The Player

by Joe Cosentino

  “About what?”

  “Her business dealings.”

  “There were problems with her Broadway show?” Victor seemed vindictively hopeful.

  Alexander bit his lower lip, then said, “There seemed to be problems with all of Alexandria’s businesses and investments lately. When she mentioned a temporary cash flow problem to me, I offered to help. She wouldn’t hear of it. I fear she took it out on Denis.”

  “Because he doesn’t have a steady income?” I asked as gently as possible.

  Alexander ran a hand through his hair. “Denis’s mystery novels have never been… bestsellers.”

  “Why does he continue to write them?”

  I replied to Victor, “Probably the same reason you continue to act.”

  Alexander turned toward Victor. “People like you and Denis who love your art and share your souls with the rest of us should be cherished.”

  Victor blushed. “Thank you.”

  He added, “But artists often aren’t compensated well for their labors.”

  “Tell me about it,” Victor added in agreement.

  “I don’t mean to overstep here,” I said, “but you mentioned your parents had been in business, and your mother has a house in Saddle River, a very exclusive area. Couldn’t your mom have helped Alexandria and Denis financially?”

  Alexander’s face tightened. “Mom said Alexandria and I will get her money after she’s gone and not a minute sooner. She believes young people build character by making their own way in the world.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Victor echoed, no doubt recalling his own parents in Florida.

  “Alexandria even took a part-time position as an adjunct instructor at the local college. It brought in some money.”

  That caught my attention. “What did Alexandria teach?”

  “Second-year business courses.” Alexander blinked back tears. “But Alexandria’s financial problems continued.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “I overheard her arguing with clients.”

  I offered, “I saw Alexandria speaking with Hunter Buck from 2C.”

  “He is… was her personal trainer.”

  “Was that his business?” I asked.

  “Alexandria funded a new workout machine Buck had created. It didn’t sell well, and Alexandria pulled out on their deal. Obviously, Buck was unhappy.”

  I realized that was what Alexandria and Buck had been arguing about in the hallway.

  Victor asked, “What happened with the Broadway show?”

  Alexander sighed. “Alexandria raised a great deal of money for it. When production costs skyrocketed but advance sales didn’t, she had no choice but to pull out as a coproducer, leaving her investors unhappy.”

  I recalled Alexandria’s discussion with Preston Steele. “What was Alexandria’s business with Preston Steele in 2A?”

  Alexander shrugged. “Alexandria asked me to make a bank deposit for her once, and there were a few checks from him in the batch. That’s all I know.”

  I recalled watching Preston give Alexandria an envelope at her door.

  “Alexandria had too many irons in the fire. It wasn’t surprising that she got burned.” He rubbed his temples. “Unfortunately, she took it out on Denis.”

  I rested a hand on his. “Since you loved Alexandria and Denis so much, it must have been difficult for you to hear them argue.”

  Pain filled Alexander’s face. “It got so bad, Alexandria asked me to file the papers for a divorce.”

  I asked, “Did you try to get Denis and Alexandria back together?”

  “Denis cried on my shoulder, and I promised to talk to Alexandria on his behalf.” Tears brimmed his eyes. “I never got the chance.”

  We heard a knock at the door and Denis entered. “Alex—”

  Alexander stood and spoke quickly. “Denis, Victor and Andre are visiting.”

  Upon spotting us, Denis Sokolov loomed over the sofa like an albatross. Like his brother-in-law, Denis was dressed in black—a leather jacket and chinos. His hair was mussed, and his handsome face was unshaven. “Why are you here?”

  Chapter Eight

  I STOOD. “Hello, Denis.”

  “Andre brought a casserole.” Alexander pointed to the kitchenette counter.

  Victor joined me. “I came to pay my respects as well.” He conveniently left out his plea for an acting job with Alexander’s law firm. “And to share the casserole.”

  I nudged Victor.

  Alexander prodded his brother-in-law. “I’m sure you’d like to thank our neighbors.”

  Denis scowled at us. “Thanks.”

  Alexander placed a hand on his brother-in-law’s bulky shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  He laughed bitterly. “I’m great. Especially now that my wife’s been murdered and the police think I killed her.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Alexander squeezed his shoulder. “You loved Alexandria as much as I did. I told the detectives that.”

  “Well, they don’t believe you.” Denis sat on the armchair with his head in his hands. “They told me not to leave town. Where the hell would I go?”

  “Shawnee told us that too,” I offered.

  Denis glared at me. “But I bet he didn’t take each of your books.”

  “We don’t write books.” Victor added with a nervous smile, “I’m an actor. If your books ever get turned into movies, I’d love to—”

  I cut Victor off. “Denis, why did the detectives take your books?”

  He glanced up at me with tear-stained eyes. “I don’t know. They also took my laptop.”

  “Did they have a search warrant?” the lawyer asked.

  Denis nodded.

  Alexander added, “They removed some things from my apartment too.”

  “What?” Denis asked.

  “Alexandria’s clothes.”

  Denis rose and stood next to Alexander. “Is that why you aren’t wearing them?”

  Alexander nodded.

  “I can’t believe the way the detectives talked to me.” Denis held Alexander’s shoulders. “Don’t they realize I just lost the love of my life? How could they be so insensitive?” He turned toward Victor and me. “Are you through here? I’d like to talk to my brother-in-law.”

  Feeling like an outsider and having gotten plenty of information, I grabbed Victor’s arm. “Of course. We’ll leave you both to your grieving.” As we passed by them, I added, “Please be sure to eat something in this difficult time.”

  Victor added, “And if you aren’t hungry, leave the casserole at my door.”

  I yanked him away. After Alexander shut the door behind us, I said to Victor in the hallway, “What were you doing there, besides thinking about your stomach?”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I asked you first.”

  He pushed me into the stairwell. “Promise me you won’t laugh?”

  “I promise.”

  “I’m interested in Alexander.”

  I burst out laughing.

  He hit my arm. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

  I hugged him to my chest. “Sorry, buddy. I think it’s great that you found someone you like.”

  “Then why were you laughing?” Before I could answer, he said, “I know, you think this is a bad time, since Alexander’s sister just died, and his brother-in-law seems to think Alexander is his sister reincarnated.” Victor sat me down next to him on a step. “But I find Alexander attractive and thoughtful and a good listener.”

  I pressed my shoulder against his. “Then who am I to stifle the course of true love? Did you ask him out?”

  He hit my arm again. “What kind of an insensitive creep would I be if I moved in on him the day after his twin sister was killed?”

  “The same insensitive creep who tried to take their casserole and asked Alexander and Denis about acting work.”

  “I was hungry. Alexander brought up the actor thing for lawyers. And I was just being sociable
to Denis—who was anything but sociable to us.”

  “We agree there.” I rubbed my arm as we stood and walked up the stairs. “What’s your next move with Alexander?”

  “When things die down about his sister, I’ll ask him out to dinner.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of dates, didn’t Aunt Nia set you up with Preston Steele tonight?”

  “That’s tomorrow night.” Thinking about how the police confiscated Denis’s books, I added, “I’m going to bed early tonight—with a book.”

  When we reached the third floor, he said, “Good night, buddy.”

  “Pleasant dreams about Alexander.” I watched Victor disappear down the hall and into his apartment. Heavy metal music pounded over my head. I climbed the stairs to the attic floor and knocked on 4A.

  Milo Archer swung open the door with an excited look on his young face. “Andre, how sick of you to visit. Come in, dude.”

  The room smelled like rotten eggs left inside a football locker. Since I couldn’t be heard over the music, as I entered, I motioned for Milo to silence it. He used the remote to turn off his iPod. Next, he threw the dirty laundry from the sagging narrow bed onto the three-legged bureau. Then he motioned for me to join him on the bed. Once we were seated, I said, “I’m glad I caught you in.”

  “I’m between shifts at the buffet.” Though Milo worked in an establishment loaded with delicious food, his lean body barely filled out a soiled white T-shirt and ripped jeans. “What’s up, man?”

  Recalling what Alexander had said about his sister teaching second-year business students as an adjunct instructor, I asked him, “Did you know Alexandria Popov Sokolov taught at your college?”

  He scratched at a tattoo on his arm. “Sure. I had her for marketing.”

  “But at lunch today, you referred to her as ‘the lady in 1A’?”

  He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I didn’t go to her class much.”

  “Why is that?”

  Getting on his revolutionist soapbox again, Milo said, “Marketing and advertising are smokescreens for fat-cat CEOs to sell us a bag of goods.”

  “Isn’t marketing about selling?”

  “Sure.” He pulled on a silver chain between studs on his nose and his earlobe. “These companies make their products for, like, two cents in China with seven-year-old kids working all day in sweatshops. Then they sell the stuff here in the US with fancy packaging and catchy slogans for big bucks, hypnotizing us to believe we all need this crap, which we don’t. And the products aren’t even tested for safety. So, a year after the junk is on the market, people get sick. Then huge law firms rake in millions of dollars winning lawsuits for damages to people who are dying. But what do you need money for if you’re dying? FYI, the lawyers get most of it anyway.”

  Trying to focus Milo back on Alexandria, I asked, “Did Alexandria know you live in the building?”

  “Yeah. We talked about it after class once.”

  “Was it uncomfortable for her having a neighbor as a student?”

  “Not that I know.”

  “What grade did you get in her class?”

  He blushed. “I have to take it again. But there were extenuating circumstances.” Before I could probe further, Milo ranted, “She said I plagiarized my term paper from the web, which I kind of did. But like I told Alexandria, every thought any student could ever have was drawn on the wall of a cave by cave people, or in the books wealthy landowning heterosexual men selected for the Bible to keep themselves in power. The Koran, Tripitaka, Mahayana Sutras, Tibetan Book of the Dead, and shamanic writings contain anything anybody could write about. And it’s all marketing! So, isn’t everything written nowadays by anyone ultimately plagiarized from someone else?”

  Ignoring Milo’s bizarre logic, I asked, “How did Alexandria confront you about plagiarizing?”

  He sat yoga style. “When she gave back the papers, Alexandria announced to the whole class that I was a cheater! Then that psycho bitch went on and on about how the college has a zero-tolerance policy for cheaters, and how what I did was an insult to everyone in the class and the college. You’d think I blew up a building or something.”

  “Did you talk to Alexandria about it after class?”

  He shook his head. “Everybody was looking at me like I was a baby killer or something. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, which I did.”

  “How about in our building? Did you run into Alexandria and discuss it with her here?”

  “No way. TBH, I avoided her like an STD.”

  “Did Detective Shawnee talk to you about Alexandria’s murder?”

  He nodded. “Shawnee asked me where I was at the time she was murdered.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Here.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah.” Smiling at me, he added, “Doing what I do most nights—thinking about you in bed downstairs.”

  Rising, I said, “I better get going. Thanks for the visit.”

  Milo walked me to the door. “Any time, man. And I mean any time. My bed is yours. Though I’m not into the gay thing. No labels here. You feel me?”

  “Good night, Milo.” I made my way down the stairs feeling proud of what I had uncovered and anxious to share it with Freddy. After entering my apartment, I found it empty. Panicking, I shouted, “Freddy!”

  “I’m back here.”

  I sped into the bedroom. Freddy was lying on the window seat. I asked him, “What are you doing?”

  “Exercising the little gray cells. An expression I came up with, by the way. At first Aggie didn’t like it. She thought it was too technical for her readers to embrace. I convinced her otherwise.” He turned toward me. “How’s my investigation going?”

  “Our investigation.”

  He smiled. “I like the sound of that. Shall we celebrate with a bit of necking?”

  I sat at my desk chair opposite him. “I talked to Alexander Popov and Denis Sokolov.”

  Freddy seemed to be enjoying the chase. “Be a good little spy and tell me what you’ve uncovered.”

  “Alexandria and Denis were having marital problems.”

  He cocked his head at me. “Did either of them file for a Declaration of Independence?”

  Picking up on Freddy’s slang, I replied, “Yes, Alexandria filed for divorce. But Alexander insists his sister and Denis loved each other.”

  “Then what prompted Alexandria to take action?”

  “Alexander thinks it was sparked by Alexandria’s panicked mental state over her recent bad business dealings.”

  “I was right about that.” He grinned. “I’m generally right about most things, including the fact that you’re mad about me.”

  I groaned. “I’m mad all right.”

  “I’m glad you finally see things my way, but we have no time for making kissy-face. Tell me more about Alexandria’s business dealings.”

  “Alexander mentioned his sister pulled out as coproducer of her Broadway show when expenses skyrocketed and advance ticket sales dwindled.”

  “The exact problem Flo Ziegfeld complained to me about during the Great Depression.” Freddy puffed out his chest. “I advised Flo not to hold back, but instead spend even more money. Make his shows bigger and more elaborate. Flo did as I advised, and he made millions.”

  “Alexandria also broke her agreement to finance a new exercise machine when the invention didn’t catch on fast enough.”

  Freddy smiled in recollection. “I recall meeting a young Jack LaLanne who was throwing his life away on overindulgence of rich food and drink. When Jack pursued my… attentions, I suggested he use his energies for exercising instead. And the rest is history.”

  I sighed. “Freddy, is there any famous person of your time that you didn’t know? And did they all want you?”

  “How do you think they became famous? They had good taste. Which means there may be fame and fortune in your future, Andre. But stop sidetracking me with your flirting.”

  I moaned.

&
nbsp; “Who invented the machine?”

  “Alexandria’s personal trainer, Hunter Buck in 2C. He works at my gym.”

  “That’s convenient.” Freddy rose and paced the room. “Hunter must have bucked when Alexandria pulled the plug on his machine. Interrogate him next. Ask about his relationship with Alexandria and the terms of their ‘business’ agreement. And see if he has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “Do you think he and Alexandria were personally involved?”

  “As Louie B. Mayer told me on his casting couch when I turned down his offer for a movie contract, there is often a fine line between personal and professional agreements.” He sat on my desk. “Next suspect!”

  I rubbed my temples. “A college kid who lives in the attic apartment upstairs—”

  Freddy gasped. “It’s frightful enough that your aunt rented out my family’s living quarters, but she also rented out the place my mother kept my old rocking horse, childhood suits, and books?”

  “Yes.”

  “To whom?”

  “Milo Archer, who was called to task by Alexandria when she caught him plagiarizing in the marketing class she taught as a part-time instructor at the local college. According to Milo, Alexandria not only failed him for cheating, but she also called him out in front of the other students in the class.”

  “As I was called out by my university professor when Reg Tootington’s paper wasn’t up to snuff. You see, Reg had spent a sleepless night pining away for me. Unfortunately, it showed in the dissertation he wrote under my name.” He smiled. “However, all’s well that ends well, as my professor had suffered the identical sleepless night for the very same reason. So he was quite sympathetic to Reg’s dilemma.”

  I glared at him. “Freddy, are you making up these stories?”

  He clutched at his chest. “Of course not! I’ve never spun a tale or weaved an embellishment in my life.”

  Standing next to him, I said, “I admit you are an incredibly attractive man.”

  “You’ve finally noticed, have you?” He winked at me.

  “I would be lying if I said you weren’t engaging and entertaining, or that you didn’t exude a great deal of sexual… magnetism.”