Do What You Want

Gap-Filler for Episode 2-11
Photos copyright Showtime 2002

I see him on the other side of the ballroom, shirtless, his slender arms punching the air, his bare shoulders pumping, no mistaking that shiny blond head.  I push my way through the crowd of nearly-naked sweaty bodies, the pounding of the music thumping in my ears as I inch closer and closer.  Finally Iím right behind him, reach out to grab his shoulder and pull him around.  ďJustin!Ē I shout, nearly deafened by the beat of the music, and I feel a smile widening my mouth, I feel my eyes crinkling up in amazed pleasure to find him here.  Then he turns to face me, and itís not Justin. 

Of course itís not Justin.  He stayed for the wedding.

The blond has green eyes, heís a beauty, his smooth tan skin sparking with sweat and silver confetti.  He smiles up at me, a dazzling smile of perfect teeth and luscious red lips, the blond hair tumbling over his forehead.  ďHey,Ē he shouts back at me, ďWanna fuck?Ē

Of course I do, I want to fuck half the guys at the White Party, why else did I come? 

But not this one. 

ďNo,Ē I hear myself saying, and as I turn away and lose myself once again in the crowd, I hear him cursing behind me.  I throw myself into dancing, closing my eyes and spinning around, and I know itís just the Special K that freaked me out.  Some errant trace chemical in the K  mis-firing for the briefest moment, making me hallucinate, making me think that Justin was here with me in Miami after all.

Actually, itís good he didnít come.  I'm not sure why I asked him, it must have been all his whining about homework or that silly pouty face he gets when he tries hard not to ask for what he wants.  Iím all the time telling him to ask for what he wants, do exactly what he wants.  Well, he finally did, didnít he?  He wanted to stay for the wedding, and he did.  Good for him.  Itís not like I needed him with me anyway, heíd only be a liability, I couldnít fuck nearly as many guys if he was here with me, heís so greedy, always wanting me for himself.

Wanting me for himself!  Jesus, I couldnít believe him, walking backwards, bouncing backwards down the stairs at the Pickle Palace, practically proposing!  If I hadnít been in some kind of strange mood after leaving Lindsay, I would have smacked him down, and hard.  Instead I just said he needed a good fuck.  I would have fucked him out of his romantic fantasy, if only he had come here with me.  He would have loved this scene, he loves to dance, he loves to fuck.  We could have had a fabulous time.

Well, itís his loss.  Whoís he gonna fuck while Iím away?

Donít think about it.

Huh?  As if I care!  He can fuck whoever he wants.  Whomever.

I feel obscurely proud of myself for remembering proper grammar while floating above the crowd, reeling from my head-full of K and E.  I go away for a while, close my eyes and float, smelling sweat and sex and a hundred different colognes, colors swirling inside my brain, kaleidoscoping to the changing beat of the music. 

When I open my eyes, once again Iím hallucinating.  Thereís Lindsay, dressed in a white bridal gown, posing on the stage far above my head.  I blink my eyes hard to focus them, and I see that itís not Lindsay, itís a drag-queen bride, posturing in the spotlight.  Laser beams stream over the heads of the writhing crowd and I draw a deep breath, then another.  Suddenly the fake Lindsay throws her bridal bouquet, and I watch in slow motion as it arches through the air coming directly toward me. 

Probably just because Iím competitive, I reach for the bouquet.  Probably just because Iím high as a kite on designer drugs, I reach up above the heads of the crowd, and feel my fingers close around it.  Iím clutching a handful of flowers, I can smell their cloying scent, and I try to loosen my grip and throw it - throw it back to the fake Lindsay, or just plain throw it into the crowd.

Instead my fingers continue to clutch it, almost convulsively.  I start to smile, I am almost laughing.  Itís a good joke.  I hurried away from a silly wedding, I rushed through the airport to catch my plane and zoom into Miami in time for the kickoff White Party bash, and where do I find myself?  In the middle of a white wedding, watching a drag-queen bride prance on stage, and when she throws the bouquet, I catch it.  This will make a good story, a funny story, who could resist laughing? 

But Iím not going to tell anyone.


I thought he might be angry with me, for staying at the wedding instead of going to Miami.  And I was dying to go, of course Ė what fag doesnít dream of attending the White Party?  All those bodies, all that sex and booze and drugs.  But mostly Brian.  More than anything, I wanted to go so I could be with Brian.  Yet I found myself turning him down because I wanted to stay for the wedding.  And it is what I wanted, I didn't do it for Lindsay or Melanie or Debbie; I did it for myself.

Deb made me see it.  That Iíd always regret  not being with my family now.  It  still amazes me to know that I have this wonderful second family gathered around me.  Except for my mom, they are my REAL family now.  Iím a part of it, Iím an important part of this family, and I wanted to celebrate with them this fantastic occasion for Linds and Mel.  I needed to be in the middle of it, to feel them all gathered around, loving each other.

Brian loves them.  He loves them all, but heíd die under torture before admitting it.  Michael knows it, Debbie knows it.  Maybe they all know it, deep down.  But Brian works so hard to keep everybody pushed away, I sometimes wonder if he knows it himself?  Knows how much he loves and needs them all.

He loves me too, he's proved it a million times, but he won't say the words.  That's okay.  Or, if it isn't okay, I will just have to continue waiting.  Because he wouldn't keep me living with him if he didn't want to.  I knew this all along, and yet just last week he proved it again; he taught me another lesson.  Not the frightening lesson when he pretended to choke me - but later, that same night.  He went off with a scary stranger for an anonymous fuck.  I tried to stop him, I begged him to come home with me, and he just pushed me away with a laugh.  I stood watching him walk off and it struck me, like a slap in the face, that, as always, Brian was doing exactly what he wanted to do. 

And as much as I was upset with him, I realized that this proved he was keeping me living with him because that was exactly what he wanted to do.  And why would he want to keep me, if he didn't love me?  Not for sex; he can get that anytime, anywhere.  He could even get it with me anytime he wanted, whether I lived there or not.  Haven't I proved that to him a hundred times during the past year?

So I was pretty sure he would be okay with me making my own decision about staying for the wedding.  Still, I thought he might be angry, but he wasn't.  Amazingly, he wasn't even angry when I told him I thought maybe he and I might get married some day.  He hardly even blinked, just pushed me against the wall and kissed me hard on the mouth.  Said I needed a good fuck on the beach. 

When I told him I needed to stay, at first he was surprised.  Maybe even disappointed.  But then I asked if he was angry and he shook his head.  He gave me that amazing Brian Kinney smile and said, "You're a selfish, heartless asshole. . .   Keep up the good work!" I smiled back at him, then he swaggered out the door, in a hurry to get to the airport. 


The wedding is beautiful and I am so glad I stayed, I'm so glad to be a part of this amazing family.  The women exchange their vows, almost everybody cries.  We stand to applaud them, we follow them out of the makeshift chapel with its gauze canopy, and everyone toasts the brides with glasses of sparkling sweet champagne. 

Lindsay and Melanie cut the cake, and I glance at Vic to see his reaction; he did a great job, he's proud of himself.  I taste-tested the icing and it was delicious; in fact, I tested it till I got a stomach-ache, so when it comes time for us to eat the cake, I think I'll pass.

Oh, now they're going to throw the bouquet!  Everyone jockeys for position, men and women alike.  Ted and Michael squeeze in close, then Emmett practically shoves me out of the way.  I shove right back, we're all laughing and jostling and holding our breath for that exciting moment.  Mel asks, "Is everybody ready?" and the women turn around, hold tight to the bouquet and suddenly they throw it high up into the air.

The bouquet of sweet-smelling flowers arches slow-motion through the air, almost hanging suspended for a moment before it begins its descent.  Oh my God, itís coming right toward me!  What would Brian say if he knew I caught the bouquet?  Let me catch it, I want to catch it!  Please please please. .. .