Two things happened this week in the bar. Two bad things. And I’m not sure which of them disturbs me the most.
We had our first hate crime. It wasn’t against me-but it could’ve been. It was against a friend of mine, Brian Meadows, the leader of the South Chicago Gay & Lesbian Alliance. He was here to conduct a meeting and three black street hoods got wind of it somehow. They drove into town in their pickups, hauled him outside to the back parking lot, threw a noose around his neck, tightened it, and dragged him around, humiliating him. They hit him a few times, cracked an egg over his head. One of them even peed on him. “We’re gonna have us a lynching, boys!” That’s what one of them said. The irony of the situation was, I’m sure, totally lost on him.
I eventually got a cop over to break it up. The punks were arrested; they spent two hours in lockup and then went free. Charges were never brought. Brian didn’t want the bad press he knew would result. I was scared to death. I went to Mario and demanded that he hire security for the back parking lot. It’s so big and dark and unfenced, anyone could get away with anything back there, especially in the wee hours of the morning. I didn’t want what happened to Brian to happen to anyone else.
Mario told me to stop being a weak sister and to get back to work.
The second incident did not strike me as personally, but scared me just the same. I caught some kids in one of the back rooms using Ecstacy. We’ve never patrolled those back caverns very carefully. We figure some of the new hitches step in there to try a few sample smoochies before they commit to going home with each other. All well and good. But they weren’t supposed to be party rooms-especially not for anything illegal. Turned out these were high school kids passing for college students. I don’t know where they got the drugs; I just hope to God it wasn’t in the bar. I confiscated what I could and told them to get the hell out and never come back. They gave me a little grief, but eventually they left.
I told Mario about it, and he responded with his typical indifference. What did he care what a bunch of punks did? If they want to ruin their lives with drugs, let ’em. After all, we serve alcohol, and that’s a drug. It was no use. I don’t think he gets it. If we develop a reputation for being a local rave house, our paying customers will be supplanted by crackheads and undercover cops. They’ll look for an excuse to shut us down and eventually they’ll succeed. I’ve put too much into this place to let that happen.
I told Shelly about it, but she didn’t take it much more seriously than Mario had. She says being gay has made me paranoid, made me afraid of authority figures, afraid of everything. I know she loves me, and she probably can see some things about me I don’t see myself. She thinks it was a fluke. She says our customers are way too smart and Ecstacy will never catch on here. And she’s probably right. Maybe I’m just a worrywart.
Which is a hell of a lot better than being a weak sister.
Maybe I’m crazy, but I do think of this place as my home. I created it, in a very real sense. I think of Mario as my grumpy dad, Shelly as my spunky little sister, our customers as my friends. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to this little joint.
It’s the one place in the world where I feel safe.
Mike met Baxter at Gate C-37 at O’Hare for their flight back to Tulsa, bearing a gift in a Starbucks cup.
“Heads up, Baxter.”
“This is for me? What brings this on?”
“Just wanted to show you that I don’t subscribe to any sexist old-world stereotypical notions. This time, I fetched the coffee.”
She removed the lid and brought it close to her face, drawing in the rich aroma. “You mean there’s coffee in there somewhere, beneath the whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles?”
Mike grinned. “That’s the rumor.”
She took a sip. “Any luck tracking down the source of Manny Nowosky’s fifty grand?”
“Alas, no.”
“And it didn’t come from the kidnapping?”
“Not directly. We’ve checked the serial numbers. Common sense tells me the ransom money is the only big cash Manny ever came near. But how did he swap out the numbers?”
“What about the Ecstacy-pushing?”
“I don’t think that would yield this kind of… of…”
Baxter leaned in. “Yes? Is something wrong?”
“Damn.” Mike’s eyes turned toward the sky, his brain racing. “Yes, something is very wrong. Damn!” He pushed out of his chair. “Call headquarters and tell them to cash in our tickets. We’re taking a later flight.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
Mike was already halfway across the terminal and accelerating with each step. “To correct a tragic error. Before it’s too late.”
The place wasn’t open yet, but that didn’t stop Mike. She was there, and that was all he cared about.
“Shelly!”
The petite barmaid was dusting the back shelves, around and between the bottles of exotic liqueurs. She jumped when she heard his voice. “Wh-what?”
With one hand on the countertop, Mike vaulted over the bar and landed just before her. “Show me your arm.”
Deep lines creased her face. “What? But it hasn’t healed.”
He reached forward and jerked her arm out of the sling.
“Ow!” Shelly cried.
On the other side of the bar, Baxter was gaping in amazement. “Mike, what the hell do you think-”
He wasn’t listening. He grabbed the bandage on her wrist by one end.
“Ahhh!” Shelly cried out. “Please stop!”
Mike ripped off the bandage with one jerk.
And revealed… nothing. No wound, no scar.
Shelly fell silent. Her eyes scoured the bar, finally returning to the man standing just before her. “Look, I can ex-”
“Can it,” Mike barked, pushing her toward a bar stool. “No more of your bull. You’re going to sit down now and tell me what really happened. All of it.”
“But I don’t-”
“Quit the crap!” he bellowed. “You’re already in so deep you may be irredeemable. Perjury on top of everything else. Your only hope whatsoever at this point is to tell me the truth. And that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
On a day like today no one should have to be inside, Mike groused as he rode the elevator to the fifth floor. This was a day for outdoor activity, rappelling and canoeing and playing touch football with the neighborhood children. And he wished that was what he was doing. Actually, he wished he was doing anything other than what he was doing.
FBI headquarters, of course, was open 24/7, and he’d kept his ID card, happily, and by luck he managed to catch her still in her office.
“Mike!” Special Agent Swift said, when she saw him coming her way. She was wearing another one of those turtleneck sweaters, and God but she looked good in it. “You decided to take me up on my offer.” She put a mildly lascivious look on her face. “Which offer?”
“I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”
“Sounds good to me, sugah.”
“I don’t mean the usual foreplay byplay. I mean really talk.”
She frowned. “You’re awfully serious today, tiger. What’s up?”
He took a deep breath. “Shelly spilled. I mean everything. The truth.” He gazed with a deep and penetrating expression into her eyes. “I know.”
Her head craned back. “Know what?”
Mike stared at her, and as he did, that damned Billy Joel song, “The Stranger,” started rattling through his head again. “Swift,” he said quietly, “I know.”
She seemed confused, trying to calculate what next to say, what next to do.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d play straight with me and not try anything stupid. I haven’t called for backup. Yet. And I’ve asked Baxter to remain outside.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to convince you that Shelly is lying.”
Mike slowly shook his head.
“Stupid woman. It was a mistake to ever involve her.” She fidgeted with her hands, her long red nails clicking together. “What tipped you off?”
“Tony Barovick,” Mike replied succinctly. “I’ve read his journal. I’ve talked to his friends. Maybe it’s just ego, but I came to feel as if… as if I knew the man. Even though I didn’t. Felt like I knew what kind of person he was. He had flaws and problems and insecurities, just like the rest of us. But I think he was basically a good person. A decent person. That’s why I had a hard time believing he was involved in some two-bit drug-running operation. And I had a particularly hard time believing he had any part in the abduction of a little boy, even when all the evidence pointed in that direction. I just couldn’t believe he would ever want or need money that much.”
“People aren’t rational,” Swift said. “Not all the time. They do strange and unpredictable things. You can never really know another person.”
“Yeah,” Mike continued. “I knew that fifty grand we found on Manny had to be the proceeds from the kidnapping, but the serial numbers didn’t match. In other words, the loot had been laundered. But how? Manny didn’t have any means or connections for laundering money. Charlie the Chicken certainly didn’t. That would require someone with a legitimate business. Mario Roma.”
“He has always maintained that he severed his mob ties.”
“Not that that means much. But he didn’t need mob ties. He had his own club. Money laundering would be a cinch, especially with Shelly helping. She hadn’t been involved in the kidnapping, but she was more than happy to help out with the laundering once Mario promised her a small cut. All they had to do was replace the money that came into the cash register with money from the ransom, a little at a time. Not enough to create suspicion, or a trail. It would be a slow process. But it would work.”
“Assuming no one found out.”
“Yes, but someone did, didn’t they? Tony Barovick, the poor chump. He says in his journal that he had responsibility for the cash register. He counted the daily receipts. He let Shelly do a lot of the accounting work because she was better at it, but he was ultimately responsible. And I also know from reading his journal that he took his responsibilities very seriously. He must’ve caught Shelly or Mario making the switch, or somehow figured out what they were doing. That’s why he had to die.”
“Shelly told you they used her to lure Tony out.”
“Which was all a big con to bail herself out of trouble. She didn’t have to be forced to do anything. She put on that fake sling and told people she’d tried to kill herself after Tony was killed to divert suspicion and give herself a story to tell in case anyone questioned her hard about her fatal phone call. After Mario realized Tony was onto the money-laundering scheme, I’m thinking he went ballistic. A hothead like him-I can see it happening. He thinks his little scheme is crumbling all around him. He panics. And he decides Tony has to die.”
“Mario could never keep his head together under fire,” Swift commented.
“So,” Mike continued, “he needed to get Tony alone, fast, before he said anything to anyone, so Shelly lured him out. She knew he’d come. He loved her. He thought he knew her.” He shoved his fists angrily into his pockets. “But you never really know anyone, do you, Swift? She betrayed him. Just like you did me.”
“What?”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Mike grunted. “I was such an idiot. Tony Barovick, a kidnapper. In retrospect, it’s so stupid.” He swung his fist in the air, pummeling an imaginary punching bag. “Tony Barovick wasn’t the fourth kidnapper. You were.”
She took a step closer to the doorway. “That’s a pretty serious accusation, sport.”
“It’s all too obvious. For months now I’ve been beating myself up over that botched rescue mission. I couldn’t figure out what went wrong. How did the kidnappers know when the snipers had been pulled in tight, making it safe for them to flee through that underground passageway? How did they know you and I were coming up the rear fire escape? Easy. They had a man on the inside. You.”
“Mike, I’ve been working with you to solve that case.”
“No, you’ve been clinging to my side like a barnacle to make sure I didn’t get too close to the truth. And I suppose if you ever thought I was too close, you would’ve taken care of me-just like you did the others.”
Mike watched her eyes flit around the room-to her holstered weapon on the coat stand.
“Please don’t,” Mike said. “You wouldn’t get past me. And even if you did, Baxter and three uniforms are waiting in the elevator lobby. There are dozens of people in this building. It’s over.”
“Guess this is the part where I ask to see my lawyer, huh?”
Mike felt a sadness so intense he could barely speak. “Before you go all Fifth Amendment, answer one question, okay? Why Manny and Charlie the Chicken? Why did they have to die? Just so you wouldn’t have to share?”
She shrugged. “We could’ve handled Tony in a sensible, nonlethal way, but Mario didn’t ask me. He just went off half-cocked and killed the poor kid. At least he had the sense to move the body to the frat house and crank up the air-conditioner-both to confuse the cops. Afterward, of course, the murder became this huge cause célèbre and got so much media attention, Manny and Charlie demanded more money, and fast. Manny was the instigator. We gave Manny all the loot we’d managed to launder so far, but I guess it wasn’t enough. Manny threatened to talk if I didn’t transfer all the money-even the unlaundered stuff-to him immediately. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was hiding out in Tulsa, refusing to return to Chicago with the rest of us. He was panicking. With every reporter in the country working on the case, he thought we were doomed. He wanted every penny he could get so he could slip out of the country, and if he didn’t get it, he and Charlie were threatening to make a deal with the DA, so…”
“A power drill?” Mike said incredulously.
“It wasn’t planned. I went over just to reason with him. There was a fight and…” She sighed. “A good agent is trained to use whatever weapons are at hand. After Charlie learned what happened to Manny, he tried to hide. But I found him. I am a detective, after all.”
“And you set up Mario.”
She didn’t deny it. “He was behind all the attempts on your lawyer buddies. The vandalism, the shooting incident. We made it look like that gay rights group was responsible. Basically, he wanted them to back off. He wanted Christensen convicted and the whole business put to rest. They were doing a lot of snooping around, too, you know. Mario was setting the stage to take them out-if they got too effective or too close to the truth.” She paused. “Mario was always a hothead-to the bitter end. I eventually realized that keeping him around was… an unacceptable risk. After the lawyers gave that press conference, Mario had a meltdown. He tried to get me to kill them, but I told him I couldn’t. Since I knew you all personally. So he went himself.”
“You knew he’d end up getting himself killed.”
“I had a strong suspicion, yeah. But of course, if he’d been successful, that would’ve worked for me, too. Mario’s death left me with all the money, minus the fifty grand Manny had and whatever trivial sums went to Shelly. And all the known conspirators were eliminated.” She sighed. “It seemed like the perfect crime.”
Mike removed the cuffs from his belt. “There’s no such thing.” He was relieved when she allowed him to restrain her. All the combat scenarios that had run through his mind on the drive over-none of which ended well-were not going to materialize. “Care to tell me why?”
“Aw, who the hell knows?” Her voice seemed tired, drained of its usual effervescence. “I could use the money, sure. But-you know, I worked on all of those child kidnapping cases. For years. I saw all the mistakes crooks made, mostly just because they’re so damn stupid. And I thought-I could do this. I could do this so well no one would ever catch me. And I did. Or so I thought.” A soft echo of a laugh escaped her lips. “It was a lark.”
“Not for Tony Barovick,” Mike replied. “So that’s it? You did it for the intellectual challenge? For kicks?”
She shrugged. “Would it be better if I told you the Metzger family betrayed me when I was a child? That I needed money desperately to save my ailing, sainted mother? Grow up, Morelli. A crime’s a crime. We’re all crooks, deep down. All we need is sufficient motivation.”
“Some of us don’t even need that, apparently,” Mike muttered. He stopped at the threshold of the door. “I liked you, Swift. Did you know that? I’m not talking about all the teasing pseudosexual stuff. I mean I really liked you. I admired you. I thought you were a great cop.” His head swayed from side to side. That damn Billy Joel song buzzed to the surface of his brain. “And then the stranger kicked me right between the eyes.”
He turned her around and steered her out of the office.
After Mike made his report and put Swift in custody, he found Baxter waiting for him outside the downtown Cook County jail’s rear entrance.
“Need any help?” she asked.
He shook his head slightly. “All done.”
“Sorry it had to work out this way. I know you cared about her.”
“Did I?” Mike walked slowly toward the car. “I think I just enjoyed working with someone who was so…” He thought for a moment. “So easy. In a good way, I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“And she liked poetry.”
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste.” Baxter smiled, but it didn’t take. “And she did all this… because she could?”
“Basically.”
“Strange.”
Mike nodded slowly. “Aren’t we all.”
They both slid into the car, Mike driving. Baxter waited until they were out on the highway and halfway back to the airport before she spoke.
“Mike… I think we should talk about it.”
His chest deflated. “About what?”
“You know perfectly well. The kiss.”
“I already apologized. I was buoyant.”
“It wasn’t the first time.”
“Well, it was the last.”
“I think we have to be realistic. These are our careers we’re talking about. We don’t want to do something stupid and screw them up. I just don’t think this is going to work.”
“It’s going to work,” Mike said flatly.
“What?”
“I said, ‘It’s going to work.’ ”
“And how can you be so certain?”
He slowed to take the exit then, when it was safe, turned to face her. “It’s going to work because I want it to work.”
If immersion in a trial was like being submerged in a tank of water, then the end of a trial was like having your sub surface, like being released from prison, like being permitted to reenter the real world after a long absence. The firm of Kincaid & McCall celebrated the successful conclusion of this trial with a company picnic at Williams Park, named for the renowned Tulsa auctioneer, Tommy Williams. Jones reserved a pavilion, and it was a beautiful, warm but not too humid, mildly cloudy, all-in-all glorious day.
Jones and Paula were tossing a Frisbee out on the grassy stretch between the basketball court and the creek, Loving was climbing on the new playground equipment, and Christina was trying to teach Ben the fine art of barbecue.
Ben stared at the pink clump of raw hamburger meat. “So… you have to touch that?”
“Unless you’ve mastered the power of telekinesis, yes.”
He extended one finger. “Kind of… slimy, isn’t it?”
Christina’s patience was wearing thin. “Come on, champ. Learn something here. You can’t go on eating Cap’n Crunch all your life. Get your hands into it. Smoosh it into patties.”
A pained expression crossed his face. “And then you put it on that hot grill?”
“That’s the traditional method, yes,” she said, drumming her fingers.
“When do you take it off?”
“When it’s done.”
“And how do you know when it’s done?”
She made a tsking sound with her teeth as he pressed the meat into patties. “Didn’t your parents ever have cookouts when you were growing up?”
“Sure.”
“Who cooked the burgers?”
“Actually, we had people…”
Fifteen minutes later, Christina returned from the Frisbee field and peered at the smoking grill. “Burned?”
Ben tilted his head. “Well, it was my first time. And I was kind of worried about the E. coli thing.”
Christina rolled her eyes. “Better stick with the cold cereal, Ben. I don’t think cooking is your line.”
“I’m not giving up that easily,” Ben said, diving into the picnic basket. “I’ll cook the hot dogs.”
Christina snatched the package away from him. “I’ll cook the hot dogs. You have a visitor.”
“I-what?” On the other side of the pavilion, he spotted Ellen Christensen. “What is she doing in Tulsa? At our picnic?”
“I invited her.”
He stared at Christina blankly. “You did what?”
“You two need to talk.”
“I do not have the slightest need or-”
“You do. Don’t leave things dangling, Ben. This may be your last chance.” She pulled him to his feet. “Just-go.” She gave him a little shove forward.
His face was a picture of unhappiness. “For the record, I’m only doing this for you.”
“That works.”
He crossed the pavilion till he reached the spot where Ellen waited. He stood at least two feet away from her. She was dressed casually, shorts and a polo shirt, but she looked strong and much healthier than she had since this entire case had begun.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. She was obviously nervous. She fidgeted with the belt loops on her shorts. “I wanted to thank you. For what you did for Johnny. He’s home now, for a little while. Till they file the assault charges, anyway. I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels, having him back with me again.” She looked up at Ben, eyes wide. “My boys are all I’ve got now.”
Ben nodded.
“It was so wonderful, what you did for Johnny.”
Ben craned his neck uncomfortably. “Christina did the hard work.”
“But Christina didn’t have to work through… what you had to work through. What you did…” She shook her head. “Was special. And I will always treasure it.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I didn’t even want to take the case.”
“That’s my whole point. You didn’t want to take the case, but you did. You didn’t want to work on the case, but you did. You didn’t want to help me, but you did.” She closed her eyes, and a tiny smile illuminated her face. “I think maybe you haven’t changed so much after all.”
“Believe me, I have.”
She looked at him, and when she did, it was with eyes that seemed to travel back farther than the events of the last few months. “You never like to let anything show. Withdrawn, cranky-that’s what you want the world to see. But I know better.”
Ben coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back.”
“To Christina?”
He stopped. “And Jones and everyone else.”
“I like Christina a lot. She’s wonderful.”
“Well… yes.”
“She thinks you’re afraid to make a commitment. And I very much fear… that may be my fault.”
“Don’t be stupid. That was years ago.”
“Yes, but… sometimes it’s the old wounds that hurt the most.”
Ben shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“You know, Ben-what I did. All those years ago. It was a horrible mistake.”
It was?
“You were so sweet and kind and I loved you so dearly. But when I knew the baby was coming, I just freaked. I lost faith. I thought I had to play it safe. Couldn’t take a chance on a punk college kid. But look at you now!” She smiled. “I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did.”
“Who really knows anybody?” Ben wondered. “When all is said and done, we’re all strangers.”
“But there is one thing I do know-something I want you to know,” Ellen continued. “Letting you go was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Ever. And my biggest mistake.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You did the right thing.”
“I-but-”
“And I knew it. Even then. I just couldn’t… wouldn’t accept it.”
Ellen’s eyes widened. “In time, Larry and I made a life for ourselves. It was different with him. He didn’t miss the girl I had been before the disease set in. He fell in love with the woman I became. And David is a wonderful boy. He reminds me of you in-” Her voice choked. “Truth is I never stopped missing you, Ben. You were the one who got away.” She stood there another moment, then clasped her hands together. “Well… goodbye.”
“Wait.” He reached out, and a second later, he was hugging her, her cheek to his, tight in his embrace. He couldn’t know how long it lasted; it was ridiculously too long and impossibly too brief.
And then she was gone.
She was so beautiful this morning-and every morning-Ben literally couldn’t take his eyes off her. He had never felt anything like this in his entire twenty-three years of life. The warmth that gurgled up out of his chest every time he looked at her. The happiness he felt in the morning when he woke, just knowing she was somewhere near. The ache he felt whenever they were apart.
“How long have you been staring at me?” Ellen murmured, her eyes barely open.
“I don’t know. An hour or so.”
“Geez Louise. Turn on the television.”
“I’d rather watch you.”
She rolled over, tucking the sheet under her arms. “I bet my breath is atrocious.”
“Like sweet lotus flowers,” he said, leaning forward to give her a kiss. “Ambrosia. Nectar of the gods.”
“You only think that because you have a vivid imagination.”
“I only think that because I love you.”
Her eyes sparkled. “And when did you decide that?”
Ben inched forward, throwing his leg over her hips. “The first moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Oh, right.”
“True.”
“In that little coffee shop on Yonge?”
“Where you played guitar and wore that punk leather skirt. Fabulous.”
“And you thought right then and there you were going to have me?”
“I thought right then and there that you would probably never let me anywhere near you. But I had to try.”
“I’m glad you did.”
He leaned forward again, and this time the kiss lasted for a long, mutually stimulating minute. After their lips parted, Ellen suddenly coughed, a deep throaty cough that grew in size till she was racked by the strain. It was at least a minute before she was able to stop.
“Are you all right?” Ben asked, his forehead creased with concern.
“Fine, fine,” she assured him. “Just swallowed wrong or something. So what’s our plan for the day? Shopping at Eaton? Movie at the Bloor? Maybe the Harbourfront?”
“I’d rather stay in bed with you.”
“Even you might run out of steam after a while, lover boy.”
“We can just cuddle. I don’t care. Just so we’re together.”
Her forehead crinkled. “Man, you really are in love, aren’t you? Is there anything I can do to help?”
He nodded. “Marry me.”
She looked at him for a long time. “Peanut butter and jelly!”
“The traditional responses are yes or no.”
She giggled. “Peanut butter and jelly.”
“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
Under the covers, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. “You and me, kid. Because we’re so much better together than apart. And now that we’ve been stuck together, we can never be entirely separated.”
By seven-thirty, the sun was setting. Everyone had eaten and returned to the playing fields. Loving and Jones had started with one-on-one basketball, but it had somehow degenerated into dodgeball. Loving was creaming Jones, which brought Paula no end of merriment.
Christina gazed across the stone picnic table at Ben. He seemed tired, but not unhappy. Most of the hostility she had seen these past few weeks was gone, and thank God for that. Perhaps it was finally time…
“Fun having a family, isn’t it?” Christina said, as she and Ben watched from the shade of the pavilion.
“If they were my family,” Ben groused, “I’d hang myself.”
“They are, you know.”
“If they’re our family, what does that make us?”
A question he almost immediately regretted verbalizing. It hung in the air like a crystalline balloon, fragile, but refusing to go away.
“Thank you for talking to Ellen.”
He shrugged. “No big.”
“I’ll bet.” She paused a moment. “She has another son, right? Her own child.”
“David. Thirteen.”
“That’ll be a comfort. Once Johnny starts doing his time.”
“I would imagine.”
“So… that means David was born just after-”
“I wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“Mmm.” She looked at him for a long moment. “I liked Ellen. I can see why she meant so much to you.”
Ben looked away, out at the horizon. “I thought I knew her. Stupid. Truth is that no matter what you do, how much time you spend, you can never know another person.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. I thought I knew Ellen. Mike thought he knew Agent Swift. Tony Barovick thought he knew Shelly. You think you know someone and you put your trust in them and-pow! They betray you.”
“Not always,” Christina said firmly. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“Easy to say.”
“Look at me,” she said, gently turning his head until he faced her. “I would never betray you. And you would never do anything to hurt me. I know that. I know it.”
A silence fell, one that threatened to become oppressive. Christina snapped her fingers, shattering the silence. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.” She pulled a small tape player out of the picnic basket and turned it on.
“Is that Rachmaninoff?” Ben asked. “ ‘Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.’ I love that piece.” He peered at her strangely. “I didn’t think anyone knew.”
Foolish boy. Mothers know everything. But I’m taking credit. “I thought it seemed like something you’d enjoy.”
“Heck of a good guess.”
“Well, we have worked together for a good while now, Mr. Kincaid.” She eyed him carefully. “I know you pretty darn well.”
“I guess so.” Christina wished she were telepathic; she’d give anything to know what was buzzing in that little brain of his.
“I’ve been a real horse’s ass, haven’t I?” he said.
“Not at all. Extenuating circumstances.”
“I know I have. I was awful.”
“You were just you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Like there’s something wrong with just me?”
“Apparently not.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
He put his other hand on hers. “I think I’m ready. To take the next step.”
She peered back at him. “You mean-beyond Scrabble?”
“If-it’s okay with you.”
“Ben Kincaid, it is so, so, so okay with me.”
Their heads drew closer together…
And a basketball slammed into Ben’s forehead.
“Hey, heads up!” Jones shouted. “What’s with you two? Weren’t you watching?”
Ben looked at Christina. Christina looked at Ben.
They kissed.
Just came in for a few minutes to jot down my thoughts. Wish I could be more upbeat about things, but there’s no denying that this has been a tough week.
It started with Roger. After all we’ve shared, as long as we’ve been together, it looks as if our relationship may be coming to an end. I suppose in the cosmic scale of things it isn’t that big a deal. More lovers fall apart than stay together. But I can’t get over the feeling of loss, the sense that I’m giving up some part of me that I can never regain. It hurts in a way that nothing has ever hurt me before.
I’m very concerned about what’s been going down at the bar. Remote Control has been my baby from the get-go, but I have the sense that it’s slipping away from me, that outside forces are stealing my progeny. I don’t know what to do about it. Word on the street is that an undercover cop is watching the place. Why? I’d like to think it was the hate crime those hoods perpetrated on Brian Meadows, but I know that incident isn’t even a blip on the law enforcement radar. I adore Shelly and she knows it. I would never want her to be hurt. Why does life always have to be so hard?
There were two frat boys sitting at a table together tonight. They knew I was gay and were determined to give me grief about it. One of them seemed truly mean, almost psychotic mean. For a split second, I wondered if we were going to have a repeat of what happened to Brian. Fortunately, as soon as I backed away, they went back to swilling their overpriced Mexican beer.
The easiest thing would be to hate those two frat boys. Easiest thing in the world. But somehow I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know what made them the way they are, but I know in my heart that given half a chance, both of them would be capable of doing great things, wonderful things, of doing great good in the world. No one is born to be a villain. I believe that everyone-even those two-in their heart of hearts wants to be good. Wants to do good.
Oops-phone call from Shelly. Gotta wrap this up. I can’t begin to know what the future holds for me. But I do know that the power of love is still out there, still waiting to be tapped. And I’m ready to play my part. I’m excited about it-looking forward to it, in fact. And why not?
I’ve got my whole life ahead of me.