The Player

by Joe Cosentino

  Alexander choked back tears. “They found Alexandria in your apartment.”

  “I opened my door, and Alexandria fell inside. I hardly knew her. And I want you to know I had nothing to do with… what happened to your sister.”

  Tears brimmed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you.”

  “No apology is necessary.”

  He sniffled. “My sister and I have always been very close.” Pointing to the dress, he added, “I’m wearing her clothes now. It’s my way of honoring her.”

  “Do you know why your sister was in front of my apartment last night?”

  “I had hoped you might be able to tell me.”

  “I have no idea.”

  The door opened and I moved away. “Alex….” Denis Sokolov entered wearing only his briefs, the widower’s rippling muscles on display. He hadn’t shaved, and his dark hair hung over his forehead. Upon spotting me, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Alexander said, “Denis Sokolov, 1A, this is Andre Beaufort from 3A.”

  “I know who he is.” Denis’s broad shoulders tightened in my direction. “What was my wife doing in your apartment last night?”

  Alexander rested a hand on his brother-in-law’s thick arm. “Andre said Alexandria was dead before she fell into his apartment.” He blinked back tears. “I believe him.”

  “Thank you.”

  Denis didn’t seem so inclined. “Did you have any business dealings with my wife?”

  “No.” My voice cracked, which didn’t help my case. “I’m a grade school music teacher.”

  “Were you interested in my wife?”

  Alexander rested a soft arm around Denis’s shoulders. “Denis, my gaydar tells me Andre did not have designs on Alexandria.”

  Denis relaxed at Alexander’s touch. He said to his brother-in-law, “We need to talk about the… arrangements.”

  “I should go,” I said. “Again, please accept my condolences… to you both.”

  “Thank you.” Alex offered me a sad smile. “Sorry not to be more hospitable. This is all so… surreal. I still can’t believe my sister is gone.”

  “I understand.”

  The novelist nodded toward the hallway. “Thank you for your condolences.” After I took a step outside the apartment, he closed the door.

  I left the building and was greeted by the clear morning sky. The busy city street was full of walkers, bikers, businesspeople going to work, and caretakers pushing strollers. I headed along the waterfront and watched the rays of sunlight shimmering inside the cyan ripples of the Hudson River. Cargo boats and sailboats skimmed by me. When I reached the Castle Point Lookout, I nodded to the George Washington Bridge, Empire State Building, and Statue of Liberty.

  All through a Golden Age of Music lecture at the civic center, I couldn’t stop thinking about Freddy and the way I had hurt him. Before the talk ended, I gave up trying to grasp the material to use for a future lesson in my class. Instead, I went to the gym and worked out on weights and machines for over an hour, thinking the exercise might take my mind off Alexandria’s murder. It didn’t. So I stopped at a buffet health-food restaurant, hoping some good food would put me in better spirits.

  Though it was pretty crowded, I was able to move down the long line of food choices relatively quickly, selecting a grilled vegetable pesto and goat cheese whole wheat wrap, hummus with lentils, a seaweed salad, and a carrot-kale smoothie. Scanning the seating area, I found a small empty booth in the far corner of the restaurant under a mural of assorted vegetables. After biting into my wrap, I glanced up at Milo Archer standing over my table with a lovestruck look on his face. The nineteen-year-old college student had a large green apron wrapped around his lean torso, exposing the numerous tattoos on his arms calling for revolution. “Hi, Andre.”

  “Hi, Milo. Enjoying your summer?”

  His jade eyes glazed over. “Working here full-time sucks more than working part-time during the school year.”

  I assumed that cleaning and cutting produce, wiping tables, and mopping the floor wasn’t an exciting long-term career prospect. Trying to encourage him, I said, “Two more years and you’ll get your degree from State. Then it’s the business world for you.”

  “Which I plan to enter and then take down.”

  “Take down?”

  “Totally. The business world is a totalitarian society.”

  I continued eating. “How so?”

  “Think about it, man. Do drug companies really need to make hundreds of millions of dollars in profits while people can’t afford to pay for their medicines? And should CEOs of big companies make millions of dollars in bonuses while they lay off half their workers or reduce benefits for the other half?” He scratched at the shaved sides of his head and then yanked at the long purple hair on top. “The stock market, banks, large corporations, and the tax-exempt megachurches all need to go.” Picking at a freckle on his nose, he said, “We need to start over, like they did after the Great Depression.”

  That made me miss Freddy even more. “Many people lost their fortunes during the Depression.”

  He sat next to me. “Dude, do you think it’s fair that some people have billions of dollars while other people go to sleep cold and hungry at night?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I’m glad you feel me, Andre.”

  Trying to change the subject, I asked him, “What do your parents do for a living in Maine?”

  He smirked. “My dad’s an investor. My mom works in a bank.”

  “I’m guessing they pay for your college education?”

  He waved a tattooed finger at me. “Another rip-off. How can you charge people to learn?” He leaned close to me and our shoulders touched. “But I think being a grade school teacher is way cool. Actually, I’ve been thinking about you, man.”

  I slid away from him. “Really?”

  “At night in bed. I think about how you’re lying under me.”

  “There’s a ceiling and a floor separating us.”

  “Sure, but I like knowing you’re downstairs. Especially now.” Looking like a lost little boy, he said, “The detective who lives in our building told me the lady in 1A was murdered in your apartment. What’s up with that, dude?”

  I sighed. “She was murdered and then she fell into my apartment.”

  “Harsh!” He leaned into me. “I’ll never forget how nice you were to me when I moved into the building two years ago.”

  “I said hello and welcome.”

  “And I appreciated that. So if you’re scared about being alone, I’ll be happy to come down and visit.”

  “That’s nice of you, but no thanks.” I didn’t tell him a ghost was inhabiting my apartment.

  He grinned, revealing a tattooed tooth. “Hey, I wasn’t making a pass. You’re gay, but I don’t shake that way. I’m not saying I wouldn’t hook up with you. I probably would. Actually, I definitely would since you’re totally hot. But I don’t like labels. People connect or they don’t. And we connect.”

  I couldn’t help thinking how Freddy was right about our connection. If I’d had my way, I would have been sitting there with Freddy. Then I reminded myself Freddy, as a ghost, couldn’t leave my apartment.

  “But I’m not into commitment. You should know that up front.”

  “Not a problem.” I gulped down the rest of my food. “See you around the building, Milo.” I rose, grabbing my smoothie cup. “Be careful. There may be a murderer loose.”

  He called out after me, “Come visit me. Anytime!”

  After walking back, I entered our building, realizing it was once Freddy’s family home. I hurried up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. On the landing, I bumped into Leander Bryce from 3C. “My apologies.”

  “No need.” In his thirties, the college film professor looked more like a movie star. His cut physique filled out an auburn polo shirt that matched his trimmed beard and styled hair. Sunglasses were lodged in the shirt’s opening.

&nb
sp; Though he had lived there six months, I had never conversed with my neighbor except to say hello and goodbye.

  He broke the ice with, “I heard the ambulance and police cars last night. When I opened my door, a detective questioned me. She said Alexandria Popov Sokolov was found murdered in your apartment.”

  “Actually, she was murdered before falling into my apartment.”

  “And you didn’t see anybody in the hallway?”

  Feeling dimmer by the minute, I said, “I never looked.”

  “Was she your friend?”

  “I barely knew her.”

  “Does that detective in the building know who did it?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “How did she die?”

  “Shawnee thinks she was strangled with a scarf.”

  Sweat beads formed on his forehead. “I sure hope this is an isolated incident.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “We could all be in danger.”

  “That’s true.”

  Noticing my mounting fears, he said, “We all have to look out for each other now.” He grinned and his prominent nose widened. “That won’t be difficult for us.”

  I blushed. “Thanks for all the waves at sunset.”

  “You too.”

  “My pleasure.” I felt my face burn. “You’re a good neighbor. Quiet.”

  “That’s because my college and film shoots are anything but. It’s nice having the summer off to chill.”

  “I can relate.” I added, “I teach grade school music.”

  He nodded. “I’ve heard you play.”

  “Did I disturb you?”

  “No. It’s nice.” He added with a smirk, “Except for the funky old stuff.”

  I explained, “I found an old player piano in the basement. The song rolls are from the 1920s and 1930s.” I missed Freddy. “My master’s is in Music of the Roaring Twenties.”

  “Cool. My MFA is in Independent Filmmaking.”

  “Have you made many films?”

  “A few shorts that I financed myself.”

  “Kudos.”

  “Thanks.” His hazel eyes lit up. “I created a new type of camera for filmmaking. It’s not analog or digital.”

  “What is it?”

  “The concept is based on a new type of reflector. It took some time and was expensive to create, but the result is a camera that is smaller and works better.”

  “Sounds great. Is that why you clean your camera equipment every night?” I blushed again.

  “Yeah, I keep it safe in my apartment. One of the benefits of my wife getting custody of our three kids.”

  “Do you miss them?”

  “I check my cameras each night.”

  “I meant your kids.”

  “Sure. My ex-wife, no.”

  “Sorry.”

  “We have an… understanding. I stay on time with my alimony and child support payments, and she lets me see my kids.”

  “There are all types of families.”

  “Even for straight guys like me.” He seemed to be checking me out. “You’re gay, right?”

  “It is that obvious?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve seen you with the guy in 3C. Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Victor is a good friend. I live alone.” I stopped myself from saying, “With a ghost who lives in my player piano.” “My aunt is the building manager.”

  “Nia is a nice lady.”

  “Yes, but don’t get on her bad side.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  We shared a smile.

  “She raised me after my parents died in a car accident.”

  “That was nice of her.” He unleashed a sexy grin.

  “And she still looks after me.”

  “That’s good.” He leaned against the wall and his bicep nearly grazed my cheek. “I wouldn’t want to lose another neighbor.”

  “Thanks.” I shuffled from sneaker to sneaker. “Well, I’d better get back to my apartment. Last night Shawnee said the yellow tape and padlock should be gone by this afternoon.”

  He leaned in closer. “Before you go, would you like to read the article I wrote about my camera?”

  I assumed Leander was one of those straight guys who got off on gay guys worshipping him. Though that wasn’t my scene, I was interested in the camera, I wanted to be neighborly, and I couldn’t deny my attraction to him. “Sure.”

  “Come inside.”

  My heart raced as I followed Leander into his apartment. The furnishings were modern but sparse. On the far side of the room was a projector, large screen, and some lighting and sound equipment. I spotted the familiar camera equipment and hand weights on a rack near the balcony window. Leander strolled over to the built-in bookcase next to the fireplace. He slipped a journal off a shelf and held it out to me.

  I took it, glancing down at the title. “Is this a journal for college film professors?”

  He chuckled. “It’s for anyone desperate for something to read.”

  I spotted a novel on the bookcase next to the empty space left by the journal’s removal. “I Now Pronounce You Murdered by Denis Sokolov.”

  “I bought it when I realized the author lived in the building.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “Just once in the hallway.” Leander cringed. “I’m afraid he wasn’t very friendly.”

  “I feel your pain. What did you think of the book?”

  He shrugged. “It was a typical read-it-in-one-night whodunit. Not much depth. I don’t think it sold very well. I certainly wouldn’t option it for a film.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the book.

  “Would you like to borrow it?”

  “If it’s all right.”

  “Sure.” He grinned. “Maybe now that Sokolov’s wife was murdered, sales of his books will go up.”

  After taking it, I said, “Thanks for the loan.”

  “No worries. When you’re finished, we should go for coffee and talk about it.”

  I didn’t tell him I don’t drink coffee or date straight men. However, gazing into his hazel eyes, I heard myself say, “I’d like that.”

  “Me too.” He smiled. “Until then.”

  I left Leander’s apartment and walked down the hall to mine. I was relieved to find the yellow tape and padlock were gone. After opening the door and locking it after me, I placed the journal and book on the side table near the door. Still feeling uneasy about the murder and desperately wanting to talk to Freddy, I put a new roll in the player piano, sat, and pedaled. “What Is This Thing Called Love,” written in 1929 by Cole Porter, played. When Freddy didn’t appear, I shouted, “Freddy, please, come out. Something terrible has happened, and I really need to talk to you.”

  The room chilled and the lights flickered. The familiar scent of champagne filled the space. I spun around. Freddy stood before me in his pinstriped suit, looking even more handsome and dapper than I had remembered him. “Come to your senses, have you?”

  Chapter Seven

  I HURRIED to my feet. “Freddy! Thank you for coming back.”

  He sulked. “Where else can I go? I’m a bindle punk.”

  As usual, Freddy’s colloquialism from his era stymied me.

  He translated. “I’m a nomad.”

  “No you aren’t. You live here.”

  “Do I?”

  Moving closer to him, I said, “I apologize for the things I said to you.”

  His eyebrow rose.

  “If my apartment has to be haunted, I can’t think of any other ghost I’d rather have haunt it. Do you forgive me?”

  He nodded. “I suppose everyone’s entitled to cast a kitten from time to time. And I didn’t mean those things I said to you either, except the part about us having made a connection.”

  We shared a smile.

  “Can we be friends?” I offered my hand.

  He shook it, and my hand nearly melted in his strong, warm touch. The gleam was back in his eyes. “You’re a real
Serge.”

  “Thanks. Whatever that means.”

  “It means you’re a sweetheart.”

  “Freddy—”

  He still held my hand. “But I understand you aren’t my sweetheart.”

  Remembering what happened last night, I said, “Freddy, I need to talk to you.”

  His dimple appeared. Walking me to the chaise, he said, “Let’s have a beat session.”

  “A what?”

  “A talk.”

  Once we were seated, I tried to resist his sexy aura. “A woman was murdered here last night.”

  “Who zotched her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Weren’t you here?”

  I nodded. “I was out on the balcony watching the sunset and waving to my neighbor—”

  He cocked his head at me. “What neighbor?”

  “Leander Bryce, the college film professor living in 3B.”

  “I never approved of him living in my house.”

  “That’s my aunt Nia’s job now as building manager.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What was Bryce wearing?”

  “His underwear.”

  “What?”

  “Because he was exercising. He goes through the same exercise routine every night after he cleans his cameras.”

  Freddy leaned away from me. “And you watch him exercise in his underwear each night?”

  “Just for a minute, while I enjoy the sunset. Then he waves and I wave back. It’s just a thing we do that doesn’t mean anything. It’s so routine he didn’t wave back when I waved at him a second time last night.” I conveniently left out my attraction to Leander.

  “That sounds cozy.” He brooded.

  “Leander was behind his window the whole time. Besides, he’s straight, meaning heterosexual. He was married to a woman.” I didn’t tell Freddy being straight didn’t stop Leander from flirting with me or me from enjoying it.

  He guffawed. “I knew a lot of married, self-proclaimed ‘heterosexuals’ who were interested in barneymugging with me. And that means—”

  “I caught the gist.” Sliding closer to him, I said, “I want to tell you about the murder.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “When I was out on the balcony, I heard a bang at my front door.”