Justin

Eleanor & Gavin are proud of their new gallery & apparently of their show of his pictures. Justin focuses on the catering, though he won't be signing his real 'work', he will get to watch people enjoy it as they mill around blathering about the pictures. He does like watching people eat, when it's his food...maybe that's what he's supposed to feel about his pictures, what Eleanor feels for him, apparently...He hasn't come to liking the idea, but he's come to accept it. All day the day of the opening reception, Justin tries not to think about it, just concentrates on getting the food together, as though that is his only part. He watches Eleanor dress for it, and tries to just let the joy of having somewhere to take her, dressed like that, be the only thing he feels about this. He got her into a skirt for it: that, at least, is worth a celebration. It mostly works, all day, Justin manages to not worry about this show. Until they are parked by the gallery & about to go in. Justin stops outside his car, Eleanor turns, looking quizzically at him. "Elle, what am I supposed to do in there? Who am I supposed to be?" he asks, not sure what she expects from him, what an 'artist' is supposed to do & say. Eleanor walks back the few steps between them, lays her hands on his chest & looks up at him with a serious expression. "Just be yourself, Tiger," she says, "Your work speaks for itself, and I'll be doing all the selling. I love you, I believe in your work: anyone who can't see how brilliant you are is a moron, anyway." Eleanor smiles & pouts at the same time, wrapping her fingers in his hair. Justin's hands slide over her back, his lips glide over her beautiful, exposed neck. She said 'be yourself': Justin is quite sure she doesn't really want to unleash that demon. But she's given him an idea of what he can get away with, the limits of her expectations. She's playing her own game with his pictures, all she wants on his end is for him to make more: the rest is her show. That suits him perfectly.

Justin hadn't counted on the evening's one real pleasure, watching Eleanor work. He thought tonight would be much like all the art shows she brought him to: and in many ways it is. The key difference is Eleanor: tonight this is her show, and she's on fire. "He's an important art critic," she whispers, spotting someone coming in the door. She squeezes Justin's arm & heads toward the critic with her beautiful smile. Justin watches & listens as she circles the room, talking his 'work' up to all of them, calling him 'brilliant', just letting the bullshit fly. Justin always knew she had it in her, she could pull a masterful con if she had a mind to, she takes to it naturally. Gavin says a lot of the same things about the pictures as Eleanor, but he's nowhere near as convincing as she is: she could sell people on the 'genius' of his 'work' if they were pictures scribbled in piss on the wall, Justin is sure of it. She's so good at it, he can't tell himself, how much of it is pure bullshit, how much she actually believes. When she introduces these people to him, there's something completely new in her tone & manner, the grip on his arm as she presents him, like she's showing him off

Eleanor & Gavin take the brunt of the schmoozing: Justin stands back, watching, as much as possible avoiding contact with the public. Still, people will approach him, making comments that would normally earn in them a punch in the gut: tonight, Justin has to blow everything off with a shrug, and refer them back to Eleanor if they want to talk art. She told him to be himself, but Justin tries to behave & not snarl, sure that neither Elle nor Gavin want to have to explain the belligerence of their 'artist'. "Divine," one of the crowd says as he approaches. Justin shrugs. "The roast duck is divine. I mean that, I don't say that lightly," the stranger continues, catching Justin's attention. "Thank you," he says sincerely, "But who told you I made it?" The guy shrugs in a disconcertingly familiar gesture, then presents his hand to be shaken. Justin automatically puts his hand in the strange man's hand, shakes...and as he pulls his hand back, he realizes, he's been manipulated in a way he never allows, the way he manipulates others. Whoever this guy is, he's the first guy Justin has ever met who could do that. The man smiles, his eyes gleam unnaturally bright. "Lovely," he says, laying his hands quickly on Justin's shoulders, faster than he can react, "I'm glad to have met you." Then he turns away & rejoins his date, who clearly looks pissed off at him for having wandered off. For the rest of the evening, the stranger doesn't so much as look Justin's way again, or speak to anyone besides the woman he came with. He does spend most of his time at the food table, clearly not interested in the 'art' at all, and most definitely serious about loving the duck, and everything else on the table.

Justin feels her staring at him, he turns & stares back at the redhead until he recognizes her. "It is you," Alison says, approaching him, glaring. Justin extends a hand for her to shake, and smiles when she takes it without thinking. "Still hate me, Alison?" he asks. How strange to run into her again, so shortly after discovering the film she made about him. "So, what, now you're an artist?" she asks in return, gesturing at the pictures on the walls, "I would think 'con artist' would have been more your style." Alison naturally hated him, all the time he was in their apartment...that was why Justin only really remembers her out of the whole bunch, she's the only one who didn't submit to him. She had his number, told her friends over & over again he was conning them. "I personally don't believe there's a difference, but this isn't my gig. I did the pictures, Eleanor says they're art & it's her gallery. I'm just along for the ride," he explains, respecting her enough to give her the simple truth. Alison's eyes dart around the gallery, looking at his pictures: she could always see straight through bullshit & Justin is prepared for her scathing criticism of his 'art'. But her lip is curled in horror more than contempt as she moans, "God, you're straight aren't you?" Straight people have often thrown the 'gay' label at him, but never the other way around. Either label is meaningless, completely out of his context. Justin wonders if there's a word for guys who like to hit guys, who need to smell blood & deal pain the way others need sex: that would be Justin's label, if any. Alison's arms wrap across her breasts, shielding herself as she waits for him to answer. "I hadn't really thought about that. But that would assume I'm attracted to other women beside Eleanor, wouldn't it? I'm just not," Justin says. He doesn't like people in general, doesn't particularly understand them or even feel like he's one of their kind. Besides Eleanor, there have been a select few other people Justin has felt he could relate to on any level: Alison was one, but the relation he felt to her was & is completely asexual, like his relation to Zach. Until Eleanor, he never thought of people in that light, and even with Eleanor, she had to be the one to start it. Now that she has, she's ignited a fire in him that only she can quench: it's not something he'd want to repeat with anyone else, of any gender or kind. "You've changed, Justin," Alison says, as though that wasn't perfectly obvious at first glance. "We're not 19 anymore, Alison," Justin answers, "And you've changed too. Enough to be living in L.A.: I remember you used to say you would die rather than sell out & go Hollywood. What happened?" Alison's spark dies, she crumbles into herself as she answers with a small & defeated voice, "Fucking life happened man. This is where the Industry is." It's a new & odd feeling, like something has reached into his chest & squeezed on his heart...maybe that's pity, compassion, something he's not really felt before. He respected & even kind of liked this girl; like Eleanor, she's got her own fire, one light against the incredible vast darkness of life...another light to be extinguished by the shit heap of time. "I expected better from you, Alison. You weren't a follower, like your friends. You could have made your own 'industry', you never needed this bullshit here," he says to her, his head shaking sadly in regret. Eleanor joins them at that moment, pouting in absurd jealousy; he's her lapdog & she knows it. Justin leans in to whisper in her ear, "That's Alison, from the Collared film. She must be here for Gavin or Astrid." Eleanor's pout turns to gracious smile as she introduces herself...Justin is determined his Eleanor's spark will never go out, not on his watch. If this art bullshit is what makes the light shine in her eyes & fuels her smile, he'll do it all day, as much as she wants. And he'll enjoy it.

NEXT