“In my day, teaching was for women.”
“Thankfully I don’t live in your day.” I broached what I assumed might be a sensitive subject for him. “Living the… spontaneous life, didn’t you ever have any… aspirations?”
He leaned back in his chair. “My father had aspirations for me to take over the railroad business. Unfortunately for him, I found the whole thing incredibly pedestrian and mundane. So, a cousin took over.”
“Did you go to college?”
“I did.”
“What was your major?”
“I wasn’t in the Marines.”
I sighed. “What subject did you study?”
“The classics, literature, criticism, rhetoric, the usual. Studying at the university was rather difficult, but it wasn’t my fault. Palmer Skeffington and Tyler Maxwell hosted parties in our room until all hours.”
“Did you graduate?”
“Of course. Thanks to Reg Tootington. I could always rely on good old Reg for a paper or exam.” He winked at me. “And all he wanted in return was a little… attention.”
“After you graduated, there must have been a profession that interested you.”
“Such as?”
“You dance really well. Did you ever want to be a dancer?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time in frolic pads.”
“Frolic pads?”
“Dance clubs.”
“Had you ever considered becoming a dance instructor?”
“I think I know where you’re headed with this line of questioning, Andre. And here’s the truth of it. In my social circle, working was looked down upon. Anyone who didn’t live on his family’s money was considered a pauper.”
“But you lived during the Great Depression.”
“Thankfully the railroad continued to flourish.” He grinned. “And I had many generous friends.”
“If you had been able to have a profession, what might it have been?”
He thought a moment. “I would have fancied being a peeper.”
“A peeper?”
“A detective. That would have been great fun.” Sticking out his chest, he added, “I was… acquainted with the Boff!”
“The Boff?”
“Broadway Johnny.”
I was still at a loss.
“Didn’t you learn your history? Johnny Broderick was the most famous police detective in New York City, patrolling the Broadway district and sniffing out notorious gangsters like Legs Diamond and Two-Gun Crowley.” He slid to the edge of his chair. “Johnny told me the most fascinating stories about the secret lives of prominent individuals.” He sighed. “The Boff and I shared fun times. Until his… partner, Johnny Cordes, grew jealous and pulled Broadway Johnny back by the suspenders.”
Finished with my soup, I started on my Caesar salad, which was equally delicious. “Did your family try to pressure you into getting married?”
“Not only my family. Plenty of Hopeful Sallies too! Many cake-eaters were coerced into the muzzle.” He seemed proud of himself. “I managed to bob and weave.”
Assuming this would be my only opportunity to interview someone dead, I asked Freddy, “After you… expired, did you… hear bells, see deceased loved ones, walk with Jesus, sit on a cloud, enter a space for self-reflection?”
“Sorry, no.” He stared off into the distance. “After I heard the shot, I felt myself floating… and thinking.”
“About what?”
“How I’ve never loved anyone romantically, and nobody has ever loved me. It made me quite sad. I wondered if other deceased cake-eaters felt the same way.”
“The number of same-sex marriages grows every year in the US. And the liberal Protestant and Jewish religions accept LGBTQ people and same-sex marriage now.”
“LGBTQ people?”
“Lesbians, gays, bisexuals, transgender, and questioning or queer.”
“Transgender?”
“Not identifying with the gender you were labeled at birth.”
“I see. I’m guessing the Catholics aren’t onboard with any of those things.”
“You guessed right, which is incredibly hypocritical since they’ve been shielding pedophile priests for centuries.”
“I see that hasn’t changed.”
“So much for feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, taking in the stranger, and shielding the downtrodden.”
“I’m guessing you aren’t a Catholic?”
“I’m a Unitarian Universalist.”
He smiled. “Like Beatrix.”
“Beatrix?”
“Potter.”
I cried, “You knew the creator of Peter Rabbit?”
“We were great pals. Bea based the character of Peter on me.”
I threw up my hands. “Of course she did.”
He giggled. “Bea said I had the cutest bottom.” Sighing, he added, “Bea was quite a character herself, but I never understood her religious beliefs.”
I struggled to find the right words. “UUs believe in one god, whether it be the god of any religion or the great force of nature. All spiritual cultures and prophets, including present-day sages, are embraced, but we follow no dogma. Instead, we live by the seven principles calling for compassion, acceptance, social justice, and spiritual discovery and support.” Finished with my salad, I moved on to my omelet and potatoes. “I studied various cultures as part of my master’s degree in music. What struck me again and again is how every religion has similar elements: a higher power or powers, a creation story or stories, the great flood and desolation, rebuilding and renewal, fear of annihilation, a martyred savior, and a call to love and serve each other with the hope of future resurrection and rebirth.”
Affection filled his eyes. “You are a regular Mrs. Grundy.”
“Care to translate that for someone born in 1995?”
“You’re straitlaced.”
I smirked. “Thanks.”
“Actually, I find you refreshing.”
“Why?”
“Because unlike most other people I’ve encountered, you don’t put on airs. True, you aren’t the flashiest marble in the box, and you tend to go on about things, but you’re honest, sincere, and kind. I like that.”
I gazed at his handsome, welcoming face and broad shoulders, feeling enveloped by his bubbly scent. To my surprise, I leaned toward him. Coming to my senses, I stood up, cleared the table, and began cleaning the dishes. When Freddy followed me to the counter, I said, “Thank you for the nice dinner.”
“You are welcome.”
I continued cleaning up. “I’m guessing it was difficult watching me eat.”
“Actually, I liked it. Since I can’t enjoy my cooking, it was nice to watch somebody reaping the benefit of my culinary talents. Especially someone sweet like you.” Since I was finished in the kitchen, he took my hand. “Come sit with me on the chaise.”
I joined Freddy, and we stared out the balcony window. The sun was low in the sky, like a warm golden blanket around us.
He said, “I would offer you a cordial, but you don’t drink.”
“Neither do you, now.”
“Good point.”
After we sat for a while in silence, he placed his long arm around me.
Pulling away, I asked him, “How long do you plan on staying here?”
“Aren’t you comfortable? If we move the armchairs back to the proper position—”
“I don’t mean sitting on the chaise. How long do you think you’ll be living here… inside the player piano?”
“It doesn’t seem like I have a choice one way or the other at the moment, does it?”
“I guess not.”
“So let’s make the best of it, roommate.” He gazed at me with adoration. “And that won’t be hard to do. Andre, you are the best thing that has happened to me in a very long while. Maybe ever.” He leaned in to kiss me.
I slid away from him. “I’d better get to my bedroom.”
“It’s still early.”
“I should answer my emails and text messages.”
“What are those?”
“They’re like letters, only they come electronically.”
“Like Morse Code?”
“Something like that.” I stood. “And I should go on social media.”
“Social media?”
“It’s a way to share pictures, write to people, and then read their snarky put-downs of what you’ve posted.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I ask myself that all the time.”
“And you can engage in all that without leaving the house?”
“Sure. And foreign governments even use it to tamper with our elections.”
He pulled me back down. “Don’t go yet. Let’s sit here, enjoy the view a while longer, and get… cozy.”
“Freddy, as I said, there can’t be anything between us.”
“Can’t there?” He reached over and kissed me. His lips were full, soft, warm, and incredibly seductive.
“Freddy, this won’t work.”
“It seems to be working just fine.” He wrapped his arms around me and pressed my chest against his. It felt firm, strong, and lean. After placing my palms on his broad back, he kissed me again. “Now that’s more like it.”
Rising, I shouted, “I need to go!”
Glancing up at me, he asked, “Do you need to iron your shoelaces?”
“Do I what?”
“Have to use the gentlemen’s quarters?”
My voice sounded incredibly shrill. “Freddy, I explained to you why we can’t kiss.”
“Without good old Reg writing my papers for me, I’m a slow learner.” He stood next to me, placed his hands on my hips, and leaned in for a deep, wet kiss.
I pulled away. “Freddy, go to your piano!”
“Things were just getting interesting.” He kissed my neck.
“We can never….”
He nibbled on my ear. “Are you absolutely sure?”
In panic mode, I pushed him away. “Yes, I am. Because you’re a player, a moocher, and a man who partied your way through life until you were shot in 1935, hence your ghostly state. And the idea of us spending a cozy evening at home together is totally ridiculous! Do you understand? Or should I try to bring ‘good old Reg’ and ‘Broadway Johnny’ back from the dead too, so they can explain it to you!”
His back stiffened. “I understand, Andre. Now there is something I would like you to understand. When I was shot, it all happened so fast. I didn’t believe it. But then after a long rest, I found myself coming out of that player piano, and I was given a second chance at living. The rules had all changed, of course, but it was living all the same. I was terrified at the proposition of existing in a different time and place with limited abilities. But then I met you. At first, I found you as infuriating as you found me. But then it all seemed like a new adventure that was a little bit wonderful. No, a lot wonderful.” Tears filled his eyes. “Because I thought, how ironic. For my entire life, I had searched for someone, other than my parents and sister, who might understand me. Somebody who I would trust enough to see me out of my party face. A man who might help me feel comfortable in my own skin. But I had never found that. Yet to my astonishment, after death I met you. And I thought for a brief moment that maybe, just maybe, it could be possible after all. But as you pointed out so clearly and completely, I was wrong about everything. Not only in life, but it seems also in death.”
I watched as he disappeared. “Freddy!” Feeling ashamed of myself for saying those terrible things to him, I ran to the player piano, loaded a new roll, sat on the bench, and pedaled fiercely. Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies” played, but Freddy didn’t appear. I shouted to the pianola, “Freddy, it’s Israel’s song from 1926. I assume he wrote it while you and he strolled hand in hand outside on a nice day, causing Addison Mizner to be mad with envy.” The song ended. Deadly silence surrounded me. “Freddy, please come out. I’m sorry for what I said to you. I know I judged you unfairly.” I paced around the room, flailing my arms. “But I’ve only known you a day. I’ve never spent time with a ghost before. And we’re very different people. Please, come out so we can talk about this?” My pleas were followed by stillness. Needing to cool down, I opened the balcony door and stepped outside. The sun set in a tapestry of crimson, marigold, and periwinkle. I glanced over at Leander Bryce’s window next door. The muscular college film professor was in his T-shirt and boxers undergoing his usual nightly routine. He cleaned his camera lenses and then exercised with his hand weights: curls, reverse curls, bent-over row, flies, dead lift, and squats. As was our custom, he waved from behind his window, and I returned the wave from my balcony. Thinking about Freddy, I didn’t enjoy watching Leander’s routine as much as usual. I waved again. Leander didn’t return my wave, continuing his exercising.
Suddenly, I heard a loud thud coming from the living room. “Freddy?” After hurrying back inside, I scanned the room and found nothing disturbed and Freddy nowhere in sight. Since the sound appeared to have come from the entryway, I opened my front door. Alexandria Popov Sokolov’s lifeless body fell at my feet. I pushed away her long blond hair, and I spotted red marks on her neck. After placing my finger under her nose, I realized she was dead.
Chapter Five
“I DON’T like what you are insinuating about my nephew, Detective.” My aunt Nia stood in front of me like a mama bear protecting her cub.
After Alexandria Popov Sokolov had literally dropped into my apartment, I had phoned Aunt Nia in a panic. She had called Detective Takoda Shawnee, who had moved into apartment 2B a month ago. The detective arrived at my apartment door quickly. Another detective, two police officers, and the coroner followed soon afterward. As the officers taped off my apartment as “the crime scene,” Shawnee led me to my aunt’s apartment in 1B. Aunt Nia, wearing a patterned gold and zaffre Dashiki dress and a thick wooden necklace, planted her feet in the entryway. “If you’re going to accuse my nephew of murder, Detective, you can leave my home right now.”
Detective Takoda Shawnee, middle-aged, tall, with a frame like a linebacker, ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Ms. Purnell, I am not accusing anyone of anything. I need to ask your nephew some questions.”
She glanced at him suspiciously. “Alexander Popov in 1C is a lawyer. I’m going to call him.”
Shawnee raised a large hand. “Another detective is questioning Mr. Popov and Mr. Sokolov in Mr. Sokolov’s apartment.” He sucked in air through his wide nose and his high cheekbones became more prominent. “You’re welcome to remain if you like while I question your nephew.”
Aunt Nia turned on the sarcasm. “Thank you for allowing me to stay in my own apartment.”
“As long as you don’t interrupt my questioning,” he replied with a twinkle in his dark eyes.
If looks could kill, Shawnee would have been six feet under. The layout of Aunt Nia’s apartment was similar to mine except for the second bedroom, where I had grown up. Aunt Nia sat on her sleek rust-colored sofa and motioned for Shawnee and me to join her on the adjacent matching armless chairs. A carved wooden end table in the shape of a djembe drum separated us.
As I sat next to Shawnee, I noticed his bulging muscles nearly ripping out of his suit. He slipped a small recorder out of his jacket pocket and asked me, “Do you mind if I tape the interview?”
“Yes, we mind.” Aunt Nia glared at him.
He sighed. “Do you mind if I take notes?”
I spoke up. “That will be fine.”
After taking a pad and pen from his other pocket, Shawnee said, “Please tell me again what you were doing before you came across Mrs. Sokolov? And give me the time.”
Ignoring the sweat dripping down my back, I cleared my throat. “It was about eight thirty.”
“How do you know?”
“I had glanced at my watch.”
“Why?”
“Is it against the law for my nephew to check the time?”
Shawnee cocked h
is head at Aunt Nia. “I thought you were going to keep out of this.”
She waved me onward.
“I was on my balcony watching the sunset.”
“Were you doing anything else?” he asked.
My voice shook as much as my hands. “I waved to my neighbor, who was behind his window in the next apartment.”
“That is Professor Leander Bryce in 3B. He’s lived here six months.”
Shawnee waved his pen at Aunt Nia. “You’ll get your turn soon.”
“Something to live for.” Aunt Nia folded her arms over her chest.
I continued. “I heard a thud at my front door. When I opened it, Alexandria’s body fell inside my apartment.”
“She hadn’t been in there before that?”
Aunt Nia groaned. “My nephew hardly knew her. What would she have been doing in his apartment?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Shawnee turned toward me. “Mrs. Sokolov lived with her husband in apartment 1A. Your apartment is 3A. Why was she there?”
I shrugged my quivering shoulders. “I opened the door, and there she was.”
“Had you invited her?”
“No.”
“She just landed in your apartment?”
Aunt Nia interceded. “Since you live in the apartment over mine, Detective, I can attest to the fact that you are heavy on your feet. But I caution you to tread lightly here.”
I reiterated, “Alexandria had never been in my apartment before, and I hadn’t invited her in tonight.”
Shawnee wrote on his pad. “What did you do after you found the body?”
“I noticed bruise marks on her neck. When I saw no sign of breathing, I called Aunt Nia, who phoned you.”
“And luckily Ms. Purnell found me at home.”
“Yes, I was very lucky.” Aunt Nia smirked at him.
He asked me, “Were you alone in your apartment?”
“Yes.” I was not going to tell him about Freddy in the player piano.
“My nephew is single,” Aunt Nia explained.
He replied, “Single people are allowed to have guests in their apartments.”
The Player Page 6
