, see what they have that works, what doesn’t work and what we can do better. I want to 
break it down from the bar to the dance floor to the bathroom to the backroom.”

“I can’t go in the bathroom or the backroom, Brian!”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to trust us,” he winked at Boyd, who laughed. 

“It’s a dirty job, but someone has to examine it. How about you, Ted? Up to the task?” Boyd 
teased. 

Ted sighed, convinced it would be another fruitless waste of an evening. But why should that 
matter? Striking out at clubs was his destiny. “Sure, why not? What else do I have to do?”

“Who knows?” Boyd prompted him. “You might meet Mr. Right. I assume you and Jimmy 
Chang aren’t exclusive.”

“Safe assumption since Jimmy moved back to San Francisco after all the…” Ted winced, 
stopped. “ To be closer to his family.”

Brian glared at him, but Boyd seemed to roll with it. Daphne was going to ask who Jimmy 
Chang was, but she was too enthralled by watching Brian’s hand glide up Boyd’s forearm to his 
elbow and down again, stoking his skin with an hypnotic gesture that seemed almost 
autonomic rather than planned. Boyd looked over at his lover and puffed a little whiff of air at 
his ear, unsettling his hair and causing Brian to shudder and lock his stare onto him. Boyd 
returned it. Their hands found each other and they braided their fingers together on the 
tabletop for a moment and then unraveled and floated apart. The connection remained open, 
however. 

Daphne was unaccustomed to seeing Brian so overtly affectionate with anyone. It was sweet 
but also unnerving. Looking at his handsome face, she realized if this went bad for him, Brian 
was in real trouble. She felt like he had been through enough. She didn’t want to see him hurt 
again. 

She moved her gaze to Boyd, who appeared equally smitten, but she didn’t know him, so she 
was more suspicious. “Where were you when Brian got shot?” She said with more of an 
accusatory tone than she intended. After a brief silence, Brian responded,

“Have you seen the Mardi Gras museum here, Daph?”

”No, but…”

“Come on, let’s take a walk,” he was already helping her up and she had no choice but to go 
with him as Ted leaned back with a satisfied smile, pleased to have someone else to share the 
friendly fire that could be Brian Kinney.


Current Mood:  chipper


Jun. 25th, 2005 05:13 pm - BURN, Chapter 6
 
 
Bored, the two men in my life are out riding horses in the scorching sun. Thought a vacation 
post might be nice. Thanks, Brian



Daphne was too caught up in the gallery of black and white photos from long past Mardi Gras 
galas to notice Brian’s slow burn. There were also faded bits of costumes on display to 
compete for her attention. A velvet cape, festooned with limp ostrich feathers, was once royal 
purple, but it had been bleached by time to a saddened lavender. A paste tiara was dulled by a 
veil of dust. But a scepter with a skull on top looked freshly spray painted with gold metallic 
enamel. And then, his voice intruded and she forgot the frippery to concentrate on Brian.

“Let’s get something straight up front, Daphne,” he said, framed by two gaudy Mardi Gras 
posters from the 1950’s. She met his eyes and her smile froze. She knew that flexed-jaw look 
and the flinty expression in those ever-changing hazel eyes. She started to swim for shore, but 
the shark was gaining on her. With Brian, her best weapons, those of the pretty, young girl, 
were virtually useless. 

“Brian, before you say anything, I just want to thank you for giving me this opportunity.” 
Maybe sucking up would help. “I know I was hesitant at first, but now that I’m here…”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Save it. Listen to me.”

He had a way of paralyzing his prey with his stare, like the fake eyes decorating the hood of a 
cobra. She stopped in mid-sentence and wondered if another other weapon, tears, would help. 
She thought not. He went on. “I know you have a natural protective feeling about Justin, 
because he’s your bud. I respect that. I care for Justin and want the best for him. But Boyd is 
not the enemy here.”

“Oh, I know…” she tried to say, but he stopped her.

“I talk, you listen. Boyd’s my partner. With the possible exception of Gus, no one means as 
much to me as Boyd. Nor will they. So, I won’t tolerate any crap from anyone who tries to 
make him feel uncomfortable about our relationship or what happened in Canard Rouge. We 
don’t talk about that, you read me? It’s none of your fucking business. Imagine how hurtful it 
is to him. He lost his former wife, the mother of his children. It’s caused a huge scandal in his 
family. Add to that, he’s had to deal with the fact his kids were endangered and that I was 
shot while trying to protect them. That’s a lot of crap to absorb. You want to know any details 
of what happened in Canard Rouge, you go to the newspaper morgue on your own time and 
read all about it. But I’m not talking about it and neither is he. And don’t throw Justin in his 
face, either. It’s just rude. We understand each other?”

She nodded, but something bugged her, so she said what it was. “This has nothing to do with 
Justin, Brian. And I didn’t say anything wrong. I just wondered where Boyd was when you 
were hurt.”

“You made it sound as if he were responsible or negligent in some way. Which is not the case.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. Ted warned me that Boyd is perfect. I guess I didn’t understand 
what he meant until now.”

If Brian was mad before, his anger now took on a darker hue. “What the fuck is that supposed 
to mean? ‘Perfect?’ Is that some kind of a slam? Because it sounds like a slam to me.”

“I’m just telling you what Ted told me! And it’s true. You can’t seem to tolerate any talk that 
may sound critical of Boyd.”

“Why should I let anyone criticize my partner? Who the hell are you to criticize him, anyway? 
And who the hell is Ted to say that? No one is perfect, not Boyd, not anyone, and I don’t 
expect perfection from him. Who the fuck am I to demand perfection? I’m the most flawed 
person you’ll ever meet. But Boyd is perfect for me and…” he stopped, shook his head, combed 
his long fingers through his hair and observed, “I’m raving.”

She put a hand on his arm and felt him tense, but he didn’t pull away. “You really love him, 
Brian.”

He looked down at her and shrugged. “I know.”

“All I want is for him to love you just as fiercely.”

“He does.”

“Because you deserve that. Justin was too young and too green when you met him. It just 
wasn’t going to work, even though you both wanted it to, in your own individual ways. But I 
know how much you loved him, how you have that capacity, even though you think other 
people never see it. I’ve seen it, Brian. And I love you for it. And I want this for you. I’d never 
do anything to fuck it up.”

He stared at her. Finally he said, “Is this where we’re supposed to hug? Because I’m not doing 
that.”

She giggled. “No hug required.”

“One more thing, Daph. You and I have always been fond of each other, I think. Right?” She 
nodded. “But now you work for me and I’m a very demanding boss. You have to learn to 
separate our personal affection from the work place because I will ride you hard and not in a 
positive, life affirming way. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you as a friend.”

“I figured you would be a tyrannical boss. Am I supposed to be respectful and take it, or can I 
snark back?”

He shrugged. “I think we’ll have to figure that out as we go. I don’t mind a little push back, but 
you need to learn my limits.”

“How do I do that?”

“You’ll know when you breached the perimeter.”

She laughed. “I’ll cry and pout, but I’ll get over it. Now can I thank you?”

“No. It’s a job. You earned it. No thanks needed. You’ll hate me before it’s all said and done. 
I’ll work you like a ‘piebald mule’ as my friend Homer says.”

“Homer?”

“Later.”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. “I could never hate you, Brian. Never.”

He slipped his hand free with a smile. “We’ll see. Let’s go eat.”

“I feel like the naughty child who had to go outside for a lecture from Dad.”

“The dad thing doesn’t work for me, Daphne,” he gruffed and then paused as he noticed a 
photograph. It was a framed newspaper article from 1975 showing a tense looking WASP 
couple watching a striking black woman, who appeared to be dancing. The dancer wore a 
white dress that left her midriff bare. Her hair framed her beautiful face in a mane of curls. The 
headline read, “The Queen and King of Rex Seek Ritual for Fair Weather from Voodoo Queen”. 
The article explained the current king and queen of the venerable Mardi Gras krewe, Rex, went 
to Lady Pearl, local voodoo practitioner and self-anointed voodoo queen, to request a ritual to 
stop the endless rain in time for the planned Mardi Gras parades and celebrations. Daphne 
interrupted before he finished the article, by saying,

“What is it? What are you looking at?”

“Lady Pearl.”

“Who’s she?”

“A voodoo queen. Welcome to New Orleans, Daphne. That’s the kind of thing one can say here 
without intending any irony.”

She looked perplexed, but he just took her arm and led her back to the dinner. Over dessert, a 
gooey but delicious bananas foster served over paper thin crepes, Brian said, “We need to tie 
the opening of the club to a community hook. Too bad Mardi Gras is in February. We’ll be open 
before then. What about it, Boyd? Is there any other big tradition here that we could grab 
onto?” He watched Daphne sip a Brandy Alexander, and that caused Brian to cringe internally. 
She was definitely too small to safely imbibe the lethal mixture of alcoholic beverages she had 
tried that evening. The effects seemed to be uncontrollable giggling and a few phased out, 
staring moments. He wrote it off to her fear of a new place, a new job, new responsibilities, 
but if she kept it up, he’d definitely call her on it. Excess was fine but only if it didn’t interfere 
with business. 

Boyd thought for a moment and then said, “Halloween is huge here. Especially for gays. 
There’s always a Halloween circuit party and drag balls and vampire balls and all kinds of 
parades and events. The fact that Burn is a former church, and given the name of it, the whole 
venue is really great for Halloween, don’t you think? And if we could get in with the planners 
for the circuit party, we could clean up. Great publicity. Fags come from all over for Halloween 
in New Orleans. It’s like Southern Decadence. Which is another annual gay event you need to 
hook into.”

Brian looked at his lover and smiled. “I like it. Halloween. Perfect.”

“We won’t be finished by Halloween, boss,” Dora warned, drawing a glare from him.

“Yes, we will. That’s over three months, Dora.”

“I know when it is, Boss. I’m telling you, we won’t be done by then. This is a huge project. And 
by the time we do get it done, we have all the inspections to clear before we can open the 
doors. And those take time, too.”

“So now we have a hard deadline,” Brian pushed back. “I like hard deadlines. It gives us a 
goal. Daphne, tomorrow, you start gathering all the data you can get on the gay side of 
Halloween in New Orleans and on this year’s circuit party.”

“’K,” she said with a bright smile. Too bright, he suspected.

“Lets plan on meeting at the work site at one tomorrow to go over what we know. Not you, 
Dora, you keep working on the church, but you, Ted, and you, Daphne. In fact, let’s meet at 
my hotel, where it’s cooler and quieter.”

“Where’s that?” She asked and Ted sighed.

“I know where it is. I’ll pick you up.”

“And you’re going to work on getting that wall permitted, right, Theodore?”

“Yes, Brian, I know. Battering Rams R Us.”

“Opposite, Theodore. Putting a wall up, not battering it down. So, let’s go check out the 
competition.”

“Yay!” Daphne said with a giggle. “I love to dance with gay boys!”

Brian and Boyd shared a grimace as Brian paid the bill and they all left together. 

***************************************************

The doorman at Carbon was a burly black man wearing a black t-shirt with the word “Carbon” 
and “Security” spelled out in red. There was a queue, which bothered Brian not at all as he 
walked straight up to the velvet rope with his troupe. The man looked at him and said to the 
doorman,

“You two, go in. The rest of you, go home,” he was admitting only Brian and Boyd. Ted winced 
at being rejected along with the dykes, real and putative. Story of his life. No doors were 
closed to men who looked like Brian and Boyd, while few were open to the Ted’s of the world. 
Brian said,

“They’re with me.”

“I don’t give a shit if they’re your designated ass wiper, sweetheart. You and blondie can go in. 
The others are out.”

Another voice was heard, “Let them in, Marc. All of them.”

Brian looked past the doorman. As he focused on the man who spoke, his world tilted. He had 
to grab Boyd’s arm to stay steady. Suddenly he was transported back in time to that afternoon 
in Boyd’s house, when he felt the bullet intended for Belle tear into his body and throw him flat 
on his back on the floor. He saw the gun, an evil metallic barrel, shift its aim towards his head 
and he knew he was about to die. He could smell the creosote from the fired round, feel the rip 
in his body. He even heard the fatal shot, but the bullet came from a different gun and the one 
who died was his intended killer. The man he saw tonight was Frank Lewis, the one who had 
saved his life. 

“Brian, are you okay?” Boyd braced a solicitous arm behind him as Brian mumbled,

“Not sure.”

Minutes later, he was in a small, cramped office with a bottle of water clamped in a shaky hand 
as Boyd massaged his shoulders. Brian was seated in a ladder back chair. Dance music pulsed 
on the other side of the door. Security cameras were broadcasting different areas of the club 
onto monitors, including the backroom. The others had gone to the dance floor and bar, while 
Boyd made sure Brian was alright. 

“I’m sorry, man,” Frank said again. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s not you,” Brian reassured him as he drank some of the water. “I don’t know what 
happened. A flashback, I guess. You work here?”

“Yeah, I head security. I’m on medical leave from the force. Mental. I expect I won’t be invited 
back to the party.”

“Because of me?”

“No, Brian. Because of all the publicity and the shine on the fact that I’m queer. It’s okay. I’m 
tired of police work, anyway. Have been for a while, now. I’m glad to see you. I have 
something for you.” He reached in his wallet and withdrew a check, handing it to Brian. “I 
never cashed it. I carried it around because I wanted to give it to you personally, instead of 
just sending it somewhere. I appreciate the thought behind it, but I can’t accept it. I don’t 
need a reward. I did what I was trained to do. Stop the bad guys.”

Their eyes met. All three of them knew that for Frank it was more than stopping a bad guy. 
For Frank, he was able to kill the man who murdered the person whom both he and Boyd had 
once loved. For that chance, for that excuse, he would’ve paid Brian. “I wish you’d keep it,” 
Brian said, reluctantly accepting the check he had sent Frank shortly after Brian was released 
from the hospital. “I know I can’t really repay you for what you did, but…”

“Please, Brian. Let’s just consider it even.”

Brian nodded and tore the check up, tossing the fragments in the waste paper basket. His 
blood had traveled back to where it was supposed to be now, so he stood up, holding onto 
Boyd’s hand. “You like it here?”

Frank shrugged. “There are some things about it I’d change.”

“You know about Burn, right?”

“Your club? Oh yeah. Lots of talk in the community about it. Lots of interest and not just 
because of the troubles. Some say the religious fanatics will never let you open it. Not in this 
town.”

“It will open, Frank. Don’t bet against it. Down the road, I’ll need someone like you to give me 
a security analysis of the place and also to run security. Think about it if you ever want to 
make a change,” he handed him a business card imprinted with his name and mobile number.

“Thanks, Brian. I will,” he said as he slipped the card into his pocket. “And thanks for the 
painting, Boyd. I never expected that.”

“I wanted you to have it before I donated his work to the museum. You’ll be invited to Atlanta 
for the opening of the exhibition.”

“It’s funny, I know I could sell it and retire to the bayou and fish for the rest of my rotten life, 
but I never will. I can’t.”

“It’s yours to do with as you want, Frank.”

“I have a few smaller paintings Jared gave me, what he called ‘cast offs’. I love them. But this 
one is just beautiful.”

As they left Frank’s office, Brian smiled at his lover. “I didn’t know you gave Frank one of 
Jared’s paintings.”

“I gave him the one that hung over my bed. It watched over you as he saved your life. I 
wanted him to have it. I didn’t know you gave him a reward.”

“Least I could do, but he was too stubborn to accept it.”

“He’s a stand up guy.”

“Who was planning to kill Artie Hall no matter what,” Brian reminded him and Boyd shrugged.

“He needed killing. Besides, Frank’s been cleared.”

“Let’s dance,” Brian drug Boyd out to the dance floor, desperately needing to wipe his memory 
clean of those dread events and replace them with the music and the lights and the feel of a 
man he loved in his arms. The blissful amnesia of a club was his perfect cure.
Current Mood:  grateful


Jun. 29th, 2005 06:44 pm - BURN, Chapter 7
 
 
Hi Burniacs. Those of you who are left, anyway. Where is everyone? Cat? Ms. Judi? Plum? 
Sandi? Etc? Anyway, bonus post. 



“What goes on in there?” Daphne nodded towards the curtains separating the club from the 
back room. Ted shrugged. They were slouched on a black leather banquette located on the 
fringe of the dance floor. A pair of hot twinks were making out with progressive heat on the 
other side of Ted, oblivious to their conversation. If they were oblivious to Ted, they were even 
more oblivious to Daphne. 

“My backroom experience is almost as limited as yours, Daphne. I feel like a voyeur walking 
into a backroom, since all I ever get to do is watch. But use your imagination. It’s just wall to 
wall sex.”

“Take it to the back,” a security guard encroached on the twinks as one reached into the pants 
of the other. They wandered off together, towards the area Ted and Daphne were discussing. 
She glanced at Dora, who looked bored.

“Do lesbians…?”

Dora laughed. “No. We’re more civilized than men,” she said with a wink at Ted. “Or maybe 
just more boring. I’ve never been to a dyke bar where girls go to a room and get it on in front 
of each other. You hook up, yeah, kiss, grope a little, maybe, but not the whole thing. I went 
to a so-called dyke orgy once, when I was young and foolish, just to see what happened. A 
bunch of women took off their shirts and danced around topless. Not my idea of fun.”

“I don’t understand why Brian and Boyd went back there,” Daphne observed. “I mean, unless 
they plan to have sex with other guys. Is that what they do? Otherwise, why wouldn’t they just 
go home and have sex in private?”

Ted shook his head, unable to describe the gay mystique of public sex and especially Brian 
Kinney’s take on it to this young girl. “There are plenty of gay men who would be appalled at 
the prospect of fucking a partner in a semi-public setting, but others…it’s almost a camaraderie 
thing, a liberation and yeah, the exhibitionist factor is nice too.”

“Testosterone poisoning,” Dora suggested an alternative explanation, with a smile.

“I’m going to go see,” Daphne stood, wavered a bit from all of her Planter’s Punches and 
Brandy Alexanders, and then started towards the barrier. Dora stood and announced to Ted,

“I’m taking that kid back to her hotel. Tell Brian I have to work in the morning, but thanks for 
dinner.”

He nodded, watching her intercept Daphne before she got too far. They talked, and then Dora 
guided Daphne towards the entrance to the club. Ted heaved a relieved sigh. He wasn’t in the 
mood for a confrontation tonight and he didn’t think Brian would be too pleased that he 
allowed Daphne to walk in on whatever he had going on with Boyd back there. 

“I thought your little friend was going straight to the dark room,” Frank sat down next to Ted, 
his Secret Service styled earpiece disappearing down his collar in back. It enabled him to be in 
constant contact with his team. 

“She’s had a little too much to drink.”

“That’s New Orleans. I thought she was your date. She read straight to me. I have trouble 
calling dykes, though.”

“She is straight. The other woman….”

They both laughed. The “other woman’s” sexual orientation was obvious. Ted realized how 
handsome Frank was, and not for the first time. He was well built, a gym bunny Ted 
suspected, a little worn by life, but still attractive. Out of his league. “I’m gay, in case you 
were implying I had an interest in Daphne.”

“Yeah?” Frank looked surprised. “I have to admit, I thought you were probably a breeder.”

“I get that all the time. I’m just not fashionable or edgy enough to be obviously gay.”

Frank smiled. “I have terrible gaydar. That’s why I can’t work the door. We try to sift out the 
breeders. We don’t want a blended crowd, but my instincts about who is gay and who is 
straight are seriously flawed. Unless a guy is a stereotype, I can’t tell. Take Brian and Boyd, 
for instance. Both look straight to me.”

Ted nodded. “Brian routinely has women slobbering all over him and Boyd reads straight to 
me, too. But spend five minutes with them in the same room and the sexual current between 
them is unmistakable.”

“Yeah, I noticed. You work for Brian?”

“Yes, it seems Brian has subsumed my entire resume.”

“He must be an interesting boss.”

“That’s a very politic way of putting it.”

“They certainly make a flashy couple, the two of them.”

Ted nodded. “Underneath the flash, I think they’re pretty stable, however. Shit, I never 
thought I’d say that about Brian fucking Kinney, but it’s true. Are you seeing someone, Frank?”

“Not really. You meet guys around the club. You know how that goes. I went out with one of 
the bartenders for awhile, but nothing serious since Jared died. You?”

“No, I’m the prototype for relationships that don’t stick.”

Frank smiled. “What are you doing later? I get off at a ridiculous hour, but we could meet 
somewhere for breakfast if you’d like.”

“Are you asking me for a date?”

“Sounds like.”

Ted grinned. “Tell me where and when.”

As they set the time and place, Brian emerged from the backroom with Boyd in tow, both still 
flushed from their sexual encounter. They enjoyed a do-over of an earlier experience in a New 
Orleans back room, but this time the two of them were the only physical participants, and the 
group aspect extended only to the transient pleasure of voyeurism and exhibitionism. Ted 
absently wondered how many orgasms they could count between them today. He suspected 
they passed his weekly quota, including his usual retreat into masturbation. “Where are the 
girls?” Brian asked.

“Home.”

“Okay. We’re heading out, too. See you tomorrow at one but don’t wake me up early with a 
phone call or whatever. We want to sleep in. Boyd’s taking another day in town.”

“Uh-huh,” Ted said, figuring sleep wouldn’t be the top item on their agenda. They said 
goodbye to Frank and left the club. Brian’s hand gripped the back of Boyd’s neck as they 
walked.

“Pretty couple,” Frank observed. “No wonder Jared always loved him.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Thanks but I’m no Boyd. I was never Boyd enough for Jared, either,” his tone dropped, 
implying a wound that still bled from time to time.

“And I’m no Brian, never will be, so fuck it. Let’s just be ourselves.”

Frank nodded, smiled, and Ted smiled back, looking forward to their breakfast.

***************************************

Boyd watched the moonlight dapple Brian’s smooth flesh as his lover slept. He was fascinated 
by the way it seemed to move across his skin as if it were the quicksilver caress of an invisible 
rival. He knew, intellectually, that it was only the clouds moving over the face of the moon, but 
he imagined that even nature wanted to experience the beauty of this man. He leaned over to 
kiss his neck and then left him there, pulling on his robe as he walked out to the terrace. 

Ghost jazz drifted up from the street, borne on sound waves that originated far from where he 
stood. Someone giggled. A girl. The sound reminded him of Daphne’s youthful presence at 
their table that night. She added something to their mix, some fresh perspective that was both 
youthful and straight. Boyd liked gay people, felt comfortable with them, but he enjoyed 
mixing it up with breeders too. Those who never ventured outside their comfort zone missed a 
lot of what made the world interesting, whether it was rejecting straight society or gay society. 
Both offered experiences worth sharing.

“Why don’t you join me for a smoke, Mr. Coulter?” Lady P’s familiar voice, heavy with the 
intonations of the swamp, interrupted his thoughts. He looked in the direction of her balcony 
and smiled. 

“Do you ever sleep?”

“Not much. You?”

“Less lately.”

“Join me.”

He easily crossed the wrought iron barrier between the two balconies and sat across from her 
on a wicker peacock throne chair. She wore a caftan with heavy gold braid at the neckline and 
cuffs. Her hair was unbound, frothy around her face. She wasn’t smoking either cigarettes or 
dope. Instead she was smoking a fine Havana cigar, and she offered him one from a silver 
case. A ring spun out from the edge of the case to nip the end of the cigar and he clipped it 
and lit it with her lighter. The taste was sublime, unlike any smoke outside Cuba. Because of 
laws that prohibited the import of these treasures, he seldom enjoyed this treat.

“Of course, a good bayou boy like yourself knows the value of a cigar, am I right, Mr. Coulter?”

“Boyd.”

“Boyd, then. You understand, don’t you?”

“I know cigars play a role in voodoo rituals, if that’s what you mean.”

“And what do you know about the religion of voudon, Boyd?”

“All the things a white boy who grew up in the bayou is likely to know. The myths, the magic, 
the power of fear and superstition.”

“You don’t believe?”

He smiled. “I don’t disbelieve. I’m not that reckless.”

She laughed. “Clever boy. But then growing up with Homer, you had to have some of the 
traditions introduced in your home. Homer’s blood.”

“I know. I had gris-gris to protect me, worn in little red bags tied off with black string. I had to 
keep them out of sight or my parents would get onto Homer, as would Madam Dhue. I had a 
ju-ju that I carried with me all the way through college to ensure I was safe in hostile 
territory.”

“Did you ever work a ritual or buy a favor?”

“No. I figure the gods of voudon have no interest in seeing a blond, blue-eyed Scotsman plea 
for their intervention, and buying favors seemed like the lazy way to get something I wanted.”

She laughed. “You’re a smart man, Boyd. Very smart. And yet here you are, linked by the 
heart to a hurricane.”

He smiled. “He is that, isn’t he? Hurricane Brian.” That image made him chuckle. Brian had 
come into his life with the force of a storm and changed the landscape that was his experience 
forever.

“Indeed he is. The man is a force of nature.”

Boyd nodded, and then said, “You think I don’t deserve him, don’t you? I’m not enough for 
him.”

“Ah, Boyd, those are your words. Don’t put them in my mouth. And you’re wrong. Even a 
hurricane needs a safe sea in which to grow calm and settle into a tropical breeze. You’re his 
safe sea. And yet the two of you together will never be placid, never be dull. The secret for you 
to remember is that even the wildest of hurricanes has a calm eye at its center. Learn to find 
that eye when the wind is blowing too hard for you to bear it. Don’t run for cover from the 
force of the storm. Navigate to his center, instead.”

“I’m terrified of this club of his, Lady P.”

“Because of the expense? The delays? The pressure?”

“The men. The temptation.”

“He’s had all that, Boyd. You won’t lose him to the life. Your risk is that your fear will make 
you hold him too tightly and then he’ll fight to discover the limits of your boundaries and that’s 
destructive. You have to trust.”

“I do.”

“Then there is nothing to fear.”

He smiled. “Have you taken a good look at him?”

“Yes, and I’ve taken a good look at you, as well. The merger of equals.”

“The funny thing is, Lady P, what’s underneath all that silky skin and those big hazel eyes and 
his other assets is even more breathtaking than what you can see. He has a beautiful heart. 
He has incredible integrity. He loves more deeply than anyone I’ve ever known. And he’s so 
brave.”

“As do you, Boyd. As are you.”

“Then why do I fear?”

“Because you can’t see your life without him. You faced that dark shadow recently when he 
was shot. You thought he might die. You didn’t see how you could continue, and yet you knew 
you had to continue. For your children, if for no other reason. For what he risked. Fear of the 
unknown future is a paralytic. I could read your future for you, Boyd, but would you want that? 
Or would you rather just let it unfold as part of life’s mystery?”

“I don’t want to know. I want to live it.”

“What the hell? I turn my back and you’re macking on the voodoo queen?” Brian teased as he 
walked out on the balcony, stark naked. Boyd shook his head at Lady P. 

“Modesty is not his strong suit.”

“What do I have to be modest about? Besides, she’s seen worse from us. What are you 
smoking? That’s one big chub.”

“Havana,” Boyd tempted him and Brian retrieved his robe and tied it on before crossing the 
barrier and squeezing onto the chair with his lover. She offered him a smoke, which he 
accepted. 

“Ahh,” he said with an ecstatic moan as he drew in a mouthful of fragrant tobacco. “That’s so 
fine. What are you two brewing? Will I wake up with a second dick?”

“I can’t even stay ahead of the first,” Boyd said with a laugh. 

“But you so enjoy trying,” Brian joked and kissed his chin and then his mouth as Lady P 
watched their exchange, mentally calculating their future. They might not want to be tipped, 
but she had her own reasons for knowing.
Current Mood: awake


Jul. 1st, 2005
 
05:14 pm - BURN, Chapter 8 
Heather surprised me with the icon, which she made at Randall's request. I suspect you may 
understand why after you read this chapter. I know this is spoiling you, Burniacs, but it's a 
holiday and I had it written, so why not post? Thanks for all the response to the last one. It 
means a lot to me. Brian



Dora was tired. Staying out late at clubs had never been her temptation. She worked too hard 
and had to get started too early to allow herself that indulgence. So when she awoke at her 
usual time, she was cranky, and feeling very unenthusiastic about going to the site. 

“Scott!” She yelled up the stairs of the townhouse that she had modernized almost entirely on 
her own. It was still a work in progress, with new refinements added whenever she could find 
the time. Her son ambled downstairs, pulling on a vintage Led Zeppelin t-shirt. The sleeves 
were ripped off at the shoulders, and a deep fade bleached the fabric. His jeans were equally 
disreputable. The hems were frayed, the denim was pocked with holes. He slung them low on 
his hips, revealing a few inches of his madras briefs. He was a tall, skinny boy of sixteen with 
an angular body and a face that would be handsome once his sharp cheekbones, straight nose 
and square jaw came into alignment. Right now he had that late adolescent imbalance to his 
features, giving him a slightly goofy appearance. He tried to counter that with bad boy 
trappings; double pierced ears, a few tattoos, and a stud threading his tongue. His natural 
honey blond hair had been dyed shoe polish black. The roots were pale, the reverse of most 
dye jobs.

He slumped into a chair, glaring at his mother. “You don’t have to keep yelling at me. I heard 
you the first time.”

“I do so when I see no sign that you heard me the first ten times. You can’t be late again to 
your crew or you’ll be fired. You’re an apprentice, Scott. There are many men who are much 
older and more experienced than you who would love to be given that opportunity.”

“And I’d love to give it to them.”

She bit her lip to keep from replying to his sarcasm. It was only her hard work and reputation 
that landed Scott a summer job as an apprentice on a friend’s construction crew. She owed the 
foreman who offered Scott the slot and she didn’t plan to see his generosity thrown back in his 
face. Scott had no alternative employment to go to when she made this happen for him, so 
she wasn’t interested in his lack of dedication to this job. She wouldn’t let him sit on his ass all 
summer, sleeping the day away, or watch television or play video games and then hang with 
his sleazy friends all night. She was desperate to impart some kind of work ethic into her son’s 
DNA. 

She piled a plate with pecan pancakes, his favorite, and put the Mrs. Butterworth on the table 
in front of him. He sipped hot, chicory coffee and glared at the pancakes as if they were the 
enemy. Dora settled for granola with fresh banana slices to accompany her own coffee. “Eat. 
You need the energy and you also need the calories to put a little meat on those bones.”

“I’ve got plenty of meat, Ma,” he said with a smirk. Dora glared at him. Did he really think that 
because she was a lesbian she didn’t know the usual colloquialisms for “cock”? 

“Eat,” she repeated and as much as he wanted to defy her order, the pancakes won out and he 
shoveled them in, after soaking them in butter and syrup. 

“Where were you last night?” he tried to sound nonchalant, even disinterested, but Dora knew 
he was curious. She didn’t go out much, never late. He was the one who dragged in at the 
precise moment of his curfew after doing God only knows what with his evil little clique of 
misfits. The only reason he honored his curfew was because he knew he would be grounded if 
he missed it.

“I told you I was having dinner with my boss,” she reminded him.

“Until one something?”

So he did care. She shrugged. “We went to a club.”

“What kind of club?” He asked, as if horrified that his mother might show up at some dive 
where he hung out. 

“Carbon.”

“That big gay club on Rampart? I thought they didn’t let dykes in there.”

“How would you know that?”

He blinked, took another bite of his food. “I hear shit, Ma.”

“We were just checking out the competition.”

“Right. Did you get lucky?” he leered at her and she sighed. 

“Stop it, Scott.”

“You may as well be a nun. At least you could bring home some hot dykes, from time to time.”

“And how would that make your life any better?”

“I could look at ‘em. Guys like hot dykes.”

“You have ten minutes to get to your job. Let’s go. I’ll ride you to the club and you can walk 
the two blocks from there.”

They gathered their hard hats and tool belts and lunch boxes that Dora had packed that 
morning and left through the back door. Their tool kits were in the truck. As they rode through 
the quiet streets of the Quarter, Dora enjoyed the fact it was too early for tourists and locals, 
alike. She said to her son,

“I met a cute straight girl last night. If you were a little older, I’d introduce you.”

“Thanks, Ma. I really want you to fix me up with women. That would be great. Not.”

“She’s too old for you anyway.”

“How old?” he asked curiously and she smiled. 

“Twenty-one, twenty-two, something like that.”

“Not too old for me, Ma,” he boasted. Dora bit her lip to keep from contradicting him. To her 
knowledge, Scott had yet to have a girlfriend his own age, let alone a hot ticket like Daphne. 
She knew the girl wouldn’t look at her gangly son twice, but maybe she could offer him some 
pointers on what girls wanted from a guy. The girls Dora knew wanted things Scott couldn’t 
offer. 

“What the fuck is that?”

“Language, Scotty…” Dora braked as the first picket crossed her path. He held a sign that said 
“ALL HOMOSEXUALS ARE DAMNED”. He was red-faced and overweight, full of rage at things he 
couldn’t or wouldn’t understand. Other equally angry protestors, male and female, were 
blocking the entrance to the site, and her early crew meandered around with confused 
expressions, unsure of what to do. They were union members and crossing picket lines, even 
picket lines unrelated to labor issues, was alien to them. 

Dora parked, carefully avoiding the protestor, and told her son to walk on to his site. “Maybe 
I’d better hang around,” he said with a steely glare that reminded her that beneath all his 
adolescent hostility and studied nonchalance, he cared deeply for her. And he was very 
defensive of any prejudice related to her sexual orientation. On some issues, Scott was highly 
enlightened. 

“No, you’ll be late. I can handle this. Go on, now. Call me when you get some time.”

He reluctantly started to walk away when the protestor said, “Don’t be a pawn to the 
homosexuals, son! Refuse to work for these evil doers and save your soul!”

“Fuck off, you old twat!” Scott flared. His mother shooed him on and walked over to the gate. 

“You people have to move out of the way so we can get to our job. You’re trespassing. Either 
you move along or move out of our way, or I’m calling the cops.”

“You man-woman!” a woman screamed at her. “You should be home taking care of your man 
and your family! You’re taking a job away from a breadwinning father!”

Dora forced herself to remain impassive. She flipped open her phone and punched in a number 
as the crowd began to sing discordantly, “Onward Christian Soldiers”. She put a finger over her 
free ear to filter them as she heard a sleepy voice respond,

“What?”

“Boss, it’s Dora.”

“This had better be King Kong big.”

“We’ve got a bunch of sign-toting Christians blocking access to the site.”

Silence, and then, “Move them.”

“What do you mean ‘move them’?”

“What is it, Brian?” She heard Boyd’s voice and then a muffled discussion and Brian said, 

“I’m on my way. Call the police. Now. Stay out of trouble until we get there. Has the press 
arrived?”

“Not yet.”

“Call the cops. They’re trespassing. We’re on the way. Stay cool.”

She called the police next and explained the situation. They agreed to send a patrol car. “What 
do we do now, Dora?” One of her electricians asked with nervous agitation and she gathered 
her crew off to one side.

“We need to stay cool. Brian is on his way. The police are on the way. Don’t let them make you 
engage. Let the cops handle it. Just have a cup of coffee and wait. You’ll be paid as if you were 
working.”

“Jim Gordon! You’re part of our holy church family! How can you work for these godless 
heathens?” A woman singled out one of the crew members and he paled as he said,

“Myrna, I have to feed my family!”

“You can’t feed your family on Satan’s crumbs! How much is your immortal soul worth to you? 
Don’t be a Judas! Don’t take their thirteen pieces of silver!”

Dora reached for Jim, but he shook his head and took off his hard hat, giving her an apologetic 
sigh. “I can’t do it, Dora. I’m sorry. I just can’t. Maybe your next project.”

“Jim, don’t do this. You have three kids and rent to pay.”

“Whore of Babylon!” A protestor shouted at her. “Don’t try to tempt this lamb of God with your 
false concern for his family!”

He walked off, shaking his head, and his colleagues murmured to each other, testing their 
resolve, when the police pulled up and two patrolmen got out of the car. The protestors went 
into high gear, shouting their slogans and raising and lowering their signs as the cops sought 
out Dora. At that moment, two tall, lanky and obviously freshly awakened men cut through the 
clot of interested people. Brian zeroed in on the man he identified as the senior cop.

“My name is Brian Kinney,” he said. “This is my property. These people are trespassing. 
They’re preventing my work crew from entering. It’s costing me money. This site is fully 
permitted and all fees have been paid to this city and I’m demanding my rights be enforced.”

“We have the right to free speech in this country, you pervert!” the same fat, enraged man 
who first approached Dora now took on Brian. Brian tensed and Boyd responded in a calm 
voice,

“You don’t have the right to trespass. This is private property.”

“This is a church! A house of God, young man! God’s home is always open.”

“God sold it to me and my home is closed to you. So get the fuck off my property,” Brian got 
in the man’s face, causing him to cringe. Boyd took his lover’s arm and shook his head as the 
clot of protestors reacted to that response. The police conferred and called someone on the 
radio and then said to the protestors,

“Who’s in charge?”

The vocal man stepped up. “Are you a Christian, officer? Are you going to let these sodomites 
take over our city? Defile our churches? Spit in God’s face?”

“Sir, I’m a Catholic, are you?”

“No, officer, I’m not. I’ve seen the light as part of the Reverend Flynn’s divine crusade, but we 
are all Christians together in the face of this heresy and perversion.”

“The same Reverend Flynn who preaches Catholics are pope worshipping, child molesting 
heathens?” The cop cracked back and the man looked a little concerned. 

“Well, now, this is your church that’s being turned into a den of iniquity!”

“This church hasn’t been a place of worship since I took my first communion. It’s been a home 
to transients and rats and insects. It’s been a blight on this block and a hazard to health and 
welfare. If this gentleman is making it a viable business, then God bless him. As for you and 
your zealots, this is private property. You cannot block the entrance to the work site. You 
cannot enter the work site. You cannot block the sidewalk. If you interfere with traffic, I’ll haul 
you in. You understand me, sir?”

“I understand you’re one of them. You’re a pervert, a sodomite.”

The cop chuckled. “Yeah, tell that to my wife and four kids. Now clear your gang away from 
the entrance to this site and stay clear. You’ve been warned.”

“You can threaten us with your manmade laws that embrace the greed and take silver from 
these perverts, but you can’t stop this crusade! We will be triumphant in our march to keep 
God’s house of worship pristine!”

The police dispersed the protestors to one side, defining the limits of their zone of operation, 
and Dora instructed her crew to get to work as she and Brian and Boyd retreated to the trailer 
after Brian thanked the police for doing their job. She brewed some coffee and only after a few 
sips of caffeine hit his brain, did Brian speak. He rubbed his hand over his stubbly beard and 
looked through the blinds to the hate-spewing signs being carried at the gate. “They make you 
want to root for the lions.”

Boyd sighed. “You can’t let them get to you like that, Brian. This is just the beginning. Flynn 
never stops until he’s sucked all the publicity he can out of an issue. You have legal rights and 
you need to concentrate on those rights and not get into an emotional confrontation. That’s 
the kind of press they want.”

“I’m sorry, Boyd, but I feel very strongly about this shit.”

“As do I, but you’ll never win in a direct confrontation. Everyone loses. We just have to enforce 
our rights. I’ll go do some research today on whether we need to file some kind of restraining 
order to ensure they can’t interfere with the work. Maybe we should legally define the limits of 
their protest. We hit their first amendment rights of free speech and free assembly but that’s 
balanced but not trumped by your property rights. And they can’t intimidate and threaten the 
crew, either.”

“Fucking bible beaters,” Dora murmured. “Sorry for the curse, but these people have been in 
my face all of my life. You guys can pass for straight, but I never did. Growing up in Alabama, 
where I hail from, I was hated and shunned and spat upon up until the time I left there to go 
to college. I settled here because New Orleans was an open town, but these people are 
spreading like the plague. Their hatred germinates everywhere they go. And we’re their easy 
target.”

Boyd reached over and patted her arm. “I know, Dora. But we have to be strong in the face of 
this swing to the right. I picked a fine time to come out, when the whole country is turning 
against us. I guess this is why I don’t play the market.”

Brian laughed and slipped his arms around Boyd’s waist, standing behind him. “Note to self, 
don’t let Boyd invest your money.”

Boyd smiled and leaned into Brian’s embrace. Watching them, Dora wondered what it was that 
made their love so hated, so feared, so targeted by these people who wanted to homogenize 
the world into their own view of a theocracy. The world was a tough place. Wasn’t any love 
found worth celebrating? “We Shall Overcome” was being sung beyond the gate, the anthem 
of the Reverend Martin Luther King, signifying a struggle for another misunderstood and 
maligned group of citizens. Hearing it used in this setting caused the three of them to wince.

Nothing was said, until Boyd finally spoke. “They’re singing our song, guys. This is a mantra 
we can borrow from Reverend King. Remember the lyrics? ‘We shall overcome someday. We’ll 
walk hand in hand…we shall all be free…we are not afraid… we are not alone…we shall 
overcome some day.’ ”

He took Dora’s hand and squeezed it firmly as Brian leaned his face against Boyd’s neck. No 
other gesture was necessary to symbolize the union of kindred spirits.
Current Mood:  angry

Jul. 4th, 2005
 
07:45 am - BURN, Chapter 9 
Happy Fourth of July from Randall (posting for Brian who is sleeping in!) Hope you guys have a 
safe and fun holiday. Remember that freedom is for all of us, not just the ruling class. Don't let 
them shut us out. Don't give up. Vote them out every chance you get! 

**********************************



After arranging for beignets and coffee to be delivered to the rattled crew, Boyd and Brian left 
it to Dora to calm them down. On their way past the protestors, Brian impulsively grabbed 
Boyd and kissed him on the mouth. That action spurred a chorus of boo’s and uttered prayers. 
A flash captured the gesture on film. A reporter came up to them and asked, 

“Are you associated with this project?”

“I own it,” Brian replied, ignoring Boyd’s sage stare and shake of the head that suggested he 
shouldn’t talk. 

“What’s your name?”

“Brian Kinney.”

“And yours?” he asked Boyd.

“Leave him out of it,” Brian insisted. 

“I’m in it, Brian,” Boyd interrupted and gave the reporter his name.

“What use are you making of the old church?”

“It’ll be a dance club and casual café, catering to gay men,” Brian answered.

“Do you think that’s a sacreligious use to make of a former church?”

“It’s not an original idea. Old churches across the world have been turned into clubs and 
restaurants and other places of business. Including gay clubs. It’s just utilizing existing 
resources. By converting the church into a business, we’ll preserve this old place that was 
falling to ruin.”

“What do you say to these protestors?”

Brian paused, then smiled and said, “You go to your church and I’ll go to mine.”

Boyd urged him to walk away. As they left, he shook his head. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Talk to that reporter.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I just told the truth.”

“Because the truth has little value to the press, Brian. Whatever you say will just inflame your 
opponents. The smart thing to say is ‘no comment’. Try it next time.”

Brian cast him a glare. “You didn’t have to give them your name. I’m not trying to drag you 
into this, Boyd.”

“It’s not about me.”

“Then what is it about?”

“Getting the project done on time and on budget. Every delay costs. These people are fanatics 
and publicity hounds. You can’t play their game. You have to be smarter than they are.”

“That shouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

“Don’t make the mistake of believing the Big Easy is not part of the south. It’s still in the bible 
belt. Fundamentalism has its claws in our throat, too, and homophobia is an attractive victim 
that can unite all kinds of unexpected bedfellows. Different denominations and even politicos 
court the ‘we hate gays’ vote, as well as those good ol’ Americans who just think all things 
queer are wrong.”

They went into a café that catered to the breakfast trade and sat down in a back booth. 
Coffee, black and aromatic, was quickly produced by an aging waitress who reminded Brian 
vaguely of Debbie. She lacked the wig, the gay slogans and the rude t-shirts. Okay, maybe she 
wasn’t like Debbie at all. Strangely enough, he missed Debbie. Maybe he was having an ‘I 
need my mommy’ moment and Debbie was the only mommy he had left. Suddenly, unbidden 
tears welled up in his eyes. Boyd read his pain immediately and slid his hand across the table 
to cover Brian’s. “I’m not yelling at you, Brian. I’m trying to help. Did I hurt your feelings?”

Brian wiped the back of his free hand across his eyes and smiled at his lover. “You think you 
can make me cry? Please.”

“I know I can make you cry,” Boyd said softly. “I just don’t want to.”

Brian took in that powerful truth. “I know you can too, and thanks. I just thought of my mom 
for a brief moment. Not sure why.”

With all that had happened between them, the death of Brian’s mother was still fresh and still 
painful, but he’d sublimated his feelings of loss beneath layers of after-acquired pain. “I’m 
sorry, B.,” Boyd squeezed his arm.

“It’s okay, B.,” Brian replied. “I’m over it. I’m going to try the French toast,” he quickly shifted 
the mood. “How about you?”

“I’m in the mood for a Creole omelet.”

“That sounds good. I think you just changed my mind.”

“If only you were always that easy to convince.”

“You’d get bored with me if I were.”

“Never.”

They ordered and then Boyd saw Brian’s stare become fixed on the door. He followed it and 
watched Ted enter. Ted looked very spiffy to be out this early in the morning. He was as 
surprised to find the two of them in the café as they were to see him. He paused at their table. 

“I thought you guys were sleeping late,” it was almost an accusation. Brian frowned.

“That was the plan.”

“Uh…”

“Sit down, Theodore. You may as well join us, since you’re here.”

“Actually, Brian, I’m meeting someone.”

Brian looked at Boyd and then smiled. “Yeah? Who would that be?”

“Does it matter?”

“Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Brian,” Boyd warned, but he ignored him.

“Did you get lucky at Carbon? No, if you got lucky at Carbon, he’d be coming in with you. Tell, 
Theodore.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Morning, Ted. Am I late?” Frank’s smile faded as he saw to whom Ted was talking. He still 
wore his Carbon uniform, but without the earpiece. Boyd kicked Brian under the table to 
caution him. Brian just grinned and said,

“Well now. Isn’t this cozy?”

“Boyd, Brian,” Frank nodded his hello. “We won’t interrupt your breakfast. Shall we, Ted?” He 
motioned to a booth on the opposite side of the room, and Ted smiled and headed in that 
direction, feeling the other two stare at them as they went. 

*********************************

When Daphne got her wakeup call, each ring of the phone felt like a nail being driven into her 
skull. She got up, searched her bag for medication, took everything she could find that might 
help and climbed back into bed, pulling the pillow over her pounding head. When the phone 
rang again, she felt a little better. This time it was Ted’s voice.

“Brian moved our meeting up to ten.”

“Um. K.” Her mouth didn’t seem to work quite right.

“So I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

“How long does it take to get to his hotel?” She was shocked by his proposed timing. Her 
wakeup call had been at seven. Why was he picking her up so early?

“Ten minutes or less, depending on the traffic.”

“Then why are we leaving so early?”

“It’s 9:30, Daphne.”

Shit! She threw the covers back only now realizing she had fallen asleep again. No wonder she 
felt better. The medication had plenty of time to kick in. “Gotta go!” She rushed to take a 
shower, dress, make up, and try to control her humidity-challenged hair. Ted had to wait only 
a minute before she rushed up to his car under the porte-cochere. “Why such an early 
meeting?” she complained, as she applied lipstick with a wand, using the visor mirror. 

“I’m not sure. But something got him out of bed this morning.”

Daphne reached for the radio buttons, searching for anything other than that boring opera 
music that Ted was broadcasting. He scowled at her, deciding to let her have this one grab at 
the dial. She was new, and he was in a really good mood after having a fine breakfast with 
Frank. As they left, they agreed to meet in the evening after Frank caught up on his sleep, but 
before he reported to Carbon. Daphne absently scanned, looking for music from the 21st 
century, when Ted stopped her. They stared at each other as Brian’s voice came out of the box 
stating, “You go to your church and I’ll go to mine.” The announcer said, “That was the owner 
of the old church, Brian Kinney, who plans to convert it into a gay bar.”

“Not exactly a bar,” Ted said as the news moved on and Daphne stared at him.

“Isn’t the real question why is Brian on the radio and should he have said that?”

“You have a point.”

At the hotel, Boyd and Brian were seated on the terrace of their suite. They wore robes, fresh 
from a shower, and dark glasses to combat the glare. There was coffee and bottles of chilled 
water on the table, but nothing else. As Daphne slipped on her shades, she said, “Heard you 
on the radio, Brian.”

“What are you talking about?”

She told him, Ted confirmed, and then Brian and Boyd explained the situation at the work site. 
“Why did you give them an interview?” She asked, screwing up her nose at the idea. Brian 
glared through his tinted lenses at her.

“It wasn’t an interview. They just threw a couple questions at me and I responded.”

“Thus the word ‘interview’,” she replied and he shrugged.

“Tomato, tomato. Moving on, what do we do about this crap?”

“First of all, I’d get a position paper together before I talked to the press,” Daphne said, and 
when she felt them all stare at her, she shrugged. “But that’s just me.”

“What kind of position paper?” Boyd pressed.

“Do some research into how other gay-oriented groups who have been confronted by the 
religious right have reacted. What works and what doesn’t? What community support is 
available? Who are your foes and what are their weaknesses? Shore up local governmental 
support before the publicity sours the lawmakers on you. What are your legal rights? How can 
you legally limit theirs? How do you answer their specific claims? How is the club good for the 
city? You know, Spin 101.”

Boyd glanced at Brian and then smiled. “I like Daphne. Daphne can stay.”

“Daphne has a hangover and really needs some food to settle her tummy,” she pleaded. Brian 
picked up the phone and ordered the hotel’s famous biscuits, fruit and coffee, the one meal 
they prepared and delivered daily. 

“How much am I paying you?” Brian teased and she grinned at him.

“Not nearly enough.”

“Maybe not. Ted, call your boyfriend and tell him to get his firm and nicely toned ass over 
here.”

Ted was feeling surpassed by a hot young girl, not a unique experience for him, so he was 
startled when Brian addressed him. “What boyfriend?”

“That cop. Frank.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Brian. And he works nights and sleeps during the day.”

“So wake him up. I want to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

Ted reluctantly phoned Frank, woke him up, invited him to the hotel. When he resisted, Ted 
said, “I think Brian has an idea you may like. Please.”

“For you,” he said, causing Ted to beam. By the time Frank joined them, Daphne had finished 
her meal and the conversation was geared more towards specific assignments. Frank looked 
tired as he walked in and squeezed Ted’s shoulder before shaking hands with Brian and Boyd, 
and nodding at Daphne. He sat down near Ted with an exhausted sigh and Brian lowered his 
shades to peer at him. 

“Frank, I need help now. I need security, and I need you to run it. We have problems with the 
holy rollers.” He explained the situation and Frank nodded. 

“I have friends on the force and I know a lot about crowd control and fair use of the streets 
from working Mardi Gras and other events. And I know that bunch of Jesus freaks. They’ve 
shown up at Gay Pride and other gay-centric celebrations. Some mean spirited Christians in 
that pack, I tell you what.”

“Can you help us?”

“I don’t know, Brian. I have a great gig at Carbon, and…”

“Just tell me what you make and I’ll give you a fifteen per cent increase. You design the 
security for Burn ground up and when the club opens, you run that part of it and I’ll give you 
ten more plus profit sharing incentives. Think about it and let me know. Today.”

Frank inhaled deeply and then said, “Is this a hand out because of what happened to you?”

Brian smiled. “Never mix business and gratitude. Frank, I need someone to do this job. I know 
you, I trust you. I like the fact you have a quiet manner above your strength. The last thing I 
need is a security chief who is also a bully. I also like the fact that I know you can pull the 
trigger if it’s called for. I also like the fact that you’re gay. I don’t want some judgmental 
straight cop getting fat off of my club and resenting everyone involved in the enterprise.”

“It’s a deal,” Frank leaned forward to shake Brian’s hand.

“How soon can you start?”

“Tomorrow. You pretty much serve at their leisure at Carbon. They don’t give or expect 
notice.”

“Works for me. So tell me, Frank. In your opinion, what are the two things that make Carbon 
so popular?”

“Easy. The best bartender in town and the best DJ in town. The rest is fluff.”

“Take note, Theodore. As we get closer to launch, we need to get that DJ and that bartender 
out of Carbon.”

“Noted,” Ted said as Boyd laughed.

“Assuming someone hotter hasn’t come along.”

“What about the back room?” Daphne asked and the whole group grew quiet. 

“What about it?” Brian prompted her and she shrugged.

“Is that important to success?”

“It needs to be safe, dark and populated,” Brian responded. “That part is easy. We’ll have a 
back room to end all back rooms in the crypt.”

“Can I go see it?”

Another silence, and then Brian told her, “Sure. All you want. Before it opens. Not after. It’s 
not a freak show. These boys won’t be hanging dick for your edification.”

Boyd looped his arm through Brian’s. “Her curiosity is pretty normal, Brian. Be nice.”

“I am nice,” he leaned over to kiss Boyd on the lips. “And I’m tired. Meeting adjourned. Let’s 
take a nap, Boyd.”

They dispersed, and Daphne told Ted she would walk back, feeling like a third wheel with 
Frank along. It was the middle of the day, so safety wasn’t an issue. As they left the hotel, she 
paused in the courtyard. Viewed through the old stone arch, it was like a glimpse into a private 
paradise with guava, sweet olive, magnolia and ginger sheltering the small fountain with 
broad-leafed shade. A white cat leapt from a ledge to thread Daphne’s ankles. As she leaned 
over to stroke it, a woman’s voice said,

“The princess arrives among the dragons.”

She turned to focus on a beautiful woman dressed in black with a red silk shell. She just 
walked up as her limo pulled away from the curb. She placed a thin alligator valise on the 
paving stones and sat down in a wrought iron chair near the fountain. The cat rushed over to 
settle on the woman’s lap as she crossed her long legs and leaned back. “Come closer, child. 
Clementine doesn’t like many women. Let me see who warmed her black heart.”

Daphne approached, and said, “I’m Daphne Chanders, I just got here from…”

“Yes, I know. Pittsburgh.”

“How did you know that?”

“I have a gift for knowing things. Sit down, Daphne Chanders. Let’s talk about the world.”

“What’s your name?” Daphne asked as she sat in an identical chair beside the woman, two 
pairs of feline eyes locking onto her face.

“You may call me Pearl,” she said with a smile, the voodoo queen expanding her web to 
include this latest visitor. 
Current Mood: creative

Jul. 8th, 2005
 
04:33 am - BURN, Chapter 10 
Hi Burniacs. R posting for B. Enjoy!

******************************************




Brian awoke from a dream in which miniature devils were swirling around him, raking his skin 
with their tiny pitchforks, licking him with little forked tongues, tormenting his body. He found 
the experience strangely arousing. When he emerged from slumber, he discovered it was 
Boyd, not demons, lightly scraping his skin with his nails as he used his tongue to trace his 
spine. 

“That’s hot,” Brian murmured, pressing his erection to the mattress as Boyd smiled and 
whispered,

“Don’t move. I want you just the way you are.”

Brian looked over his shoulder at his naked lover and grinned. “Are you going alpha on me 
again?”

“I never went beta, baby. I just let you think I did.”

Brian’s laugh became a moan as Boyd used the lube liberally. While his hand was still slick, he 
reached under Brian to stroke his cock. Hard and long in his hand, he jacked Brian’s dick with 
just enough power to thrill. He then began his penetration, slowly separating Brian’s tense 
buttocks with his erection. He shoved it past the tight, greased entry to find a home within. 
Brian had to coach himself to relax. When he did, Boyd dove deeper, and Brian pushed down 
on him, wanting to feel Boyd’s phallus probe the bed of his prostate. When it finally landed 
there, the thrill shot through him with the power of a lightning strike. The stroking motion 
manipulated Brian’s gland, milking it, encouraging it to release the swell of seminal fluid that 
accumulated within. 

“I’m going to clean out your tubes, Brian,” Boyd whispered in his ear as he fucked him with 
increasing vigor. “I’m going to make you shoot until you bleed. I want you to soak the bed 
with it. I want to drown in your cum.”

He reached under him to stroke Brian’s straining erection. Quicker than either of them wanted, 
Brian let go, his body bucking and writhing under the release of his orgasm. He felt as if the 
valve on the shaving cream can became stuck, flooding the sheet with his own creamy issue. 
Boyd lunged twice more and then reached the same conclusion with a similar result. He 
collapsed above Brian and breathed into the hair on the back of his lover’s head as he said, “I 
love you, B.”

“It’s not me you love,” Brian grumbled into the pillow. “It’s my fine ass.”

“Only partially true. I love your fine cock, too.” Boyd withdrew and stretched out beside Brian, 
who turned his head to look at his lover. 

“What else?”

“You have beautiful eyes and eyelashes.”

“And?”

“Skin.”

“And?”

“I like your long legs.”

“You are so superficial,” Brian grinned. “You’re supposed to tell me you love me for the 
magnificent person I am on the inside.”

“Oh yeah, him too.”

Brian pulled him closer and kissed him before he rolled over on his back and reached for a 
towel and a cigarette. After wiping up the remnants of their fucking, he said, “What do you 
think about Ted and Frank?”

“Odd.”

“My thoughts exactly, but who are we to judge, right?”

“Right. Daphne’s a smart cookie, by the way. Good choice.” Boyd accepted a cigarette from 
him. He knew they had to quit. After Brian’s injury, the doctors insisted he quit, and they were 
smoking much less, especially around the kids, but sometimes the occasion required a smoke. 
Like now. 

“She is, isn’t she? This will be a real test for her. I hope she makes it.”

“You need to be a little patient with her, Brian. Remember, this is her first real job.”

“Patience is not what I’m about and she knew it when she took the job. Let’s see if we made 
the noon news.” 

The newsreader was muted until the screen showed the old church and then Brian punched in 
the sound. The man was saying, “…this morning as members of Reverend Flynn’s 
Enlightenment movement picketed the work site, protesting the planned conversion of the old 
church into a gay club. The owner of the former church, Brian Kinney, had this to say about 
the protest,” the film rolled, showing a groggy and unshaven Brian as he shot a line to the 
reporter, “ ‘You go to your church and I’ll go to mine’.” The newsreader came back onscreen 
and said, “When asked to respond, Reverend Thomas Flynn had this to say.” The film showed 
a rotund man with a bland face that concealed a darker purpose. He wore a clerical collar with 
his expensive suit and a heavy gold cross on a chain around his neck. Boyd immediately 
identified him as being descended from the heavily populated Irish Channel section of New 
Orleans, wondering when he gave up Catholicism to make a buck on Jesus. “This is the kind of 
godless remark we expect from the degenerates who would turn a house of worship into a hell 
hole of alcohol, perversion and sin. We won’t give up our crusade to preserve consecrated 
ground for its intended purpose.”

Boyd switched it off as Brian groaned. “I should’ve shaved.”

“You should’ve kept your mouth shut. It’s not consecrated ground anymore, and he knows it. 
The Church de-consecrated it long ago. What a moron that man is. But he’s dangerous, Brian, 
and this is his kind of issue. He lives for this shit.”

“He looks like every stupid Mick I used to know who worked in the union with my Dad.”

“He may look like that, but he’s shrewd and he’s powerful.”

“I’m taking a shower,” Brian got up, wanting to end this worrisome conversation. He winced as 
a lick of pain traveled up his ass to the small of his back. Sometimes he wondered how 
bottoms did it. He decided to take a bath instead, knowing it would be soothing to soak his 
smarting tissues. As he spread out in the tub, letting the warmth do its magic, Boyd came in 
and handed him his mobile. 

“The kids want to say hello.”

Brian smiled and took it from him. He listened to Belle and then Mac tell about their 
adventures on the beach and then complain that they had to come home in a couple days. 

“You don’t miss us?” he pretended to be hurt. Belle, on the extension, said,

“I miss you and Daddy, but the beach is here, Brian!”

“Good point.”

“Plus I don’t wanna go back to school and school starts pretty soon. Wait a minute, Lisette 
wants to talk to you.”

He waited and then an adult voice came on the line. “Hi, Brian. What are you guys doing, as if 
I didn’t know?”

“Is Mac off the phone?”

“Yeah, they’re both on the patio.”

“In that case, I’m soaking in the tub while watching your brother take a piss. Thankfully, not in 
the same fixture.”

“Thanks for sharing that,” Boyd said with a laugh as he reached down to flush and then eased 
his way into the water with Brian. 

“Ask him if he’s interviewed that nanny I told him about.”

“He hasn’t, but we’re meeting her today. She’s good?”

“Great credentials. She’s one of us so there are no judgmental fears, and she’s also a delight. 
Very stable. She’s been with the same family for ten years. Now that their youngest is off to 
college, she needs a job.”

“She must be older than Noah.”

“She’s thirty-six, Brian. Not much older than you, babe. And very attractive. Like you care. 
Like she cares if you care. How you feeling, by the way?”

He let his fingers trace his scar. “Fine. Tired. I was on television today.”

“Really? Why?”

He told her and she was quiet for a minute and then sighed. “I can’t believe that fat fuck is 
already coming after you.”

“Believe it.”

“Let me talk to my brother.”

Brian passed him the phone. Boyd rolled his eyes, preparing for a rant from his sister about 
the evils of the good Reverend Flynn. He got one. When he could finally interrupt, he said, “Lis, 
I already know about him. Brian and I initially disagreed on our strategy but I think we have a 
plan now.” He reached over with his toes to lift Brian’s cock on his foot, causing him to smile. 

“You need more than a strategy, you need a campaign of war,” she said, the contempt ringing 
in her voice. “Okay, on another subject, Brian said you’re meeting Jane today, right? The 
nanny?”

He sighed as Brian shifted his position to move over and pull Boyd on top of him. Boyd’s back 
was against Brian’s chest, while his hips rested between Brian’s spread thighs. The contact of 
skin on skin was having the expected effect. “Yeah, in awhile. Uh, Lis, I need to go. Call me 
and let me know when you guys are due in.”

“Jane’s expensive but worth it. Did you see that house I told you about in the Faubourg 
Marigny district?”

Brian reached around and stroked Boyd’s cock into a stiff pose. His own dick pressed urgently 
against Boyd’s ass. “Yeah, right, thanks. Look, I have to go.”

She laughed. “You guys are still on that honeymoon, aren’t you? Enjoy it while you have it. 
Give Brian a hug for me. Whatever else you give him is between the two of you.”

She hung up and Boyd tossed the phone onto the fluffy bath rug and leaned into Brian’s 
caress, relieved that they were finally and truly alone. 

**********************************************

Jane Heath was a proper British nanny, but appeared more L-Word central casting than Mary 
Poppins. She was small, bespectacled, well-spoken, well-qualified and bookishly pretty. She 
had written references that raved about her skills, but more important to Boyd, she had his 
sister’s seal of approval. Lisette wasn’t quick to accept anyone as being good enough to be 
around her brother’s kids. But Jane had another barrier to overcome. Brian would be sharing 
his home, and on a part-time basis, his own son with the nanny they chose. Boyd wanted to 
be sure his lover was as satisfied with the choice as he was.

Playing bad cop to Boyd’s good cop, Brian kept bearing down, trying to wiggle his way beneath 
her solid composure, but he got nowhere. Her composure was impossible to breach. Finally, he 
gave up and let Boyd lead the rest of the interview. 

“I’m a bit confused about where we’ll live,” she said. “I take it you don’t have a place in the 
city?”

“We’re getting a place. Since losing their mother, the psychologist thinks my kids should stay a 
semester in a familiar setting. So we won’t formally move until the end of December. But we’ll 
have a place here long before then, and as soon as it’s ready you can move in and get to know 
the kids on a part-time basis, when we visit. Which will be often. Brian’s business is here.”

“And who will care for the children when you’re in Canard Rouge?”

“We will,” Brian snapped and she smiled at him. 

“I know that, Mr. Kinney. I meant who would act as nanny?”

Boyd shot his lover a cautious look. “We aren’t set up to have live-in help in Canard Rouge. My 
place is too small and we don’t want to live in my ex-wife’s house. So we cover. I have family 
there, friends, people.”

“I see. So I would be on your payroll and move into your home here, once you buy one. I just 
wouldn’t have any children to oversee for a bit.”

“Off and on. Maybe you could take a little time off, paid, of course, while we find a home.”

She smiled. “It seems your lives are in turmoil right now. Not to worry. I operate very well in 
uncertain environments. Your children have been through a great deal. As have both of you. I 
hope you’ll find that I’m a respite for you all if we make the decision to work together.”

“Is there a significant other?” Brian asked and she shook her head.

“Not at the moment. But I never bring my personal life into the purview of my children and 
their family.”

“Hey, we wear the green shirt on Thursday too,” Brian quipped. “It’s not as if we care.”

“I care. I keep my private life private.”

He shrugged. “Whatever’s easier. You do understand that my son, Gus, will be visiting too, 
from time to time?”

“Yes, you made that clear. I have no issue with that. My last family had three rambunctious 
boys.”

Boyd agreed to contact her by the end of the week, and as she left the garden of the hotel, 
where they had interviewed her, he said to Brian, “She’s a little Christina Ricci. What do you 
think?”

“Definitely a touch of Wednesday in her, but I like that. She was probably a Goth as a kid.”

Boyd laughed. “She’s impossible to ruffle, although you gave it your all.”

“Not nearly my all. Just a taste of my all,” he bluffed.

“I like her better than the others we interviewed, don’t you?”

“I guess so. It’ll be weird to have a woman underfoot all the time, though.”

“She won’t be a roommate, Brian. She’ll work for us. I can’t do it all and certainly you can’t. I 
have to have someone reliable to be there when we’re not. To have a routine in place. The kids 
need that normalcy and I think a woman’s touch will be good for them.”

Brian reached over to gently cuff his lover’s chin. “I’m not arguing with you, Boyd. I just didn’t 
grow up in the world of nannies. It’s odd for me. But if it works, great. We have fifteen 
minutes to get to that appointment to see the house.”

“Yeah, we’d better go.”

“Tell me about the Faubourg Marigny area.”

“I think the Garden District is just too white bread and old money for us, Brian. You’ve seen 
my family’s home there. And I think the Vieux Carre is too edgy for young kids. The Marigny is 
literally four blocks from the Quarter. The neighborhood is roughly a triangle bordered by 
Esplanade on the upriver boundary, Claiborne at the back and Franklin at the bottom. It’s a 
labyrinth of intersecting streets filled with cafes and clubs alongside Creole and Greek revival 
cottages and graceful mansions. It used to be pretty bohemian, very gay, but it’s more 
blended now and quite expensive. Frenchman Street is home to the best jazz in New Orleans. 
There’s an excellent private school in the 'hood, and I think you’ll like the atmosphere. Yet 
there are enough families that the kids won’t feel isolated.”

They took a cab to the address Boyd gave the driver and Brian said, “When are you going to 
tell me what this house costs?”

“You’ll find out when we get there. Look, we’ve already decided I’m the one buying the house, 
Brian. It’s because of my kids that we have certain requirements. If it were just you or just 
you and me, we could live at the rectory at Burn. So whatever it costs, you have to let me 
decide if it’s too much.”

Brian smiled at that. “Meaning it’s too much.”

“Define too much.”

“For you? I’m not sure I can.”

“I told the real estate guy, I want a house that is completely refurbished. I don’t want another 
building project. I don’t want the time drain. I want a place that is immediately ready for move 
in, which adds to the cost. But I want a home base.” He cut a glance at Brian’s profile. “Then 
maybe you won’t have to take a room at the hotel.”

Brian grinned at him. “That really bugs you, doesn’t it?”

Boyd shrugged, refusing to admit it. He didn’t have to. Brian knew. As they crossed Esplanade, 
the border of the French Quarter, the architecture changed subtly. There were fewer town 
homes and low-slung buildings, more stand-alone cottages and greenery. Several stately 
mansions in varying degrees of decrepitude resided side by side with the smaller homes. Some 
had been re-habbed at great expense. Trendy cafes were on every corner and Brian wondered 
if he could ever figure out the drunken layout of the streets.

Facing an expanse of shaded green known as Washington Park, with the river a stone’s throw 
away, they were on Dauphine Street when the driver parked before a tall, black wrought iron 
fence. Beyond the fence, the house had a full view of the park and occupied at least three full 
lots of land. Brian stared at the house and then at his lover.

“You have to be kidding.”

Boyd winced and gave him a shove towards the door. “Don’t say anything until we see all of 
it.”

“I don’t have that much time,” Brian said with a shake of his head, once again feeling the wide 
divide between his self-made money and Boyd’s inherited wealth. 
Current Mood:  curious


05:05 pm - BURN, Chapter 11 
This is for Cindy who is going through a rough patch. Also, Bo alert. Bo makes an appearance 
in Chapter 12. Enjoy, Brian

**************************************************************************




Brian stood at the lip of the swimming pool, staring down at the azure water. The striking 
Caribbean color was enhanced by decorative, aqua tiles that reflected the light onto the 
surface. Forty feet away, at the far end of the pool, was a fountain where a diving board was 
traditionally placed. Two bronze fauns re-circulated a never-ending supply of water from large 
oval jugs they were tipping into the deep end. Lost in thought, he didn’t hear Boyd approach 
until he felt his breath against the back of his neck just before he kissed his nape. Brian 
shuddered, but kept his gaze focused on the pool. Half in shade from the overhanging 
magnolia and banana trees, the other half of the pool was warmed by the sun. In the dense 
humidity that caused his shirt to adhere to the valley between his shoulder blades, Brian 
wanted to strip down and dive in. 

A pool house as big as his loft in Pittsburgh was behind them, and beyond that, at the head of 
a brick trail that wound through three-quarters of an acre of native flowers, shrubs and trees, 
was the mansion. It was definitely a mansion, not just a house. An elegant, Creole-styled 
structure, it featured a flat roof, pale yellow stucco veneer over brick and glossy black shutters 
that covered the walk-in windows. Black wrought iron terraces beyond the windows on the 
second floor matched the fence surrounding the property. Inside, the owners had carefully 
restored the house to its original elegance, while updating it for comfort. Fourteen-foot ceilings 
with ornate plaster moldings soared above wide plank tongue-in-groove cypress wood floors. 
Both the moldings and the wood floors were original construction. 

Marble fireplaces in most rooms were counterpoint to the gleaming delicacy of the antique 
Austrian crystal chandeliers that had been electrified but otherwise had been there from the 
beginning. Formal rooms overlooked the park. The kitchen in back was all new and state of the 
art, except for an old brick oven and paving brick floors worn to a fine patina. The bathrooms 
were also modern, but the new fixtures were chosen to blend with the period. 

Upstairs, the master suite had a bathroom and closets that used to be full-sized bedrooms. 
The windows opened like narrow French doors to give access to the private, iron filigree 
terrace. There were bedrooms for children, for guests, for live-in staff, along with a playroom 
that doubled as a media room. There was no tacked on frou-frou to clutter the elegance, and 
the colors chosen for the walls were cooling, pale, neutral and soothing. 

“You hate it, don’t you?” Boyd asked as he sat down on one of the lounge chairs surrounding 
the pool. Brian sat on another and lit a cigarette.

“How could anyone hate this place? It’s a movie set. It’s perfect.”

“And yet?”

“I really like the office downstairs that feeds into that library. The domed ceiling, the rolling 
ladder for the bookshelves, it’s a beautiful retreat. I can see you in there, seated at some big 
desk, going over legal briefs while a fire burns in the hearth and Belle’s curled up on a leather 
chair, reading a book. Mac’s on the rug playing with his matchbox cars.”

“And where is Brian in that picture?” Boyd folded the spec’s on the house into increasingly 
smaller squares, a manifestation of his nervousness. 

Brian looked at his lover and shrugged. “I don’t know, Boyd. I wasn’t raised this way. I’m a 
lower middle class kid. Everything I have, I earned the hard way. To suddenly call all this…” he 
gestured at their surroundings, “…home is unreal for me. I feel like a gate-crasher. I don’t 
belong in this kind of house. And since I’m not paying for it, can’t pay for it, I’d feel like a kept 
man or something if I lived in it.”

Boyd took a minute to digest what Brian said. His first instinct was to laugh it off, make a joke 
about keeping him in style. But then his better judgment kicked in to stop him from joking. 
Brian was serious and concerned, which meant they had an issue that needed resolution. 

“Brian, admittedly, I was born with a silver spoon. Nothing to do with any hard work on my 
part, just luck of the genetic draw. Who would think sugar mills could be so profitable? Lucky 
for us, my great-grandfathers did. They were right. Their foresight made me rich. My kids will 
be rich, too. I’ve taken care of their futures. Their kids will probably be rich, as well, if they’re 
smart with their money. But rich is relative. I’m not an oil baron. I’ve lived pretty simply, up 
until now. You’ve seen that. Beat up car, my place in Canard Rouge is pretty unspectacular, 
but that’s how I am. I’m not trying to be flashy now, but I need a place that’s big enough for a 
family and safe and close to where you’ll be working. My priorities are two fold. I want my kids 
to feel secure and I want our relationship to work. I don’t have a blazing ambition about my 
own work the way that you do about Burn. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Brian tensed. Was this where Boyd told him he was investing too much time and energy in 
Burn? Where he complained about the lack of time they had together? Where he reminded him 
that Brian’s health issues required more rest? Perhaps even remind him of the problems he 
would have bonding with Boyd’s kids if he were never around? “What about Burn?”

“It’s not about Burn.” Brian gave him the “keep it coming” look and Boyd sighed. “I don’t want 
to practice law anymore.”

Brian blinked. This man never failed to fascinate him. “Isn’t that what you do? You want to go 
back into the family business?”

“God no. I hate the family business. I have a law degree, but I wasn’t born a lawyer and its 
never been a passion for me. Lisette is a lawyer deep down to her bone marrow. Not me.”

“So what do you want to be when you grow up? I don’t see you staying home with the kiddies 
and baking cookies. You hate golf. So what’s up?”

“I bought Artie’s gallery.”

Brian blinked again. “Say again?”

“I bought it from his estate. His place on Royal Street. It’s absolute prime real estate for a 
gallery. It was heavily mortgaged and I know the bankers. The Hall family couldn’t have paid 
the hump on it, so it would’ve been repossessed. This way, the buy out will provide some 
money for his mother, and I bought out all of his stock along with it. I’ll donate Jared’s work to 
the High Museum in Atlanta, along with the rest of my donation, and then see what’s left. 
What direction I want to take with it.”

“I think we should go,” Brian stood up, grinding his cigarette out under his heel. 

“But Brian…”

“No. We need to go. We’re about to have a fight and I don’t want to argue in front of that 
smiling jackass of a real estate agent.” He motioned to the man standing at the entrance to 
the garden path, just out of earshot. Boyd spoke briefly to the broker, promising to get back to 
him, as he let Brian lead him off of the property. 

“Where do we get a cab?” Brian snapped at him.

“We can catch the Riverfront Streetcar a few blocks from here. It’s probably faster.”

“Lead the way.”

As they walked to the streetcar, Boyd didn’t try to open Brian up. His lover’s anger was too 
dense for that. Boyd felt a combination of chagrin at being taken to task so abruptly for a sin 
he wasn’t sure he comprehended, and anger over being treated like a naughty child, followed 
by fear that he had committed a transgression that would fatally damage their relationship. By 
the time they were alone in their hotel room, both men were ready to explode. Brian went 
first.

“You made a unilateral decision about your life that involves giving up your profession and 
making a substantial investment in a business without even talking to me?”

“It’s my job, Brian. My career. Isn’t that my call to make? What would you have done? Made 
me keep practicing law when I was no longer interested in it?”

“For one thing, I think buying an art gallery is a pretty big investment. It’s the kind of thing 
partners discuss.”

“Like when you bought a church without telling me?”

“That was before we were where we are now. Or where I think we are.”

“It’s my money, Brian! What difference does it make?” As soon as he said it, Boyd knew that 
he’d fucked up. Brian’s expression confirmed that fact.

“I see.”

“I didn’t mean it that way…”

“Yes you did and you’re right. It is your money. And there seems to be an endless source of it. 
So buy a gallery, buy a mansion on the park, buy whatever you fucking want! It has fuck all to 
do with me!”

Boyd tried to reach for him, but Brian pulled free to glare at him. Boyd said with precise calm, 
“I see what you’re saying. I would never presume to buy a house and tell you this is where 
we’re going to live, Brian. Never. And even if it is my money, it was stupid to make such a 
huge purchase and decision without discussing it with you first.”

“So why did you?”

“I…I don’t know.” Boyd sat down heavily on the bed, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. 
“Maybe because I was trying to talk myself out of it up until I inked the deal. Giving up my law 
practice, such as it is, was inevitable because it’s locally based. I’m not living in Canard Rouge 
while you’re in New Orleans, Brian. So my other choice was finding a law job here, signing on 
with a firm or opening an office. But my heart isn’t in it. The only thing that really appeals to 
me, other than helping you with your business, is art. I’ve always loved art. This came up 
suddenly because of Artie’s estate. It was a take it or leave it offer. I figured I’d have this 
semester to wind up my practice in Canard Rouge and get the gallery ready to launch.”

“What the fuck do you know about running an art gallery? Fucking an artist doesn’t make you 
an art dealer!”

“Don’t patronize me. I know you’re mad, but don’t talk to me that way, Brian.”

Silence. Brian sighed and sat beside him on the bed. They were both too tense to touch. 
“You’re right. I’m sorry. But help me understand this, Boyd.”

“I love art. I studied art. Not as an artist, I have no talent, but as an historian. I think I have a 
good eye for art. I think I understand the business. I’ve bought and sold a lot of art in my life. 
I want to represent new talent. I want to give people a chance. I want to make the world a 
more beautiful place by getting art out there in people’s homes and businesses. And I want to 
make some money doing it. I can’t be your major domo at Burn, Brian. You don’t need that 
from me and it’s too close. But I can fill in certain strengths you lack and I hope you’ll fill in 
certain strengths I lack in the gallery business. Like marketing.”

“Boyd, you told me once in round numbers what you’re worth. What’s the real story?’

Boyd winced. “I told you my liquid assets, I guess. If you roll every trust fund, every 
investment, everything together, it’s more than that. A lot more.”

Brian got up and fetched a notepad and pen from the desk. “Write it down. All of it. I want to 
know.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you every dime I own. I deserve the same from you.”

“The problem with being rich is that you never really know how much you’re worth at any 
given time, Brian.”

“Don’t give me that horseshit, Boyd. Come up with a number.”

He sighed and wrote down a number. As Brian watched the zeroes compile, he shook his head. 
He looked at the number, then wadded it up and threw it in the waste paper basket. 
“Ok, now I know. You’re Richie Rich and I’m Jughead.”

Boyd had to smile. “Your dick is still bigger than mine, though.”

Brian rolled his tongue along his inner jaw to keep from smiling. “Not enough to make up for 
this disparity.”

“I earned a fraction of that money myself, Brian. You earned all of yours. Besides, what the 
fuck difference does it make? Would you love me more if I were broke? Do you have to have 
the most money as well as the biggest dick?”

“You won’t have the most money if you keep burning it this way. Look, Boyd, I was always the 
successful one. I made good, broke out of the pack, got some real money in the bank. No 
matter how big a fuck up I was in other areas of my life, I always had money. Now I’m the 
punter. It’s a big adjustment for me.”

Boyd lifted Brian’s chin on his fingertips. He stared into the slightly diminished flame in his 
hazel eyes as he said, “But now you have something else in your life besides money. You have 
a family, a partner, kids, a home. People who love you unconditionally. This isn’t about money, 
Brian. We’re not about money. You’ll have to take me as I am, wealthy, and I’ll take you as 
you are, volatile. I know you have to make your own way, I recognize how important it is to 
you and I admire you for your drive. Honestly, I lack that fire in my belly. But I have other 
traits to admire. I’m honest and I’m loyal and I’m not horrible to look at and I adore you. That 
has to be worth something.”

Brian smiled. “I adore you, too, but you pissed me off.”

“Wasn’t the first time and won’t be the last. You piss me off, too, sometimes. But I can’t just 
think of myself, or even just you, when choosing a house, Brian. I have to consider the kids, 
too. I’m uprooting them from the only town they’ve ever called home because I want to live 
here with you and because I think it will be good for them in the long run. You have to let me 
buy a house that I think is safe enough and big enough and good enough for the family. I’ll put 
your name on the deed along with mine, if that would make you feel included. I don’t care 
about that. I want to.”

Brian shook his head. “Maybe you should get out of the law game. Christ, what kind of shark 
are you? Your money, your deed. If that’s the house you want, buy it. I’ll get used to it. But 
from now on, any major buys either one of us makes, we discuss it first, right? Otherwise, 
what’s the point?”

“Fair enough.”

The silence stretched awkwardly between them and then Boyd said, “You scared me when you 
got so mad. I don’t like feeling that way.”

“Shit, Boyd. I’d never touch a hair on your chinny-chin-chin.”

Boyd laughed. “I wasn’t afraid you’d hit me, Brian. Once again let me remind you who has the 
superior strength in this pair. I was afraid you’d leave me.”

“For being rich? I’m not that dumb.”

“For being a jerk.”

“I could hit you before I could leave you, Boyd. But you should get used to the idea that you 
hooked up with a mercurial, low class Mick. I’m not one of your country club never-let-them-
see-you-mad boys.”

Boyd remembered what Lady P told him. With Hurricane Brian, navigate to his calm center. He 
spread his hand on Brian’s chest, as if feeling for the eye of the storm. “I won’t try to civilize 
you, Brian. I love you the way you are.”

“So let’s talk about that gallery of yours.”

“Better yet,” Boyd invited. “Let’s walk over there and look at it.”

“We keep buying real estate around here, we may own the Quarter some day.”

“Not if the Christians have anything to say about it.”

“Remember, we’re rooting for the lions.”

They kissed and Boyd gathered his key to the gallery, anxious to hear Brian’s view of his 
purchase, now that the storm had passed. He deliberately avoided the knowledge that the eye 
of the hurricane was short-lived and that the rest of the storm was waiting on the fringe. He 
suspected money would come up again as a flash point, but for now, he was content with the 
temporary peace between them. It gave him some running room to figure out how to navigate 
this problem, because if there were one thing Boyd knew for certain, this particular storm 
would be back. 

Current Mood:  angry


Jul. 13th, 2005
 
05:16 am - BURN, Chapter 12 
Hi, it's Ran, posting for Brian. Yay BO!! BWAHAAA!!!!


****************************************



Bo shook his head at the photograph in the New Orleans daily newspaper that showed a 
defiant Brian kissing Boyd under the headline, “Club Owner to Protestors: ‘You go to your 
church, I’ll go to mine!’ ” Brian watched him as they sat side by side at a café and bar across 
from the French Market. Their beer bottles sweated in the humidity of mid-afternoon. Even the 
chilly air conditioning didn’t completely obliterate the heat. A day later, the press seemed 
more, rather than less, interested in the controversy over the club. The protestors returned 
with reinforcements, but Dora and the crew were able to enter the site without interference. 
Brian was juggling multiple requests for interviews, looking for the options that were most 
likely to do him some good. Boyd was lying low, ducking the interest stirred by his family 
name and the recent scandals associated with it.

“Well?” Brian pressed and Bo stroked his perfectly trimmed silver moustache before he said,

“Not the best picture I’ve seen of you two. You both look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Because we did, Bo. I’m not asking you to evaluate my camera readiness. How much is this 
going to hurt Boyd with his family? You understand this weird ass culture of his.”

“I’m a Cajun boy from the bayou, Brian. I didn’t grow up in Boyd’s world. But I think I can 
safely tell you it won’t be a picture they clip out of the paper and put up on the fridge with 
magnets.”

Brian smirked at that. He missed Bo. His offer to buy him a beer whenever they were in the 
same town wasn’t hollow. He truly wanted to see him. “I shouldn’t have kissed him like that, 
but I was pissed off.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you make some pretty shitty decisions when you’re mad, high 
pockets?”

“Every day, but the message never seems to get through.”

“Apparently. Look, they know he’s gay, everyone knows he’s gay, he’s made that perfectly 
clear. But do they have to see graphic evidence of it in the newspaper? I don’t know what to 
tell you, Brian. I’ve gotten used to watching you two boys pawing at each other and I can’t 
believe I’m even saying that. But you’ve got bigger problems than whether Boyd’s folks have a 
conniption fit over a photo in the New Orleans paper.”

“What do you mean?” Brian asked as he circled the lip of a fresh Corona with a slice of lime 
and then popped the wedge down the neck of the bottle. 

“I mean the Reverend Thomas Flynn. Never underestimate the power of a fanatic. I know 
Flynn.”

“I guess everyone around here knows Flynn.”

“Not like I know Flynn. He’s my brother-in-law. Was, I guess is more accurate, since my wife’s 
gone. He was her baby brother, the youngest of nine.”

Brian stared at the silver fox’s weathered profile and said, “No way.”

“I told you my wife was an Irish Channel girl. Tommy was always fat, mean and punishing. His 
mama spoiled him rotten since he was the baby. His father died when the brat was eight. He 
always had to have his way. He always liked to hear himself talk. He was the first one to make 
a racial remark or to put someone down for any perceived difference between his view of the 
world and theirs. I called him ‘Pigeye’ because he had that fat face and those mean little piggy 
eyes. You can bet I was popular with him. His oldest sister marrying a coon ass was a grand 
cause for concern for little Pigeye. He refused to attend our wedding. He told my wife he 
wouldn’t speak to her as long as she was married to me. He broke that rule whenever he 
wanted something, however. He was studying to be a priest for awhile. I thought it was 
because he wanted to hide from the world of women who rejected him, but all of a sudden, he 
lost that calling. He left the Catholics and became involved in some old boy’s evangelical 
business. I won’t call it a church.”

“Who was that?”

“Called himself Roy Duke, and his group was the Church of the Enlightenment. Old Roy had a 
local radio hour, and he would hold his tent shows and do the usual fleece job on cripples and 
old widows. Penny ante crap, bible beating revivals, always one step in front of the law. But 
Pigeye learned the skills. He may have been a fat young fuck, but he had a way with preaching 
fire and brimstone and sweating under the lights and crying on cue. Plus he had that nice Irish 
baritone that he used when singing the gospel. First, he booted old Roy Duke, then he took 
over all of the Church of the Enlightenment’s business, and then he went big time with it. He 
got himself a television station, local access. His show got picked up by some big Christian 
fanatical network and he was on his way. When my wife died he wanted to preach her eulogy. 
I said if there was one last act of kindness I could do for my lady it was to keep her fucking 
pig-eyed brother from saying a word at her funeral. And I did.”

Brian nodded, wishing he could have overheard that exchange. “Is he married or is he a closet 
queer or both?”

“He’s married, has a sty full of pig-eyed children. His wife is a skinny little thing, wouldn’t say 
shoo to a fly. No idea what else he goes for, but as fat as he is, I can’t even work out in my 
head how he gets it done. Wait a minute, I don’t want that in my head.”

Brian chuckled. “Yeah, we don’t want him in my social club, either.”

“Where’s Boyd?”

“Negotiating on a house,” Brian said with a sigh. “Correction. On a mansion.”

Bo read Brian’s tension. “Where is it?”

“Faubourg Marigny.”

He nodded. “Nice area. Nothing wrong with that. Interesting place. You guys should like it 
there. What’s the problem?”

“There is no problem.”

“Pull the one wearing bells, Brian.”

Brian sighed, downed some pretzels, and then shrugged. “It’s just that Boyd is so fucking 
rich.”

“Yeah. Don’t you just hate it when you love someone for the person they are and then they 
turn out to be rich on top of everything else?”

“I know how it sounds, but I feel like dead weight. I’m used to being the one with money, Bo. 
Compared to Boyd, I’m a pauper. And I’m worse than that since I have so much invested in 
Burn. God knows how long it’ll take before the club shows a profit. Our projections are all over 
the map. Boyd’s buying a house that is phenomenal, the kind of place I used to drive by in 
Pittsburgh and wonder what it would be like to live there. Now I’ll find out, rent free.”

“If it bothers you that much, pay him rent.”

“He won’t hear of it. I had to fight him to allow me to contribute to the utilities. He reminded 
me that I’m not a tenant, I’m his partner, and this is my house, too. Yeah, except for the fact 
he’s paying for it.”

“Tell me something, Brian. Is it the house? Is it Boyd’s money? Or is it the sudden family thing 
being heaped on your head? You went from zero to sixty when you met Boyd, and now you’re 
pushing the sound barrier. Too much too soon?”

Brian lit a cigarette, coughed, frowned, and ground it out. Fucking surgery. “I love those kids.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Can I be honest with you, Bo?”

“I never thought you weren’t honest, boy.”

“Yeah, it’s a curse of mine. When I got shot and Bonnie, well, you know, no need to go over all 
that. Things were so hectic and dramatic and touch and go at first, so it took some time to sink 
into my head that it wouldn’t be Boyd and me and three part-time kids anymore. Suddenly we 
were in complete lesbianic bloom with two full-time kids and one on the side.”

“That’s true. How did you react?”

“Utter terror at first. I woke up in a cold sweat a couple nights after I got home from the 
hospital. I felt like vomiting, but nothing came up. I left the bedroom and sat down in the main 
room of the mill house, nursing a scotch. I thought that as much as I love Boyd, I’m not cut 
out for this. I never wanted the 2.5 kids and a house and all the trappings of Breedervile. I 
wondered if maybe the kindest thing for me to do was to make the break before the kids got 
attached to me and before I hurt Boyd even more. I should just leave.”

“What stopped you?”

“Belle woke up from one of her bad dreams she’s been having since Bonnie died. She came 
into the room with tears rolling down her face and she crawled up on my lap without saying a 
word. I held her, and rocked her against me and just let her cry. She finally fell asleep in my 
arms. I was still recovering from the surgery, so I couldn’t pick her up. I had to awake Boyd to 
carry her back to her bed. Once she was tucked in, we sat there, together, neither one of us 
talking. We were just quietly being supportive. And that’s when I knew.”

“What did you know?”

“That I love being part of this little family, Bo. I care what happens to Belle and to Mac. And I 
can’t live without Boyd. I’m really part of something for the first time in my life. And nothing 
matters more to me than that. Not my freedom, not other men, nothing. So I’m in it for the 
long run. But it’s hard and I’m scared that I’m not up to the task and it won’t be me who gets 
to make the decision about whether I stay or go.”

Bo smiled at him. “I always knew you were a smart man. We all make mistakes, you’ll make 
many more in your lifetime, but you dodged a big one. Running away isn’t your style, Brian. 
You’re made of tougher fiber. ‘And a little child shall lead them’.”

Brian smiled. “Please, no religious crap.”

“Don’t get down on the Lord because He has some fools spreading venom behind His name. All 
Christians, in fact most Christians, aren’t hate spewing bigots, Brian. Don’t forget that. Pigeye 
is a damned fool. That doesn’t mean my faith has no sense to it. I’d offer to speak with him, 
but I think that would have a negative instead of a positive impact for you. He hates me worse 
‘n you damn queers.”

They both laughed at that remark.

“Maybe I should ask your former friend from the swamp to intervene,” Brian baited him, but 
Bo was wilier than that. 

“What friend would that be? I have a bunch of them from the swamp.”

“The Voodoo Queen.”

“You mean Pearl?” Bo narrowed his eyes at Brian as he said, “Don’t play me and don’t fish me, 
Brian. You’re clever, but I’ve been around a lot longer than you. You want information, you ask 
me straight up. I may or may not answer you, but you won’t get it from me any other way.”

“Was she your girlfriend?” Brian jumped in with both feet. “You said the racial break was 
inviolate back then. Did you have a forbidden fling?”

Bo shook his head slowly. “Trying to think of why I should answer that at all. Why it’s any of 
your business?”

“Come on, Bo, I’m eternally interested in what makes straight guys tick.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

Bo had to laugh. “I think I’m going to stick with a phrase you may want to learn. No 
comment.”

They were interrupted by Boyd, as he came in from the heat. Sweat darkened patches of his 
baby blue Oxford cloth shirt. He kissed Brian and then shook hands with Bo before taking a 
long swig from Brian’s cold beer. “Have y’all eaten yet?”

“Just the liquid appetizer,” Bo teased. “Let’s get a table.”

They left the bar for a booth and Boyd sat close to Brian, wanting to feel his body near his own 
as he read the menu. Brian glanced at him, picturing the way his torso would be glistening 
with sweat under that shirt. Crystal pearls of moisture would slide from under the shelf of his 
pecs, down his flat belly to be absorbed by the waistband of his jeans. Brian could taste the 
salty warmth of those pearls as he imagined tracing them with his tongue. Boyd gave him an 
inquisitive look, read his mind, and smiled as he reached over to squeeze the hard muscles of 
Brian’s thigh. Brian exhaled slowly, feeling his cock jump to immediate erection. Bo pretended 
not to notice the silent but heated exchange between them.

They all settled on lunch choices and each gave the waitress his order. Brian wanted a fried 
crawfish po’boy, Boyd ordered red beans and rice with andouille, while Bo asked for a simple 
cheeseburger. When she left with their orders, Boyd announced to Brian, “We’re homeowners.”

“What you mean we, kemosabe?” Brian quoted an old punch line.

Boyd shook his head. The blight of TVLand. “I mean we own a house together, Brian. Once we 
close, anyway. How do you feel about that?”

“Weird. You?”

Boyd shrugged. “I’m excited about it. I like the house a lot. And I got word that the kids can 
attend that private school in the Marigny that I was telling you about, starting with the spring 
semester. So that’s done.”

“Congratulations, boys,” Bo raised his bottle to them in a toast. They all tapped bottles for 
good luck and then Brian nudged Boyd. 

“You have pictures of it in that folder?”

Boyd winced. “What difference does it make?”

“I’d like to show Bo. If you’re so happy with it, then show it off.”

“Brian…” Boyd was suddenly self-conscious. Brian took the folder and handed Bo the realtor 
sheets on the property. The statistics included several interior and exterior shots of the house 
and grounds. It also included the seven figure sales price. Boyd announced he was going to 
the bathroom and Bo gave the sheets back to Brian.

“That wasn’t so slick, Mr. Kinney.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a beautiful house. But maybe Boyd wasn’t keen on sharing everything with me, including 
the price.”

“I didn’t even think about the price being in there.”

Bo smiled. Brian was as smooth as Chinese silk in many ways, but in matters of the heart, he 
was still a novice and it showed. The amusing thing for Bo was discovering that a gay 
relationship, except for the obvious, was not that different from a straight one. Many of the 
same flash points were there, and Brian’s cluelessness about what he did to upset Boyd 
reminded Bo of the many times during his marriage that he hurt his wife with an unintentional 
slight. This insight reinforced a basic principle by which Bo had always guided his life: people 
are people. Black, white, rich, poor, gay, straight, they universally want food, a safe place to 
live, love, and a better life for their children. 

“I’ll be right back,” Brian slid out of the booth and Bo shook his head as he watched him walk 
towards the men’s room at a fast pace. Bo had walked that walk himself, even though it was 
never to confront a lover in the men’s room. Brian found Boyd at the basin, washing his hands 
as he peered at his reflection in the mirror, as if searching for imperfection. Brian noticed no 
one else was there as he walked up to a urinal and unzipped. He glanced over his shoulder at 
his lover. 

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

That meant no. Clearly no. Brian was learning the signals. “Want to give me a hand?” Brian 
teased, defaulting to sex, which always seemed to work for them. Boyd wasn’t interested.

“We’re not having sex in this bathroom, Brian. It’s not that kind of place, and not with Bo 
waiting for us. Get a grip.”

“I have a grip. I prefer your grip.” He saw Boyd’s ghost of a smile before he turned away and 
he knew he had scored. He hip-checked Boyd away from the sink before he held his hands 
under the flow. “I didn’t think about the price being in those papers, Boyd.”

“It’s not that. It’s the fact you still seem to be sarcastic and angry over the house. I thought 
we’d settled it. I’m excited about the house and I want you to be, too.”

Brian dried his hands on paper towels and said, “Whoopee.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s not.”

Brian grabbed his arm and when Boyd tensed, he pulled him up against him and looped his 
arms tightly at the small of Boyd’s back to trap him. “Lighten up, Boyd. I’m okay with the 
house. I’m sure I’ll like the house once we’re in it. But you have to let me come to this 
conclusion at my own pace. That’s fair.”

Boyd sighed and said, “Okay, you’re right. I’m being a control freak. I’m sorry, B.”

“I don’t need an apology. You don’t always have to be so damned polite. I just want you to 
understand. This is how I process things.”

“And I was raised to be polite to a fault, so I’ll have to work at being rude.”

“I can help you there.”

Boyd chuckled and as they kissed, the tension flowed out of their embrace, replaced by the 
soothing balm of their love. 
Current Mood:  nervous
Jul. 16th, 2005
 
06:57 pm - BURN, Chapter 13 
Guys, out of town tomorrow, bringing kid home from camp so here is your Sunday entry. 
Thanks, Brian (asking Randall to post on his site that it's up by request)

******************************************



The decision to take Bo over to show him the house on Dauphine Street included an interim 
stop at their hotel. Brian insisted upon being given the chance to change into shorts. Boyd 
made the excuse that he wanted to swap out his shirt, after lingering a few polite moments in 
the drawing room downstairs with Bo. Bo smiled and nodded at Boyd’s flimsy cover story, 
having no doubt that he’d be here for awhile, as he watched Boyd sprint upstairs after his 
lover. At least they were at peace again. Bo wondered, was he ever that hot for anyone? Even 
as a newlywed? Was it because they were two men so there wasn’t a leveling factor to keep 
hormones in check? Whatever it was, he’d never seen anyone go at it the way these two did. A 
white cat meandered over to interrupt his thoughts about lost youth and wanton lust. Bo 
leaned down to pet the intruder and a voice inquired, 

“Mr. Prudhomme. They let you off the bayou?”

“Miss Pearl,” he said with a smile as he looked up to find her standing in the archway. “Only on 
temporary leave.” He stood and walked over to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “You look 
beautiful, Pearl. How come you get younger and I get older?”

“Witchcraft, cher,” she whispered, spreading her slender fingers on his cheek. Bo stared into 
her dark mocha eyes, transported back in time to a damp afternoon in the fall, on the bayou, 
when witchcraft first entered his life with a womanly force.

**********************************

It was 1963. Bo was seventeen, skipping school, bored, and angry. Why was he angry? He 
didn’t know, but it seemed he was always angry and he seldom knew why. Angry and horny, 
those were the two emotions that ruled his life. Horny, he understood. Angry, he didn’t and it 
scared him. Retreating to the swamp always seemed to clear his head. Didn’t help much with 
horny, but helped a lot with angry. At that moment, the free-floating rage was still pumping as 
he sat on a bank, throwing fallen cypress twigs into the murky brown water. He watched them 
float away, and wished he could do the same. Float away from this one-horse town, this shitty, 
primeval swamp, this so-called life of his. 

He heard someone crying, a soft, melancholy sound like that of a grieving ghost. He got up 
and followed the melodic weeping, using the tracking skills his father had taught him to stay 
on course, even when the deflection of the water bounced the cries on a false trajectory. 

He found her sitting there in a clearing under the lacy arms of wild ferns that could grow as tall 
as a man. He knew who she was. One of the Dhue clan, the “witchdoctors” his father called 
them. Segregation being what it was, Bo never went to school with her or with anyone of her 
race, even though they were close to the same age. Prejudice being what it was, he was 
supposed to deride her and her kin for the simple fact that they were born black and were thus 
inferior. 

There had always been a color barrier in the swamp, never mind the historical fact of 
intermarriage between Creoles, Cajuns, Native Americans and Negroes. The blend in the blood 
of the people on the bayou was hotly contested and no one admitted that a “touch of the tar” 
might exist in their own bloodline, unless that fact was obvious. During Bo’s lifetime, racial 
issues progressed to the front line. No longer could the whites intimidate the blacks to keep 
them in “their place”, which was a place no one should have to occupy. Prejudice created an 
atmosphere of polarization that ranged from the comparatively benign, like separate drinking 
fountains, to the horrors of lynching and fire-bombing. 

That festering atmosphere was now being tested on a national front. Two weeks ago, Bull 
Connor turned the fire-hoses and police dogs on people protesting the segregation laws in the 
city of Birmingham, Alabama, placing the Civil Rights struggle in the south before a national 
audience. Soon, the whole country would erupt into riots and Medgar Evers would be the first, 
but not the last, black leader involved in the Civil Rights struggle to be assassinated by those 
who would rather kill than see society change. 

That day in the swamp, Freedom Riders in peril, brave women who refused to give up seats on 
buses, people protesting inequality, were all boiled down to two young folk, a white boy, a 
black girl, and a gulf between them wider than the bayou. Pearl was a beauty and always had 
been so. “Black Pearl” Bo’s father said contemptuously whenever they saw her or he heard her 
name spoken. “Imagine naming some Ethiopian bitch ‘Pearl’, which is a white jewel, in case 
those dumb niggers failed to notice.” Bo’s father thought it made him sound clever to refer to 
black people as “Ethiopians”. Considering his other slurs, it was almost mild.

Bo had a different view of her name. He thought she was a ‘pearl of great price’ or, in the 
context of the swamp where they all lived, she was ‘a pearl before swine’ and it was his own 
people who were the hogs. Even as a child, she had delicate bone structure and Swiss 
chocolate skin, along with eyes that were far too knowing to belong on the face of a little girl. 
Instead of straightening her hair, or covering it, or braiding it, she wore it wild and free, a soft 
cloud of black curls that coiled around her little features like ribbons. The first time he saw her 
in the back of her daddy’s truck, cradling a kitten on her lap and drinking a Coca-Cola from the 
bottle, Bo was entranced. She was probably five, he was a little older and he couldn’t stop 
staring at her. She said,

“You better quit lookin’ at me, or I’ll give you a tail!”

“I want a tail!” Bo countered. 

That was their first confrontation. After that, he made excuses to be around Pearl whenever he 
could, exchanging verbal jabs and jokes. As they grew up, she became even more beautiful 
and her family grew even more protective. Especially towards white boys like Bo who 
historically believed they were entitled to girls like Pearl, merely to use and discard as a ritual 
passage into manhood. That was changing rapidly, and in her family, it was never permitted. 
They had fear on their side. Fear born of their knowledge of the “old religion” and legends 
about how they used that knowledge. 

Stumbling upon a weeping Pearl that day was a shock for Bo. She wasn’t the weepy type. In 
fact she had more fire in her than anyone he knew. She was cradling her face in her hands as 
she wept. A cat, maybe even the same one who had been a kitten when he first saw her, was 
curled up on her lap, its distinctive black and white markings spurring a memory. The cat 
noticed him first, focusing amber-green eyes on him as Bo pushed back a handful of ferns and 
stared down at Pearl. She wore a lacy white dress that left her shoulders bare and hung 
loosely at her slender hips. A pair of pink tennis shoes was discarded on the ground beside 
her. When she saw him, she stopped crying and scrambled back, suddenly terrified. 

The cat leapt off her lap and hissed at being disturbed while Bo held up his hands in a gesture 
of peace. “It’s okay, Pearl. It’s me, Bo Prudhomme.”

“I know who you are, Bo Prudhomme. Why aren’t you in school?”

“Why aren’t you? Why’re you crying?”

“Nothing you’d understand,” she said with a haughty flip of her hair, forcing aside her misery 
so he couldn’t share it with her. He sighed, never understanding the mysterious “girl” issues 
that seemed to toss all of them into moods and emotions that no guy could decipher. 

“Try me,” he plopped down on the ground near her, absently picking up one of her tennis 
shoes that she snatched out of his hand. Her cat sniffed Bo, rubbed scent on him, and then 
decided he was good company as it climbed up on his lap. It purred its contentment as he 
scratched along its bony back. Pearl glared at the animal as though it were a complete traitor. 

She stared at the handsome young man with his clear blue eyes and dark, wavy Cajun hair 
and remembered the little boy who was always teasing her, but in a friendly, funny way. 
“President Kennedy, he’s gonna die,” she said, and then began crying again. Bo stared at her, 
processing that information. As a Catholic, Kennedy was a hero among Bo’s people. As a 
liberal, he wasn’t a hero at all. 

“No, he’s not,” he reassured her. “He’s not that old.”

“A white man in Texas is going to shoot him. I seen all of it, Bo. I know he’ll die. He’ll blow 
part of the president’s head clean off.”

Bo leaned back, wondering what would make this girl say such things. He thought maybe it 
was a crime to say these things about the President. “How can you see it if it ain’t happened 
yet?”

Her eyes promised a sage wisdom that Bo could never share. “Because I see some things 
before they happen, Bo. Always have. And I saw this very clear. If President Kennedy goes to 
Texas, he’s coming home in a box.”

***************************************

“Bo? Where are you?” Pearl brought him back to the present as they sat together on the 
couch. He shrugged, taking in this older, but no less beautiful and mysterious version of that 
slip of a girl he knew from the swamp. 

“Back in the day.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No sense going back to that day. That day is long gone.”

“I was remembering the prediction you made about President Kennedy,” he clarified a 
statement that could have many meanings between them.

“I don’t make predictions about things like that. I see them. I wish I didn’t, but I do. Over 
time, I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut about such matters. It doesn’t make sense to say 
anything. After all, no one takes you seriously and you can’t change fate, even if they did.”

“I watch you on television, Pearl. It’s fun.”

“It’s a living, Bo. We all need to make a living. Are you still working hard?”

“Or hardly working, depending on what’s going on. Spend a lot of time fishing.”

“And these two elegant boys? How are they in your life? I know you don’t play for their team.”

Their unspoken glance said much. “No, I work with Boyd’s sister and I investigated that 
bullshit charge they levied against Brian.”

“And now?”

“Just friends.”

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Bo smiled. “Lady P, I’ll leave that evaluation to you. I don’t see that much when I look at 
another man. To me, you’re beautiful. Those boys are…tall. And young.”

She laughed. “Don’t be so narrow. You know they’ll be up there awhile, don’t you?”

“That I do know.”

“Young love.”

“I remember,” he said with a melancholy smile. She touched his hand. 

“It could never be with us, Bo. The times and the circumstances were against us.”

“I know that, Pearl. And if you hadn’t broken my heart, I would never have met my wife, and 
that was meant to be.”

“You still miss her, I’m sure.”

“Every day.”

“And this new love?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Never said nothing about a new love.”

“Nor do you need to speak. I know.”

“Charlie and I get along famously and have some fun together. But we’re both too damned old 
and too damned hard and too damned beat up by life to have any illusions about it.”

“Nonsense. People never get too old for love. And you know, I broke my own heart when I left 
you, Bo. You weren’t the only one to bleed. I just did what had to be done because you 
wouldn’t.”

“Couldn’t,” he corrected her. “You were always stronger than I was.”

“Strength from adversity.”

“Why are you staying here, Pearl? At this hotel?”

“You surely heard about my house. It was in the papers.”

Bo frowned, feeling he had inadvertently dredged up a painful reminder. Lady P’s elegant town 
house, not far from the hotel, had been severely damaged in a fire that had a mysterious 
origin. Police believed it was deliberate foul play or vandalism gone awry. While she was 
advised to tear down the relic and start over, she wanted to preserve everything she could and 
rebuild it exactly the way it had been. As far as Bo knew, no arrests had been made. Her life 
was spared since she was away at the time, but she lost precious possessions that had been in 
her family for generations. While some uncharitably suggested either she burned it herself for 
the insurance money, or the devil came up from hell to visit his witch and set the place in 
flames, neither theory could be proved. Bo knew Pearl was incapable of a dishonest act, and 
that she had devoted her life to white magic, not the dark side of the eternal coin. 

“It’s taking much longer to rebuild than we thought it would. The crews are locals, and you 
know how superstitious these people are. They see haunts in every corner,” she chuckled at 
that and he smiled with her. Her family based their reputation on beliefs most would consider 
superstition. It was amusing to hear her toss off the lore as if it didn’t exist.

“Maybe you should threaten them with a curse,” he teased and she laughed at that. 

“It’s difficult enough to keep a crew without having that threat floating in the atmosphere.”

They were interrupted by the reappearance of Boyd and Brian. They looked relaxed now, their 
previous tension dissipated in the usual way. Brian wore long khaki shorts and a black 
wifebeater, while Boyd selected a fresh shirt to wear with his jeans. They invited Lady P to 
come along and when she hesitated, Bo insisted. They took the streetcar and walked the rest 
of the way. Brian and Boyd exchanged knowing looks to confirm their suspicions about Bo and 
Lady P.

After a preliminary walk through the house, Brian found Lady P at the pool area, which had 
become his favorite part of the property. Boyd and Bo were still lost in the bowels of the 
house, discussing such fascinating topics as copper plumbing and tongue in groove floor 
fittings. Brian lit up, coughed, put it out. Frowned. She pressed her fingers to his chest. 
Normally he flinched from that kind of uninvited touching, but something in her touch stilled 
him. She stared up at him and then smiled. “You really need to listen to your body, Brian. It’s 
telling you to stop with the tobacco. Something changed when you were injured. It’s gone 
from a pleasing addiction and is now the enemy. Let go of it.”

“I have an oral fixation, Ms. Witchdoctor,” he teased and she smiled. 

“I know. I’ve seen the evidence.”

“But since Boyd won’t let me have his cock in my mouth 24/7, what do I substitute? Other 
cock is on the no-can-do list, and I don’t want to eat and get fat. So what do you suggest?”

“Sugar free popsicles, the tropical kind are best, and sugar free gum. I like the cinnamon 
flavor.”

Brian laughed. “Let’s sit down.” They took two side-by-side chaises overlooking the water. 
“What kind of voodoo queen prescribes sugar free popsicles and gum?”

“One who’s quit smoking herself and never gained a pound. Other than the occasional Havana, 
and the odd weed, I haven’t had a smoke in over ten years.”

“Miss it?”

She smiled. “Every day. Especially after a meal or a lover.”

Brian stared at her pretty profile, wondering how far he could push things. “How come you 
aren’t interested in seeing the house?”

“I know this house. I knew it before it was renovated. I’ve seen it since it’s been redone. It’s a 
beautiful place. Safe, no dark corners in it. No unhappy spirits.”

“You knew the owners? You did spells for them?”

She laughed. “It was on the tour of homes, once it was finished. And when it was decrepit, I 
wandered through on my own.”

“You go to the tour of homes?” New Orleans residents lucky enough to live in beautiful or 
unique homes occasionally opened their doors to visitors who paid an admission price for a 
tour, with the proceeds going to various charities.

“I love seeing how other people live. Especially rich folk.”

“Boyd’s rich, I’m not.”

“Will you be having a t-shirt made with that slogan soon, Mr. Kinney?”

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“It seems to have become your mantra.”

Brian glared at her. He hated being called on his shit. “It’s complicated.”

“Only if you let it be.”

“Who the hell are you to talk?” As usual, he chose the offense rather than electing to fall back 
and defend.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning when your life got ‘complicated’ by love, what did you do? Run?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ever heard of Irish intuition? We have our own kind of magic in Ireland.” His smirk was smug 
and loaded with suggestion.

“Things were different in those days before you were even born, Brian. Don’t pretend to know 
how things were, and how things were in the south, especially.”

“And just how do you think things are for faggots, right now? You think we can love openly and 
without censure, hatred and bigotry? Your experience isn’t unique.”

“We weren’t talking about being gay. We were talking about the power of money.”

“It’s all mixed up together. You can’t isolate a part of our relationship. The whole thing blends 
into one big celebrity challenge.”

“Only if you let it. Would he love you more if he were poor? Would you love him more if you 
had complete control of the pocket book? If so, you have bigger issues than the price of this 
lovely house.”

Brian stared out at the water, saying nothing, as he absorbed her words. She rested a hand on 
his forearm, causing him to look over at her as she added, “Don’t fuck it up over money. Don’t 
let your fierce pride destroy your life.”

“Why do you care what I do?”

“Because you two have been given a gift of great love and I know from experience how hollow 
your life becomes if you allow that gift to be taken away.”

Brian leaned back, his lips sucked inward in a scowl as he realized how right she was. He tried 
not to think about what his life would be like without Boyd, for that was a future so bleak he 
couldn’t imagine his way back to survival. 
Current Mood:  anxious

Jul. 20th, 2005
 
07:47 pm - BURN, Chapter 14 
BRIAN ADDS A PROLOGUE: Damn, this was a badly written chapter! I'm so sorry, y'all. My 
partner thought I was done with it and so he edited it and posted it, trying to be helpful. But I 
was still working on it. So I know it was poorly written and I'm really, really sorry. Brian

**************************************


Daphne wasn’t familiar with the concept of microfiche. She knew what it was, a weird relic left 
over from another century, the reproduction of images onto tiny film that had to be read in a 
special reader. It was a technology that had been completely replaced by computer data, 
wasn’t it?

Not in New Orleans.

She exhausted Google and all the search engines on her laptop before defaulting to fiche. This 
retro research was found in the morgue of the newspaper. Images zooming past the screen 
made her feel a little queasy until she got the hang of how to control the speed. She was 
looking for any and all references to the Reverend Thomas Flynn or the Church of the 
Enlightenment. How often one or the other turned up in print surprised her. 

The basement of the newspaper building was hot and humid. A musty scent reeked from every 
corner. There were no real windows, only an air shaft that admitted very little air and even less 
light. She was the only person there once the attendant left her, and she found the 
atmosphere to be strangely spooky. When her mobile rang, she was so stunned that her heart 
seemed to pound at the back of her throat. 

“Yes?” she squeaked after managing to wrestle her cell phone out of its elaborate case. 

“So what have you found?” 

“A lot, Brian.”

“Meet me this evening at my hotel and let’s go over it.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know. Before dinner. Boyd and I are going out.”

She had no idea what Brian considered dinner time. She had seen him in the Liberty Diner at 
various hours, none of them particularly standard. “I have plans at seven. Can we meet before 
then?”

“What kind of plans?”

She knew he was being nosey, but she didn’t mind saying, “I’m having dinner with Lady P.”

Silence. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“How do you even know her?”

“I met her at your hotel. Why?”

“I just don’t get why you would have dinner with her.”

“Brian, this is my work sphere,” she made a circle with her hand as if he could see the gesture 
over the phone. “You can ask me about that. This is my private life sphere,” another 
pantomime. “It’s none of your business.”

He laughed. She knew Brian could take her feistiness without being offended. “Just looking out 
for the lamb in the big city, that’s all.”

She winced. “I lost my lambship a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I remember the wolf who took it. Okay, Daphne, be that way. Not sure what you have 
in common with a woman old enough to be my mother, but whatever. Make it six. Just wait for 
me downstairs. I’ll come down.”

“Okay, Brian, but I may not be finished with my research by then.”

“So we’ll go over what you have.”

“Got it.”

They hung up. Daphne glanced at her watch and decided to stop in fifteen minutes. She was 
so yucky and sticky after spending so much time in the basement that she wanted to go back 
to her hotel and freshen up before meeting Brian and then Lady P. But something caught her 
eye and she became entranced by the article, losing herself in a story completely unrelated to 
Brian’s crusade.


Boyd was painting an image for Brian with his words. The gallery looked dusty, sad, 
abandoned. What was poetically known as “hurricane shields”, metal plates that rolled shut 
over the front glass of the gallery, were known as “burglar barriers” where Brian grew up. He 
supposed they served a dual purpose here in hurricane alley, but right now they made him feel 
claustrophobic and trapped, even with the air conditioner running and the lights on. 

“It really doesn’t need too much work,” Boyd was saying. “But I think I’d lighten it up. Paint 
the walls a cold white and have the floors stripped to the bare wood and sealed without a 
stain. The lighting isn’t the best in the world, which is crazy for a gallery where proper lighting 
is crucial. I’m going to talk to a lighting expert about it, see what they suggest, I want 
something unobtrusive but strong enough to highlight the art. A gallery should recede, in my 
opinion. It should just be a comfortable, attractive enough space to house the art. The art 
should be everything.” His enthusiasm over the gallery made Brian smile. He had never seen 
Boyd so excited about legal work, but this project seemed to light a fire in him.

He took Brian’s hand and led him up a free-standing circular stairway. Their footsteps echoed 
on the metal, punctuating the eerie stillness. Brian didn’t release Boyd’s hand as they climbed. 
He was thinking of two crazy brothers, one with a madness that inspired his art, the other with 
a greed that inspired his madness. One loved his lover, the other tried to kill Brian. “The sound 
system needs to be upgraded,” Boyd was saying. “Music is very important in a selling 
environment, I think. Don’t you?”

Upstairs was a loft that overlooked the gallery floor. “Music is key in my business, that’s a 
fact,” Brian agreed, looking down at the empty space where a few canvases were stacked 
against the wall. He understood a lot about business. He knew how to make people want to 
buy, that was his livelihood for years, he built his fortune on that skill. But the world of high 
art was mysterious to him. He may have lived with an artist, himself, but the creative process 
that drove Justin was alien to Brian. His own creativity ran on a separate track. This passion of 
Boyd’s seemed to bridge the two worlds, the creative artist and the creative businessman. 

When it came to promoting the gallery for Boyd, Brian would have some ideas. He didn’t think 
he’d be much help on how to design it. But it didn’t seem to matter. Boyd had a vision for it as 
strong as Brian’s vision of Burn and that fact fascinated him. “How come you’re running the 
utilities when no one’s home?” he asked and Boyd smiled. He appreciated Brian’s desire to be 
frugal that seemed to hit at odd times. Other times he could be quite extravagant. Boyd knew 
he was the same way about money. They both tended to be episodically frugal, and just as 
frequently, carelessly extravagant.

“Still a lot of art work here and in the storage rooms of the gallery. You have to maintain 
climate control to protect the art. Also, in this heat, if you don’t keep the building cool, it will 
start to decompose. Even the buildings are alive in New Orleans,” he said with a smile. Brian 
laughed and kissed him. 

“Insured?”

“Of course. Come on, you have to see this.”

Boyd led him through a set of double doors to a cozy environment with comfortable couches, a 
large screen television, and a full bar, stocked with crystal glasses and bottles of liquor. All 
were covered in a recent veil of dust. Brian plopped down on a couch and grinned at his lover. 
“What’s this? Artie’s booty lounge?” Boyd sat beside him and spread a hand on Brian’s thigh. 

“Maybe, but it’s also a place you bring clients, make them comfortable and then show slides of 
an artist’s work. Entice a sale. Only now it’s all on DVD, not slides. Artie has a great collection 
of DVDs. His artist roll call was pretty impressive. If he wasn’t so damned greedy and lazy he 
could have built up a nice little business just from what he had in the chute.”

Brian reached over and pulled Boyd in for a kiss. He nuzzled his neck as he said, “Did you see 
9 1/2 Weeks? Remember Kim sitting there getting herself off while watching art slides? That 
was hot.”

Boyd smiled and pushed Brian back on the couch, licking along his strong jaw line and then 
across his lips. Brian sucked Boyd’s tongue into his mouth, insinuating himself under Boyd’s 
strong body and arching his hips upward to feel the thrust of his cock against his own. “It was 
hot,” Boyd agreed, slipping a hand under them to squeeze Brian’s ass. “But not as hot as this.”

“Or this,” Brian flipped their positions so he was on top, unzipping Boyd’s fly after shoving his 
shirt up to reveal his nipples. Boyd groaned and threw his arms behind his head, off the arm of 
the sofa. His eyes closed as Brian’s brilliant mouth found a home around Boyd’s cock. Brian 
was relentless, sucking, and lapping and taking Boyd to the root before going up again for 
another slide. Boyd opened his eyes to look down at the thick mop of chestnut hair and a peek 
of straight nose and a fringe of lash, while long, bony fingers and strong hands kneaded his 
pecs and thumbed his nipples. When he could hold onto it no longer, he reached down to grab 
a handful of that silky hair and fed his lover his seed. 

Flushed and desperate, Brian opened his own fly as he positioned his knees on either side of 
Boyd’s neck, splaying his calves down his chest as he lowered his cock into his mouth. Brian 
gripped Boyd’s wrists against the arm of the sofa arcing over his lover as Boyd sucked him and 
watched his handsome face contort with pleasure. It was over quickly and Brian collapsed 
above him, their combined sweat and the heat of their flesh raising the immediate 
temperature. “God, I want you so much it hurts,” Brian whispered in Boyd’s ear as Boyd’s 
hands smoothed his shoulders and back. 

“You got me, Brian. More than you’ll ever believe. You got me.”

Brian raised himself on his palms to stare down at his lover. “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do I have you, Boyd? You’re rich, beautiful, brilliant, hot…why?”

“Back at you, Brian. We’ve had this discussion. We both know the answer. We got very, very 
lucky.”

“Is that it? Luck?”

“Fate, karma, destiny, call it what you will. Divine intervention. We’re like a pair of magnets. 
We were drawn and then we became stuck on each other. I don’t think love is capable of being 
explained in logical terms. It’s a beautiful mystery of life.”

Brian laughed and reached over to strip off Boyd’s shirt. “And now for another sweet mystery 
of life…”

“Again?” Boyd teased, slipping a hand under Brian’s waistband as his lover said,

“But naked this time. Want to feel that skin.”

Boyd understood. The sensation of Brian’s skin against his was a tactile experience that 
couldn’t be explained. It was something he craved, desperately needed, a fundamental in his 
life, like breathing. Brian plucked something from his pocket before dropping his shorts to the 
floor. Boyd saw a flash of foil and asked, “A condom? Why?”

Brian revealed a small sample of lubricant. “I got these in the mail from some gay catalogue 
I’ve ordered from. Not my favorite lube, but what a great little portable container.”

Boyd laughed. “Just in case we suddenly decided to drop trou’ and fuck?”

“Excuse me, but am I supposed to believe that’s an unlikely occurrence?”

“I have to concede that point.”

“I know,” Brian opened the seal with his teeth, wincing as some of the product leaked onto his 
tongue. “Shit, they need to flavor this stuff. Oh yeah, they do, and it sucks.” He handed it to 
Boyd. “You do it.”

Boyd slicked him up. The feel of Brian’s cock in his hand, the strength of it, the size of it, the 
power of it, sometimes it overwhelmed him how much he loved this part of his lover. “You 
have a great cock,” he reminded him and Brian smiled. 

“You have a great bank account.”

Boyd shoved an elbow into his side. “Don’t make me hit you.”

“A little spanking now and then never hurt a relationship.”

“Verbal or physical?”

“Yes,” Brian responded and then silenced them by sticking his tongue in Boyd’s mouth followed 
shortly by his cock in his ass. 


“I have to meet Daph at the hotel,” Brian said, kissing the back of Boyd’s neck as they went 
down the stairs and into the storage room where canvases and other graphics were kept, 
many of the paper renderings stored in narrow, wide drawers. “So I’ll leave you here, drooling 
over your stock. Meet you at the restaurant in an hour, right?”

“Sure, just fuck me and run. Story of my life,” Boyd said with a smile. “But I never thought 
you’d be leaving me for a girl.” They both laughed. “Brian, you can’t wear shorts in that 
restaurant.”

“Do I look like a rube? Shut up.”

He laughed. “Sorry. Love you.”

Brian winced as he paused at the front door and said, “I love you, too. Even when you irritate 
the shit out of me.”

“Which is pretty much all the time?”

“Pretty much,” Brian confirmed with a grin, waved, and left him there. As soon as he was 
gone, Boyd felt his absence. He had a momentary chill as he thought of Artie and Jared and all 
the misery in their lives, experiencing a sense of guilt over his present happiness.

“Fuck that,” he said aloud, dispelling the emotion as he convinced himself that he was entitled 
to happiness, that Artie had cost him enough, and that he had nothing to feel guilty about. He 
heard a footfall. He turned, expecting Brian had come back for a last kiss or a final reminder. 
But it wasn’t Brian he found himself facing. He stared at his intruder, unable to speak at first, 
but then he said, “What the fuck?” and immediately wished he hadn’t.


***********************************

Daphne didn’t know where to look as Brian stepped out of the shower. He continued a dialogue 
with her that he started before he stripped and went into the shower. She hovered there in the 
doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, staring at her shoes. It wasn’t as if she’d 
never seen Brian naked before. Hell, she’d seen Brian in the middle of fucking a trick when she 
and Justin walked in unannounced. Didn’t bother him then, he went right on fucking, and 
parading around naked in front of her didn’t bother him now. He had a beautiful body that he 
used as a weapon with men. He seemed to think that his homosexuality made women immune 
to his beauty, but he was way off on that belief. 

She wasn’t blind to his physical power. She had her own girl-crush on Brian when he was with 
Justin, but she grew out of it. She still found him beautiful and she respected his business 
acumen, but she let go of her daydreams. Now that he was her boss, seeing him naked made 
her even more uncomfortable. She was relieved when he wrapped his hips in a towel and 
wiped the steam off the mirror to survey his stubble. “Shave or not shave?” he asked and then 
answered his own question. “Not shave. It looks kind of hot.”

She smiled. “You always look hot, Brian.”

He cast her a snide glance. “Stating the obvious. So where were we before the water so rudely 
intervened?”

“I was telling you what was and wasn’t in that report I left for you. It’s not finished. I got up to 
the part where Flynn took over the church and got that gig with the Christian network. Tons of 
reports on Flynn. The guy he took the church over from… is that bad English? Anyway, that 
guy was apparently a crook, kind of, and Flynn made a big deal out of reforming the church 
and opening the doors on their finances. But I can’t find where he did that in concrete terms, 
other than that he cleaned up some of their debts.”

“What else?”

“He has no affiliation with an organized religious sect that we would recognize, like Methodist 
or something. He does his own thing. It’s sort of a cult.”

“Do they speak in tongues? Roll around on the ground? Handle snakes?”

She giggled, following him into the bedroom, glimpsing his ass as he dropped the towel and 
stepped into a pair of black y-fronts. “Honestly, Brian, I’m finding it hard to understand what 
their creed is. I do know they are vehemently anti-gay, anti-Semitic, anti- abortion, and pretty 
damned lily white. It’s a lot easier to see what they’re against than to figure out what they 
believe.”

“That tells you something, doesn’t it? How do they square all this hatred and venom with what 
Christ taught? He was a Jew, by the way. The anti-Semites seem to conveniently overlook that 
fact. He was a very devout Jew. And not lily white, not where he was from.”

She shrugged as he held up two shirts. His black linen trousers were pulled up but still 
unzipped. “The white linen or the stripes?”

“I like the white.”

“You don’t think I’ll look like a waiter in black pants and a white shirt?”

“Brian, I thought you said you were meeting Boyd for dinner?”

“I am. So?”

“Then why are you so obsessed over what you wear? He’s just your boyfriend! He already likes 
the way you look.”

“If I don’t care how I look with Boyd, why would I care how I look with anyone? What Boyd 
thinks of the way I look matters more to me than the rest of the world combined.” He winced 
after saying that. “Wipe that smile off your face. I know. I’m so fucked.”

“You really are. But it’s cute.”

“You’re skirting disaster, Daphne.” His mobile rang and he picked it up, smiling at the number 
on the display. “Hi.” She watched his smile fade. He looked serious as he said, “That’s fine. But 
if you want to go alone, I understand. No, I’m not trying to duck out of it, I just mean…you 
know what I mean. Okay, okay, I’ll be there. Boyd? What are you going to do? Don’t make any 
decisions now. Don’t make any promises. Just remain neutral until we have time to talk it 
through, alone.” Another pause. “I know. And baby? I’m sorry. Okay, I’m on my way.”

She looked worried as Brian said, “I have to go,” he was buttoning his shirt as he left the 
room. She followed. “We can finish this later.”

“Brian, what happened?”

“Personal,” he responded and trotted downstairs, leaving her alone with her curiosity.
Current Mood:  anxious

Jul. 23rd, 2005
 
07:43 pm - BURN, Chapter 15 
I think I got this one right. Thanks, Brian. (P.S. The line from Daphne's grandmother is a direct 
steal from Arness. It's one of my favorite things she's said.)


************************



Daphne was absently thinking about Brian’s fine ass. After all, she was human, so what else 
would she be thinking about while she waited for Pearl in the drawing room of the hotel? She 
let her dinner companion know by phone that she was on the premises and suggested they 
ride to the restaurant together. Pearl was pleased to do so, telling her she would be right 
down. 

“How do you know him?” The manager of the hotel politely inquired of Daphne after offering 
her a cocktail that she declined. She was on the wagon for a while after her recent 
overindulgence.

“Mr. Kinney. I’ve seen you here a couple times now, and…”

Did this old gay guy worry that she was trying to lure Brian away from Boyd, she wondered 
with an internal smile? As IF. “We’re old friends and now I work for him.”

“I thought he owned that gay bar they’re constructing out of the old church?”

“He does. But there’s a lot more to the business than just operating the bar. And it’s a club, 
not a bar.”

“He’s quite…striking,” the man reflected on his adjective before speaking it. “They both are.”

She giggled. What a wet dream they must be for him. They were as unavailable to him as they 
were to her, although for different reasons. “Yeah, they are.”

Pearl interrupted them by making her entrance and she nodded at the manager’s deferential 
“good evening” and then looped her arm through Daphne’s and said, “Let’s walk. The 
weather’s not so bad, and it’s a short distance.”

Daphne waved goodbye to the manager after taking in his surprised expression. Next he would 
be grilling her about Lady P. Sunset did little to neutralize the muggy heat that turned Daphne 
clammy the minute she stepped outside. If this was “not so bad”, she was afraid to think that 
it might get worse. She glanced at Pearl’s beautiful profile as they walked, remembering a 
remark her grandmother made when someone complimented her on her youthful appearance, 
“Good black don’t crack.”

It was certainly true of Pearl. “I was in the morgue today,” Daphne offered. Pearl laughed. 

“No one near and dear to you, I hope.”

Daphne giggled. “Newspaper morgue. Research for Brian.”

“How terribly tedious.”

“It wasn’t too bad. I came across an interesting article.”

“I’m sure you did.” Pearl was annoyingly less than curious. Daphne went on. 

“It was about you.”

“Youll find many articles about me, cher. The press loves to write about people like me when 
there’s no real news to be found.”

Even that didn’t spark her audience’s interest. Daphne added, “It was about that fire at your 
house. They said it might be arson. Was it?”

“Never proved, one way or the other.”

“But what do you think?”

“I think it might have been, yes.”

“Who would do such a heinous thing?”

Pearl laughed. “The list is too long to dictate. People are superstitious. They fear me. They find 
my practices to be akin to devil worship, black magic, which is absurd. The Christian backlash 
has made things even more dangerous for me, and then there are those who convince 
themselves I was behind some wrongdoing that befell them. That someone purchased a favor 
from me to do an enemy harm. I never sell bad karma. To do so brings the evil back to you in 
force. But people believe what they want to believe.”

“Flynn was quoted in the article. He said when people choose to live outside God’s laws, they 
should expect God’s vengeance. Something like that. Has be been down on you, too?”

“Of course. What an easy target I am. A black woman, alone, with a gift he views as evil, and 
who lives her life according to tenets that invade his safe little microcosm of the world. Of 
course he hates me. He hates any diversity, whether based on gender, race, sexual 
orientation, or religious creed. The man is a fat fool. But a dangerous one.”

They entered a small restaurant that was marked only by a sign painted on the door that said, 
“Aunt Sookie’s Kitchen”. Inside were plain wooden floors, tiny tables with blue and white plaid 
linens, and the aromatic scent of cooking food that was so enticing, Daphne suddenly felt weak 
with hunger. Pearl smiled at her after the greeter hugged Pearl like an old friend and showed 
them to a prime spot by the sooty windows. 

“They have the best fried chicken, turnip or collard greens, candied yams, buttermilk biscuits 
and fresh peach pie in the south. Sometimes a girl has to fill up on the home style, if you know 
what I mean,” Pearl told her as they were automatically served freshly brewed tea that was 
iced in individual mason jars doubling as drinking glasses. No liquor was served here. Daphne 
was thrilled by the menu since her family had no tradition of “down home” cooking. Her 
mother and father were both working professionals, so cooking usually consisted of ordering in 
or eating out. Even her grandmother cooked low fat and low cholesterol, having imbibed the 
Kool Aid of good health. She let Pearl order for her and then continued her recap of the article.

“They quoted Bellamy in that article,” she said and this time she saw her remark hit home. 
Pearl leaned back, her dark eyes settling on Daphne with such intensity that she felt a little 
shaken by that gaze.

“And so?”

“They identified him as your son.”

“That would be because he is my son.”

“I guess I didn’t picture you with children.”

“Bellamy’s hardly a child. He’s 29. And yes, he came along rather late in my life.”

“You were married?”

“One needn’t marry to have a child. I don’t believe in it, personally. His father and I were great 
friends. I wanted a child before I was too old to conceive and he accommodated me. The love 
affair was a very minor part of who we were together. The friendship was everything. He died 
a few years ago, and I still miss him very much. As does Bellamy. He was a good man.”

“The newspaper article said Bellamy was an assistant district attorney.”

“No, he was an assistant U.S. attorney. Quite different. And now he’s on the City Council. He’s 
very ambitious. Bellamy may well be governor one day,” she said it as fact, not as brag. 
Daphne sighed.

“He wasn’t very nice about you in the quote. He seemed to dismiss the idea of foul play and 
said everything about you always involved an extra ounce of drama. I thought it sounded very 
unsympathetic.”

“Bell and I have our differences. Vast differences. He never approved of me, of my life, and he 
resented being born out of wedlock, even though he was legally adopted by his father, and 
bears his surname, Beaufort. Bell’s a very brilliant, very driven and very narrow-thinking 
young man.”

“I’m sorry,” Daphne said, now wishing she hadn’t brought up what appeared to be a very 
painful subject, but Pearl reached over and patted her hand. 

“Nonsense. These things happen. My hope is when he becomes more secure in his own life, 
he’ll realize the value of a mother.”

“I hope so too,” Daphne said with a sigh, staring down at the first course as it was delivered, 
grateful for the intrusion of food. Cucumbers sliced as thin as parchment, mixed with minced 
onion, both marinated in a clear liquid that combined sweet and vinegar in perfect proportion, 
was just what was needed to banish the subject of Bellamy Beaufort from the table.

***************************************

Brian smoked an entire cigarette on his way to meet Boyd. He coughed, but he was nervous 
and he needed the soothing touch of nicotine. When he stubbed it out, his chest burned and he 
wished he hadn’t given in to it. He wished he wasn’t here. He wished Boyd hadn’t called with 
his news. Steeling himself, he went inside. 

They were seated in a back banquette in the elegant dining room where soft jazz was muted 
by the rich hunter green velvet fabric covering the banquettes and draping the windows. 
Candlelight diffused the darkness and waiters in crisp white coats and tuxedo pants worked 
unobtrusively to keep the well-heeled diners happy. Brian wondered if tie and jacket were 
required, if so he would kill Boyd for not telling him. But no. It was too hot in summer to 
demand such a rigid dress code of the customers. 

When Brian reached the banquette, Boyd rose to greet him. Boyd looked as tense as piano 
wire, even his coloring was bleached beneath his usual ruddy flush as he kissed Brian’s cheek 
and squeezed his arm. Brian gave him a reassuring rub on the back, feeling how tight his 
muscles were. Boyd’s tension made him angry, but he restrained that reaction as he let his 
gaze fall on the woman at the table. Tall, elegant, glacial, she forced a smile that was more of 
a twitch as Brian said, “Hello, Mrs. Coulter.”

“Mr. Kinney,” she didn’t offer her hand and Brian knew not to offer first to a lady. He sat 
beside Boyd, slipping his hand over his knee under the table in a loving gesture. Boyd rested 
his fingers above Brian’s as he said,

“You want a drink, Brian? Do you care for a refill, Mother?”

She declined and Brian said to the waiter, “Jim Beam straight up.” Serious meetings required 
serious drinks. Boyd asked for another G and T. Little cheese straws with a touch of Tabasco in 
the mix were in a crystal bowl on the table and Brian popped one, followed quickly by a gulp of 
water. Damn, these Louisiana people couldn’t eat anything without spicing it up.

“I told Brian the news,” Boyd jumped in and his mother looked annoyed. At least Brian thought 
her look was one of annoyance. Her emotions were so guarded they were almost 
imperceptible. 

“Now why did you find it necessary to share our personal business with Mr. Kinney, Boyd? Why 
should he be burdened with such unpleasant news?”

Brian tensed, but Boyd patted his hand under cover and responded. “Because Brian is my 
partner, Mother. We tell each other everything. We live together. We’re a couple.”

Brian watched the disgust pass over her well-preserved features like a brief squall and then 
disappear off the shoreline, as she said, “Isn’t that nice?” Obviously ‘nice’ was the opposite of 
what she thought it was. Brian began to wonder if he had been unfair to his own mother. Boyd 
must have had a hell of a time growing up with this frigid bitch. Still, he bit his lip, gnawing on 
the soft underside of his lower lip to keep from smarting off. “So you know what Boyd has to 
do, right, Mr. Kinney?” She enlisted his support.

She must be kidding. His loyalty was with one person alone at this table, and she wasn’t the 
one. Brian smiled and then said, “Boyd needs to do what Boyd needs to do. He’s the only one 
who can make those decisions. I think he needs some time to think about what that should be. 
I’ll support him in whatever he decides.”

“Time is one thing we do not have,” she corrected him.

“He’s known about this for how long? A half-hour? I think you can slip him a couple days.”

“What you think really doesn’t matter, does it, Mr. Kinney?”

“It does to me, Mother,” Boyd said with a glare. “Brian’s is the one opinion I value most.”

“I’m sure Mr. Kinney won’t be selfish and try to keep you from doing what needs to be done. 
I’m sure he’ll want you to do what’s best for your family, for your own interests, if nothing 
else.”

“You’re right,” Brian agreed. “I do want Boyd to do what’s best for himself, if nothing else. But 
neither you nor I know what that is, right now, and neither does he. He needs some time to 
think.”

“My husband, his father, is going under the knife tomorrow, Mr. Kinney, for life threatening 
surgery. We do not have the luxury of time. Even if everything goes perfectly well, as we pray 
it will, he will be incapacitated for a period of time and someone has to look after the business. 
Because of you, Rex isn’t there to do so, therefore it falls to Boyd.”

Brian laughed. “Because of me? Isn’t it because Rex is doing time on a plea bargain because 
he killed his down-low gay lover or was at least an accessory to the crime? How is that about 
me? Because I was falsely accused of a crime I didn’t commit?”

“Brian,” Boyd brought his hand up to rest on Brian’s arm. Some other diners had turned to 
stare as Brian’s voice rose in volume and Brian leaned back, glaring at his lover. 

“Sorry. I forgot. It’s not considered appropriate to raise your voice in genteel southern society. 
Racism, the Klan, lynching, slavery, that’s all part of the local color and fond history, but God 
forbid you raise your voice or speak bluntly about something. Well fuck that.”

“Trash,” Mrs. Coulter muttered softly and Boyd cut an angry glare at her.

“Don’t you ever say anything like that about Brian, Mother. Not ever.”

“I suppose I should be grateful that he’s white.” She took a jab at Jared and Brian bit into that 
lip again, to keep from decking the skinny old bitch. The waiter came over and both Boyd and 
his mother went into détente so they could present the appropriate front to the help. Brian on 
the other hand was still fuming. They ordered but when it came to him, he said, 

“I’m not eating. I can’t digest solid food in this company. Just keep bringing me these,” he 
shook his glass. As the waiter left, Boyd’s mother said, 

“The Irish have traditionally had a problem with alcohol.”

“I don’t have a problem with alcohol,” Brian said with a smile. “I have a problem with you.”

“Please,” Boyd requested of them both. “Mother, I understand a quadruple bypass is a big 
deal, especially with someone as out of shape as my father, and I understand that things are 
going to be dicey at the mill. But I’m in the middle of winding down my law practice, opening a 
business here, buying a home for my family, helping Brian get his business off the ground and 
raising two motherless kids. Have you thought about Lisette? Maybe she could take a leave.”

“Your father would never entrust that company to Lisette. You know how he feels about her.”

“Because she’s gay. News flash, Mom. So am I.”

His mother issued a lingering sigh as if trying to work out what they had done wrong to breed 
such depraved children. Boyd leaned back, resting his head against Brian’s spread arm. “I 
can’t do everything, Boyd. I know nothing about running a business. You have to be a man for 
once and step up to the plate.”

“For once? I’ve always been a man, Mother. I was never even a kid.”

Brian leaned over and kissed his cheek, causing his mother to rise and leave the banquette. “I 
can’t be around this. Come home, Boyd, where you belong. Do what needs to be done. Don’t 
be influenced by this…this…man.” She left the restaurant and Brian gave Boyd’s shoulders a 
little squeeze.

“That went well, don’t you think?”

Boyd laughed as the waiter brought over the mock turtle soup his mother had ordered as a 
first course along with Boyd’s salad. “I’ll have it,” Brian volunteered and moved her place 
setting in front of him. “My appetite just returned.”

“I’m overwhelmed,” Boyd admitted when they were alone. “I’m worried for my father, yes, but 
how can I take on one more job, Brian? And running the mill is a big one. And then I’m even 
more trapped in Canard Rouge. I have to start transitioning my practice and I don’t want to 
give up the gallery. I love the gallery.”

Brian put down his spoon and reached over to squeeze Boyd’s hand. “Relax. Eat. You aren’t in 
this alone, Boyd. I’m here to help. We can do what needs to be done, together. Okay? Now, 
eat.”

Boyd stared at Brian’s handsome profile and then laughed. “That was a pretty good line about 
having a problem with her, not with alcohol.”

“You liked that one?”

“Yeah, I did,” he reached under the table to squeeze Brian’s thigh. “You turn me on when you 
go all butch on me.”

“I’m always butch. And I turn you on if I sneeze.”

“Fair point,” Boyd relaxed and picked up a mouthful of lettuce doused with a light lavender 
honey infused vinaigrette, believing anything was possible with Brian beside him. At the same 
time, Brian swallowed a spoonful of dark soup with a slight sherry ring to it, wondering how in 
the hell they were going to manage this latest kink in an already complicated life. His mobile 
rang. He glanced at the display and winced. Another little twist was just about to enter the 
arena and provide even more challenge to their overburdened lives.

“It’s Brian,” he said, and a voice replied,

“I’m in trouble and I didn’t know who else to call.”

Oh, happy day.
Current Mood:  stressed

Jul. 29th, 2005
 
10:41 am - BURN, Chapter 16 

As a nod of politesse to the other diners, Brian took his mobile with him and walked out to the 
street in front of the restaurant to have his conversation. The heat and humidity immediately 
swamped him. The alcohol he had downed wasn’t helping his body cope. 

“I can’t deal with him, Brian. You have to do something.”

“Claire, calm down. I presume you mean John?”

“Who else?”

“What now?”

“I’m truly out of control, because he’s truly out of control. I worry about my reactions to him. I 
feel like Daddy is coming alive through me because I just want to whack him. I can’t take 
anymore! He’s turned into a monster. He’s worse than you ever were,” Brian smiled at that. A 
lot Claire knew. “I don’t know where he goes, I don’t know what he does…he won’t talk to me. 
I don’t trust him. What do I do? We’re just getting settled in Mother’s house and yet he can’t 
even be happy about that. He has these awful little friends who…”

“Claire,” Brian interrupted. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

“I don’t know, but you’re a man, Brian. His own father is absolutely absent in his life. Maybe if 
you spoke with him…”

“Yeah, that’ll work. He won’t listen to me, Claire. You need to get a grip. You’re the mother. 
He’s still a kid. You have to control the situation, what can be controlled at least. The hours he 
spends out at night, shit like that. He’s way too young for…to be out all hours.”

“Will you tell him that?”

“I’m the last person to be giving out those kind of lessons, Claire. Come on. Your kid, you deal 
with it,” he wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. He was soaking wet.

“Brian, I want him to send him to military school in the fall. I need your help to be able to 
afford the tuition.”

Brian smiled. He put himself in John’s shoes and imagined being that age, gay, and in an all-
male environment where everyone wore spiffy little uniforms. Schwing. That would certainly be 
a life lesson for him, of the very best kind. Why didn’t his own parents send him to military 
school? Oh yeah. No “Uncle Brian” to foot the tuition. God, was he a little drunk? He felt weird. 
Dizzy, queasy. He combed his fingers through his hair and said, “Fine, Claire, fine. Find out 
about the school and let me know. I have to go back in, now. I’m at dinner.”

“Brian, when are you coming home?”

“I am home. This is home. Gotta go, get control of him, Claire, before it’s too late.”

“Tell Boyd hello.”

“Yeah,” he hung up and went back into the restaurant. He felt woozy as he sat down heavily 
beside Boyd, who shot him a worried glance. He passed Brian a glass of cold water and Brian 
drank a sip and then tightened his lips into a gray line. “I feel kind of sick.”

Boyd stroked his arm. “Want to go?”

“Give me a minute.”

He felt the churning whiskey and turtle soup settle down as he leaned his head back against 
the velvet. Boyd continued to stroke his arm and finally Brian exhaled and said, “It’s passed. I 
think it was the heat. And the booze. And the tension. Claire says hello, by the way.”

Boyd smiled. “That would explain the tension. John?”

“Of course.”

“Does she know?”

“Only that he’s out of control. She wants to send him to military school in the fall. On my 
dime.”

“My parents did that to me. I liked it, in a way. Lots of hot guys.”

Brian laughed. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Their main courses were delivered. Boyd saw Brian’s eyes grow wide as he focused on the 
plate of parchment wrapped snapper throats and French green beans that had been Boyd’s 
mother’s order. Brian’s face began taking on the hue of the beans as Boyd motioned to the 
waiter. “Could you box these up to go? We have to leave.”

Brian was grateful to see the food go. When they were on the street, Boyd carried the bag to 
free him of the scent. He looped his other arm through Brian’s as they walked at a slower pace 
than usual. 

Brian was drenched the moment they hit the heat. His shirt stuck to his back and sweat rolled 
down his temples to be absorbed by his hair and his collar. Suddenly, he pulled free of Boyd 
and lurched over to the curb, hurling what he drank and ate into the street with a violent 
retch. Boyd spread his arm over the small of Brian’s back, holding to him until he stood up 
straight and ran a palm over his face. “I’m sorry. That was embarrassing.”

“Forget about it,” Boyd dabbed at Brian’s shirtfront with a handkerchief, where the spew 
streaked him. “This is the Big Easy. Everyone barfs in the street.” He flagged down a cab, 
deciding Brian shouldn’t walk in the heat. He left the bag of food there on the curb, next to the 
puddle of vomit, fearing that the smell of the food in the cab would be a bad idea for his lover. 
When they reached the hotel, they climbed the stairs at a slow pace. Once in the room, Boyd 
helped Brian undress and put him in bed. He sat beside him, smoothing a damp washcloth 
over his face. 

“You’re burning up. I think you have a fever.”

“I just drank too much and didn’t eat. Shit, I feel like throwing up again. Help me up,” he went 
to the bathroom with Boyd in tow. Brian sunk to his knees before the porcelain, as Boyd 
pressed the cloth to his forehead while he vomited. Brian knew this was off. He had been a hell 
of a lot drunker than he was now and he seldom got sick from it, especially if no drugs were 
involved. He felt shaky and he ached all over. After Boyd flushed, Brian leaned back against his 
lover’s legs and closed his eyes.
“I’m sick.”

“I noticed. Come on, back to bed.”

A doctor was recommended by Petra after Boyd called her, and as a friend and colleague, he 
came over to the hotel to check on Brian. He gave him suppositories for the vomiting, ignoring 
his joking response, and then spoke to Boyd alone in the lobby. “I drew some blood, which I’ll 
have checked out at the lab, but I see no sign that it’s related to his injuries. I think he may 
just have a plain case of the stomach flu. No fun, but not life threatening. Keep fluids in him, 
make him stay in bed and keep him cool. Introduce BRAT tomorrow, if he can keep food down. 
Know what that is?”

Boyd smiled. “I have kids. Bananas, rice, applesauce, toast.”

“Watch his temp. If it spikes over 102, call me. If he develops abdominal pain, call me. 
Otherwise, in 48 to 72 hours, he’ll be much better and by then, you’ll probably have it. It’s 
pretty contagious.”

“Swell. My kids are coming home.”

“Don’t do that, if you can avoid it. Let them stay clear for a few more days.”

“Thanks for coming over, Richard.”

“Not a problem. Tell Petra hello for me.”

He left and Boyd returned to his sick lover. Brian appeared to be sleeping, ghostly pale against 
the pillows. He squinted an eye open at Boyd and said, “Who would believe that having a good 
looking stranger stick something up my butt would be no fun at all?”

“You need to sleep,” Boyd said with a smile. 

“I know. What do I have? Did your mother poison me?”

“Afraid it’s just the stomach flu.”

“You try it and then trivialize it.”

“I probably will be trying it in a couple days. It’s contagious.”

“The kids…”

“I know, I’m going to ask Lis to keep them a few more days.”

“Good. I don’t want to be the source of making them sick.”

“Brian, before you go to sleep, I need you to sign something.”

“Oh sure, hit me while I’m incapacitated and steal my fortune.”

Boyd retrieved papers from his briefcase. “I need to file these tomorrow and you may be 
asleep when I go out.”

He handed him a pen and Brian stared at the long paper with all the clauses and Boyd’s 
signature on one of two blanks. His name was typed under the second blank. “What is this?”

“The deed to the house.”

“You bought the house, Boyd. Not I.”

“It’s our house. Sign the fucking line.”

Brian smiled and shook his head. “For a lawyer, you’re a great art gallery owner. Are you 
nuts?”

“Sign it. Don’t make me get those silver bullets the doc left and insert them one at a time.”

“Don’t make me want you to.”

“Brian, for once in your stubborn, proud, Irish life would you just accept this as a sign of my 
commitment to you and sign the fucking deed? Because I’m starting to feel like shit, myself.” 
And he did. He was hot, he was queasy, he was infected. Brian signed and handed the papers 
to his lover. Boyd put the deed back in his briefcase, walked into the bathroom, threw up, and 
returned to collapse beside Brian in bed. Brian reached over and held up a silver suppository. 

“Welcome to my world.”

Boyd groaned and flipped over on his stomach, saying, “You do it.”

“Ok, but I refuse to enjoy it. I’m too sick.”

“Fair enough. Me too.”

Brian undressed him, inserted the medication, and then they lay there, side by side, feverish, 
aching, miserable, their fingers entwined. “This must be love,” Brian finally said. 

“What do you mean?”

“Lying here in agony, trying not to throw up, with medication melting in our colons while we 
hold hands.”

Boyd managed a chuckle. “I really don’t want to laugh. Shut up.”
“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“The house. The gesture.”

Boyd turned to look at Brian’s pale profile. “Do you think you can be happy there?”

“Will you be in it? If so, yeah. I can be happy wherever you are, Boyd. That’s really what it 
takes for me.”

Boyd squeezed his fingers. “For me too. I mean that you’re there, but I want it to be a place 
where you enjoy living, too.”

“Give me some time. It’s big, but I’ve never lived with kids and a nanny. So maybe having 
room where we can retreat is a good thing.”

“We’ll make it work, Brian. The kids issue. I promise I won’t let the fact we have kids around 
strangle what we have between us.”

“Relax, Boyd. I never saw myself with a ready made family, never wanted to be the daddy 
figure, or mommy figure, or whatever the fuck role I have in this deal, but I love your children 
and no one planned for this to happen to them. I’m not a heartless bastard. I know they’ve 
been through hell. I want it to work.”

“They love you, too.”

“I know.”

“And I want us to incorporate Gus into the family. You have rights with him. I want to see that 
happen.”

“It’s complicated, but yeah, I do too.”

They were silent for a moment and then Brian said, “Do you kind of wish you were dead right 
now? Does your hair hurt? My hair hurts.”

“My fingernails hurt.”

“Let’s try to sleep.”

They were too uncomfortable to cozy up to each other, preferring the isolation of their own 
painful skin, but taking comfort that the other was nearby.

******************************

Daphne and Ted brought chilled Evian, a couple thermoses of chicken broth and a box of 
crackers into the sick room the next day. Braving contagion, they kept their distance as they 
faced the two wan, feverish victims who stayed in bed. Brian demanded short sound bytes as 
an update, unable to engage in a full-blown meeting. Armed with instructions on what to do at 
the site, she left while Ted stayed behind to receive his own instructions about how to file the 
deed to their house.

“Frank is doing a walk-through on the security requirements at the club, Brian. He’ll give you 
his recommendations on what he thinks needs to be incorporated in the structure.”

“And what’s he giving you?” Brian leered, ignoring Boyd’s elbow in his side. Ted turned 
crimson as he mumbled, 

“We’re taking it slow. We…really like each other and…”

“You owe him no answers, Ted.” Boyd intervened. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

“Whose side are you on?” Brian grumbled and Boyd glared at him.

“I’m playing in the adult league, Brian. Try it.”

Brian chuckled at that and fell back on his pillow with a dramatic moan. “Don’t hold out too 
long, Teddy. Frank’s hot. He can get it elsewhere.”

“Thanks for the advice, Brian,” Ted said with a frown as he retrieved the deed and assured 
Boyd he’d return with a certified copy showing it had been filed.

************************

Daphne was surprised by the number of sign-toting self-professed Christians who were 
picketing the Burn site when she arrived. She noticed the Rev himself wasn’t braving the heat 
and humidity to do battle for the Lord, but his sturdy minions were there. She ignored their 
cries and picked up a whole new slate of catcalls as soon as she passed the gates and entered 
the work site. The men at work were expressing their appreciation for how she looked in her 
short denim skirt and sleeveless shirt as she jutted her chin and pretended not to notice them 
while looking for Dora. 

When they escaped to the air-conditioned comfort of the trailer, Daphne relaxed. “Those guys 
are as bad as the Christians! First I wade through a pack who want to save my soul and then I 
walk into a pack who want to have their way with me! I’ve never commanded such complete 
attention before!”

Dora smiled and handed her a cold bottle of Coke. “The male Christians probably want the 
same thing my boys do, they just wrap it up in other words. But you look pretty delectable in 
that little outfit, so you can’t blame them for wishing.”

Daphne grinned at her. “Am I lesbian-licious too?”

Dora laughed. “Too young for my tastes, girlfriend. Too old for my son, need to find you one 
that’s just right.”

“I’m totally job focused right now,” she insisted, believing that to be true. “And I visited Brian 
in bed today, the poor baby.”

Dora stared at her. “I know what you mean, but do you know how that sounds?”

Daphne wrinkled her nose. “With Brian? Impossible? Anyway, they’re both still pretty sick, but 
he’s not so sick that he doesn’t have a punch list for you. Don’t kill the messenger, but here it 
is.” She read off Brian’s instructions, and Dora nodded when she finished. 

“They’re doable, many of them were things I asked him to make a call on. Glad he did. I’d ask 
you to go to lunch, but my son…”

They were interrupted by the arrival of her son, who was sweaty, dusty and sunburned from 
his own work site. He had shed his toolbelt, but still wore a hard hat over his shaggy hair and 
he looked from his mother to Daphne and stopped on Daphne. He barely heard the 
introduction his mother made and when Daphne thrust her hand out, he wiped his palm on his 
jeans, which did little other than redistribute the dust, before he shook hers. She said it was 
nice to meet him and told Dora she would leave them to it as she gathered her slim valise and 
left the trailer.

“You can roll your tongue in now, Scott, and wash those hands before you even think about 
eating,” his mother said and he came out of his daze to ask,

“Who the fuck is she?”

“She’s too old for you and way out of your league, son. That’s who she is.”

He puffed up his skinny chest as he bragged, “You don’t know who’s in and who’s not in my 
league, Ma.”

She just nodded and opened the lunch she had packed for them, deciding some points weren’t 
worth the fight. 
Current Mood:  sick

Aug. 1st, 2005
04:47 am - BURN, Chapter 17   
 
Randall for Brian, enjoy Burniacs (and for the record, how pathetic was his attempt to post his 
own chapter??? BWAHAAAA!!!)


***************************

Brian found himself composing a journal of his illness, written in his fevered brain:

“Plague, Day 2.

Woke up three times last night because the vomiting decided to take the southern route just to 
keep things interesting. There is no way there can be that much substance in my body to keep 
pace with the cramps and the byproduct of the cramps. Midway through round three, Boyd 
was telling me I had to let him have a turn on the throne. I love him, but what could I do? He 
was none too pleased with me when I finally limped back to bed. We obviously need to have 
better timing for our bouts. By daylight, we were both so weak and dehydrated that sitting up 
was an effort. Forced water. Forced water down him, too. He’s a funny color, halfway between 
gray and chalk. He tells me I’m hovering between mint and celadon. We both smell sick, from 
the sweat and God knows what else, but we’re both too tired and weak to shower, and we 
can’t stand the idea of needles of water hitting our flesh.

“Anything hitting our flesh hurts. The sheets hurt. My pores hurt. I’m hot on the outside and 
freezing and chilling inside. That describes me in more way than one, I guess. I’d laugh at that 
if humor were still possible. Boyd’s beautiful blue eyes turn sort of violet with a fever, which is 
really lovely. His hair is sticking up like a war bonnet, though. Big Chief Puking White Boy. But 
nothing, nothing, no one, not even Boyd, could make me horny right now. I’m completely 
disconnected from the waist down except for the occasional shit-attack and pathetic attempts 
to pee what little fluid remains in my body.

“The hotel tries to do good by us by offering to make us something easy on the GI system for 
breakfast. Just the thought of it makes us both groan in pain. Petra calls and tells us we need 
to do X-Y-Z to get better, or something like that. We ask for pain killers. She refuses. Russian 
bitch. Note to self, is she here legally or is she a spy? Second note to self, shut up, Brian. That 
woman has been wonderful to you.

“Ted and Daphne come in bearing soup and water. Ugh. Boyd rolls over and pulls a pillow over 
his head while I give Daphne some instructions about the site. Things for Dora to do, things for 
Daphne to do. Boyd emerges to tell Theodore how to file the deed and to jump my ass when I 
make fun of Ted and Frank. When we’re alone, we compare fevers. Mine is higher, of course. 
I’m so competitive. But it is a little lower than it was last night. Silver bullet time. Still no fun. 
Even less fun when your butt is raw. 

“We force water. We sleep. The maids arrive and quickly retreat after leaving towels and 
disinfecting the bathroom. No way we’re getting out of bed for fresh sheets. I want a bath, but 
I wonder if I have the strength to get in and out of the tub. I decide to try while he sleeps. The 
water feels fabulous and strangely soothing. I awake choking after I fell asleep and slipped 
below the water line. Idiot. I get out with a lot of effort and wrap in a robe because I’m 
suddenly freezing. But I feel less filthy. 

“Returning to the bed, he says, “Sick again?”

“No, almost drowned in the tub.”

“Brian!” He’s so cute when he’s fed up with me. Then, “I want a bath, too, but I’m too 
exhausted.”

“I help him into the tub and then I sit on the toilet, watching to make sure he doesn’t drown. 
He keeps looking at me as if I might suddenly explode with something foul and smelly, even 
though the lid’s closed. I’m finally running on empty. I help him out, and wrap him in a robe as 
we stumble back to bed. He thinks he may try some of that broth in a thermos. I’m not there 
yet. He takes one sip, winces, pushes it away. Knew it. And then my mobile rings. So ends this 
mental journal.”

“Yeah?” Brian expected his sister when he saw the number on the display.

“You cocksucking traitor! You fucking piece of shit!”

“Hi, John,” Brian said with a smile. “Nice way to greet your uncle.”

“Fuck you! I disown you! I disown all of the Kinney family!”

“You mean I won’t inherit under your will?” He decided he must be a little better if he could 
joke with this pint-sized jerk off.

“Glad you think it’s so funny. I thought you of all people might understand, you might even be 
supportive. But no. You side with her and make it possible for her to send me away to some 
fucking prison!”

“John, get your gay fantasies straight. This is the all-male military school fantasy. Not the men 
behind bars fantasy.”

“You’re not funny. And I’m leaving. I’m going to San Francisco or New York or somewhere so I 
can live a real life without that bitch mother of mine or my faggot uncle trying to control me.”

“Good plan. Living on what? Your sweet personality? Peddling your candy ass? That will last 
only until you get AIDS, or turn into a junkie or get offed by some crazy john. Or all of the 
above. No one hires kids your age to do legit work, Johnny boy.”

“I could model.”

Brian laughed at that. “You’re not that cute. Besides, again, no one would hire you without 
Mommy Dearest on the dotted line. Why don’t you just calm yourself down?”

“What do you think you would have done if they tried to send you to military school?”

“Cried for happy? Locked up with a bunch of buff and horny teenaged boys? Throw me in that 
briar patch.”

“I’m just being punished because she’s afraid I’m gay, like you!”

“The funny thing is, she doesn’t even know you’re gay, John. She just thinks you’re out of 
control. Which it sounds like you are. You’re still a kid. You have no business doing what you’re 
doing. I’m with her on that. You need to get a grip or at least be smart about it. Why are you 
rubbing her face in your bad behavior? You do that and look what happens. You get shipped 
off to military school.”

“I won’t go.”

“We’ll see about that,” Brian winced as he realized how he sounded so much like his own 
father. The all powerful Jack. 

“I hate you, Brian.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Grow up, John. Get a brain.”

He hung up and Boyd stared at his lover. “What the fuck?”

“I’m trying to remember when I turned into a drama queen. Was I fourteen? Maybe so. That 
was definitely how old I was when I had my first hot sex with an older man. He’s threatening 
to run away. Should I warn Claire?”

“Why not?”

“She’ll level him and then he’ll never tell me anything ever again. I don’t know. Maybe I should 
keep that door open. It’s a hard time in a queer kid’s life.”

“Do you think he’ll run?”

Brian fell back on the pillow. “Maybe, I don’t know. Living on the streets sounds a lot more 
romantic than it is. I ran away once. Moved in with Deb and Mikey, adventurous soul that I 
was.”

“I ran away when I was five. Went to Homer’s house.”

They both laughed. Boyd leaned over to kiss Brian’s warm cheek. “You’re a good man, Mr. 
Kinney. You care.”

“I hate that kid.”

“Liar.”

“Ok, maybe hate is too strong a word.”

“Quit trying to be Mr. Tough Guy, Brian. I’ve got your number.”

Brian smiled at Boyd. “I know.”

They let their fingers entwine as they tried once more to sleep.

***********************************

“Why can’t we go home to Daddy and Brian?” Belle pouted as Lisette put another load of 
vacation laundry into the washing machine at her house in the Quarter. 

“I told you, Belle, Daddy and Brian are both really sick. They don’t want to make you and Mac 
sick, too. So you’re staying with us until they’re better. Is that so terrible?”

“I want my Daddy. I want Brian,” she whined, and Lisette squatted down to be at her level and 
put her arms around the little girl’s waist. 

“I know, honey,” Lisette wasn’t insulted by Belle’s need. She knew she loved her and that she 
loved Petra, but after all she’d been through, wanting to know that her father was nearby and 
safe was understandable. “And they miss you, too. But let them get on their feet. We could call 
them, but we might wake them up.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Tummy flu. Throwing up, all that bad stuff.”

“Will they die?”

Lisette smiled and hugged her close. “No, honey. Of course they won’t die. By tomorrow, 
they’ll be even better and the day after that, better still. However, you know how I told you 
Grandpa is having that surgery on his heart?” Belle nodded. “Well, I have to go to the hospital 
tomorrow to be with your grandma while she waits, especially since your Aunt Luann is still out 
of the country, and Petra has to go to work at her hospital. So we’re having a good friend stay 
with you and Mac tomorrow. Her name is Jane and she’s an English nanny just like Mary 
Poppins. She loves kids.”

“Can she do magic things like Mary Poppins?”

“No, but you won’t mind that. She’ll be a lot of fun. And she’ll make you her favorite dish for 
lunch, Toad in a Hole.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide. “Is it a frog? Sometimes Madam Dhue makes frog legs and I won’t eat 
them.”

“No frogs, just a funny name. You guys will have so much fun. She’s going to take you to the 
Aquarium.”

“Is Grandpa going to die?”

Lisette paused. How much should she tell her? If he did die and she told her he wouldn’t, 
would she be even more worried about Boyd and Brian? Would she ever trust Lisette again? 
Bonnie’s sudden death had such deep repercussions on these kids. The shrink was helping, but 
the scars were broad and fresh. “Grandpa’s an old man, and he never took care of himself. He 
let himself get fat and he never exercised and now his heart is just tired. If he doesn’t have 
this surgery, he’ll die. But the surgery itself is very serious and there’s a chance he might not 
make it. That chance is not as big as what would happen if he didn’t have the surgery. Do you 
understand?”

“You mean he could die?” Belle cut to the chase.

“Yes, honey, but he has great doctors and we are very hopeful that he’ll be just fine.” Lisette’s 
personal wish for her father was that he would pull through, but she had little emotion left for 
the man. It was different for Belle. He had always been kind to her. She clouded up and threw 
her arms around Lisette’s neck.

“I don’t want Grandpa to die!”

“I know, Belle, and we won’t think that he will. We’ll be hopeful.”

“Can’t Petra make him better?”

“She isn’t a heart doctor, Belle. He has to have a special doctor who knows about hearts.”

“I want to talk to my Daddy.”

“Okay, honey, let’s give him a call.” Some things were worth disturbing Boyd’s peace. After a 
brief conversation with Boyd on the phone, Belle seemed to be better and Lisette took over the 
phone as Belle skipped off to the kitchen for a Popsicle. “Sorry that we woke you, but she was 
having an insecure moment because of Dad and everything.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be there, Lis. I feel like I’m abandoning you with Mom.”

“No one expects you to go, Boyd. You’re contagious.”

“Will you call and let me know how he’s doing?”

“Of course. At least it’s here in town.”

“Who’s watching the kids?”

“Jane, your soon to be nanny, if you have a brain.”

“Shit, I need to close that deal. We bought the house.”

“No shit!”

“Yeah. But don’t take the kids by it, I want to surprise them.”

“Duh. Boyd, don’t let Mother or even Daddy blackmail you into running that fucking mill. As far 
as I’m concerned, they can sell the damned thing. Daddy is such a control freak, he never 
developed any bench strength on his management team. Whose fault is that? With Rex in 
prison, he has no one primed to step up to the plate. It’s not fair to ask you to do it, especially 
not after the way they treated you and Brian.”

“I told her to ask you to do it.”

She laughed. “Dad would let the janitor run things before asking me. You know that. He wants 
to rope you into the business. You may be queer, but you still have a dick and in his mind that 
puts you way ahead of me in the running a business department. Unless you want to do it, 
don’t even get started.”

“Of course I don’t want to do it. I want to move here. I want to run the art gallery. I want to 
settle into my real life.” He let his hand drift across the sheets to rest on a sleeping Brian’s 
biceps. “Everything I care about is here.”

“Stay strong, bro’. You can be too nice for your own good, and I know how manipulative 
Mother can be. Here’s Mac. Say hello to your son.”

After a brief conversation with Mac, Boyd hung up and lay back with a sigh. “How are they?” 
Brian mumbled and he smiled at his lover.

“You fake sleep so well.”

“I was asleep through part of it. How are the kids?”

“They miss us.”

“We miss them too.”

“Yeah. Should we hire that Jane person?”

“You’ve interviewed a few others, what do you think?”

“I think she’s really, really expensive. But good.”

“Did you get the report back from Bo who was looking into her creds?”

“It all checks out.”

“I trust him. I know he did a thorough job.”

Boyd let his hand linger on Brian’s stubbly cheek. “You feel cooler.”

“Yeah, I’m not aching as much. You?” he reached over and rested the back of his hand on 
Boyd’s forehead. “Cooler.”

“You want to try some rice and applesauce?”

“You first.”

Boyd smiled and picked up the phone, cajoling the kitchen into accommodating them. As soon 
as he hung up, the phone rang and he answered. The doctor who treated them asked to speak 
to Brian. Brian took the phone, spoke briefly to him, and then hung up. “He said my blood 
work was fine.”

“Thank god.”

“Still HIV neg, too.”

Boyd smiled. “You’d better be.”

“No exposure except from you and you’re a good boy. Right?”

“Are you seriously asking me if I cheat on you?”

“Not seriously. But I’ve been cheated on before when I was too stupid to know.”

“Not by me. Fuck that, Brian.”

Brian reached for him, pulling him close, noticing the embrace no longer hurt his skin. Boyd 
didn’t resist, but didn’t concede, either. He was mad. Brian kissed his neck. “Don’t hate me for 
my insecurities.”

“I hate your insecurities, not you.”

“We’ve seen each other at our worst, now, and we still love each other, right?”

“I still love you and this isn’t our worst. We’ll have worse than this to survive. This was easy.”

“But unattractive. Except for your eyes. Your eyes turn a beautiful color when you’re sick. Sort 
of like violets.”

Boyd smiled and tightened his hold on Brian. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

“It’s true.”

They kissed. Something stirred. Their eyes met. Boyd smiled. Shrugged. Brian said, “Maybe 
just a little?”

“It’s been a couple days, after all,” Boyd agreed.

Brian’s fingers slipped down to fondle Boyd’s cock, feeling it lengthen under his touch. His own 
cock responded in kind. “We could just jerk each other off,” he suggested as Boyd’s hand 
returned the favor.

“Yeah, I don’t think jizz is on the BRAT diet. And neither of us has the strength to top.”

“I could come, though,” Brian realized, feeling the familiar throb in his dick.

“Me too,” Boyd agreed as their stroking became more intense. They kissed and pulled and just 
as they were nearing conclusion, a knock on the door announced the arrival of their rice and 
applesauce. 

“No way,” Brian said, too close to stop. “Hold on!” He called out to the room service waiter and 
then pulled back the sheet so his cum wouldn’t hit the linens, splattering his abdomen, 
instead. Boyd did the same, crying out as the milky stream arched out of his cock and onto his 
belly. A towel passed between them. Brian pulled on a robe and walked to the door, surprised 
by how weak that one little interlude made him feel. Weak but more at ease. Sex, and even 
better, sex with someone you loved, was still the best medicine of all in the Brian Kinney 
operator’s manual. He admitted the waiter and when they were alone, they both stared at the 
pathetic little mounds of applesauce and white rice.

“Into the valley of death…” Boyd said, and with a dramatic flair, forked a mouthful down and 
when it didn’t come back up, Brian followed suit. Their recovery was officially on track. 
Current Mood:  blah
Aug. 4th, 2005
 
07:14 pm - BURN, Chapter 18 
I want to thank the girls in the B/J journal icon club for making me these great icons of 
Bellamy! Thanks Gin, Jen, Arness, Sandi and Heather! Also HAPPY ANNIVERSARY to Randall 
and Cael for their TWO YEARS of Point/Counterpoint. Unfortunately, Randall is so buried in 
work right now, I'm not sure when he'll be back to his journal. Anyway, here it is. Thanks, 
Brian 

Bellamy Beaufort leaned back in his leather chair. Dawn was just now visible on the horizon, 
creating an amber glow that suggested the worst heat was yet to come. This old building had 
charm and history, but a lousy HVAC system. Sometimes Bellamy wished the city would 
sacrifice charm in favor of one of the more modern buildings on the other side of Canal. He 
switched on the Sharper Image desk fan that resided on his credenza, just to stir the humid 
air, as he scrolled through his electronic calendar on the flat screen of his computer, using a 
wireless mouse. 

The usual engagements popped up. A city council meeting at four blocked out all of his 
evening. It could end at six, or it could end at midnight. There was little order to these 
meetings, and much of the timing depended on how many citizens showed up and demanded 
to be heard on various grievances. Whatever happened, his night was shot, because the stress 
of these tense sessions took it out of him, mentally and physically. All he wanted to do when it 
was over was to go home and crash. 

The remainder of his calendar was typical for a council day. He had a meeting with his direct 
reports at two-thirty to go over the agenda and highlight any items that were critical. Before 
that, lunch with the mayor at noon. He knew the purpose of that lunch was to curry his favor 
on a vote for an urban renewal program that had the mayor’s attention. The fact that the 
mayor’s family was involved in the construction business gave Bellamy pause. Self-dealing 
may be the Louisiana way, but it wasn’t his way. At eleven, a meeting with a special interest 
group who sought Mardi Gras reforms aimed at correcting the drunken spectacle that the 
holiday had become. Yeah, why not have a special interest group to change the direction of the 
flow of the Mississippi River? It would be just as likely. New Orleans lived and died on Mardi 
Gras revenues. But he would listen and nod and feign interest. That’s what politicians did.

He would promise nothing. That wasn’t his style. If he had no dog in the hunt, he wouldn’t 
pretend that he did. At ten, he met with the City Attorney about some zoning issues. From 
one-thirty to two-thirty, representatives from some coalition known as the “Christian Way” 
wanted to meet about the old church that was being turned into a gay club. That one had legs. 
The press had picked it up, and the gay community, which was substantial in his district, had 
not yet taken up the cause, so there was at least the potential for political advancement. It 
appeared that he was free until ten, and maybe a little time before one-thirty, if lunch with the 
mayor ran short. He seldom had such gaps in his schedule, especially on a council meeting 
day. Perhaps he could catch up on the mound of paperwork on his desk. He was tired of 
coming in before dawn and staying past midnight just to remain in front of the avalanche of 
responsibility that arrived daily.

Politics was worse than working for a big law firm. The money sucked if you weren’t into graft, 
and the social demands encroached on your private time. What private time? The only way he 
stayed in shape was because he had a gym in his home so he could squeeze in a workout at 
odd hours. Very odd hours. As for his social life…forget it.

He glanced at a framed photograph on his credenza from last year’s black tie Mardi Gras ball. 
He was wearing a tux, with each arm around a beautiful black woman, neither of whom meant 
a thing to him. His reputation as the playboy councilman and one of the city’s most eligible 
bachelors was a crock. He was a hit and run artist with women, mainly because he had no time 
to maintain a relationship. Instead, he got his rocks off and moved on. He was always careful, 
no unwanted diseases or children were going to hold him back. Always the Teflon lover, no 
grasping hands found purchase on him. 

He knew that sooner or later he’d have to find someone suitable, educated, pretty, good 
family, understanding, supportive, fertile, no scandals, and marry her. For his political career 
to move forward, he had to have the requisite wife and children. A woman who would 
sublimate her own ambitions to his. He wasn’t looking for a “Billary” partnership of equals. He 
had enough advisors, and no interest in sleeping with any of them. For now, he just couldn’t 
stomach the wife quest. He was still young. He had time. But not a lot of time. People 
questioned single politicians, suspecting them of being gay or of being dawgs. Either way, he 
lost. He wasn’t gay, but he was a bit of a dawg, and that fact could hurt him.

His phone rang, shocking him out of his daydream of conjugal complications. No one was at 
City Hall at this hour. Even the cleaning crew was long gone. Who would call so early from the 
outside? He picked up. “Bellamy Beaufort,” he prided himself in his accessibility. 

“Listen up, you dumb nigger. You best vote for that renewal project tonight, or it’s gonna be 
more than your witch mama’s house that burns, ya hear me?”

Bellamy felt the rage blister as he glanced at caller ID. No information. He had been schooled 
at one of the South’s most elite private academies as a boy, a place where blacks had been 
welcome for no more than five years before he enrolled. He went to Duke University after that 
for his undergraduate degree and then to Harvard Law School, where he graduated magna 
cum laude. He was one of the youngest city council members in the history of this town. And 
yet to this ignorant cracker and his brethren, he would always be a “nigger”. “Are you 
threatening me? Because it’s a felony to threaten a city official,” he said with an icy edge. “Do 
you really want that kind of trouble?”

“Fuck you, nigger. Find me first. You watch your vote. I know where you live.”

The man hung up and Bellamy leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to calm down. Anger 
would get him nowhere. Logically, how did this idiot know he would be in his office at this 
hour? Was he being watched? Was it someone close enough to the city’s political structure to 
know his work habits? Was it someone aligned with the mayor? Did he really think calling him 
a “nigger” and threatening him would sway his vote? He was more determined than ever to 
vote against the project. Urban renewal his black ass. It was a politically correct phrase for the 
displacement of people who couldn’t afford a better home in order to build flats for rich people 
who wanted to pretend to be urban pioneers. And the mayor would get even richer by 
contracting the business to his own companies. 

Bellamy would report the call to security because he was obligated to do so. But if he had a 
dime for every racial slur he’d endured, for every threat from the old power structure of the 
south, and their minions, he’d be richer than the mayor. He never let fear rule his life. Growing 
up with a mother like his and Andre Beaufort for a father, he developed armor early in life. 
Thinking of Andre made him feel sad for a moment. As problematical as their relationship had 
been, he still missed his father. The first time he recalled crying to his father about having 
been called “nigger” his father said, 

“My father was white, my mother was black, so I was never part of either world. Therefore I 
made myself part of both. We live on this planet together, all of us. Walk past the ignorant 
ones and spend your valuable time with someone who has something meaningful to say. 
Regardless of color.”

Andre Beaufort didn’t just win international acclaim for his poetry, and wasn’t just a brilliant 
writer of award winning plays that were staged on Broadway, in London, and other major 
venues, or write biographies that won Pulitzers and were on the best seller lists for months at 
a time. He had been also a wise man and a philosopher. And he bred his only heir with a 
fucking voodoo queen. Bellamy would never understand the complex relationship between 
Pearl and Andre, especially since Andre was an uncloseted homosexual. Bellamy suspected she 
put some kind of spell on Andre, for as much as he didn’t want to believe in his mother’s 
powers, he knew for a fact they were real. 

Bellamy made a mental note to call Charles. Charles had been Andre’s life partner for over 
thirty years. He was part of Andre’s life when Bellamy was conceived, and Bellamy often 
thought of Charles as his true “mother”. Since Charles decided to move to the house he owned 
with Andre in Savannah, after being mugged and severely beaten by thugs in the Quarter two 
years ago, Bellamy saw much less of him. But they spoke several times a week and emailed 
each other daily. Since Bellamy now lived in the gracious town house one block off Bourbon 
Street that Andre and Charles shared throughout their life together, he always felt close to him 
in that familiar environment.

It was very strange to come home at night to a house with an historical marker noting that 
Andre Beaufort had created many of his best known works while living in this place. To 
Bellamy, Andre was dad, not an important literary figure of his time. Their lives couldn’t have 
been more different, but the only thing they ever really argued over was Bellamy’s feelings 
towards Pearl. Andre loved Pearl in a way and for reasons Bellamy could never understand.

“It’s purely spiritual,” Andre tried once to explain when Bellamy was old enough to understand 
about men and women and men and men. Bellamy had laughed at that.

“Not purely if I’m your kid. You told me it was done the natural way, not with a turkey baster 
and a Dixie cup.”

“The fact that I had sex with your mother a few times and that you’re the result of that activity 
doesn’t change my spiritual link to Pearl. The sex was nothing more than a necessity to create 
a life. Charles was always there, always part of it. It was a triad of affection.”

Bellamy winced at that. He could see his untraditional mother in a three way with two men, 
but two gay men? And it seemed so out of character for both Charles and Andre. “You mean 
Charles could be my father?” Bellamy loved Charles, but when he pictured the slight, very 
white, very soft- spoken effeminate man, he couldn’t make a genetic link. Not possible. 
Bellamy looked so much like Andre that it was a naïve suggestion. Andre had laughed.

“Charles was there for me, and to be included, Bell, not for Pearl. After you were conceived, 
there was no physical relationship between Pearl and me, but the spiritual connection remains 
just as strong as ever.”

“Why didn’t you just go the artificial route and skip all that?”

“Because we both wanted it to be real, and I’m not such a faggot that I can’t perform with a 
woman. I suppose that, technically, I should be referred to as bisexual. I’ve had other women, 
but does it really matter? I made my life with Charles. He’s my love. What interest do I have in 
labels?”

“Earth to Bell?” His assistant was talking to him. Bellamy shook out of his reverie and glanced 
at the clock. It was after eight. The sun was now at full bore outside his window. Shuffling 
paper and daydreaming about his father had taken up his early morning. 

“Sorry, Kathy,” he said with a smile. “Lost in space. What’s up?”

“These are your schedule changes,” she handed him a print out. “This is the backup on the 
agenda items for the meeting tonight,” she handed him a binder filled with paper and tabbed 
by item. “One of the cell phone companies in the area sent you a fancy new phone. They have 
some towers pending zoning approval, so there’s a potential conflict.”

He shook his head. “You know my rule on that. Send it back with a note explaining I don’t 
accept in-kind contributions from corporations.” Nor was his vote for sale. “Who’s this?” He 
motioned to an early entry on his calendar. It wasn’t there before. Kathy looked chagrined. 
She had been working for the city in various jobs long before Bellamy was born. She could 
retire at any time on full pension, but she loved it and he loved having her order his life. He 
couldn’t bear to think of her leaving. She was his Cerebrus at the Gates of Hell, protecting his 
calendar. If this person got an appointment, than this person was worthy of a meeting. 

“She wore me down. She’s irrepressible. Persistent. I like her, and I don’t know why. I told her 
she has fifteen minutes.”

“But what does it mean, ‘burn’?” That word was written after her name. 

“It’s that church issue. The one they’re turning into a gay club? You’re meeting with the other 
side later today. She’s here for the owner.”

“Is there some city issue pending?”

“Not that I can find. They seem to have all the relevant permits and no zoning issues are in the 
chute.”

“So what does this have to do with me?”

“Bell, would you just meet with her for fifteen minutes? Listen to her, and then if you tell me 
not to book her again, I have the ammunition to shut her up. Which isn’t going to be an easy 
task. She talks faster than an auctioneer.”

Bellamy smiled. “Okay, I’ll meet with my lesbian sister.”

“Why is she a lesbian?”

“I thought you said she owned this club. I figured that made her one of the tribe.”

“She works for the owner. I have no clue what tribe she’s with.”

“Okay, but when her fifteen minutes is up, you get her the hell out of my office. I have a full 
day.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” she said with a scowl and he nodded. He knew he didn’t. She 
positioned a fresh pitcher of ginger tea behind his desk, on the credenza, along with a small 
crystal bucket of ice. Bellamy wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but he lived on ginger tea. 

He was sipping his second glass of the brew when Kathy announced his appointment had 
arrived. He put on his best politician’s face and stood to greet his constituent. He was 
unprepared for the petite whirlwind of energy who blew in, wearing a short white linen dress 
and white high heeled sandals. Her hair was pulled up in a frothy do, her coral jewelry was a 
perfect contrast against her café au lait skin. She grinned at him as she thrust out a hand to 
be shaken, engulfed by his big hand. He waved her into a chair at his small conference table, 
joining her there. Kathy asked her if she would like something to drink and returned with the 
bottle of water that Daphne requested. She then left them and closed the door behind her, 
after shooting her boss a warning look. She picked up on Bellamy’s attraction to the girl, even 
before Bellamy had internalized it. 

“So,” Daphne began with a bright smile. “How do you feel about homos?”

Bellamy blinked. This was going to be an interesting meeting.

***********************************************

“You absolutely, positively cannot go out,” Brian insisted as Boyd began to dress, still damp 
from a shower. Day three of the stomach flu had begun. They both ate the BRAT diet the day 
before, kept it down, slept, felt a little stronger, their fevers broken. “Richard said to stay out 
of the heat and rest for one more day, at least.”

“I’m just going a few blocks, Brian. I’ll take a cab. I have to meet this space designer at the 
gallery. Do you know how hard it is to get on his fucking calendar? Who knows when I can get 
him there again? It will be a very short meeting. He wants to walk the space, get my general 
ideas, and then he’ll go off and do his thing and come back when he’s ready with his design.”

“Sure. Pleased to meet you, sorry about giving you the fucking flu.”

“I think if my fever broke, I’m not contagious.”

Brian shook his head. “When did you get that medical degree? Richard said no kids until the 
weekend. That means the contagion is still real.”

“Brian, I need to do this.”

The phone rang and Brian picked it up with a short-tempered, “What?”

Lisette laughed. “You get grumpy when you’re sick.”

“I’m always grumpy. How is your dad?”

“My father is still in ICU, but they tell us he’s doing as well as can be expected. He looks like 
death warmed over to me. He’s all puffy and hooked to weird machines. Petra says its 
business as usual. He had that little complication during surgery, as you know, but he’s 
stronger than I imagined. Still critical.”

“Your dad is still alive,” Brian said curtly to Boyd who glared at him, and then went back to 
Lisette. “Your stupid brother is getting dressed to go out in this heat against doctor’s orders. 
And you thought I was the reckless one.”

“Oh no he isn’t. Let me talk to him.”

Brian shook the receiver at Boyd, who sighed and took it from him. “Before you start, Lis, I’m 
only going to the gallery, for a brief meeting, and then coming right back to bed.”

“What meeting is so important that it can’t wait?”

Boyd explained and she was unmoved. “He’s a fucking interior designer. He wants your 
money. He’ll reschedule.”

“He’s a space designer, Lisette. A specialist in utilizing and using commercial space to its best 
advantage. He’s a genius. I had a hell of a time getting this appointment. So shut up and let 
me run my own life.”

“I’m running your life, Boyd. I’m caring for your children, I’m dealing with your psycho mother, 
I’m sitting around the hospital with your critically ill father, all so you can get well. So get back 
in bed and get fucking well.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You two are quite the tag team. Here’s Brian. I have to go.” He 
leaned over to kiss Brian, who leaned out of reach, too angry to respond. “Be that way,” Boyd 
said with a shrug and then added, “I’ll be back in a half hour. I promise.”

“Don’t expect any loving care from me if you relapse due to your own stupidity.”

“I won’t.” He left with a wave and Brian sighed and said to Lisette,

“He’s the most stubborn man I’ve ever known.”

She laughed. “Looked in a mirror lately?”

Brian smiled. “At this point in our illness, we’ve covered all mirrors so we don’t scare 
ourselves.”

“You need anything?”

“A leash. For him.”

“Good luck with that. Brian, don’t let them bully Boyd into running that fucking mill. It will 
swallow him whole. You’ll never get him out of Canard Rouge.”

“He doesn’t want to, Lis, but that’s got to be his call. I can’t make it for him.”

“You can encourage him.”

“I encourage him to do what he thinks is best.”

“It’s best that he not run that mill.”

Brian was silent. He didn’t want Boyd sucked into that operation either, but he knew Boyd had 
to make that call. “Isn’t it possible that your dad will be back in the saddle in a few weeks?”

“Anything is possible, but not likely. He’s old, he’s fat, he had a hard time in surgery, if he 
comes back at all, it’s going to be a slow process.”

“Whatever. I can’t control Boyd, in case you haven’t noticed.”

She laughed. “You certainly do a better job at it than anyone I’ve seen over the years. You two 
okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Lots of stress. Your business, the house, the kids, his business, the illness, and now this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Brian said with finality. “Give the kids a hug for me. I’m going to take a nap.”

“Okay, feel better.”

They hung up and Brian sighed as he cushioned his head on the pillow. He knew he wouldn’t 
be able to sleep until Boyd was back, safe and sound. A knock. He got up, wearing only a pair 
of softly laundered heather gray sweat pants as he opened the door and stared at Lady P. She 
took in his disheveled hair, stubbly beard and slightly gaunt appearance as she handed him a 
crockpot. It was heavy. “What’s this?” he asked.

“Family cure. Just consider it the island version of chicken soup, with a little voudon on the 
side.”

“We’re supposed to be on a BRAT diet.”

“You must trust me on this, Brian. You eat the soup, you’ll get better faster. So long as you’re 
keeping food down now, it’s time to eat the cure. Just plug it in to keep it warm, and nibble at 
it all day. By tomorrow, you’ll be fine.”

“Will I grow a third eye?”

She smiled at him. “You already grew that third eye, cher.”

He laughed. “I meant one that can see.”

“No promises. Where’s Boyd? Bathroom?”

“Don’t get me started,” he said, waving her in as he plugged in the crockpot and lifted the lid, 
inhaling the delectable scent. Suddenly he felt hungry. She produced a bowl off his room 
service tray and he filled it with the brew, which resembled homemade chicken noodle soup, 
but smelled like something from heaven and tasted even better. She sat down in a chair, 
smiling as he ate, waiting for him to fill her in on his lover.
Current Mood:  annoyed


August 7th, 2005
 
08:00 am - BURN, Chapter 19
Posting for Brian. Thanks to all who wished me well for the Point/Counterpoint two year 
anniversary. Enjoy this one! Ran


********************************

By the time the taxi dropped him off, and Boyd unlocked the door, he was shaking. “Damn,” 
Boyd realized. “Brian was right.” He was sweating, weak and exhausted. He drank deeply from a 
bottle of Evian that he brought with him, and cranked up the air conditioning inside the gallery. 
When his appointment arrived, Boyd was surprised that the designer was a tall, very butch man, 
but from the way he cruised Boyd upon meeting him, he was also gay. Boyd expected gay, he 
just didn’t expect tall and butch.

As they walked through the gallery and discussed Boyd’s views, the man jotted a few notes into 
a palm pilot and suggested some obvious revisions, saving his complete plan for later. Walking 
up the circular staircase was like climbing Mt. Everest for Boyd. He sat down heavily on the 
couch when they reached the top. “Sorry, I’m just getting over the flu,” he explained and the 
designer sat beside him with a smile.

“No worries. I had it two weeks ago. It was like the longest and worst hangover on record.”

Boyd laughed. “That pretty well describes it.”

The designer reached over and brushed Boyd’s fair hair off his forehead. “You look pretty good 
to be in the recovery phase. Maybe a little pale.”

Boyd restored his hair to its former place as if to let the guy know he wasn’t interested, by using 
a gesture. “Thanks. My partner got it too.” Not too subtle, but definitely a stake driven. The 
designer shrugged.

“Mine gave it to me. Thanks very much.”

“We got it about the same time,” Boyd said. So he had a partner, too. Had he misread that 
touch? Was the guy coming onto him or not? Boyd wasn’t very good at calling these things.

“We should get to know each other a little better, Boyd,” his arm snaked across Boyd’s 
shoulders. “It would help me understand what makes you tick, what you want.”

Nope, he was right the first time. Boyd stood up and started walking towards the storage area. 
“I’m pretty up front. What you see is what you get with me.”

“Really? I like what I see and wouldn’t mind getting it,” the designer flirted, following Boyd to 
the back. 

Boyd decided to just ignore that remark. “I’d like to make this more than a storeroom. I see a 
sitting area with a table right here so the clients can be comfortable while we show them works 
taken from the drawers or the racks. Nothing fancy, just comfortable. Gallery employees can 
also use the space when examining a work we store here.” He turned to the small, high 
windows. “If we could expand these windows to bring in more light, that would be good. But I’d 
want to be able to shut the sun out when no one was here in order to protect the works that 
may be outside a drawer.” He tensed as he felt the man’s hands spread on his ass. The 
unfamiliar, lean body pressed against Boyd. His cock was a stiffening and unwelcome presence 
next to Boyd’s butt. He kissed the back of Boyd’s neck with repellant intimacy. Boyd tensed, 
shocked by the move, too stunned to immediately react.

“Interrupting something?” Brian’s voice. Boyd pushed the designer away and turned to face his 
lover, who wore running shoes that had quieted his step on the stairs. He was flushed from the 
heat outside, his dark t-shirt ringed with sweat, his faded jeans low on his hips from his recent 
weight loss. He was angry, that was evident, but more than that, he was hurt. 

“Brian,” Boyd started to say, but Brian held up a hand and turned, walking out of the room, and 
down the stairs. The designer laughed.

“Drama queen, isn’t he?”

“You should go,” Boyd demanded as he followed his lover’s path. 

“I’ll work up some sketches.”

“Don’t bother,” Boyd called over his shoulder at him. “I’ll pay you for this consultation, but I 
don’t need your help beyond today.”

“You’re joking, right?” the designer followed him down and Boyd waved him out the front door 
as he said, 

“I’m not joking. Who the fuck do you think you are to put your hands all over me?”

“Oh Christ, sister, get over yourself. Who are you? The virgin bride?”

“I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the guy who’s not interested in you.” He locked the door as they 
walked out on the street. Boyd saw Brian turn left at the far corner. He jogged after him, as fast 
as he could manage, given his current condition, and grabbed Brian’s arm as he closed in on 
him. Brian yanked free, and kept walking, until Boyd pushed him up against the nearest wall of 
a building and held firmly to his shoulders when he tried to resist.

“Stop it, Brian! Stop. Listen to me.”

Brian’s look of pain and confusion gave him the appearance of the little boy he once was. Boyd 
thought Brian had never been more beautiful than he was at that moment, or more vulnerable. 
“He grabbed me. I didn’t expect it, didn’t welcome it. I fired his skanky ass. What’s going on in 
that head of yours? Do you really think I was going to fuck that guy?”

“I know what I saw,” Brian said in a flat monotone. “And maybe it wasn’t fucking but it was the 
preliminaries.”

“He grabbed me, Brian. He wasn’t the first and he won’t be the last. So what? I have no interest 
in him. I’d never let him go anywhere with it. You can’t honestly believe I’m running around on 
you, can you? I love you. I don’t want anyone else. You can’t be this insecure. You should know 
me better by now.”

Brian’s hazel eyes were like lasers scanning Boyd for veracity and then he slumped a little and 
looked down at his feet, sucking in his lower lip, unable to speak. Boyd smoothed his hands up 
and down Brian’s arms and pressed his forehead to his. “You’re it for me, Brian. Never doubt 
that.”

“Faggots. Get a room,” some man grumbled as he walked by and Brian smiled at that insult, and 
then said,

“I can’t believe how much that hurt, Boyd. I felt like someone stuck a knife in me. I’ve never 
been the grasping type before. Seeing his hands on you, watching him kiss your neck, it wasn’t 
rage that I felt. It was devastation.”

Boyd lifted his chin and kissed him on the lips. “It didn’t feel so great from my side, either. It 
was a violation. I didn’t want his hands on me, or to feel his body against mine. It didn’t turn me 
on, Brian. In fact, it made me feel a little panicky.”

“We’re so fucked,” Brian concluded, wrapping his arms around Boyd and pulling him in. Boyd 
smiled.

“I know. Why did you come over, anyway?”

“I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“You should’ve stayed in bed.”

“Then what would’ve happened?”

Boyd nudged him with his knee. “Nothing would have happened, you jerk. I would’ve pushed 
him away and fired him, which is exactly what I did. I don’t need that shit from someone I’m 
paying ridiculously high fees to. I understand that with what he charges, a blow job should be 
included, but at least let the client decide if he wants that additional service.”

Brian laughed. “He was kind of hot looking.”

“You think so? I thought he was pretty ridiculous looking. Trying too hard.” They began walking 
towards the hotel, their hands entwined, ignoring any negative looks they drew. 

“I’m getting mad now, belatedly,” Brian realized.

“At me?”

“No, at him. Now I want to punch him out.”

“Don’t bother. He’d only sue you. Besides, you’re too weak right now to hit anyone.”

“I need to sit down.”

“I know, me too.”

“No, I need to sit down now.” Brian grabbed onto Boyd’s arm, the stress of the outing and the 
emotional intensity of his reaction to seeing that man pawing his lover suddenly drained him of 
all strength. Boyd saw how chalky Brian’s face had become and propelled him through the 
nearest doorway into a small café. He seated him on a wooden bench where diners waited for a 
table during more crowded times, and pressed his head downward, towards his knees.

“Put your head down. Breathe,” he rubbed circles into the damp back of Brian’s shirt and 
demanded a glass of water from the startled hostess. They were ahead of the lunch curve and 
the place looked deserted. She brought him a glass and a linen napkin. Boyd wetted the napkin 
and pressed it to the back of Brian’s neck. He then offered him a sip when he finally sat up. 
Brian’s hand was shaking when he reached for the glass, so Boyd held it up to his lips for him. 
He moved the damp napkin over Brian’s blanched face. 

“Sit here and don’t move,” Boyd instructed him. “I’m going to get us a cab.”

“I can walk two blocks, Boyd,” Brian protested.

“Just sit,” he said as if admonishing a naughty dog. Brian felt too weak to argue.

“Are you okay?” the pretty hostess asked as Boyd left him there and Brian shrugged.

“Loose definition, I guess so.”

“You’re from out of town,” she correctly identified his accent. Or lack thereof. “People from the 
north react badly to the heat.”

“It’s not that. I’m getting over swamp fever.”

“What’s that?”

“A potentially fatal disease that makes you do uncharacteristic things with the rest of your life.”

She giggled. “Are you single?”

“Oh Christ”, Brian thought to himself. “Born without gaydar.” He held up his hand bearing the 
ring. He said nothing, letting the ring speak for him. She looked disappointed. “How about your 
friend?” Now she was going for Boyd. He tried to laugh, but was too woozy. 

“He’s wearing the matching ring.”

“Oh,” her dim bulb went off. “Why are all the hot ones gay?”

“I don’t know, but thank God for it.”

Boyd came in, thanked the hostess and directed Brian into the back of an air-conditioned cab for 
a very short ride. Back in their hotel room, Brian stretched out on the bed as Boyd sat beside 
him. “I’m calling Richard.”

“I don’t need a doctor, Boyd. It was the heat and the fact I’m still pretty weak.”

“I’m still calling him.”

“Don’t,” Brian held onto his arm. “I mean it.”

Boyd sighed and stretched out beside him. He cradled Brian’s head on his shoulder and nuzzled 
his soft hair. “We are so fucked. You’re so right.”

“I know.”

“We might as well have the fucking commitment ceremony,” Boyd teased. “Complete with two 
little grooms on top of the cake.”

“Yeah, that would work. In my darkest nightmare of gay hell.”

They both laughed. Boyd kissed his forehead and said, “Ceremony or not, this is the best thing 
that’s ever happened to me.”

“Me too, Boyd.”

“How did we get so lucky?”

“I don’t know, but don’t jinx it.”

“How am I jinxing it?”

“By talking about how lucky we are.”

“Is that some Irish thing?”

“Shut up. I can’t get that image out of my head, picturing his hands on your ass and his lips on 
your neck.”

“Let me try to help,” Boyd crawled on top of Brian, placing Brian’s hands on his ass and kissing 
him on the lips. “This is what works for me,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to be a jealous, insecure, suspicious old queen, Boyd. I want other men to find you 
attractive. You are attractive. I think it’s natural that they’ll come on to you. I should be able to 
find some pride in that. I don’t want to be this way.”

“I think it’s sweet that you’re jealous so long as you don’t go psycho on me and start seeing 
cheating scenarios every time I leave the house.”

“That would suck.”

“I know. We have to have faith in each other, Brian.”

“But that’s so hard for me to do. Insecurity is a shitty thing.”

“Someday maybe I can banish those feelings in you. What smells so good in this room? Like…I 
don’t know. Good cooking?”

“Lady P brought us a crockpot of voodoo chicken soup. It is good and it did make me feel better. 
For awhile. Want to try some?”

“What makes it voodoo?”

“I don’t know. The chicken feet in it, maybe? I’m kidding. She wouldn’t say, but I had a bowl 
and it’s great.”

Boyd climbed off of him, fearing Brian was too fragile to go far with the sex right now anyway. 
He filled two bowls with the recipe and brought them back to the bed. The infusion of nutrition 
seemed to revive Brian, and by the time the bowls were empty, his hands were on Boyd and 
their clothes were coming off. 

Above the sheets, they were naked and cooled by the lazy sweep of the ceiling fan as they 
kissed and touched and became aroused. Brian flipped Boyd over on his belly, licking up his 
thigh and over the rise of his butt to slip his tongue into the envelope of his crack and find the 
center. Boyd moaned and grasped the sheet in his fists as the pleasure compounded with each 
probing flick of Brian’s tongue. He spread his legs to give him more access. When he was wet 
with saliva, Brian inserted a long finger and drilled up, advancing where his dick was soon to 
follow. 

“Use a lot of lube,” Boyd pleaded. “I’m a little sore.”

“You want to do something else?” Brian asked and Boyd shook his head.

“I want your big cock in me, Brian. But I want it lubed.”

Brian complied and when he began to penetrate, he said, “If it hurts too much, tell me. I’ll stop.”

“Fuck me. I can deal.”

He did. Slowly, deliberately, he proceeded up his ass, feeling as if months had passed since he 
was last inside his lover. He raised himself to his knees, circling an arm under Boyd to draw him 
up and ease his penetration. Boyd moaned as he pushed back against Brian’s battering cock, 
opening all the way up for his lover. Brian banged, reached under and stroked Boyd’s erection. 
He leaned over him to lick his neck. His nose was buried in Boyd’s fair hair, he shoved and 
lunged as his heat increased and then he felt the resolve of his orgasm and he let it flow before 
he withdrew with a groan and pulled Boyd over him so he could suck his dick. Boyd straddled 
Brian’s face and gently fucked the smooth interior of his mouth, rubbing hot flesh against 
tongue, palette, throat. He watched Brian swallow his load and then collapsed beside him, both 
of them slicked by a coating of sweat. 

“That was life affirming,” Brian joked as Boyd chuckled and nuzzled his neck. 

“Yeah,” Boyd pulled the sheet over them both as exhaustion began to crowd out the warm buzz 
of the afterglow. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

Brian didn’t respond. He was already asleep. Boyd just smiled and held onto him as he drifted 
into a comforting nap, feeling confident that their world was once again at peace.

****************************

“It’s not exactly world peace, is it, Lauren?” Bellamy stared into the face of the earnest assistant 
city attorney facing him in his office. He considered Lauren to be a friend as well as a worthy 
opponent at tennis, but sometimes Lauren got a little too wound up over shit like zoning 
ordinances. Anyway, Bellamy’s mind was somewhere else. All day, he kept drifting back to 
Daphne and their meeting that morning. She tried to rattle him with her opening salvo about 
homos. He smiled, well aware she was a pretty girl used to playing that fact to her advantage. 

“Why do you ask?” he answered her and she said,

“Because it’s a fact that a lot of African American men are even more homophobic than are 
white men.”

“I don’t find stereotypes persuasive,” he deliberately invoked a little iciness to rattle her and he 
succeeded. She leaned back, regrouped, and then said, 

“Neither do I, but sadly sometimes a particular stereotype is grounded in fact.”

“To answer you directly, I am not homophobic.”

“Good,” she gave him a winning smile. “Then maybe you’d care to take a look at this,” she 
reached into her valise and withdrew a hot pink binder. “I picked the color for effect, not 
because I’m a bimbo or want to be in the remake of Legally Blonde. Pink is a color often 
associated with the gay community and I thought it might not get lost on your desk,” she 
glanced at the mounds of paper accumulating there. He opened the folder.

“What is it?”

“It’s the history of an urban renovation project called ‘Burn’. You can see the before pictures of 
the abandoned church in there along with the architect’s renderings of how the club will look 
when completed. Notice how it was a trap for litter. The walls were covered with gang graffiti 
and there were used syringes and empty liquor bottles strewn all over the property. Women 
were afraid to walk by it and kids and tourists were confronted by dealers and panhandlers who 
crashed there. Since it was church property, it was exempt from taxes. That is all changing. 
These are photos taken just yesterday of the work crews who are renovating the building. The 
taxes that were and will be paid on the property are listed, along with the revenues anticipated 
to be earned in this city. Also the salaries paid the construction crews and the estimated wages 
that will be paid to the employees of burn. You can see the benefits that will be offered the staff, 
the sales and usage and liquor taxes that will come back to the city, the boost to gay tourism, 
and of course, the publicity.”

“I hope you’re not looking for investors because I don’t invest in capital projects in this city. I 
view it as a conflict of interest.”

“I’m looking for your support, not your money.”

“Support for what?”

“Not for, against.”

“Against what?”

“The Christians,” she said with such a bright smile that she didn’t even seem to understand that 
she just used a word that struck fear in the heart of every politician in what was fast becoming 
the Theocracy of the United States of America. And yet, Bellamy’s shrewd side told him she 
knew exactly what she was saying and that the smile was just spackling over her serious 
agenda.

“Bell?” the assistant city attorney beckoned and Bellamy forced his attention back to zoning and 
away from the mystery known as Daphne.


Current Mood:  distressed


August 14th, 2005
 
 
06:20 pm - BURN, Chapter 20
Posting for Brian. Enjoy, Randall 

************************

Brian, wrapped in a hotel robe, sipped clarified tea as he sat with Daphne by the fountain in the 
courtyard of the hotel. They were alone, and he frowned when she tried to tell him he looked 
better. “I asked you a question,” he said sternly. She sighed and pressed both hands between 
her locked knees.

“I did what I thought was best for the business, Brian.”

“You don’t have the right to make that kind of call, Daphne. It’s not your business, it’s mine. You 
work for me and just barely. Who the fuck are you to think you can go meet with a city 
councilman without talking to me first?”

“That’s not entirely true. We talked about my taking this report over to his office.”

“And leaving it.”

“Isn’t it better if I call it to his attention?”

“No, it’s not better, Daphne. I’m not comfortable with your taking that meeting for me. For my 
club. You’re not ready for that. I ask you again. Who do you think you are?”

“I think I’m an attractive young woman of color and he’s well known to appreciate that kind of 
thing. So I took advantage of it. We had a very good meeting, Brian. He listened to me.”

“How much do you think he heard? I can tell you. All he heard was blah-blah-blah while he 
stared at your tits and your legs and wondered if you’d come through.”

“Not every man thinks the way you do, Brian.”

“Your tits and legs have no power over me.”

She giggled. “Okay, I understand what you’re saying, but…hold on a sec.” She wrestled her 
phone out of the pink prison she kept it in and smiled at Brian as she said, “Hello, Councilman. I 
see. Hold on a minute, please, let me check.” She put the phone on hold as she beamed at 
Brian. “He wants to take me to dinner tomorrow night to continue our conversation.”

Brian shook his head. “I’m not in the business of pimping out employees to curry favor with 
politicians.”

“It’s not like that. I’d go out with him anyway, may as well get some mileage out of it.” Brian 
groaned, sensing a disaster. Once she sat her date and hung up, she grinned at him. “See? This 
is great, isn’t it?”

“Daphne, don’t be a little twat. He’s way out of your ballpark.”

She glared at him. “You may not see it because of your gay filter, but there are men who find 
me attractive, Brian.”

“No doubt he finds you attractive, but what does that have to do with anything? I’m talking 
about not making a fool out of yourself, and by extension trivializing my business.”

She stood, glaring down at him. “I have no intention of making a fool out of myself, Mr. Kinney. 
Nor will I embarrass your business.”

“What’s going on?” Boyd joined them and Daphne shot him a glare for no reason other than the 
fact he was aligned with Brian. 

“Nothing. I was just leaving.”

She breezed past him as Brian responded with a groan. Boyd dropped into her vacated chair. 
“What happened?”

Brian gave him the short version and Boyd shrugged. “Seems to me, you should stay out of it. I 
agree with you about the fact she shouldn’t be representing your business without your explicit 
permission, but whatever it is between the two of them is completely out of your realm, Brian.”

“I feel a little responsible for her, bringing her down here. It’s not like she knows anyone else to 
look out for her.”

“I suspect Daphne can look out for herself, Big Daddy.”

Brian laughed. “I do sound paternalistic, don’t I?”

“Yes, and it’s so out of character.”

“What’s up, Boyd? You look kind of down.”

He shrugged. “I miss my kids.”

“We can get them tomorrow, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Did the nanny accept the job?”

“She did. We have our own Mary Poppins now.”

“We should have hired some hot young guy instead.”

“Yeah,” Boyd smirked at his lover. “That would be just the thing to have under the roof at all 
times. The nanny is supposed to look after the kids, not lust after your fine ass.”

“What makes you think she won’t?”

“She’s a dyke, remember? Wait, so is Lindsay and that never stopped her.”

“Ouch,” Brian said with a laugh. “You get a little Paul Lynde-like when you’re sick.”

“I could really hurt you for that. I thought I might go over to the hospital and visit my dad 
tonight. You don’t mind, do you?”

“So long as I don’t have to go, no.”

“I don’t think that would do his health any good, do you?”

They both smiled and then Boyd made a suggestion. “You feel up to some dinner before I go?”

“Sure, so long as it’s not fried or spicy, which is the impossible dream in this town.”

“We’ll find something. Come on, I’ll help you get dressed.”

Brian met his gaze with a smile. “There goes dinner and probably the hospital, as well.”

“I can be good.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

As they headed towards the stairs with their arms around each other, a young man entered the 
corridor and called out to them. “Excuse me, are one of you guys Brian Kinney?”

He was beautiful, young, with curly black hair contrasted by china white skin and brilliantly blue 
eyes. He gave them a big smile and Brian glanced at Boyd, as if to say he had done nothing 
wrong. “Who wants to know?”

“I do. My name is Moody. You’ve been looking for me.”

“I have? What’s your last name? Blues?”

The kid laughed. “Yeah, there’s a new one. It’s Eastman. I’m from Brooklyn.”

“You got off at the wrong stop, kid.”

He lit a cigarette and gave the two men a sultry little smile as he inhaled sharply and let it out in 
a perfect “o”. “I’m the best spinner in town and I hear you have a club that needs a spinner.”

“First of all, I don’t have a club yet, it’s still under renovation, so I’m a few months from 
spinning. Second of all, I’ve never heard of you and if you’re so great why would you come 
looking for me? You’d have club owners competing for your skills. So fuck off, and find someone 
who was born with half a brain.”

“Okay, okay, look,” he came between them and the stairs, insisting they listen to him by using 
his body as a gate. So far all he had going for him was beauty and balls. Brian knew it took a 
hell of a lot more than that to be a successful music man at a dance club. “I’m new in town. But 
I was pretty well known in Brooklyn. I can get you names. I know what I’m doing. And I need a 
gig. I can do other stuff until you open, help you get it ready. The club scene is my life, man. 
I’m young, I’m hot, I know what people are looking for to make a club rock. You need me.”

“You keep telling me that. How have I gotten along without you all this time?”

“You’ll be asking yourself that after you know me for awhile. Please. Give me a few minutes to 
take you through what I’ve done and can do.”

“We were just going to dinner.”

“I don’t eat much.” He grinned broadly at them and Boyd laughed.

“We’ll meet you right here in ten.”

As they climbed the stairs, Brian said, “What are you thinking?”

“He’s got a lot of balls, Brian. Hear him out. You can always say no. That should be a novel 
experience, saying no to a kid that cute.”

“You want him, is that it?”

“Get in there,” Boyd shoved him into their room and closed the door, laughing over the fact that 
Brian’s creeping insecurity had shown up again. 

*******************************

Daphne wondered at Dora’s son’s attention as she sat at their kitchen table while Dora put the 
finishing touches on dinner. She offered to help, but Dora had it down to a science and assured 
her it would go better if she did it on her own. In the mean time, Scott sat across from Daphne 
and stared at her as if she might suddenly begin pulling hundred dollar bills out of her nose. 

“So what do you think? Should I not have talked to Mr. Beaufort?”

Dora shrugged. “I can see both sides, Daphne. I think Brian is within his rights to be able to 
control who talks to the power structure about his business. But I understand why you took 
advantage of the chance to pitch the research you conducted to him personally.”

“But I did it for Brian!”

“I know that, honey, but he’s in a tough place right now with these so-called Christians raising 
hell. He wants to be sure he has the people in power on his side.”

“I think I did him good, not harm,” Daphne pouted. “Bellamy…Mr. Beaufort…listened to me and 
nodded and now he wants to take me to dinner tomorrow, although I think that’s more personal 
than business.”

Scott deflated over that and said, “Some old guy?”

She smiled at him. “He’s not old. He’s not even thirty.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Scott, go upstairs and take a shower before I put dinner on the table. You’ve been working all 
day in the heat. Please?” He trudged upstairs with a grumble as Dora sighed. “Sorry, Daphne. I 
think he has a little crush on you.”

“You do? That’s sweet. He’s a nice kid.”

“He can be but he can be a monster, too. So, are you going out with him?”

“Sure, why not? Have you ever seen him?”

“Just pictures. He’s handsome.”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“But he’s reputed to be a player, and that’s not good.”

“Oh well, I’m not looking for anything serious anyway.”

“That’s what people always say just before they get their heart handed to them.” Dora sat down 
at the table with her guest as dinner simmered on the stove. “Keep your defenses up, honey.”

“I’m not as innocent as I look, Dora.”

“You don’t look all that innocent,” Dora said with a smile.

“I wish I was a lesbian. It would be so much easier.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Men are such awful people, sometimes, and I don’t get them at all. If I were a lesbian, it would 
be so much easier, because I understand women.”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but it’s just as difficult with women. Relationships are hard no 
matter what the gender stripe.”

“Are you looking?”

Dora shook her head at the question. “Not really. If the perfect girl tripped over my big feet, I’d 
help her up, but I’m not joining a dating club or anything.”

“I think you’re terrific and any lesbian should be proud to be with you!”

Dora laughed and reached over to pat her hand. “From your lips to my ex’s ears.”

“You still carrying a torch?”

“Only to burn her with. I learned that lesson, believe me. It wasn’t just me she abandoned, it 
was Scottie. That’s an unforgivable offense in my book.”

Her son came down, dressed in clean jeans and a fresh polo shirt. His hair was neatly combed, 
but the overall effect was to make him look younger rather than older, which had been his goal. 
Dora rolled her eyes at his effort and asked him to set the table. 

“You look nice,” Daphne said with a smile and he soared at that remark, his blush turning his 
skin the same cranberry shade as his shirt. 

*****************************

Brian finally interrupted Moody’s long dialogue about his colorful experience in the New York club 
scene. “You’ve been to the Anvil, of course,” he said and Moody shrugged.

“Yeah, sure. Everyone knows the Anvil. Great club.”

“Famous. Especially since it closed when you were about two years old. What’s your scam, kid, 
and don’t pull my chain. It’s already sore.”

Moody sighed and leaned back against the booth. He had devoured a heaping plate of fried 
crawfish and a bowl of red beans and rice while pumping up his resume. Brian and Boyd stuck 
with a generic chicken and rice soup, French bread and some whitefish broiled without butter. 
“Okay,” the boy threw his hands apart in supplication. “It’s mostly bullshit what I said.”

“I already got that,” Brian informed him and he sighed. 

“I need a gig.”

“Wait tables. Hustle tourists. Paint yourself silver and be a living statue at Jackson Square. I 
don’t give a shit what you do, but I’m not an employment agency.”

Boyd put his hand over Brian’s, silently urging kindness, but Brian resisted. Moody looked 
chagrined.

“I’m not lying about my knowledge of the club scene and what pulls people into clubs.”

“Gay clubs?” Boyd asked, not quite convinced this one was in their tribe. 

“Duh, yeah. What do you think?”

“I don’t know, frankly.”

Moody rolled his eyes and reached over to place his hand on Boyd’s crotch, under the table. “I 
like dick.”

Brian reached down to knock the hand away and glared at his lover. “This seems to be your day 
to get groped.”

“Lucky me. Okay, you like dick. So do I. That doesn’t mean I know how to fill a club.”

“I’m young, I know the scene. I spin parties and I have subbed at some clubs here and in 
Brooklyn. I did a lot of raves but the problem is, you can’t get a ref for that work. Look at me. I 
mean guys would come to the club just to stare at your spinner.”

Brian chuckled at that. “Ah, the ego is a beautiful thing to waste. Where are you staying?”

He winced. “I don’t exactly have a permanent address right now.”

“Meaning?”

“I was crashing with friends, but the boyfriend got jealous, you know how that goes, and then I 
stayed at a shelter for a couple days but they tried to Christianize me. So I’ve mostly been 
sleeping in empty buildings. But I got picked up last night by some rich tourist and I got to stay 
at his hotel and take a bath and have my clothes cleaned and eat and shit like that.”

“You’re awfully cheerful to be homeless and hustling for a shower.”

“I don’t let shit get me down. I know it’ll get better. Like now. I met you guys. That’s sweet.”

The partners exchanged a look, and then Boyd said, “You seem like a smart kid, Moody. Look, I 
know a guy who runs a small restaurant over in the Marigny. He’s always looking for honest 
help. I’ll make a call. And I’ll give you cab money to get over there, and enough for a night or 
two at a cheap but safe hotel. Then you’re on your own. And when the club opens, come see us. 
Won’t be the spinner job, but we may have something.”

“Whoa, hold on there, Mr. Carnegie,” Brian intervened. “How good was that grope?”

“Brian…”

“Kidding, but when did we take this urchin on to raise?”

“He’s a gay kid on his own in a strange city. Be kind.”

“I am kind. But I’m not a complete sucker.”

“Forget it,” Moody stood up. He pulled some crumpled dollar bills from a pocket of his jeans. 
“See this? I have money. I don’t need your fucking charity and I don’t need to start trouble in 
your little paradise. I just thought we might have some synergy here, man. I saw on t.v. about 
the fucking Christians picketing your site and I saw you say that about going to your church, I’ll 
go to mine and I thought you were fabulous . Really strong. I wanted to meet you and see if I 
could be part of something. But this is bullshit.”

Brian sighed and grabbed the kid’s skinny arm, pulling him back into his chair. “Quit making a 
scene, Drew Barrymore. If Boyd wants to set you up with a friend of his, then let him. I don’t 
want anyone working for me who’s too stupid to take an honest man up on a gesture of good 
will. Get it?”

Moody sighed, looking from one to the other. “So, are you guys like married or some such shit?”

Boyd laughed. “Some such shit, but not married.”

Moody indicated the rings and Brian shrugged. “We’re a couple, okay?”

“You want to three way? You’re both hot.”

Brian laughed. “I think the appropriate answer to that is no, but damn, that was amazingly hard 
to say.” He winced as Boyd kicked him under the table. Boyd wrote an address on a paper 
napkin and handed it to Moody.
“Here’s the address. Ask for William. I’ll call him while you’re on your way. He’ll be able to direct 
you to a cheap hotel that won’t get you killed. Here’s a hundred bucks. That’s enough to start 
you out. And here’s my cell phone and Brian’s cell phone. Stay in touch.”

“Didn’t you mean to give him our bank account information, too, Boyd?”

Moody laughed. “You guys crack me up. I’m paying this back by the end of the week,” he said 
as he tucked the information and the money into his jeans. After he left and Boyd called his 
friend, Brian shook his head. 

“You are such a soft touch.”

“I see something in that kid.”

“Yeah, me too, but I’m being a good boy. And so are you.”

“Not that, Brian. I think he’ll pay me back. In cash, before you go there in your mind.”

“A hundred says you’re wrong.”

“It’s a bet,” Boyd kissed his cheek. “I’m leaving you with the check because I’m about to miss 
visiting hours at the hospital. I won’t be long. See you back at the ranch.”

“Give Daddy my love.”

Boyd laughed and left him there. Brian ordered cappuccino and was stirring the thick foam, lost 
in thought, when a voice interrupted. “So now it’s just you and me. Let’s get serious.”

Brian looked up at Moody and thought to himself this was going to be such a big mistake. 
Current Mood:  curious

August 16th, 2005
 
 
07:14 pm - BURN, Chapter 21
Bored, partner working late, decided to post another chapter. Hope you like it. Brian

********************************


Moody ordered espresso. Brian watched him as he stirred the lemon peel in the brew and then 
spooned it out to reside on his saucer. He waited for the kid to make his move. Eventually he 
did. 

“So, I know you’re hot for me and I’m hot for you,” Moody said with all the confidence of a 
youthful beauty. “Your boyfriend’s obviously gone for awhile, so what do you say? You have an 
apartment in the Quarter?”

Brian smiled at him. “So, you think this will improve your chances of getting on with me at the 
club?”

“Couldn’t hurt ‘em, but that’s not what this is about.”

“Right. It’s about my irresistibility.”

“Like you’re not used to getting what you want?”

“Or is this about your irresistibility?”

“What do you mean?” Blue eyes, thick black lashes, deadly combo. Brian shook his head slowly.

“You’re so used to working it to get your way. But the thing is, you obviously suck at it or you 
wouldn’t be so down and out.”

Moody kept heaping sugar into his tiny cup until he created a dark brown sludge. “I’m not down 
and out. This is just a temporary setback.”

Brian laughed. “Kid, you’re the definition of down and out. And if you don’t get a grip, it’s only 
going to get worse. That pretty face of yours will fade fast. Have you seen street people who 
look like they’re about seventy-four? Well, they’re probably thirty. It’s a tough life out there. 
Boyd offered you a chance and you pay him back by blowing it off and hitting on his boyfriend? 
Nice. Your ethics make me wonder about you.”

He gave Brian a sexy smile, letting an ebony curl drift across his forehead and frame his brow as 
he said, “This isn’t about ethics. This is about fucking.”

Brian leaned back with a sigh, hearing an echo from his own not-so-distant past. He wanted to 
fuck Moody, there was no doubt about that. He was hot, beautiful, and had a way about him 
that suggested he’d be good in the sack, and yet Brian wasn’t sufficiently tempted. He twisted 
the ring on his finger and said, “Before I got this disease, we’d be in some alley somewhere 
about now with you on your knees and my ass being scratched by the bricks.”

“Disease?” Moody furrowed his brow. “You mean…look, man, that’s why they invented condoms. 
I don’t care if you’re positive so long as you’re careful. I’m negative, by the way.”

“Not that disease. And not the flu, which I’m just getting over. But I have this irreversible case 
of swamp fever and it has the unfortunate side effect of limiting my dick to just one guy. Boyd. I 
could cheat on him. I could probably get away with it, too, at least once. I think you’re hot. You 
make my dick twitch. But you’re not as hot as Boyd, and nothing, let me say that again so I can 
hear it myself, nothing is worth risking what we have together, especially not a strange piece of 
ass. I’ve had more than my share of that. So here I am, fucked and domesticated all because of 
a little detour into the swamp.”

Moody listened, and then leaned back with a grin. “You slay me. I don’t get the whole fake 
marriage gay thing. Being gay means you don’t have to live that way.”

“At your age and beyond, I would’ve agreed. And then I met Boyd. I’m not trying to convert 
you, Moody. I’m not even suggesting it’s the way to go in life. All I’m saying is that’s the way it 
is for me and I won’t take a chance on losing Boyd by fucking around with you. Hot as you are, 
it’s not worth it.”

“You don’t know that,” Moody said in a low voice as he let his hand slip up Brian’s forearm. “I’ve 
had men do all kinds of uncharacteristic things because of my ass.”

Brian pulled free of his caress. “No doubt. But not this man. Not anymore. And if you come on to 
Boyd, I will hunt you down like a dog and strip the flesh off your balls with a potato peeler.”

Moody winced. “What’s wrong? You think he’d be weaker than you are?”

“No, never, not on any front. I just don’t want that crap going on behind my back. So, I suggest 
you get your sweet ass in a cab and get over to that address Boyd gave you or don’t bother 
calling either one of us again.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That I hit on you?”

“Yeah,” Brian nodded. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I want him to know your game, and because I want the currency for having turned 
you down.”

Moody laughed and stood up, resting a hand on Brian’s shoulder as he leaned in close and 
whispered, “About that dick twitching thing, you make mine twitch, too. And I’d be glad to get 
on my knees in that alley. Any time. See ya, Brian.”

Brian watched him go and then sat there for a minute before reaching for the bill, waiting for his 
blood to redirect. 

*******************************

Boyd didn’t expect his father to be so pathetic. He’d never seen the old bastard so vulnerable. 
He was pale and puffy against the white sheets, under the harsh lights of his private suite in the 
hospital. Machines still monitored every heartbeat, and if he looked bad before the surgery, he 
looked even worse now. His mother explained that Lisette had just left. Boyd wished she were 
still around. His mother looked tired and worn. This event had definitely taken a toll on both of 
his parents.

“I was wondering if I had only one kid left,” his father muttered as Boyd sat beside his bed.

“I had flu, Dad. They wouldn’t let me come around you while I was contagious.”

“And Luann?”

“I told you she’s out of the country, dear,” Boyd’s mother explained with infinite patience. “You 
talked to her on the phone yesterday. We both decided there was no need for her to come back 
now, since you’re doing so well.”

“You call this well? I was better off before.”

“It’s a long recovery. They warned us about that.”

“If I recover at all. So what’s happening at the mill?”

Boyd looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Your mother told me you were looking after things at the mill. What’s going on out there?”

His mother shot Boyd a warning look and he frowned at her as she said, “You aren’t supposed to 
talk business, Daddy. The doctors told you that. You’re supposed to rest and not worry. You let 
Boyd worry about that damned mill.”

“That ‘damned mill’ pays for your lifestyle, woman. And his. Couldn’t raise fleas on what he 
makes as a damned lawyer. He’s not like his sister, some raging career bitch in a big law firm. 
He’s a piss-ant country lawyer who makes his hump peddling wills and incorporations to 
ignorant Cajuns.”

Boyd felt his stomach tighten. He couldn’t really argue with him, but he wanted to. If not for his 
family fortune, he couldn’t live the way he did on what he earned and he knew it. Right now, 
both he and Brian would be living in the red if they had to depend on their current earnings from 
their work. Neither of them had income coming in, other than from their investments. Lucky for 
them both, those investments were large, so the income generated was healthy. But Brian’s 
capital came from his own labor while Boyd’s much larger wealth was entirely inherited. “You 
know what, Dad? If we shut down the mill today, my kids and I could live really well off the 
money I’ve banked. Thanks to my grandparents. So could you and mother and the rest of us. So 
don’t act like we’d all starve if the mill closed.”

“Closed? What the hell are you talking about, closed, boy?”

His monitors jumped and Boyd sighed and backed off. “I’m not saying we should close the mill…”

“Those mills have been operating a hundred years and more. You may be some rich little snot, 
but the fact is there’s a hell of a lot of plain people out there who depend on that mill to feed 
their damned families. And growers who need that mill to bring their crops in. For once, maybe 
you should look past your spoiled little nose to what the real people of the region live like and 
give something back to your god damned community!”

“This has to stop,” Boyd’s mother intervened. “You have to calm down, Daddy. Boyd, can I talk 
to you in the hall?”

Boyd followed her to the hallway as a nurse came in to check on his father’s sudden spike. 
“What is wrong with you?” his mother demanded when they were alone. Her ecru Chanel blouse 
was the wrong choice of color under these lights. Coupled with her fatigue, she looked washed 
out and old. 

“I didn’t mean to upset him, Mother. But what the hell have you told him about my role in 
running the mill?”

“I told him what he needs to hear, Boyd. He needs to hear that the mill is in good hands, hands 
he can trust. He needs to hear that his son has for once stepped up to the plate and taken 
control. He needs to know everything will be fine so he can relax and get better!” She began to 
cry and Boyd was suddenly hit with the amazing realization that she cared about the old fat 
fuck. He never saw any affection between them, never believed they loved one another, and yet 
here she was lying to the man to speed his recovery and crying at the idea that she may lose 
her husband. That surprised her son. He didn’t know what to say or do. They weren’t hugging 
types, so he just patted her shoulder and said,

“He’ll be okay, Mother. Calm down.”

“You don’t know that! He’s as fragile as tissue paper! You saw how he gets. What do you intend 
to do, Boyd Coulter? Let him die of stress and worry?”

“So now it’s my fault if anything happens to him?”

“If the shoe fits…”

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head at the unbelievable predicament in which he found himself. 
He wished Brian were here. Brian was always able to cut through the emotion and put things in 
perspective. “I’m going to go outside and smoke a cigarette while they’re tending to him,” Boyd 
announced. “I’ll be back. You want me to bring you anything? A Coke? Something to eat?”

“Just get back in there and tell him what he wants to hear.”

Boyd left her in the corridor and walked outside, lighting a smoke as he sat down on a stone 
bench and called Brian on his mobile. “Where are you?”

“Hotel. How is he?”

“He looks like shit.”

“So would you if they split you open and fucked around with your heart.”

“Brian, what am I going to do?”

“Whatever you decide to do, we’ll make it work, Boyd. What do you want to do?”

“Close down my law practice and move to our house in New Orleans. Run the gallery. Help you 
out at the club.”

“That’s the plan, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s changed?”

“Never planned to run a huge business while I’m at it.”

“It’s a sugar mill, Boyd. Not Microsoft. You can do both. If that’s what you feel like you need to 
do, that’s what you’ll do.”

“There isn’t anyone else.”

“I know.”

“I was going to stay this school semester in Canard Rouge, anyway.”

“I know that, too.”

“I wouldn’t agree to go past that time. He’ll be on his feet by then, and if he’s not, I mean if 
he…well…we’d sell the fucking thing.”

“Boyd, I knew you’d come out where you are now when the old bag first asked you to step in.”

“How did you know? I didn’t.”

“I know you better than you know yourself.”

“I believe that. I love you, Brian. I don’t want to be away from you.”

“I love you, too. We won’t be apart that much, and it’s not that far. I’ll spend time in Canard 
Rouge, that’s what phones are for, and you’ll come here. It’ll be fine, Boyd. You’ve got enough 
to worry about, so don’t worry about the things that aren’t a problem.”

Boyd smiled. “You’re pretty wonderful.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Brian said with a chuckle. 

“You are. I wonder if that kid made it to the restaurant or if he just took off with my money?”

“My guess is I’ll lose that bet we made.”

“Why?”

“I think he’s more determined than my original impression.”

“Based on what?”

“Tell you when you get back. Hurry home, Boyd. I’m lonely.”

“I’ll tell them goodbye and then I’m on my way.”

“Good.”

They disconnected. Boyd took a last puff and ground out his cigarette, walking back into the 
building, prepared to give his parents a commitment he wished he didn’t have to make. 

***********************

Lady Pearl looked up as Brian walked out on the terrace of his suite and lit a cigarette. He 
coughed, inhaled again, coughed some more and put it out with a curse. She smiled.

“Care to try a Cuban?” She invited from her own terrace. He followed her voice through the 
darkness. He was no longer surprised by her quiet intrusion. Crossing the barrier, he flopped 
down in a chair beside her and accepted a cigar with a curt thank you. A few fragrant puffs later, 
he felt better about life. Smoking was a great pleasure, one he didn’t like losing to a stupid 
bullet wound. If it meant cigars instead of cigarettes, he could live with that.

“What’s on your mind, Mr.K.?” She asked and he shrugged.

“Just wondering what was in that soup of yours. It seemed to do the trick for us.”

“Chicken stock, pureed vegetables, egg noodles, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

He smiled at her through the gloom. “It’s the ‘this and that’ that interests me.”

“Can’t tell. Family recipe.”

“I see. How’s your house coming?”

“About as slowly as your club.”

“That’s too bad.”

“So, you gave your integrity a test tonight and your integrity won. You’re feeling proud, and yet 
wondering if you’ve chosen the right path for yourself.”

Brian exhaled and leaned back in his chair, spooked once again by his link to this witchy woman. 
“Get out of my head.”

She laughed. “Not your head, Brian. Your aura. You wear your emotions like a suit of armor, so 
visible, so strong. Your aura is a wondrous thing to behold, and it always tells a story. Tonight 
it’s telling me about love.”

“Is it pink when it talks about love?” He quipped, not wanting to believe, despite the evidence to 
the contrary. 

“No, pale blue,” she teased back. “Cher, you chose the only path you could take when you met 
your Mr. Coulter. You weren’t given an escape route, not in the face of such intense love. So 
wasting time and energy wondering if that was the right path for you is simply that. A waste of 
time and energy. It was fated.”

“You know, I don’t believe in that. Fated love, that crap.”

“You must believe in it. You’re in it. The choices you have going forward are whether it means 
enough to you to make the many compromises love requires without endangering your own 
identity. Tonight, you compromised desire for another with devotion to the one. How do you feel 
about it?”

“Are you following me around?” He asked, half-kidding, and she laughed.

“No need when your armor is so simple to read.”

“Most people think I’m a pretty complex guy.”

“Most people get bogged down in your facades. I see past all that.”

“I don’t regret it. He was hot, but I’ve had hot. He wasn’t Boyd hot. No one is. What worries me 
is whether I’ve turned into a boring old fart.”

“You mean in the eyes of others? Or are you boring yourself?”

“My life is anything but boring. Every day a new challenge comes along. I guess I just don’t 
want to lose my edge.”

“And being true to your fated love is dulling your blade?”

He laughed at the image. “I don’t know, he keeps it pretty sharp.”

“Then what do you really fear?”

“Being boring to him.”

“Brian?” Boyd stepped out on the terrace. “I can hear your voice. Where are you?”

“Over at Ethel’s house, Lucy.”

Boyd laughed and crossed the barrier, greeting Lady Pearl before he leaned over to kiss his lover 
and took over the empty chair beside him. “So my friend who runs the café in Marigny called 
me. The kid showed up.”

“I figured he would. You want me to pay you in cash or do you want to take it out in trade?”

Boyd laughed. “You can owe me. I like it when you owe me.” Their hands drifted together in the 
darkness, grabbed on, held, linking them across the gap. As soon as they touched, Brian’s 
doubts fled. 

“Moody came back to the restaurant and hit on me.”

Boyd laughed. “Big shock. He was all but drooling on you when I was still there. And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’?”

“I mean what did you say, do?”

“I let him blow me under the table, what do you think?”

“I think you’re not funny,” Boyd squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“You know for what,” he leaned over and kissed Brian lightly on the lips. “I’m going to bed. Join 
me?”

Brian had finished his cigar and he stood as Boyd told Lady Pearl goodnight and returned to their 
room. “Duty calls,” Brian said to her. “It’s a dirty job but someone has to do it.”

She laughed. “Go and let him show you why your decision was so right for you.”

Brian hesitated at the barrier and asked, “Are we going to make it together? The two of us? 
Because if not…I don’t know…”

She smiled. “That’s entirely up to the two of you, isn’t it?”

“Then I guess we will,” he said and waved at her as he followed his lover to bed. 
Current Mood:  confused

August 20th, 2005
 
 
06:22 am - BURN, Chapter 22
I tried to make Brian's journal like ours because he liked the ones Cael and I have now, but I 
can't seem to get the icons to work right. Ideas? Anyway, here's his chapter. Thanks, Randall

***********************************
Boyd carefully moved out from under Brian’s arm and navigated to the bathroom. He closed the 
door so the light wouldn’t disturb his lover’s sleep. After emptying his bladder, he filled the tub 
with warm water. He was sore and fatigued, but unable to sleep. Suddenly haunted by fears, he 
thought that a warm bath might help him relax. The sex with Brian, as explosive as it was, only 
seemed to wind him up tighter than he had been before they started. Sometimes it worked that 
way with sex. 

He had brought a joint in with him and he lit it as he submerged up to his chin in the long, 
porcelain tub. His body instantly released some tension to the soothing heat of the water and 
the medicinal effect of the drug. Three words kept coming into his head, and they were floating 
in random order: ‘I am worthy’ or ‘Am I worthy’? 

Worthy of what, he wondered?

Running an enterprise like Coulter Mills? He had been on the executive committee long enough 
to know the business with detailed intricacy. He had a degree in Business Administration, along 
with his Juris Doctorate. He understood the principles of running a business. But could he?

Was he worthy of being a full-time dad? He did pretty well on a part-time basis, when Bonnie 
was alive. He thought he took more than a passive interest in the well-being of his children. He 
didn’t just love them, he tried to understand them as individuals. It would be difficult, but he felt 
that he could do it. It had to be a top priority for him. They’d been through enough, too much. 
They needed to feel safe and beloved.

And then there was the big one. 

Was he worthy of Brian Kinney? He exhaled and watched the smoke dissipate in the air. No one 
could love Brian more than he did. He was convinced of that. But was that enough? Moody’s 
interest brought home the fact that Brian could have any guy he wanted, and historically he did 
have any guy he wanted, including Boyd. Was Boyd worth the sacrifice of giving up conquests to 
a man like Brian? Why was he worth it? Should he even want Brian to make that sacrifice? Was 
he being fair to him? Would he end up losing him because he couldn’t keep the door open on 
their relationship?

He looked at it logically. He was reasonably attractive and some said more than that. Brian 
included. Not Brian Kinney handsome, but certainly not bad. Plenty of men and women had been 
willing to prove that fact to him. He was rich. Okay, not sure what that brought to the table, but 
it didn’t hurt. Or did it? His money seemed to be a problem for Brian’s alpha male status. Was it 
more a negative than a positive? He was sexual. He didn’t approach Brian’s level of experience, 
but did numbers equate to expertise? Was Brian’s sensual skill due to his many hits, or was it 
just an innate skill, like painting or playing a musical instrument? He was experienced, himself, 
and he thought he was good at sex. Brian seemed to be more than happy with their chemistry in 
bed. 

He was also kind. He sensed not many people had been kind to Brian throughout his life. 
Beautiful people often inspired a knee-jerk unkind response. Combined with Brian’s superficial 
arrogance, he drew a lot of fire. Boyd defused that reaction and gave Brian a safe place to love.

Reasonably attractive, rich, sexy, kind. What else? He was devoted. That sounded like a dog. 
What was another word for it? He was true. Dog again. He was dependable. God, how boring 
was that? But how many people could Brian really depend upon unequivocally? Boyd didn’t think 
anyone else completely filled that role for Brian. Most of all, he adored Brian. He loved him not 
only for the obvious things: his looks, his sharp-edged personality, his sexual prowess, his cock. 
He also loved his wounded little boy soft inner core, his quiet insecurity about being a committed 
partner, his fear about being a good father figure, his devotion to his friends, his love for Boyd’s 
kids, his feet. 

His feet? Yeah, his feet. Boyd loved his feet. And his hands. And the color of his lips. And the 
way he walked with a kind of bow-legged former soccer player gait, and the way his ass looked 
when he was walking away from Boyd. And the sound of his laugh. Brian had a great laugh. And 
great pecs, with that indention at his sternum.

Wait. Those last things were physical traits. That’s not what he was emphasizing in this mental 
soliloquy. Of course Brian had all the physical weapons at his disposal. That was a given.

He loved Brian’s integrity most of all. No one could love Brian more than Boyd did. It just wasn’t 
possible. Paramount to every other positive trait Brian exhibited, Boyd loved how Brian was 
trying so diligently to be a good partner. How important that had become to him. But this wasn’t 
about Brian. This exercise was to rate Boyd’s worthiness. 

Reasonably attractive, rich, sexy, kind, devoted, dependable, adoring. 

“What are you doing?” Brian’s voice startled him. Boyd blushed as if Brian could read his mind.

“Taking a bath.”

“Why?” Brian used the toilet and then walked over and sat on the ledge of the tub. He took the 
joint from his lover and inhaled deeply before passing it back. His naked body gleamed under 
the subdued lights and Boyd smiled at him.

“You pounded me. I was sore, for one thing. Couldn’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Was I too rough? You should have said something.”

“It felt great at the time. I’m just having a little delayed reaction. It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry 
about it.”

“We’ll think of something else to do next time. Give your body a break.”

Boyd reached out and rubbed his damp hand up Brian’s long arm, his biceps, his strong 
shoulder. “I can’t share you.”

“Huh? What are you talking about? Share me with what, whom?”

“Anyone. I thought about it. I can’t. I love you so much that I’d be completely devastated if you 
were with another man, Brian. Even if it didn’t mean anything to you. I wish I wasn’t so sappy 
about it, but there you are. I can’t be that cool. I can’t be that forgiving. I’m not saying I’d leave 
you because you strayed. I don’t know what I’d do. But I can’t tell you it wouldn’t matter to me. 
And I know that I’m not so special that I should be able to command complete fidelity from you. 
But I am that smitten.”

Brian shook his head slowly. “That Buddha is bad weed, Boyd. I completely missed the 
conversation we had where I asked you for permission to fuck other guys.”

“I know you don’t have to ask my permission.”

“That’s not my point. My point is when did I say I want off the leash?”

“You didn’t. But this Moody kid made me think about it.”

“Made me think about it, too. Made me realize it’s not worth it. Will I never sleep with another 
man? Who knows. I’m not willing to foreclose that possibility forever. Are you? But where we 
stand now, there’s no room for that. You’re the one I want to bang into pain, Boyd. Not Moody, 
not anyone else. Let’s cross the ‘playing around’ bridge when and if it becomes real.”

Boyd smiled as he reached up to comb through Brian’s bed hair. “You’re so gorgeous.”

Brian smirked at his compliment. “Yeah, I know. Big whoop. So are you.”

“No, I’m reasonably attractive.”

“Teddy is reasonably attractive, Boyd. You’re gorgeous.”

He leaned over to kiss him and Boyd wrapped a strong arm around him and pulled him into the 
water with him. Brian laughed and spread out above him. “Aren’t you defeating the purpose of a 
soothing bath by introducing my dick to the mix?”

“I just want to feel your body near mine. We don’t have to do anything.”

“It doesn’t work that way with us,” Brian reminded him and Boyd laughed.

“Then let nature take its course.”

They kissed, touched, moved against the other’s lean body as Boyd’s internal questioning was 
extinguished in the combined power of their love.

******************************************************

“BRIAN!” Belle ran straight into Brian’s open arms after giving her father a quick kiss in 
greeting. He scooped her up and she wrapped her skinny legs around his waist as she hugged 
his neck. Boyd slung Mac over a hip and beamed at his daughter and his lover. Since the 
shooting at the mill house, Belle and Brian had developed a unique connection. 

“You miss me, Bell Ringer?”

She pressed her forehead to his. “I missed you, Fryin’ Brian.”

“Frying?” he asked with a laugh and she shrugged.

“It rhymes. Cryin’ Brian?”

“How about Sighin’ Brian?”

She giggled. “Are you still sick?”

“Do I look sick?”

“You look kinda skinny.”

“You look kinda tan.”

“The beach.” 

He put her back on her feet and glanced at Lisette. “Thanks for taking care of the monsters.”

“Our pleasure. Any time. We’ll miss them.”

Belle ran over to her aunt and hugged her. “I’ll miss you too.”

“Where we going, Daddy?” Mac was more practical than mushy. 

“To see our new house. How about that?”

“In Canard Rouge?” Belle asked and Boyd shook his head.

“Here. For when we move here after Christmas. You want to come along, Lis?”

“I should get back to work, but what the hell? We can leave their luggage here and come back 
by for it.”

As the taxi let them out at the house in Marigny, Belle and Mac stared in silent wonder at the 
elegant mansion behind the black iron fence. “It’s big,” she observed and Brian chuckled.

“It’s a monolith.”

Lisette seemed surprised by the luxury. “Damn, Boyd, you did blow it out, didn’t you?”

He frowned at his sister, aware of Brian’s sensitivities. “It’s not that big. Come on, I want you to 
see inside.”

As they toured the house with the kids, Brian drifted out to the pool. He lit a cigarette but 
couldn’t tolerate it. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
A familiar voice.

He looked up at Moody who was standing there in khaki shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt that said 
“Crescent City Pool Service” in block letters. 

“What are you doing here?” Brian threw back at him.

“I met this guy at the café who owns a pool service and he hired me. I do this during the day, 
now. Good money, easy work. Sweep out the pool, drop in some chlorine tablets, whatever. This 
place is on his list. He said it’s empty but the real estate people make sure he gets paid because 
they want the pool to look good to prospective buyers.” He leaned on the aluminum pole of a 
leaf skimmer as he explained.

“So you went from no job to two jobs?”

“I told you it was a temporary set back. So what the fuck are you doing here?”

“We bought this house.” Not precisely true. The truth was that Boyd bought this house, but Boyd 
insisted Brian be on the deed and Brian was trying to adopt the stance of joint ownership.

Moody looked surprised. “You guys are that rich?”

“Some of us are.”

“Jesus.”

“So if your boss expects to be paid, he needs to cut a service deal with us.”

“How lucky for him that you guys already know me,” he said with a smile and Brian shrugged.

“Or not.”

“A swimming pool!” Belle shrieked as she blasted out of the back door and ran towards the 
water, stopping when she saw Moody. They exchanged a cautious glance as she climbed up on 
Brian’s lap. “Who’s he?”

“The pool boy, Door Bell,” Brian replied with a smirk directed at Moody. It sounded like the 
premise of a gay porn film. In fact, it was the premise of a gay porn film. Several gay porn films, 
all bad. 

The rest of them came out to the pool and Mac was tearing off his clothes as he approached. He 
waded in, naked, thus destroying Brian’s pool boy fantasy. He wasn’t into that scene.

“Mac, get out of that pool!” Boyd tried in vain, and then he saw Moody. He got the short 
explanation from Brian while Lisette watched. Mac and Belle both were great swimmers and Mac 
was paddling around like a pro in the clear azure water. Belle left Brian’s lap to wade in up to 
her shorts line, too modest to get naked in front of all these guys. 

“Who are they?” Moody nodded towards the children after Boyd introduced him to Lisette.

“They’re my kids,” Boyd said.

Moody raised his brows. “You have kids, too?”

“Obviously,” Brian said with sarcastic emphasis. “And I have a son, so we really have three.”

“Man, you guys truly are domesticated,” he said with such obvious horror that Brian had to 
laugh.

“I don’t know. We have our wild moments.”

Boyd squeezed his shoulder affectionately as Lisette replied, “They make a great couple.” Her 
statement was a pointed warning at the pretty young man. He looked the striking blonde up and 
down and then said,

“Are you married?”

“Why?”

“Maybe I could buy you a drink sometime.”

Brian laughed. “You a switch hitter, Moody?”

“I don’t discriminate.”

“I’m old enough to be your big sister,” Lisette teased.

“I don’t care. I don’t age discriminate either. You’re beautiful.”

“Honey, you’re beautiful, too, but I am married. And I don’t like dick.”

“I pity your husband, then.”

“She doesn’t mind.”

“Daddy look at me!” Mac shouted as he dove into the deep in with good form, raising hardly a 
ripple. He bobbed up again and Belle gave into the urge and stripped down to her pink floral 
panties and went topless into the drink. As the kids paddled around together, Brian went inside 
the house, deciding to fetch a bottle of water that the real estate people kept stocked in the 
refrigerator when the house was being shown.

Boyd led Moody aside and said, “You were a perfect shit to hit on my partner last night. 
Especially after I set you up with a job and some cash. That’s not the way to treat people, 
Moody.”

Moody gave him one of his mega-watt smiles. “You should be used to people hitting on your 
partner, Boyd. He’s hot. And if he had been the one to leave, I would’ve hit on you. What’s the 
damage? You don’t want it, you say no. Which he did, by the way.”

“I know he did. That’s not the point.”

“I’m single, young, hot, it’s my right to hit on anyone who appeals to me. Up to them to 
decline.”

“Just don’t make it a regular thing. You’ve been given an answer.”

“Either one of you, or even better, both of you, change your minds, you can find me.”

“Apparently so. You seem to be ubiquitous.”

“Whatever the fuck that means,” he said with a laugh. “You think you can get your kids out for a 
few minutes so I can clean the pool?”

Boyd corralled his children, and had them stretch out on chaises to dry in the sun since they had 
no towels. His sister glared at him. “That kid is trouble.”

“He’s just young and full of himself, Lisette. He’s okay.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like the way he looks at Brian. Or for that matter, at you.”

“Let us worry about that.”

“Most of all, I don’t like the way you’re letting the parents hook you into the mill.” She changed 
tactics.

“Only temporary.”

“Yeah, right,” she said with a cynical laugh. “You’re too kind for your own good, Boyd.”

Brian walked up to them, handed each a bottle of chilled water and then wrapped his arms 
around Boyd from behind and nuzzled his neck. “Miss me?”

“Always,” Boyd said, leaning back into his embrace as his sister watched them with a worried 
expression clouding her pretty face.
Current Mood:  nervous
August 23rd, 2005
 
 
05:06 am - BURN, Chapter 23
Posting for Brian. Enjoy, Ran

*******************************


The kids fell sleep on the way to Canard Rouge, but Boyd suspected that wasn’t why Brian was 
suddenly so quiet. He turned down the music in Brian’s, or was it Ted’s, Range Rover. Boyd’s car 
was waiting for him at home and this one would get Brian back to New Orleans when he needed 
to leave. 

“Wassup?” Boyd asked as Brian slumped low in the passenger seat, the soles of his feet propped 
up on the dash. Outside, an evening rain shower steamed off the asphalt like smoke. Brian 
looked over his shoulder, as if to confirm the kids were asleep, and then answered,

“Nothing.”

Boyd smiled. “Yeah, right. What?”

“Why does something have to be ‘up’? Can’t I just be quiet?” Brian stared straight ahead as he 
answered. The city was already far behind them, and soon the highway would give way to the 
roads of the bayou. Boyd thought about letting him have his space, but then decided against it.

“Is it Moody?”

That inquiry drew a response from Brian, who laughed and used his thumb and forefinger to 
thump Boyd’s head. “Yeah, that’s it, Boyd. I’m mooning over Moody. Shit.”

“Don’t make me guess. Talk to me.”

Brian sighed. How could he tell Boyd he didn’t want to go back to Canard Rouge? His impression 
of the town, with some exceptions, was overwhelmingly negative. Why not? He felt they came 
close to lynching him for a crime he didn’t commit. He was shot and seriously wounded in that 
town. It was a tiny place with nothing to recommend it other than the fact he found the love of 
his life there. For that he would be eternally grateful to Canard Rouge. But okay, that was done. 
Going back to it held no appeal. The misery of being separated from Boyd was all that forced 
him into this visit. 

“I’m just thinking of all the shit I have to get done. Being sick really set me back.”

“You could’ve stayed in town,” Boyd offered, relieved and a little surprised that he hadn’t.

“I think it’s important for the two of us to be together when the kids first come home, don’t you? 
Give them a sense of where they stand.” Saying it, Brian knew that was right, and he let go of 
his bad memories about the town as he thought about the children. Some things were more 
important than his grudge.

Boyd smiled at his lover’s classic profile, never loving him more than he did at that moment and 
never less able to show him how he felt. Brian flipped open his mobile and pushed speed dial. 
Finally, someone answered.

“Hello, Melanie. It’s Brian. Is Lindsay around?” He gave Boyd an exaggerated shimmer of horror 
directed at Melanie. Boyd laughed and shook his head. Lindsay was chirpy when she answered. 

“Hi, Brian! I was beginning to wonder if you’d disappeared in the swamp! Maybe got eaten by an 
alligator?”

“No, I only let Boyd munch on me these days,” he grinned at the driver, who winced. “How is 
everyone?”

“Meaning?”

“Everyone.”

“Mel and I are fine, Gus is fine, you can talk to him in a minute, Debbie is the same, still cursing 
you for leaving. Vic said to say hello if we spoke. Michael is still sulking, he thinks you don’t love 
him anymore. Emmett is fabulous, as always. And Justin is home.”

“He is?” He was careful not to sound too interested. “Why?”

“He lives here, Brian. He’s visiting his mother and friends. But he’s going back to Italy.”

“Ah, good.” He didn’t want Justin to relinquish his dream. “Boyfriend with him?” Casual, he 
cautioned himself, be casual about it. He didn’t want Boyd to get the wrong idea about his 
interest. It was more a hope that Justin was happy than personal curiosity.

“No, that didn’t last, but he still seems fine. He loves Italy. He loves the academy.”

“I knew he would.” Brian wondered what happened with the boyfriend. Justin was too young to 
settle down, anyway. He learned that about him the hard way, and it wasn’t any easier for 
Justin. “Tell him hello for me.”
“I will. How’s Boyd?”

“Boyd is great,” he said, smiling at his partner, who shrugged as if to say he was getting by. 
“We bought a house.”

“In that awful little town?”

“No, in New Orleans. Area called Faubourg Marigny.”

“Wow. How breeder-ish.”

He let her casual insult roll off his back. He refused to be shamed by Lindsay. “It’s a beautiful 
place. Six bedrooms, a library, swimming pool, coach house. A showplace.”

Boyd laughed and shook his head at Brian’s bragging. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to jab, 
Lindsay or Boyd. It didn’t matter. Boyd had a plan about how to get Brian engaged in that 
house. “How much does something like that cost?” Lindsay pried and Brian shrugged.

“More than a breadbox and less than Versailles.”

She giggled. “A million?”

“Don’t be rude and don’t be cheap. Let me talk to Gus.”

“Hold on.”

“Daddy, come home!” Gus opened with a demand.

“I think you should come down here and visit me,” Brian countered. One more kid was just what 
they didn’t need, but he missed Gus. 

“Okay! Now?”

“Soon, sure, why not?”

“What’re you doing, Daddy?”

“Riding in the car with Boyd.”

“I want to ride in the car with Boy’!”

They chatted for awhile, and when Lindsay came back on, she said, “You can’t just issue an 
invitation like that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

“You have so much going on.”

“We have a nanny, Linds. I’d really like you to fly Gus down for a visit,” he cast a sheepish look 
at Boyd for not asking first. Boyd shrugged and smiled. He was always happy to see Gus. A little 
more hectic intrusion into their already hectic lives wouldn’t even raise a ripple.

When they reached the mill house, each carried a sleeping kid upstairs and tucked them in. 
Seated in the main room with glasses of wine, and Coltrane on the sound system, Boyd said, 
“Any ETA on Gus?”

“She said she’d get back to me. Sorry to just invite him down without talking to you first. I miss 
him. When I heard his voice, the invitation just came out of me.”

“I’ll be glad to see him, Brian. Any time. Our home is his home.”

Brian smiled at him and tapped his glass with his own. “Thanks.”

“Speaking of, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?” Brian raised a cautious brow. “Does it involve a butt plug?”

“It could, but then what couldn’t?” They both chuckled. “Seriously, I need your help.”

“I’m listening.”

“When you go back to New Orleans, I want you to meet with a guy named Sebastian Slade.”

Brian laughed. “Why? Is he casting a gay porn movie? No one is named Sebastian Slade.”

“I suspect he was born with a much less lyrical name than that, but it’s what he goes by now 
and it’s served him well. He’s pretty well known around here.”

“As?”

“Interior designer. The hot studio to use. I would’ve used him at the gallery but the asshole I 
called was supposed to be an expert in the art game.”

“Some game, anyway. What do you want me to do? Meet him at your gallery? I really don’t 
think I should. I don’t have as clear a vision for it as you do.”

“Not the gallery. Our house.”

Brian stared at him. “You want me to lead on finishing out the house?”

“Sure. Why not? You have exquisite taste. I’ll leave it all to you.”

“Bullshit. It’ll end up looking like some Bauhaus fuck den, not a family place. All scaled down 
and spare and contemporary.”

Boyd shrugged. “If that’s how you see the place, then that’s how it’ll be.”

Brian glared at his partner. His suspicions were aroused. “Why should I have to do all of it?”

“It would help me out. I have to run the mill, close up my law practice, get the kids settled in 
school and get the gallery started. I realize you’re trying to launch a business, too, but you’ll be 
in town more often than I and the designer will do all the leg work. You just have to guide 
them.”

Brian laughed and shook his head. “You’re as transparent as glass, Boyd. You think if I get 
involved in how the house turns out, I’ll feel more attached to it.”

Boyd shrugged. “And? Am I wrong?”

“Don’t play me.”

“I’m not playing you, Brian. I’m asking you to take the lead in designing the house we plan to 
share. Will you at least meet with the guy?”

“You set it up, I’ll meet with him,” Brian conceded. “But if you don’t like what we come up with, 
it’s your own damn fault.”

“I’ll like it if you like it.”

“Are we going to set a budget?”

“Whatever you think we can afford.”

“I have no clue what you can afford. Are you keeping this place furnished?”

“Yes, let’s go from ground up. And let’s worry about the cost when we have estimates.”

“I like spare, I like clean and it’s a more elaborate house than that.”

“I like a new look in an old space. Like here, like your loft. No rules, Brian.”

Brian moved closer to him on the sofa and took his wine glass from him, setting it on the table. 
“No rules? I like that.” Boyd leaned back as Brian kissed him. The phone interrupted and Boyd 
frowned as he picked it up. 

“Hello?”

“Brian Kinney?”

“Hold on,” he wiggled the receiver at Brian, who frowned as he took it from him. 

“Yeah?”

“Is this Brian Kinney?”

“Yes, it is. Who is this?”

“You’re going to burn in hell, you faggot, and so is your boyfriend and those twisted kids you’re 
raising. Burn in hell!”

Brian hung up with a scowl and Boyd read his look. “What was that?” 

Brian checked caller ID, but there was no number. It just read “out of area”. “A lovely greeting 
from your Southern Gothic brethren,” he said and got up to refill their wine glasses, suddenly 
out of the mood.

********************************************

Daphne expected some smooth and urban cafe, but Bellamy took her on a drive. “Is there no 
decent food in New Orleans?” she joked as the rain let up at the borders of the city. He drove a 
sensible car, an American- made SUV without a lot of bells, whistles and luxuries. She suspected 
he’d rather have something flashier, but his political aspirations militated against fancy cars. 
Apparently that prohibition didn’t extend to tailoring. He looked handsome and stylish in a Hugo 
Boss suit and open-collared shirt. 

“I thought you might want something a bit more adventurous,” he responded, taking in her lacy 
pale yellow camisole and skirt that she wore with a flimsy little jacket covering her shoulders. 
Her hair was loose instead of pulled up and he liked it better that way. She looked like a 
schoolgirl, but he had his people verify she was the college graduate she claimed to be. Getting 
caught with an underage girl was not in his stars. 

“I like adventure,” she admitted. And she liked him. What was there not to like? Okay, he was 
mean to his mother, apparently. That was bad. She liked his mother. But then, she didn’t have 
all the facts. Her mobile rang and she excused herself and withdrew it from her purse. “Brian, 
I’m on a date.”

“With what?” he demanded and she rolled her eyes.

“This is my personal space, remember? Can I call you later?”

“I want you to find out everything you can on some interior designer named Sebastian Slade.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the dad and I say so.”

She giggled at that. “Ok, whatever. Bye.”

“Wait. We got a crank call at home. We need to turn up the heat on the Christians.”

“Do you know how weird that sounds?”

“Yes. So who are you with?”

“Goodnight, Brian.” She hung up and apologized to Bellamy. “I have a boss with no clue about 
personal boundaries.”

“What was so urgent?”

“He wants me to look up some interior designer named Sebastian Slade.”

“I know Sebastian.”

“You do?”

“Very well. He was responsible for the work I did in my house when I moved in after my father’s 
partner moved to Savannah.”

“His ‘partner’?”

“Yeah, Charles. Charles is my mother, in all the ways that really matter.”

Daphne regrouped. His father was gay? But…what did he mean about ‘all the ways that matter’? 
Wasn’t that a direct diss of his real mother? Could Bellamy be gay, too? Was she so accustomed 
to being around gay men that she could no longer gauge when a man was interested in her as a 
woman? 

“Shocked?” he asked. “If so, you really failed to do your groundwork on me before our meeting. 
When you asked me what I thought of homos, you should have already known I was raised by a 
gay couple.”

“Why? Where was your mother?”

“That’s a whole other story.”

“Where’s your dad now?”

“He died, but Charles and I remain close. I make no secret of this. I couldn’t if I tried. My father 
was very well known, famous, in fact. As was his relationship with Charles. So if you want to 
know how I feel about homos, I guess I’d have to say that I have the utmost respect for many 
of them. But I’m not gay, if that’s the next question.”

She sighed, relieved. “So you never lived with your mother?”

“As an infant, but not when I was old enough to remember things clearly. We don’t see eye to 
eye, never have.”

He pulled up to a small wooden structure built on stilts that overlooked a stretch of bayou. 
Several cars were parked helter skelter on the gravel drive and three large oil drums beside the 
building had been converted into smokers and were sending out a heavenly aroma. “Best 
barbecue in the south,” Bellamy said as he led her up the steps, across the rickety porch and 
into a large room crowded with tiny tables draped in red and white plaid oilcloth. 

The proprietor, a scrawny man the color of rubbed ebony, greeted Bellamy with a hug and called 
his plump wife over to add to the warmth. They were given a prime table befitting Bellamy’s 
status. He recommended the “hard” lemonade to Daphne, but asked for unleaded for himself. A 
drunk driving scandal was another trap that Bellamy intended to avoid.

Bellamy asked if he could order for her. What was delivered was more food than Daphne would 
eat in a week. Served on brown paper to absorb the juices, her sliced beef sandwich, was a mile 
high and dripping with smoky sauce. Corn on the cob came in a paper jacket and a plastic bowl 
held turnip greens with pepper sauce and ham hocks. As soon as she started eating it, she 
forgot about her waistline and gave in to the divinity of the flavor. 

Midway through the meal, she realized this was a first date nightmare of a menu. Corn on the 
cob was notorious for sticking in the teeth and barbecue sauce would not only be all over her 
face, but also under her nails. If the corn didn’t stick to her smile, the turnip greens would. As 
soon as she finished, she fled to the ladies room to be sure she was presentable. She returned 
to a plate of hot peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream melting on the side. 

“You must be joking,” she said as he handed her a spoon. 

“I thought we could share it.”

“Bellamy, I weigh 102. I’ve already eaten my weight in barbecue.”

He smiled. “Just have a bite.”

Half a cobbler later, she felt like she was waddling as he left a generous tip and escorted her to 
the car. “I can’t breathe,” she complained and he laughed.

“I like a girl with a healthy appetite.”

“Do you like a girl who outweighs you?”

“I might. Depends on the girl.”

She giggled at that. “Where are we going?”

“I thought you might want to do some homework.”

“Homework?”

“For your boss. See Sebastian Slade’s work.”

She grinned at him. “Which is code for saying you’re taking me to your place?”

“Wouldn’t take a windtalker to break that one.”

“I may regret it, but why not?”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with a grin, silently thanking her boss for giving him the perfect 
entrée to a sometimes clumsy invitation.



Current Mood: accomplished
August 26th, 2005
 
 
12:02 pm - BURN, Chapter 24
Here it is, my farewell post before we go. Hope you like it. If it seems a little rushed, I just 
wanted to get this out there while it was in my head. See you burniacs later! Big B

***************************
Bellamy watched Daphne walk through his house. He felt a mixture of pride and apprehension. 
Would she think he was successful at taking period architecture and seamlessly blending it with 
modern art and furnishings? Certainly others had. The house had been featured in more than 
one architectural and gracious living publication. 

“They must pay city councilmen rather well,” she observed as she stopped in the kitchen with 
the marble slab counter tops, German engineered appliances and a brick pizza oven. None of 
these amenities had been used very often. Bellamy wasn’t much of a cook, and wasn’t obsessed 
with eating. He usually ate out or carried home. Growing up, a very differently styled kitchen 
was a focal point in their home. Charles was the day to day cook for the family, but Bellamy’s 
father often treated them with some international cuisine he picked up on his travels. Whenever 
he felt blue for his losses, Bellamy remembered those happy times together in the kitchen and 
the pain eased.

“They paid an award winning, best selling author and play-write well,” he corrected her. “And he 
bought this house at the bottom of the market when the Quarter was still an iffy investment. My 
father was good enough as an investor and generous enough in his will to ensure neither Charles 
nor I will ever need to rely upon income as a motivator.”

“I can’t believe Andre Beaufort was your father,” she observed, progressing to the stairs. He 
followed her up. “I mean we studied him in college! He’s like…an icon!”

Bellamy laughed. “Thus the historical marker in front of my house. But I must tell you, growing 
up with Andre, I never thought of him as anything more than ‘Dad’. It was very interesting to 
see the people who visited this house, paying him homage, actors, politicians, writers, artists, 
but it never was real to me.”

“Do you write?”

“I can write a good speech. When I was practicing law, I could write a good brief.”

She paused in the bedroom, vaguely reminded of Brian’s loft in Pittsburgh. There was a platform 
bed made of black cherry, minimalist in design, with a modern sculpture above it that didn’t light 
up, but that was lit by a spotlight hung from the ceiling. One low slung chest in matching wood 
held folded clothes, a variety of framed photographs adorning the surface of it. A burgundy 
suede chair was positioned by French doors that were covered in cream Roman shades. Flat wall 
panels concealed the closet. Matching tables on either side of the bed supported matching 
crystal art lamps. On one table was a Bose wave system, on the other a telephone. His duvet 
and European styled pillow shams were burgundy, grey, black and cream tweed. The floors were 
pale stained ash. 

Daphne turned and smiled at him. “I just had an epiphany.”

“Please share.”

“Players share a lot of similarities whether straight or gay.”

He laughed. “You’re going to have to make me understand that one.”

“My boss, Brian, well he’s gay and he wouldn’t mind my telling you so, because he’s out and 
proud, but he’s sort of married now. I mean in a committed relationship, but before that he was 
like the total gay stud of Pittsburgh. Everyone wanted Brian and he was a maniac about sex. So 
to me, Brian will always represent the ultimate gay player. Even though he’s really happy now 
with one guy. And then there’s you. I don’t know you that well, but looking at this place, I kept 
thinking to myself, ‘Brian would love this house’. This furniture, this style. So the choice of 
Sebastian Slade will be a good one for him. But you know, what really hits me is that there are 
such striking similarities between what you consider a hot décor and what he considers a hot 
décor, and I think it all pretty much comes down to seduction.”

“You think this house comes down to seduction?”

“Most definitely. And my guess? Unlike Brian, you have some closed off room somewhere, that’s 
a total mess, with your computer stuff and a big television and a comfy but tacky sofa…”

He interrupted her and crooked his finger for her to follow. Down the corridor that featured a 
painting by Jared Hall, he paused at a door and opened it, switching on the lamp. “This was my 
room as a kid. I converted it to my adult office.”

It was just as Daphne imagined. A big roll top desk held his computer and peripherals and a ton 
of stacked paper. A flat screen television was on one wall, facing an overstuffed black leather 
sofa. There was a small refrigerator, no doubt stocked with beer, and a microwave with boxes of 
popcorn stored on top. A shelf unit held sports trophies, helmets, the debris from his history as 
a youthful athlete of promise. Throw pillows on the couch touted the New Orleans Saints, 
Harvard and Duke, his alma maters and his local team. 

Daphne giggled as she thought of how Brian would cringe at this room, and for just a brief 
moment she wondered where Brian’s secret memories were kept? In a box? Discarded? Did he 
have any? “It’s exactly what I thought it would be.”

“I hate to be predictable. Have a seat.” They sat on the sofa and he picked up a remote and 
flicked the television into life. “I have every Super Bowl since I was born stored on here, and 
quite a few NBA playoffs. I have all the James Bond movies, from Sean Connery to Pierce 
Brosnan, the Barbershop movies, I like those, quite a few Law and Order episodes, some Will 
and Grace and my all time favorite series, Six Feet Under.”

She laughed. “No porn?”

“I’m more of a doer than a watcher.”

“Thus proving my point. Player.”

“I don’t have time to be much of a player, Daphne. But I guess I’ve been sent in for a few 
innings now and again.”

She cast him a doubting look. “You are so full of shit.”

He held up his hands to protest his innocence. “Why do you say that?”

“I know your type, Bellamy. Smooth, handsome, sophisticated, damn, that’s Brian again.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you had a crush on him.”

“Oh, I did have a crush on him! He was dating my best friend, and I thought Brian was just 
yummy! I wasn’t quite clear on how the gay thing worked at that time. Then they got serious 
about each other and it sank in on me that Brian never went for ‘gash’ as he so delicately puts 
it, so I moved on in my fantasies. I adore him now, when I’m not hating on him, but the crush is 
over.”

“So your best friend is his partner?”

“No, they broke up. Well, my friend left Brian for this creep… long story. But Brian’s happy now, 
and I think my friend, Justin, is too, so it all worked out I guess, although I wanted to see them 
together.” She sighed at lost love. “But I like him with Boyd, too. What about you? Been 
married, engaged, significant?”

“Haven’t had time. Love is on the back burner.”

“How convenient.”

“Meaning?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be like that. If you have something to say, say it.”

She slipped off her jacket, baring her shoulders and watching that move register on his face. 
She deliberately didn’t smile at what she saw. “I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

“What makes you think I want something from you?”

“I’m not that green.”

“What makes you think I’ll bother to come back for it?”

She closed the space between them in one feline move and kissed him on the lips. Their tongues 
touched but as his hands went to her waist, she leaned back and said, “Oh, you’ll bother. You’ll 
bother just fine, Councilman.”

He was a little annoyed by her game, and more than a little excited by her kiss. “If you think 
this is going to help your boss’s business, I don’t work that way.”

“Neither do I. This isn’t about Brian at all.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“You know what it’s about, Bellamy.”

“Say it.”

“It’s about fire, isn’t it? It’s about heat.”

He exhaled slowly as he watched a knowing smile that was far too sophisticated for her age and 
what he suspected her experience level to be, enhance her pretty features. “Be afraid, Bellamy, 
be very afraid,” he thought to himself, wondering what was the root of his sudden fear.

*********************************

Breakfast was a hectic time at the mill house on the first day of school. And also the first day 
Boyd was assuming the helm of Coulter Mills. Brian helped get the kids fed, dressed and in the 
car, kissed his partner goodbye, agreed to meet him for lunch, kissed the kids and stood there 
watching as they pulled away from the house. The only thing missing were his pink foam curlers 
and fluffy slippers to match his frilly robe. He chuckled at that mental image and went back 
upstairs. His khaki shorts and tank top had to suffice. 

He cranked up some Thelonius Monk and refreshed his coffee cup as he switched on his 
computer and scrolled emails. This peaceful atmosphere was welcome. Later, he would throw 
the dishes in the dishwasher before he dressed to go out. He had a conference call with Dora at 
ten for a construction update, a call with Teddy at eleven and lunch with Boyd at twelve. He was 
hoping to go over some bids from liquor purveyors and from competing power companies and 
telephone companies before the day ended. He also had to spend some time with his investment 
portfolio, and check with Lindsay on Gus’s ETA. He was to pick up the kids at three-thirty, drop 
off Belle at soccer practice, and Boyd said he’d be home by six and would bring dinner with him.

What a life. But who’s was it? When did it become his?

An email caught his eye. Justin’s email address was Blonde Brat. It suited him. Brian stuck with 
‘bkinney’. He saw no reason to be clever about his identity. Justin’s email read,

“Back in the Pitts for a visit. It’s really weird that you’re not here. Well, it’s really weird anyway. 
Italy was wonderful. Is wonderful. I’m going back after this visit. This was a great idea of yours, 
Brian, thanks for prompting me. You always seem to know what I need better than I do. Melanie 
and Lindsay are still the battling lesbos, I don’t know how or why they keep it together, 
sometimes. Makes me worry about Gus. Not the greatest atmosphere in the world for a kid. But 
then, you turned out okay and your parents were worse. Wait, maybe I just proved my point. 
LOL! I had this boyfriend for awhile, but it didn’t work out. No big romance. No big deal. 
Anyway, it’s kind of fun to date around. How about you and Boyd? Are you guys happy? How’s 
the club coming? Do you still like living down there? Call me or email me. I’m only here a few 
more days. –J”.

Brian started to write something, and then dialed a number from memory. A sleepy voice 
responded and he winced. “Shit, I forgot that normal people have lives at night and don’t get up 
at the crack of fucking dawn to get kids to school. Sorry.”

He laughed. “No, I think you’re the one who crossed over into Normalville, Brian. It’s okay. I 
should get up anyway.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Right this minute?”

“I’m not prying, Justin, just a question.”

“No, I slept over with someone. Hold on.”

He walked to a more private place and then said, “I’m back.”

“So, is he hot?”

“Why bother if he isn’t?”

Brian smiled. “I taught you well, grasshopper.”

“I’m mainly staying with my mom and her twelve year old boyfriend. It’s pretty awkward.”

“Get over it. So when do you go back to Italy?”

“Friday.”

“Everything good?”

“Sure. Everything good with you?”

“Yeah. Hey, thanks for the flowers when I was in the hospital. Did I send you a note?”

He laughed. “Yeah, but you must have been on drugs, because it made no sense. I laughed and 
laughed reading it.”

Brian winced. “I was a little out of it until I used up the good stuff. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was terrified for you, Brian. Ted kept us apprised but I was so scared.”

“It wasn’t a high point of my life, either.”

“But everything’s fine?”

Brian let his fingers drift across his scar. “Yeah. I’m marked, but otherwise fine.”

“Scars are sexy.”

“Right, if you’re a gladiator. Gus is coming down to visit.”

“Good, I know he misses you. Hell, I miss you. Is that bad?”

Brian smiled. “I miss you too, Sunshine.”

Silence and then, “Are you happy?”

“Boyd and I are in it for the long run, Justin. I have my moments of doubt, you know how I am, 
but not about my feelings for him. About the whole thing called love. And whether I’m up for the 
challenge. Whether I can be a father when I had no role model, whether I can keep him 
interested, whether I deserve to share his life. That kind of thing. Typical lover bullshit. Boyd’s a 
great dad and a great person. He humbles me.”

“I’m going to say something you won’t believe, but I mean it, Brian. I want you to be happy with 
Boyd. I want you two to make it, because I see how much it means to you and I don’t want you 
to have your heart broken.”

“First of all, I do believe you because when you love someone as we loved each other, you do 
want good things for that person, even if you’re not in their life the way you were before. I want 
the same things for you. I just want you to live a little first.”

Justin laughed. “You were right about that too. I was too young to settle down, I still am.”

“I know.”

“Have you moved to New Orleans?”

“Work in progress. When we’re in the house, you’ll have to come visit us. We have plenty of 
room.”

Justin paused. “House?”

“Boyd…we… bought a house in the city.”

“Well, that sounds permanent.”

“That’s the way we see it, too.”

“I don’t think Boyd would like me to come be your houseguest.”

“That’s where you’re wrong about Boyd. He would be fine with it. Seriously.”

“I’ll come down for Mardi Gras.”

“Come down before that. Halloween. That’s when we plan to launch Burn. Come for the party. 
I’m inviting all the old gang.”

“If you mean it.”

“I do. And if there’s a new boyfriend in your life, bring him too. What the fuck.”

“I may just test the local water. Seems to be pretty fertile, you, Ted, even Daphne has a hook 
up.”

“How do you know that about Daphne?”

“I talked to her after her date last night. He sounds hot and connected.”

“Connected?”

“City Councilman or something.”

Brian frowned. Shit! She was mixing business and pleasure in a very dangerous way, especially 
since it was his business she was risking, not her own. “Better go, have a lot to get done today. 
Justin, send me a postcard from Italy.”

“I will. Thanks for calling, Brian. I loved talking to you.”

“You too.” They hung up and Brian immediately hit speed dial, having a conversation pending 
that was going to be much less pleasant than the one he just concluded.
Current Mood: awake
September 3rd, 2005
 
 
12:24 pm - BURN, Chapter 25
I felt the need to write this. I hope it doesn't throw things off too much for readers, but I had to 
do it. Brian 

**************************


Brian decided to smoke a cigarette or at least try to smoke one, while waiting for time to pass 
before he could leave to meet Boyd at the diner for lunch. He sat on the stoop of the millhouse 
and inhaled a few puffs before the coughing started and he ultimately ground it out with a curse. 
He was too lethargic to get up and go inside, climb the stairs to the air conditioning, and wait 
there. Something about this climate just seemed to zap energy out of his system like a lethal, 
invisible weapon. Why did people stay here? Why was he here? Okay, he fell in love with Boyd, 
and that was his real reason. But was that the only reason?

If he wanted to buy a business or start a club, it didn't have to be here, in Louisiana. He could 
have moved closer to home, to his kid, to his friends. To a climate he understood. To customs 
he had down cold. Away from this foreign and often hostile environment. He could probably 
even convince Boyd to move, at least before they bought that house and the gallery and all 
those other shackles to the local economy. But he didn't even try. Why not?

"Man that lost in thought probably don't need no company," Homer Dhue had approached so 
quietly that Brian didn't even notice until he was right there before him. He sat down on the step 
beside Brian and put a basket covered with a red and white plaid cloth beside him. Brian smiled 
and shook Homer's leathery black hand before responding.

"I always want your company, Homer."

"The madam sent over one of her pies for you boys and a mess of peanut butter cookies for the 
younguns. Them kids love her peanut butter cookies. She puts an M&M in each one. Make 'em 
pretty."

"Nice of her. Thanks."

"What's on your mind, Brian? You're way too still."

Brian felt sweat bead along his upper lip like a crystal moustache and some buzzing insects 
appeared from nowhere to inspect the basket in a flyby. Homer waved them off with a leisurely 
fan of his hand. "I was just thinking, this is a very inhospitable climate for man. Why are we all 
here? It's too damn hot and too damn damp. It rains too much and it's the only place I've ever 
been where rain doesn't really cool things off. If anything, it makes things worse by increasing 
the humidity. There are bugs here that don't seem to exist anywhere else, the legal code is 
some fucked up version of French law, the people talk with a combination Bronx and down home 
Southern accent, the food is full of fat, the land is below sea level, you can't even bury the dead, 
and if floods or hurricanes hit, and they do, you guys are virtually helpless. Why would anyone 
want to live here?"

Homer smiled. "I can't talk for the region, Brian. I can only give you one old man's perspective."

Brian nodded. Homer's perspective meant a lot to him. "Go ahead."

"Sometimes when I go fishing on the bayou, I leave just before sun up. I slide my boat into that 
murky water and I hop inside and push off from the bank. The bugs and frogs sing me a 
serenade of buzzes and chirps that sound like home to me. Maybe I see a gator sunning his old 
hide on a bank, his mouth open showing all those ivory teeth even though he don't mean it as a 
threat. He's only regulating his temperature. On the shore, the cypress trees are the ghosts of 
all my people who came before me. They're gnarled with age and the curly grey moss is their 
grave clothes, but they don't scare me none. They're watching out for me, you see. They're 
wishing me good fishing."

He smiled at Brian's expression and said, "I've gone far enough."

"No, please continue. I'm listening."

"The smell of the swamp is the scent of fish salt and petroleum from below and vegetation that 
used to be on the banks but has now become part of the water after a long past flood. The sun 
lights the horizon in that hot pink band of color that's topped with a layer of yellow and fades 
into pale blue. I watch an egret take off from its nest, spreading those wide, white wings that 
turn pink in the dawn. I see a brown pelican, the pouch in his beak filled with his breakfast catch 
as he lights on a submerged post and watches me with a golden eye."

Homer glanced towards the encroaching swamp and continued. "I stop out past the sandbar and 
cast my line. I never know what I might pull up. Maybe a snapper, a carp, a gar, a baby gator, 
maybe I keep that line in the water all day and I never pull up a damn thing. I don't care one 
way or the other. I feel the sun on my straw hat, trying to get beneath it to my scalp and 
sometimes I feel the warm kiss of rain. Sometimes the wind kicks the surface up in choppy 
white caps and I have to struggle to get home. Mother Nature rules the swamp and she never 
lets a man forget that. We can take away the wetlands and poach her fish and animals and 
pump up her crude oil, and build our fancy homes, and air condition against her heat and roof 
against her rain, but this is Mother Nature's land, and she's a jealous ol' lady."

"Is that a good thing?"

"That's a fact, Brian. Ain't good, ain't bad, but for me, it has meaning because I know this 
swamp is eternal. I'm not, you're not, those houses we build aren't, the crops are transient, we 
all live her at her silent invitation, each of us knowing that in one day, Mother Nature can 
reclaim everything we took from her with a single fit of fury. For me, that's empowering. I feel 
closer to nature here, I feel part of the plan. You get too far from the plan, too safe, you lose 
sight of what's really important. Ain't those houses, ain't your fancy cars, clothes, job, none of 
that. It's the ones you love and it's your love for the earth. That's the only thing that lasts. You 
learn that living in the bayou. You see the waters rise and you lose your homes sometimes, your 
belongings, even people you love. Because this is Mother Nature's land, not yours. You're on 
borrowed time, here. So each minute means more, each day is one more day that you may not 
have had if she had gone the other way."

"But that's insecurity."

"Only in a material way, Brian. You understand the mother, you know what to value and what to 
fear. I stand on the banks of the swamp and I can hear a woman singing from a mile away as 
she hangs out her wash, her voice carried on the water. I can smell the smoke from an oil drum 
roasting a slab of ribs. I watch a fish jump out of the water to nab a dragonfly. I see the back 
scales and the yellow eyes of a gator break the surface of the bayou and then go down again. 
The swamp is a magical place. The people here understand these things. We value these things. 
We play a game of boo-ray or 42 on the back porch with our friends, lying and sweating and 
drinking beer, while all the time the swamp watches and waits to make it's move. A man has to 
be on his game, here, Brian. All the time. The light throught the Spanish Moss is like no other 
light on this here earth. It covers your skin with the lace of a shadow. You have to understand 
the place to love it. You have to accept it, not fight it. You have to learn detente with nature. 
And to forgive when she strikes. Because life began in an ooze not unlike this swamp and where 
would we be without that magic?"

Brian smiled. "Maybe I just haven't been here long enough."

"Maybe. But if you're lucky, you will be. And then you'll understand."

Brian stood and shook Homer's hand. "I have to meet Boyd for lunch. Would you mind taking 
the food upstairs? And thanks to the Madam."

"Sure thing. Give Boyd our love and tell him we're thinking of his Daddy."

"I will. Homer?"

"Yeah, Brian?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For sharing that."

"Just an ol' man musing, son."

Brian shook his head. "I'm trying. I'm learining. Thanks for teaching me."

"Anytime. Maybe you can teach me how to dress the slick way you do."

Brian looked down at his jeans and sleeveless tank and laughed. "No magic here."

"It's all magic, boy. Now go see your man. I have work to do."

Brian got into the Range Rover, cranked up the air conditioner, then frowned and turned the air 
off. He lowered the windows instead, letting the briny air of the swamp blow in, finger his hair, 
caress his face as the cypress trees threw a pattern over his passing car that looked a little like 
lace. "Swamp fever," he said aloud, with a smile, letting the affliction continue to spread through 
him like the disease that it was. 
Current Mood:  contemplative