Juice with Junior

New York City Boys
Chapter Eleven - Repair, Maintenance, and Some Light Cleaning

(Revisit earlier chapters by clicking here)

"No, I'm not doing it," Jon shouted.

He crossed to the other side of the living room. The effort to evade Erik wasn't working.

"I know. I know," Erik wound up. "It's a big deal, but it's not like he doesn't have it, and it would be a loan, not a hand-out. I don't see what the harm is in asking him?"

"The harm would be...," Jon was speaking and thinking simultaneously. "...That we would probably be beholden to Andrew for the rest of our natural lives. Instead of solving this problem ourselves, we went to him for help. You don't know him like I do. He keeps score of people in his brain, constant silent evaluation and assessment of a person's strengths, weaknesses, debts to him, what he can or can't use you for. I don't want..."

"These people could kill me next time!" Erik screamed, and in the space between them, the dying reverberations of his voice echoed against their crepe-colored walls.

Jon perched himself on the edge of their couch. There was a part of him that knew that what Erik was saying was true. There was also a part of Jon that knew Andrew would relish the opportunity to be forever tied to him. Personally, Jon thought he and Erik could protect themselves, now knowing the full extent of the danger hovering above Erik's head. It might even be better than Andrew having something on you. For Erik, Jon knew, the decision came down to his comfort versus his real, actual, physical pain.

"If you ask," Jon offered. "I'm not going to stop you, but I'm not asking. I already asked for the rent money. I'm not asking for almost $70,000. There has to be a limit to how much I let this man be involved in my life."

"Why?" Erik asked as he sat on the couch and stroked an itchy wound on his abdomen with his index finger. His bruises were healing, but his paranoia was worsening by the day.

Jon looked at his boyfriend. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Erik eyed Jon with a kind tenderness. "Are you afraid that if you let Andrew in too much, that you'll like it, you'll like him, and you'll leave me? Because if that's what you mean, I want you to be honest with me."

Jon bristled, "No. I told you, no. That's not it. It's because we're two adults who should be able to solve our own problems, like owing money to a bunch of insane people. There is a solution to this problem."

"I know there is," Erik said, groaning as he stood from the couch. "And his name is Andrew Kirshner."


Preston kept moving his coffee saucer forward, bumping it against the side of Marcus' glass of water. George flinched from the sound. Marcus started laughing.

"Will you two stop acting so nervous, and ask me whatever it is you want to ask me?" Marcus said. "What is it? You need more information? Another name? Just tell me. I've come to enjoy my little double-cross against you know who."

Preston coughed. "I need you to get me a meeting with Andrew's father, Arthur. It seems pretty clear to me that he would be the only person who would have the evidence I need to connect Andrew to the theft, and I think now with the recent problems he's been having with Andrew, Arthur will be more than willing to give it up."

"And send his only son to jail?" Marcus quizzed. "I'm not so sure about that."

Preston leaned back in his chair.

"Maybe not send his son to jail, but certainly send his son a message that his playboy lifestyle is over," Preston said. "And nothing will end that faster than being forced to give up the magazine you stole because you're being blackmailed."

"You're going down the blackmail route," Marcus sighed. "It's a tough one, but boy, does it work."

"Will it?" George asked, breaking the easy calm between the two other men.

"If we do it right, George," Preston answered.

"We?" Marcus asked suspiciously. "You're taking him with you?" he added to Preston while pointing his finger at George. George straightened up his back at Marcus' implication that Preston shouldn't take him along. Who was Marcus to make such a suggestion?

"Of course I'm bringing George," Preston responded with due annoyance. "He's just as much involved as I am."

"Too many cooks if you ask me," Marcus whispered.

"If you don't like me for whatever reason, I'd prefer you just came out with it," George exclaimed. "Instead of finding reason after reason to ignore what I say and stoke this irrational fire within Preston at getting back at Andrew Kirshner. Or maybe you just like being alone with my boyfriend."

Marcus wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

"I'll see what I can do," Marcus said while standing up from their table. "Preston, as always it was good to see you."

As Marcus strolled away from the cafe table, Preston gave George a swift kick in the shin. George shot his back straight up again. "Ow!"

"I told you the plan is to be nice to him until I get the evidence on Andrew. Stop fucking it up," Preston reminded George.

George rolled his eyes.

"I don't like that guy," George said. "There's something about him that I just don't trust."


Andrew gazed out of the window of his office at Penn Plaza cycling through the many tasks he had yet to complete for the day. Light was fading on the horizon; skyscrapers casting imperious shadows on the defenseless scurrying about below. There was an impatience and procrastination about the moment, as if he wanted what needed to be done done, but didn't have the strength to finish it. He could get lost in the unpleasantness of the things he had already done to people he never intended to hurt, but he decided it would be best not to dwell on what he couldn't control anymore, for now anyway. A knock at his door.

"Mr. Kirshner, an Erik Marr is here to see you," said one of several nameless assistants that kept Andrew's legitimate business humming.

Andrew waved his hand for the assistant to show Erik into his office. Here is a chance to stop thinking, Andrew thought, and start doing.

"Erik, what can I do for you?" Andrew began, continuing, not really giving Erik a chance to reply. "I heard you were injured a little while ago. I'm sorry to hear that. It's sobering, I can only imagine."

The door closed behind Erik. He stood before Andrew with his arm wrapped in gauze and a slight hunch in his back. Erik was literally a broken man. He chuckled nervously.

"I actually, um, wanted to speak with you about me being roughed up. I mean, it has to do with that, what I wanted to talk to you about," Erik answered.

Andrew sat behind his desk, while Erik sat in front, a giant gold nameplate reading "Andrew Kirshner, CEO" confronting him aggressively.

"I was beat up because I owe someone some money, a lot of money," Erik said, his eyes not meeting Andrew's. "And I know you probably get people coming to you everyday for money, but I'm not doing that. Well, yes, I am in the short-term, but not really overall..."

"Erik," Andrew interrupted. "Someone you owe money to beat you up and you want me to pay them to get them off your back. Do I have it right?"

"Except it would be a loan," Erik interjected. "Jon and I would pay you back, over time, with interest if you want."

"How much?"

"Um," Erik paused. "$70,000. Well, no. It's more like $68,000. We'll just say $70,000. I'm rounding up."

Andrew was laughing. It unnerved Erik. He hadn't really planned on sitting down and asking this man for $70,000, but it just spiraled that way. Erik realized that he barely knew Andrew. He felt like he knew him for how much Jon talked about him, but the only time the two ever met was that one instance at Gil Granger's party, with strobe lights flickering and music blaring. It wasn't really a way to get a sense of someone's personality. Erik sat up straight.

"That is a significant amount of money, Erik," Andrew said while tempering his laughter. "I was expecting you to say a few thousand like before."

"I know. I realize I came in here and asked you for a lot of money, but let's not pretend here, Andrew," Erik said boldly. "It's a lot of money for me. It's not a lot of money for you."

Andrew raised his eyebrow. Slowly, he spun his chair around so he faced the window behind him. He stood and walked closer toward it, letting the sunset cast an orange glow over his face. Erik watched him, small droplets of sweat forming a chorus line on the tip top of his forehead. This was taking forever, Erik thought. He didn't want to rush the man, especially if the answer was yes, but he figured that Andrew would have decided from the second he asked whether he'd lend that kind of money out or not. Erik started to feel like he was being jerked around.

"Life is funny, Erik. Whenever someone gives, someone receives. Everything is reciprocal. It's like fucking. If I stick my cock in you, it feels good for you, and it feels good for me. We both get something out of it," Andrew said, sounding as if he was speaking mostly to himself. "Tell me, what am I getting out of giving you this money?"

"Well, you're getting to make sure that nothing bad happens to me and Jon," Erik answered. "And we'll pay you back."

"See, that's where I think you're wrong," Andrew stopped him. "I think this money would make sure that nothing bad happens to you, not Jon. Jon's still going to be living with the constant threat of you slipping, getting yourself into illegal debt again, feeling like you used his relationship with me to fix your problems. To me, it seems like this money would keep you safe, allow you to live your life as it was before, carefree almost, and continue using Jon for your own selfish gratification. That's a lot. Is it worth it to me? I don't know. I'm trying to decide. Is me giving you money really teaching you a lesson in reciprocation? If I'm out this money, shouldn't you be out something too? Or should your life just go back to normal?"

Erik was silent. Just let him talk, he thought.

Andrew continued, "Erik, what if I changed some things around in your plan? What if I made this arrangement make sense in my own mind before I gave you the money? Would that be OK?"

Erik smiled. "That would be fine," he permitted.

"Okay," Andrew started. "Now to me, this makes sense. We'll see how you feel about it. I'll tell my accountant today, right now to take out $70,000 in cash. I'll give you that $70,000, in cash, and you can pay off whomever you owe money to. Wait, remember I said, I changed some things around. In my version, I give you $70,000, and you leave New York until I tell you that you can come back. How does that sound?"

"Excuse me."

"You leave New York. You leave Jon. You take everything with you, and you go away. Anywhere. I don't care," Andrew imagined out loud. "You're an actor. How about you go to L.A.? I'll pay for your flight. I'll get you an apartment. Hell, I'll even set up some meetings with some producer friends I have. But, if you take the money, you have to go there and you can't come back and you can't tell Jon or anyone for that matter about our arrangement. You just leave, and don't look back."

Erik had turned white listening to Andrew, who spun around to face the man to whom he was speaking.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Erik asked in shock.

Andrew sat on the side of his desk.

"Now, I wouldn't have to even think about this. Stay in New York and possibly get me and my boyfriend killed because I probably owe money to the mob, or move to L.A. and live a fabulous life," Andrew repeated. "Seems like a no-brainer if you ask me."

"So what? So you can swoop in and take Jon all for yourself?" Erik said, standing, ready to leave.

"Jon is mine," Andrew snarled. "You're the only thing in the way. Jon would be with me if it wasn't for you. Jon's so loyal, so caring that as long as you're here, he'll never leave you. He'll never realize that we belong together. So, the offer is made. I'll be happy to solve your problem with $70,000, if only you'll solve mine, which is you being in New York, if I haven't made that clear."

"Fuck you," Erik shouted. "Jon was right, you are crazy. I should have never come here. I'll get a job. I'll get two, three, four jobs, whatever it takes without your help. And I'm gonna tell Jon what you said. How much do you think he'll want to be around you when he finds out you tried to send me away?"

As Erik went to leave, Andrew sat up off his desk and paced forward.

"What if they attack you again? What if it's worse than the last time? What if they try to kill you, Erik? What if they decide they want all their money tomorrow?" Andrew said in an eerie calm. "What if they decide to go after Jon instead? Have you thought about that? Have you also thought about what I'd do to you if anyone hurts Jon? I'd kill you if anything happens to him. You have a lot to think about right now. Why don't you go home, take inventory of your life, and ask yourself how important is it to stave off feeling bad now, when you could be doing a lot worse later? When you've really thought about it, come back to me with your answer."

"Your insane," Erik said before opening Andrew's office door and walking out.

Andrew watched him walk out before picking up his phone and placing a call.

"Hey, listen," Andrew started to the person on the other end of his line. "I'm leaving the city for a little while, but while I'm gone, I need you to do something for me, but be very discreet about it."


The drive past the gates into the Kirshner family estate quieted Andrew as he sat in the back of his chauffeured car like he was a little boy again, being obedient as he returned from a function with his parents. There was a lump in his throat. Something about seeing his father made Andrew jittery. His mother had let his father stay at the estate in the far removed hills of Eastview while she spent the end of her summer in Canada, where she was from. Something about driving up to the old house made him realize that he took too long in making this trip, and ending his ties to the past.

Andrew rang the doorbell, assuming that the house key he still had on his keychain had long since stopped working.

"What are you doing here?" Andrew spat at Seymour, his father's boyfriend of whom he wasn't particularly fond.

Seymour placed a manicured hand on his hip.

"I'm staying here with your father for the weekend until I go back to Fire Island to watch over the store," Seymour replied. "Nice to see you too."

"Of course you're here when my mother is gone," Andrew snapped before entering the house. "I need to speak with my father alone. Where is he?"

"Upstairs in his library," Seymour replied.

Andrew walked away and began marching up the grand staircase to the second floor. Half-way up, he yelled back at Seymour, "Alone, Seymour. I'm serious."

Inside his library, Arthur Kirshner looked like a jolly Humpty Dumpty, his round frame propped up by a small chair where he sat. He was hunched over a light trying to make out the text in a book when he heard Andrew enter and close the door.

"Drew, what a nice surprise," Arthur said in sing song. "Your mother's not here, you know? Just Seymour and I enjoying the house before she comes back. I've been looking at my old books, but I'm afraid I left my glasses at the house on Fire Island. You look well, or maybe I'm blind. No, your hair's longer, your cheeks are fatter. Dare I say you seem improved from the last time I saw you? Sit, sit. What has got you in such a contented mood, son?"

"I have to talk to you about how I stole money from your company 15 years ago," Andrew started. "So can we cut the father-son bullshit and talk."


Arthur's skin was three shades of red, but it wasn't from anger. It was from laughing too hard.

"I like how you thought that I could never have guessed after all these years that you took that money from me to start your business. How else could you possibly have started a national media company all by yourself. I knew it from the moment it began. You and Randall sneaking off, him having such a preoccupation with you, my teenage son!" Arthur laughed. "Meanwhile, you're the minx, a snake using Randall to funnel money from me. It was like a Tennessee Williams play. Of course, I knew. I guess I didn't say anything because I wanted you to come clean. I never cared about the money. I would have given it to you, if you asked, which I knew you'd never do. I knew the day would come, when you'd apologize, and now it has. You are apologizing, aren't you? It doesn't even matter. Don't you see now how we can start over, be father and son again, like we always should have been?"

"I guess," Andrew said, slightly shell shocked. "But you know what I did was real, right? I really stole that money, from a corporation of which I didn't belong. It wasn't like a joke or a game. If your shareholders ever found out, you could have been ruined, not to mention that what I did was illegal."

"Only if I cared to tell anyone about it," Arthur replied. "And I didn't and I don't, because you're my son, and I love you, and everything that money has helped you become."

"Father?"

"Yes, Drew, anything."

"You wouldn't happen to have any proof of what I did? Maybe you were holding onto something, because you were mad at me, just in case?"

Arthur leaned over until he was face to face with his son, whose face was so similar to his own.

"Andrew, it's all gone. There's nothing to be found," he said. "Once I realized what you did, I had everything destroyed. You took care of Randall Llewellyn yourself. He'll never say anything to anyone. I assume you destroyed any documents that you may have had. I sold my company. Who's to investigate? Drew, there's nothing to find. Why are you suddenly so worried about getting in trouble for something you did 15 years ago?"

"Dad," Andrew began. "It's a long story, but some people are gonna try to talk to you about getting proof about what we both know I did. We know that there isn't any and we know that no one would ever admit to anything, but I need you to play along with what I tell you to do with these people. I'll explain everything later, I promise."

"Drew?"

"Yes."

"You just called me 'Dad'," Arthur cooed.

"Don't get used to it, old man," Andrew said as Arthur reached over and hugged him.

Andrew, who walked in the room as prickly as he'd ever been, felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. Things were finally going in the right direction.

"You're gonna play along, right?" Andrew asked.

"Of course," Arthur assured him. "I'm a very good actor."


"What is he doing now?" Andrew asked his father over the phone. Andrew had returned to the city and was sitting at his desk again, the windows behind him dark except for lights from the adjacent building as the sun had disappeared.

Arthur was still at the house in Eastview, poking his eye out of the window next to the mansion's front door, narrating the happenings outside. Seymour stood behind Arthur, puzzled.

"It looks like he's dancing," Arthur replied to Andrew.

"Arthur, darling, what are you doing?" Seymour asked.

Arthur turned to his love. "I'm on the phone with Drew. We're playing a little game with the people who were just at the house. I have to tell him things. I'm his little spy."

"Well you have to go to bed soon," Seymour advised before turning away from Arthur's childish antics.

"I will," Arthur said to Seymour before refocusing. "Drew, you're still there? Yes, the cute, blonde one is definitely dancing."

Outside the Kirshner mansion, Preston couldn't help shake his butt and twist his hips in overwhelming joy. George was trying to subdue him, but Preston wouldn't stop. He would only urge George to follow suit. He had just met with Arthur, who appeared upset when confronted with the news that his son had stolen from him and seemed angry when Preston told him that there was no proof to back up his assertions.

"Did Preston believe you when you said you didn't know anything?" Andrew asked Arthur.

"I should be nominated for an Academy Award," Arthur laughed. "I was that good."

Preston was making his way toward his car, when he stopped George in his tracks.

"George," Preston said. "I'm gonna get everything back, and I'm gonna nail Andrew to a wall."

Arthur stared out of his window.

"He's talking to the other guy, the little one," Arthur reported to Andrew.

"That's George," Andrew said. "Dad, did they believe you when you gave them the papers, the banking receipts and all that…?"

"Yes," Arthur confirmed. "The blonde one was very happy about it too. He barely looked at them, just snapped them up and ran out. What were those papers of anyway?"

"Fake bank statements. Account numbers that aren't real accounts. Fake dates, like December 34, 1996, gibberish," Andrew replied. "It's perfect that he didn't even look at them."

"Does the name Marcus Lansing mean anything to you?" Arthur asked. "Because they said that a Marcus Lansing is your accountant and that's how they got Randall's name. Did you know about that, Drew? Are you gonna…?"

"Don't worry about Marcus, dad," Andrew said. "I'm gonna take care of him. What are Preston and George doing now?"

"We are getting our life back," Preston told George. "How about I leave these papers at home. We get dressed and go out and have a fancy dinner tonight, just you and me, George? In celebration of how I triumphed!

"I guess," George said. "I just don't think you should get your hopes up too much. What if these documents are more of the same and don't really show that Andrew committed a crime?"

"You heard what Arthur said," Preston answered George. "He's been saving this stuff for years, knowing that one day his son will have to pay for his crimes."

"I said that 'One day, he'll have to pay for his crimes' and then I have him the papers," Arthur laughed. "Just like you said. I told you if we work together we will make a good team. Okay, they're getting in the car and leaving. You should think about that Andrew? We could be the first gay father and son media moguls!"

"Dad," Andrew chuckled because he couldn't not. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."


Erik was taking his time getting home that night. He had wondered the city since meeting with Andrew, unsure of how to feel about the millionaire's proposal. His knee-jerk reaction was of course to decline, to spit in Andrew's face, and detest him for the pig that he is. But then, as he strolled through Times Square, dodging tourists along the way, he couldn't help but think of the many possibilities that the offer afforded him or how dangerous it would be for him to react without thinking. First of all, Erik couldn't help but remember the pain he felt being knocked to the ground, his ribs stomped on by men in black, angry that he hadn't paid his bill on time. The wound on his side itched like crazy as it begun to heal. He had to imagine that whomever Barry sold his debt to might try to attack him again should he not be able to pay. It was not an unjust reason for doing something drastic to save his and Jon's life, even if that meant hurting Jon in the process. Second, Andrew hadn't said that he had to leave New York forever. And would it even matter anyway? If he said yes, what was preventing him from simply coming back after the debt was paid, Erik thought. He could use the situation of Andrew's blind attraction to Jon to his advantage while still maintaining the life he knew.

Then, there was the problem of telling Jon about what Andrew said. Erik could tell Jon, but then would Jon want to stay working for such a treacherous man? Probably not, Erik realized, which would mean both he and Jon would be out of a job with the debt still looming. That didn't seem like much of a solution either.

As Erik went to cross the street, he glanced up and a chill ran through his body.

Across the street, walking toward him, was one of the men who attacked him. Erik would recognize his face anywhere. He approached him and said "Are you Erik Marr?" when the man began attacking Erik. There was nothing that would wipe that image clean from Erik's brain.

Erik dashed in the other direction and began speeding down the street, apologizing to other pedestrians along the way. He looked over his shoulder a few times. The man was still behind him, a big square head, imposing shoulders, nonchalantly walking down the street. Erik started to sweat profusely, quickening his pace to get away from the man. Erik spotted a pizza place and jumped inside. An over eager attendant yelled "Buddy!" at him. Erik, startled, nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Jesus, buddy, I just wanted to know if you wanted some pizza?" the attendant said.

Erik shook his head frantically as he stared out of the window for any sign of his attacker. He had never gone to the police to report it because the gambling he did was illegal. He kinda wish that he had now.

As Erik frantically searched, the man, the attacker, strolled past the pizza place and kept walking, without a care in the world. Erik collapsed into a bar stool and placed his head on the counter. He began to cry, softly at first, and then a sob. Would everyday be like today, he wondered. I'm never gonna be at peace knowing at any moment they could come to get me, he thought. Maybe Andrew was right about one thing. Maybe it was better to hurt a little now, then hurt a lot later on. He raised his head.

"Buddy, are you alright?" the attendant asked. "Do you need some help?"


Andrew's assistant had a name. It was Josh or Jeff or Jake or something, he just couldn't remember. Andrew hired him because he had a tight 19-year-old body and sparkly eyes. He also had the annoying habit of popping into Andrew's office a lot.

"Mr. Kirshner, is there anything else you need for the night?"

"No, I'm fine. It's late. You should go home or go out and have fun," Andrew replied.

"Thanks," Josh-Jeff-Jake said, almost closing his door before releasing it again.

"What's the problem?" Andrew asked.

Josh-Jeff-Jake opened the door again and on the other side, Andrew saw Erik panting like he had seen a ghost.

"Someone's here to see you," Andrew's assistant said.

Erik didn't wait for an introduction.

"I'll do it," he whispered.

Andrew smiled, "You will?"

"Yes," Erik continued. "If you give me what I need, I'll leave."

"Good, come in, Erik, we'll talk about it," Andrew said. "Josh, would you close the door on your way out?"

Josh beamed.

Andrew had gotten his name right.