I tried to smile but my lips were trembling. “Five minutes, then.”
Tony’s expression didn’t waver, but I thought I saw a trace of sorrow in his eyes.
“This isn’t going to work, Kevin. I’m a cop, for Christ’s sake! What you’re doing is dangerous and wrong.”
“I’m bringing some joy into people’s lives,” I said.
“How is that wrong? We’re al consenting adults.”
“Wel, maybe I don’t want to be with someone who would consent to something like that.”
What could I say? “Maybe you don’t.”
Tony sighed and his shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry, Kevin. This just isn’t something I can wrap my head around. It… disgusts me.”
Now a tear did drop down my face. “I disgust you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know, Kevin. I just… what we did yesterday, was that just business to you, too?”
I felt like yel ing but could only croak. “No, Tony, no.” I reached a hand out to his face. “Tony, my whole life, no one else has ever touched me here.” I put my hand on my heart.
Tony brushed the tear from my cheek with his thumb. “But a lot of people have touched you everywhere else, though. Right?”
His gesture was kind but his words were cruel.
Was that how it was always going to be with Tony? Was he always going to be coming and going? Straight but gay? Loving yet hurtful?
After Tony dumped me, I spent seven years closing off my heart. Yet, when he came back into my life, I was only too ready to reopen it for him.
Maybe I was right the first time.
There’s this heartbreaking scene in The Prince of Tides where Barbra encounters Nick Nolte after he’s made the decision to dump her and return to his wife. Even though she sees him from across the street, she takes one look at him and realizes that he’s lost to her. She breaks into tears and they share a final embrace.
She doesn’t beg, she doesn’t plead.
She lets him go.
Let’s see if I could be as classy as she was.
I threw my arms around Tony and squeezed him tight. He didn’t hug back, but he didn’t pul away, either.
I wished he didn’t feel so fucking good, but there you have it.
I released him and opened the door. He looked surprised.
No more talking. The door is open, Tony. What are you going to do?
He looked at me unblinkingly for one long moment. I saw every kind of regret in his eyes.
His lips parted. I thought he was going to kiss me.
He walked out.
I closed the door, slid down to the floor, and cried myself hoarse.
After I got that out of my system, I took a long shower, put on some clean clothing, and pressed some ice against my cheek.
Truth was, my relationship with Tony died a hundred years ago. He was right. We never should have gotten back together. It was a mistake.
You can’t raise the dead.
You shouldn’t love the dead, either.
Tony was dead to me.
So was Al en.
Was that my problem? That I couldn’t let go?
If the police didn’t think Al en was murdered, maybe I should just accept it and move on.
After al, what was the point of pursuing Al en’s death? It had gotten me beaten up in a hotel room and cost me my one chance to reunite with the man who was probably the great love of my life.
That’s it, I decided, I’m through with Tony and with the Harringtons.
It was time to let the dead stay dead.
The phone rang. Tony? I thought, hating myself for wishing it was.
But Cal er ID told me it was another man who had been on my mind.
Paul Harrington was cal ing me.
CHAPTER 20
“Tell me again what you want me to do,” Freddy asked when I cal ed him one minute after I finished talking with Paul.
“Just be at the bar where I’m going to meet Paul and sit in the back. I don’t want him to see you. Then just… watch. Just to make sure he doesn’t try anything funny.”
“Honey, I’ve seen Paul Harrington,” Freddy said.
“The only funny thing he’d try would be to give you a handjob under the table.”
“No, I think one of the Harrington boys might want to have me hurt.”
“Just because Michael looked like he wanted to eat you alive the other night? And I mean, like Hannibal Lecter wanted to eat Clarice,” Freddy clarified.
“No,” I answered. I told Freddy what happened at the hotel.
“What!” Freddy said. “Are you shitting me?”
“I wish I were.”
“Have you told your cop boyfriend about it?”
“I was about to, but then he dumped me.” I explained what just went down between me and Tony.
“Poor baby,” Freddy said. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”
Freddy loved me, but to tel you the truth, he didn’t sound that sorry.
“Thanks, but I real y don’t want to focus on that right now. The point is, we’re not going to get any help from him.”
“Doesn’t sound like. But why are you meeting Paul?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthful y. “I guess I’m curious. He said he wanted to talk to me but he wouldn’t say why. I was just about to give up on the Harringtons when he cal ed. Maybe it’s a sign.”
“‘Wet floor’ is a sign, too, angel. One you’re supposed to avoid. Like the Harringtons.”
“I know, but if I don’t do this, I’l just spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Let me see what he has to say. I’l let him know that the warning I got today worked and that I’m backing off.”
“Are you?”
“I was half an hour ago. Now, I don’t know. Wil you help me?”
“Honey,”
Freddy asked,
“what are you, meshuggana? Of course I’l be there. But listen- how about you cal me on your cel and leave it on the table while you and Paul talk. That way, I can listen, too.”
“You’re a genius,” I told him. “Thanks, Freddy.”
For our meeting, Paul picked a bar wel known as a place where married men of means could meet in a dark and discrete setting. From its mahogany bar to its twenty dol ar martinis, live piano player, and subdued track lighting, Intermission reeked of money and good taste.
Of course, the men who came here were rarely interested in meeting each other. The bar was fil ed with hustlers of the highest order, young men with gym toned bodies, fake tans, and higher educations.
Anyone of lesser quality would be ignored or evicted by the imposing bouncer who sat by the door as imposing and immobile as a Rodin.
I knew boys who worked Intermission. They usual y did very wel. The clientele was wel — off and conducted themselves as gentlemen. I avoided it because it sounded like a meat rack, albeit one with leather seating and stunningly handsome bartenders.
“I figured I’d pick a place you were used to frequenting,” Paul Harrington said, in lieu of “hel o,” as I settled myself into the booth he had chosen, as far back and as dark as it was possible to find.
“Actual y, I’ve never been here before,” I said.
“How about you?”
“Not real y.”
Just then, a waiter who could have been cast as
“handsome col ege student #2” in a soap opera came to our table.
“Good to see you again, sir,” he said to Paul in a deep baritone. “The usual?”
While Paul cringed and ordered, I took my cel phone from my pocket, discretely pressed the speed dial number for Freddy, and put it face down on the table. I saw him at the bar, with his back to us, and his Bluetooth headset firmly planted in his ear. He pressed the “answer” button and nodded. I knew he could hear our conversation. Good.
Studly McWaiter turned to me. “And you, sir?” His voice was respectful, but the look he gave me was condescending.
I ordered a bottled water.
“Very good then.” He turned away, revealing an ass as perfect as the rest of him.