Love You to Death

by Grant Michaels

“Yeah, that’s right. A secret.”

  “So maybe we can have one more secret?” he asked with a sly look.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You like to go to bed?” He pushed his right hand up under his sweatshirt, lifting it slightly so that I could watch him caress his taut belly and finger the short, black hair there. Damn! Why was this guy so interested in me, first at the party, now out here by the ocean?

  “What about Danny?” I asked.

  “Dunny? He’s not home.”

  “But aren’t you two …?”

  Rafik shook his head no. “We are not lovers anymore.

  “I thought you said you were here with him?

  “I am with him, but not together.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Rafik grinned self-contentedly. “Mr. Kingsley invite me.

  “But you just said he’s not here,” I said, trying to get his story straight.

  “Yes, he is not. I work at his company, driving the truck, you know?”

  “Yes, I know, but does that qualify you to stay at his summer place, in the middle of winter?”

  “Oh, sure.” His hand pushed the jacket up further to show a well-formed pectoral. “So you want to go inside?”

  “I would like to get warm.”

  “I have good idea,” he said, and suddenly peeled off his sweatshirt. His muscular chest had a neatly trimmed, fan-shaped mat of coarse hair, clipped short and bristly. The cold air set it all on end, and the rest of his skin also went bumpy in the breeze. His nipples greeted the frigid air with a perky salute through the dark hair. “Come,” he said, and undid his sweatpants as well. He jogged away from me, then stopped momentarily to pull off the sweatpants, leaving only his robin’s-egg-blue jockstrap. I was right. He did look like a dancer, and he moved like one too, as though this were all a familiar sequence of steps rehearsed and performed many times before. But I’ll confess, his furry limbs sure were appealing against the patchy snow. He turned toward me and beckoned. “We go to bed now.” He ran toward the solarium attached to the back of the big house.

  Being a lonely pile of flesh and bones, I’d be a fool to pass up a chance like that. I got up from the bench and headed toward the house, picking up Rafik’s discarded clothing along the way— already the wife. As I got near the house, Dan Doherty emerged from the pathway that led around from the front of the house.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. Then he saw Rafik’s near-naked body entering the solarium, while I stood there holding his clothes. Dan frowned and said, “Figures you’d get your way with him, Vannos.”

  “Uuuuhhhh …”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, irritated but resigned. “I’m used to it. He’s good for nothing.” Dan watched Rafik waving energetically from inside the solarium. “I take that back. Rafik is certainly good for one thing.”

  “Danny, I didn’t come here to have sex with him. I came to talk to Prentiss and you. I even tried to find you at your place last night. I’ve got some unpleasant news, I’m afraid.”

  “Vannos, you can cut the crap. You don’t need an excuse to have sex with Rafik. Really, it’s ‘anything goes’ out here in the ’burbs.”

  “I’m not making excuses, Danny. And you can call me Stan now. Vannos is okay in the shop, but this has nothing to do with the shop.”

  His face relaxed slightly. “You mean it, don’t you?” he said with less anger in his voice. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes, this is serious.”

  “We’d better go inside then.”

  We walked by the solarium. Rafik stood within, exposed and appealing in his glass cage. Cripes, I’d just about got my sludgy juices moving again, and yet again I had to interrupt the flow. I don’t know why my parents didn’t just name me Frustration.

  Inside the house Dan removed his down-filled parka and hung it in a fastidiously organized closet. “Take your coat off, get comfortable,” he said. I dropped my jacket on a chair, but Danny picked it up and hung it—arranged it—alongside his in the closet—ever the designer. Then he led me into a large, bright room with numerous bay windows, complete with window seats and chintz-covered cushions, all facing out onto the bluff and the ocean beyond. The fireplace was blazing, even though it was mid-afternoon. Through one of the front windows I saw Danny’s car, easily identified by the vanity plates: DDDESIGN.

  Danny flopped himself onto one of the sofas. I sat in a high-armed chair that enveloped me luxuriously as the down-filled cushions wheezed out their air. “Is Prentiss here?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, reclining and stretching himself out provocatively. I hoped it wasn’t for my benefit.

  “Danny, it’s important that you both hear this. Will you promise to tell him?”

  “Depends.” His eyes seemed to be flirting, and I soon recognized a behavior pattern that I’d often seen with other couples: Love my spouse, love me.

  I said, “Depends isn’t good enough, Danny. I found out something about the poisoned chocolate that killed that man the other night.”

  “The one Laurett Cole gave to her boyfriend?

  “That’s the point. It was a mistake. The truffle that killed that guy was intended for Prentiss Kingsley.”

  Danny pulled himself upright and faced me with sudden alarm.

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “Laurett made a last-minute switch because the original truffle had become damaged.”

  “But how do you know it was meant for Prentiss?”

  “Because it was almond-flavored. Laurett said that one was for him. And the almond flavoring easily covered the taste of the cyanide.”

  Dan began a nervous laugh that grew and grew until it verged on hysteria. He got up and poured himself a shot of whiskey from a crystal decanter. He downed it in one grand gesture, as though acting in a bad soap opera. Then he turned to me and said flatly, “The almond truffle was not for Prentiss. It was for me. Prentiss is allergic to almonds.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Danny smirked. “I ought to know. He’d never ask for an almond truffle. The flavors obviously got mixed up.”

  I quickly replayed the party scene in my head. “So that’s why he spit his chocolate out that night. He was afraid of an allergic reaction.”

  “That’s right.” Danny’s voice started wavering. “And since I was supposed to get the almond truffle, that means someone wanted to kill me the other night.”

  “But who? Why?”

  Without answering, Danny poured himself another drink, then realized he hadn’t offered me one yet. He held the decanter toward me and asked, “Scotch?”

  I replied, “Bourbon, neat.”

  He poured an inch of fine bourbon into a crystal tumbler and handed it to me. Then he sat in the other armchair and spoke. “Prentiss has a half brother, John Lough. He hates me.”

  “Why?”

  “He thinks I’m corrupting Prentiss, that I’ve turned him gay.”

  “Is it true?”

  Dan squirmed in his chair. “Prentiss and I have a deep friendship. He confides in me.”

  “Is that all?”

  With an angry look Dan said, “There is no sex between us.”

  “Whose decision?”

  “None of your goddam business.”

  “Isn’t it a little extreme to think John Lough wants to kill you because you’re close to Prentiss?”

  “And because I’m gay, and therefore I’m bad.”

  “But why pick now to do it?”

  “The opportunity was right, I guess.”

  “It sounds too simple, Danny. There must be something else.”

  He got up to refill his glass again. All along he’d been pouring himself more than an inch, yet the liquor didn’t seem to be affecting him. “Well, since you’re so smart, Vannos—excuse me, I mean Stan—what do you think?”

  I looked into his eyes. “I think money.”

  Danny went back to the sofa, lay down, and put his stocking f
eet up on the cushions. “Money, money, money. Here’s to money!” he said, and raised his glass in a toast. “You’re right, of course. You’re always right, aren’t you?”

  “Far from it.”

  Danny closed his eyes and spoke as though reciting from a memorized script. “Prentiss inherited his money from his mother, Helen Kingsley.”

  “What about his brother John?”

  Danny shook his head. “Half brother. He was born after Prentiss, when their father remarried, so he got nothing. Besides, the Kingsley money always went to the women, up until the last one, Helen Kingsley. Since Prentiss was her only child—she died giving birth to him—he inherited everything, the money, the company, the property, everything that usually went to the oldest daughter.”

  “So that’s why Prentiss retains the Kingsley name as a kind of memorial to his mother.”

  Dan shook his head. “Not a memorial. Guilt. It’s all guilt. Imagine killing your mother just by being born, then getting all that money.”

  “At least he gets to live a life of ease.”

  “Prentiss has plenty of problems, believe me.”

  I shrugged. The neuroses of the wealthy rarely aroused my sympathy.

  Finally, Dan’s speech was showing the slightest slur. “He tries to be generous with John. He even made up that position for him at the factory, some monkey-job in corporate administration. The salary would make you puke.”

  “So John should be content, not murderous.”

  “But he wants more. He wants bigger. He wants the whole thing. And now Liz is in the picture, and John’s afraid she’s gonna get some of it.”

  “So how do you fit into all this?”

  Danny looked at me with watery, unfocused eyes. “Hey, what is this, a goddam game show with all the questions?”

  “Someone tried to kill you or Prentiss the other night. I’m just trying to establish motive.”

  “Fine, then. Make a motive.” Dan gulped the rest of his whiskey, then staggered up to pour himself another. He faltered over the decanter. “If I’m dead, John gets more. There’s the motive. And he’ll sleep better if he removes another of us filthy vermin from the face of the earth.”

  I couldn’t recall John Lough having the capacity for that much passion. Meanwhile, Rafik had quietly entered the room. He looked sullen and dejected, though he’d put on a colorful new set of warm-ups.

  “Quit wearing my clozhe,” Dan shouted with an obvious slur.

  Rafik looked at me sadly, as though I’d reneged my troth of undying love, as if to say, “See how I live without you?”

  “Dan,” I said, “where is Prentiss now?”

  He shrugged. “Uddn’ know.” Dan turned suddenly to Rafik. “Hey! Why don’t you go play in the snow, Rafi-baby. Maybe roll off the edge and leave me in peace.”

  “I do nothing to hurt you, Dunny.”

  “Your life gives me pain.”

  “I go now.” He turned to me and spoke almost imploringly. “You will come to the solarium later?”

  I scratched my ear. “I think you might arrange your assignations more discreetly, Rafik.”

  “Ah, you are romantique, eh? L’assignation, alors?”

  “I’ll come and say good-bye before I leave.”

  Rafik left us alone, then I asked Dan, “Did you tell the police any of this the other night?”

  Rafik’s interruption seemed to snap Dan back to sobriety, at least for a few minutes. “Can you imagine what they’d do with this piece of faggot sensationalism?”

  “But you think John Lough wants to kill you.”

  “If I told the police that, they’ll do absolutely nothing. They’ll write me off as a hysterical queen.”

  I looked at Dan. Maybe he was right. He did tend to embody the archetypal urban American gay designer clone.

  “Dan, will you promise to tell Prentiss what we talked about today? It’s important that he knows that the killing the other night was not accidental, and that the intended victim may have been he or you. You said he confided in you. You owe it to him to tell him.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  I wasn’t going to get much further with him, and my welcome was obviously spent, at least in the main part of the house. I asked, “Can I use your phone to call a cab?”

  “You can call from the solarium, when you and Rafik are done.”

  I got up and extended a hand to Danny.

  “What’s that for?” he asked.

  “To show my good intentions.”

  “Save it for some other sap.”

  I left him and set off to meander through the hallways of the large house, first picking up my jacket along the way, then aiming myself in the general direction of the solarium. I found it, guided by the bright light coming from the open doorway that led out to it. Though it was early February, the glass-enclosed structure was very warm—almost too warm. Certainly it was warm enough to lie about naked on the white wickerwork furniture and feel the welcome heat of the sun penetrate your frozen winter flesh and thaw your frozen winter bones. Rafik was lying on one of the padded lounge chairs. He’d placed a towel discreetly across his crotch, but underneath it lurked a lively mound of flesh.

  His eyes were closed, but he knew it was I who’d entered the heated structure. “Lie down with me,” he said.

  I sat on the edge of the plump cushion.

  “Rafik?”

  “Eh?” He opened his eyes just a slit.

  “Who would want to kill Danny?”

  His fiery eyes shot open. “I want to kill him.”

  “You?”

  “He make us so miserable. Why he cannot say fini and leave me alone? We do not love each other.”

  “Why did you come here then?”

  “I was here. He came to see me.”

  I knew he was lying, since the visible facts were exactly the reverse. It was Danny’s clothes and Danny’s car that were ensconced at the place—not to mention his confidential relationship to Prentiss Kingsley, whatever that meant. But damn, he was handsome! And the hot sun made his skin smell of mild, sweet spice. And I was hungry. The scent and the heat and the look of him made me blurt without thinking, “How did you get to look like this?”

  “Is my family,” he said, enjoying my admiration. “And I was dancer,” he added with a complacent smile, eyes closing again.

  “But now?”

  “I still do barre.”

  None of the bars I went to ever did that for my body.

  “Can you help me, Rafik?”

  His eyes opened again, this time with that come-onna-my-house look. “Of course I help you.”

  I asked, “You work at the factory, right?”

  “Yes….” he answered, disappointed by the kind of help I was seeking.

  “I want to find out who made those chocolates, the ones for the party last Sunday night.”

  He weighed this all for a moment, then pulled my head down to his and kissed me on the mouth with a real affectionate smooch. “I tell you, Stani.”

  “You know?”

  “I know everything.”

  “Who then?”

  “You will stay with me?” His dark eyes sure knew how to tell love-laden lies.

  I shook my head. “Not here. Not with Danny around.”

  “Then I keep my secret,” he said with a grin.

  In a lame imitation of Branco, I grunted. “Then I go.”

  I called for a cab and asked for the “female” driver. That done, I hung up and turned to Rafik’s warm, prone body. I tweaked him lightly on his left nipple, and said, “A tout a l’heure, diable!” Then I stood up and walked out of the place. If Rafik hadn’t been so damn appealing and hadn’t stimulated my vesicles, I would have written him off as a first-class hustler and exploiter. But his body heat and his suave continental manners seemed to jam out any negative traits he possessed. When the cab arrived to take me back to the train station, my stupid crotch was still saying yes.

  Some people think I’m
oversexed, that sex is my focus. But in truth I’m one of those unfortunate souls who confuse sex and love. I’m just over-lonesome, and the simplest way to handle it is always to be searching for the perfect bedmate. It looks to others like an insatiable libido, when it’s actually an unfulfilled urge to nest and nestle. The proof? Put a porn movie on the VCR and two minutes later I’m contemplating housework. But, on the other hand, invite me away on a romantic weekend, and I m yours forever. Well, for three days anyway. So all the rumblings that Rafik was causing within me were more related to the lack in my life of that heavenly phrase, “Honey, I’m home!” than to his sinewy muscles, his chiseled face, and his big dick.

  I got back to North Station around five-thirty and went directly to Snips. I figured Nicole would be waiting there with Tobias, ready to pounce on me and scold me. I was right. She was reading to him quietly in the waiting lounge, but the minute I walked in, she got up and dragged me to the back room, where she slammed the door closed.

  “Where were you?” she demanded.

  “It was important. I had to go.”

  “So is managing this shop, Stanley. When I gave you the keys, I expected a certain level of responsibility, which is something you seem to have lost.”

  “Nikki—”

  “Don’t ‘Nikki’ me. I’m tired of this Nancy Drew impersonation. You lied to me this morning, Stanley. I abhor that.”

  “But—”

  “And you’re not scoring any points with Chaz either. He’s thinking about dropping Laurett’s case.”

  “But that’s unethical. He can’t desert her just because he doesn’t approve of me.”

  “He’s a lawyer. He knows his rights.”

  “And I know he’s a jerk.”

  “Enough! It’s been a difficult day.”

  “For me too, doll.”

  She pulled out a cigarette and lit it nervously. It was rare for Nicole to use a cigarette as a prop, since it usually provided pleasure for her.

  “And that boy is quite a handful, Stanley. Are you sure you’re up to caring for him?”

  “He’s not so bad once you get used to him.”

  “As if you should know. Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to find out, since I won’t be helping you anymore.”

  “Why not?”