The Player

by Joe Cosentino

  “After your flat tire with Preston Steele, I assumed you might want someone who could hit on all sixes, and I think we should celebrate me solving the case.” He smiled. “As well as the beginning of our relationship.”

  Feeling faint from desire, I sat at the edge of the bed. “Freddy, I am very much attracted to you.”

  “And you’re airtight in my eyes!” He reached out to me.

  I swooned, gazing at his violet eyes, then at the tiny black hairs resting on his strong arms. After pulling myself together, I managed to say, “During the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve become fond of you.”

  “And I think you’re the eel’s hips!”

  Trying to sound as logical as possible, I said, “We’re both unattached gay men… with many things in common.”

  “And we live together here in my house.” He offered me his pearly whites.

  “But there are also differences between us.”

  “I know. You’re a bit of a bluenose and I’m fancy free, but that’s all in my past.” He leaned forward and took my hand in his. “Andre, while you were gone, I thought about our last few days together. Though it has only been a short time, you’ve made me care about somebody… besides myself. And I like the feeling! It’s new and exciting. And for the first time in my life—or death—I’m feeling nervous and even a bit unsure of myself.” He slid closer. “Andre, you are adorable, wonderful, and the salt of the earth. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and that’s perfectly fine with me, because you are all I want and need. For the first time in my life, I am falling in love with someone. And that someone is you. So, dear boy, please say you’ll have me.”

  I chose my words carefully. “I’ve grown attached to you too, Freddy, but it’s left me… confused.”

  “About what?”

  “Normally when two people decide to embark on a new relationship, they go out on a date, meet each other’s families and friends, and if all goes well, they plan their futures together. But we can’t do any of those things.”

  “Who cares about any of that? As long as we can be together.”

  “But for how long? You existed on some spiritual plane until I played the pianola. How do we know you won’t move on to some other level of existence?”

  “I’ll never leave you.”

  “What if you don’t have a choice?”

  A tear laced his eye. “Our love will keep us connected… always.”

  Taking his hands in mine, I said, “Freddy, I believe you are falling in love with me. I know, because I’m experiencing the same feelings for you. But like Shawnee with his investigation, we should take a step back and examine this realistically.”

  “I’m a ghost. I don’t have to be realistic.”

  “But I’m not. And as a member of the living world, I need to face the fact that you… aren’t.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I have strong feelings for you, and I know you share those feelings for me too. But we need to think about what both of us would need to give up if we start a relationship.”

  He pulled his hands away. “I would sacrifice anything in the world to be with you—not eating, drinking, smoking, and conversing with other people.”

  I grasped his shoulders. “Freddy, that’s my point. Frolic pads went out in the 1930s. This is 2020. And you’re dead!”

  He gasped as if I had punched him in the stomach. “But I thought I wasn’t dead to you.” He made his way to the window seat and put on his clothes. “Someone like Preston Steele is more desirable to you. He can go out on dates, meet your aunt Nia, and enjoy a beat session with your friend Victor.”

  “That’s true but—”

  “Andre! You just buried me for the second time!” Back in his suit, Freddy barreled down the hall.

  I ran after him. “Freddy!”

  When we reached the living room, he paused at the pianola. Tears stained his eyes. “You know something ironic, Andre? When I was alive, attending parties with celebrities, I always felt heartless. Even when my parents and my sister passed away, I recovered much too quickly. But now that I’m dead, I know I have a heart. Because you just broke it.” Freddy disappeared into thin air.

  I shouted to the empty space in front of me. “Freddy, don’t leave! Please, come back!” I knew my cries were pointless. I had basically told him we couldn’t be together as a couple, and Freddy had left me for good. Leaning over the player piano, I wept at the loss of my chance at love. Though I missed him and wanted Freddy to come back, I had to face the reality that ghosts and ghost stories are best left to the campfire. After sobbing until my head ached, I plopped down on the chaise and stared numbly out the window, feeling lost without Freddy.

  As if telegraphing my mood, the sky morphed into wild streaks of Byzantium, scarlet, and lava. Feeling light-headed, I staggered out to the balcony. As usual, Leander Bryce was inside his living room performing his nightly routine. In his T-shirt and boxers, the muscular college film professor cleaned the lenses on his cameras and then executed his usual exercises with hand weights. He smiled and waved seductively at me. Wondering if Leander was bisexual, I thought about waving him over to my apartment. Perhaps he could help me get over the pain of losing Freddy. That thought lasted about two seconds. I realized that regardless of Freddy’s disappearance, trying to bury my pain with Leander would only lead to more problems. I returned the wave halfheartedly, wishing Leander were Freddy. I stumbled back into the living room and noticed Leander’s journal on the table in the dining alcove.

  “Freddy must have been reading it when I came home. Is the journal what helped Freddy solve the case?” I sat at the table, finding the journal left open to Leander’s article. I began reading. Leander was right. It was a dry and boring piece filled with technical terminology about cameras and filmmaking. Since I couldn’t stop thinking about Freddy, the content of the article was irrelevant. However, one line caught my attention. I reread it, making sure I properly understood its contents. Suddenly, it dawned on me. “I think Freddy left the article here for me to find it. But I have to be sure I’m right.” Sliding off the chair, I headed for the front door. “I need to question Hunter Buck!”

  Chapter Eleven

  I RAN down the flight of stairs two at a time and then sprinted across the hallway to apartment 2C. It took a few knocks on the door before Hunter answered wearing a burgundy silk robe. “Is the building on fire?”

  Still catching my breath, I said, “Hunter, I need to ask you something.”

  “This isn’t a good time.”

  “It’s about Alexandria’s murder.”

  He started to close the door.

  Placing my shoe between the door and the frame, I said, “You told me the fine print in Alexandria’s contract with you gave her the right to all the profits, as well as the ownership of the patent if your exercise machine didn’t make a profit in six months.”

  “So?”

  “Did Alexandria mention having that same deal with anyone else?”

  “Will you leave me alone if I tell you?”

  I nodded like a rag doll.

  “When I threatened to sue her, Alexandria told me the contract was legally airtight, and she bragged about how she made the same contract with another sucker stupid enough not to read the fine print before signing.”

  “Who was it?”

  “She didn’t mention his name.”

  “Do you know anything about him?”

  “Just that he lives in the building.” He pushed the door closed.

  I nearly slid down the hallway and then raced up the stairs. After entering my apartment, I hurried back onto the balcony. Leander was still in his living room. Sweaty from his workout, his T-shirt was off, unleashing his incredibly muscular shoulders, pecs, and abs. Spotting me, he offered another wave. I returned the wave and motioned an invitation for him to join me in my apartment. He pointed to his underarms and then his watch, signaling he’d like to shower first and come over shor
tly. I nodded and left the balcony. After hurrying back to the dining alcove table, I reread Leander’s article. When I was through, I heard a knock at the door. I jumped up, grabbed my cell phone from the end table near the armchairs, placed it behind Aunt Nia’s plant, and pressed the Record button. Then I ran to the entryway, opened the door, and invited Leander inside. He looked sexy in a skintight turquoise tank top and jeans. His auburn hair was combed neatly, and his matching beard was trimmed close to his face. As he shook my hand, the smell of pine soap filled my nostrils. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for inviting me.” He glanced around the apartment. “Nice furnishings.” Spotting the pianola, he grinned. “Here’s the player piano.”

  I returned the smile. “A novel invention that became popular in the 1920s. But you know a great deal about inventions, don’t you?”

  He spotted his journal on the dining alcove table. “Ah, you read my article.”

  Nodding, I replied, “It was really fascinating.”

  He chortled. “You’re the first person to tell me that.” Resting a hand on my shoulder, he added, “I had a feeling you were a bright guy.”

  “Not really.” I stepped away. “Actually, I’ve been pretty stupid.”

  He cocked his head. “How so?”

  “I thought you were either a straight guy getting off on a gay guy’s attraction to you, or a closet bisexual flirting with his neighbor. But neither of those scenarios were the case.”

  He took my hand. “Then why did you invite me over here, and why did I come?”

  “We’ll get to that a little later.” I sat in an armchair and motioned for Leander to sit in the armchair opposite me.

  He stood over me. “Wouldn’t you rather take this into the bedroom?”

  “Let’s have a beat session.”

  His eyebrows raised. “You want to beat off together?” Chuckling, he added, “Is that what you do each night after we wave and you come in here?”

  Realizing I had quoted Freddy again, I said, “I’d like to sit and chat.”

  “Okay.” He sat opposite me with his legs extended. Our calves touched. “What would you like to chat about?”

  Sitting up straight, I said, “Your camera with the unique reflector.”

  “You really did read my article. I’m impressed.”

  “As you had told me, the camera shoots film that appears lifelike. So I was especially intrigued by the section of the article on how a film shot with your camera would in fact be so lifelike that someone might not be able to tell the difference between real life and the film.”

  He nodded proudly. “It’s quite a camera.”

  “I know. I saw the results with my own eyes.”

  He cocked his head at me. “You did?”

  “Every night after you clean your camera lenses, I watch you go through the same exercise routine with hand weights: squats, curls, reverse curls, bent-over row, flies, and dead lift. In that order.”

  Puffing up his chest, he leaned back in the chair and spread his legs. “I’ll admit I enjoy knowing you’re getting off on watching me.”

  “But one night you changed the order to: curls, reverse curls, bent-over row, flies, dead lift, and squats. And you didn’t return my second wave. A minor mistake, but a deadly one, on the night of Alexandria Popov Sokolov’s murder. With a little help from a friend, I figured out you weren’t in your living room cleaning your camera lenses, exercising, and waving to me that evening. I watched and waved to a movie shot with your new camera, which you had projected onto the movie screen I later saw in your apartment. A film you shot quickly, not during your normal nightly routine. So you inadvertently slightly altered the order of your exercise regime, and of course you couldn’t return my second wave, because that’s not part of our usual pattern. And you couldn’t see me wave again that night, because you weren’t really there. Since the film quality was so lifelike, I fell for your charade, waving at the screened image—thinking it was you.”

  His hazel eyes turned cold and still. “Why would I show a film of myself exercising?”

  “For the same reason you’ve been flirting with me. To make sure I believed it was you in your apartment that night and provide yourself with an alibi for the time of Alexandria’s murder.”

  He grasped the arms of the chair. “Why would I need an alibi?”

  “Because you killed Alexandria.”

  He guffawed. “You think I killed someone I barely knew?”

  “As someone funding your own independent films, paying alimony and child support for three children, and covering your rent here, all on a college professor’s salary, you needed money for your camera invention, which you had told me was quite expensive. The journal helped me there too. Of course, it didn’t mention Alexandria by name, but in the article you wrote of how fortunate you were to have a financial backer. After I discovered Alexandria’s modus operandi, and I read your article, I suspected your backer was Alexandria.”

  “So what if she was? Why would I kill my financial backer?”

  “Because after six months, when the camera was finally getting some notice in the industry, it looked like your business endeavor could shift from the red to the black. I believe you mentioned that to Alexandria, who for the first time called your attention to the fine print in your contract, which reverted all income and the patent to her.” Smirking at him, I added, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to read something before signing it?”

  “Isn’t that a lawyer’s job?”

  “I’m guessing your lawyer shirked his responsibility. Or perhaps Alexandria… diverted his attentions.” I tented my fingers, thinking Freddy would have been proud of me—and missing him even more. “You must have heard the gossip around the building about Alexandria having an affair with Hunter Buck. It was quite clever how you placed Denis Sokolov’s mystery novel on your bookshelf next to your journal to get my attention. Then after offering the book to me, you assumed I would read it and notice the connection between the cuckolded husband character in the book and Denis—which I did—casting suspicion onto Denis. Stealing and returning Alexandria’s scarf in Alexander’s hall closet was another ingenious touch. As was your telling Shawnee about Alexander’s and Alexandria’s argument in Alexander’s apartment on the night you murdered her, setting up Alexander as another prime suspect for his sister’s murder. And what a helpful coincidence that my aunt, my best friend, Milo Archer, Hunter Buck, and Preston Steele all had disagreements with Alexandria. Even the lead detective on the case had a past with the victim. But killing Alexandria in front of my apartment was a stroke of genius on your part, since all the times I pointed to you as my alibi only reinforced your own ‘innocence.’”

  He crossed his legs. “You have quite an active imagination, Andre. Perhaps you can work as a screenwriter on my next indie film.”

  I met his stare. “I can prove everything I just said.”

  “How?”

  I adlibbed, “Takoda Shawnee and my aunt Nia are an item now, so the detective and I have grown pretty close. Naturally I told him all of my suspicions. I’m guessing his officers are in your apartment now, lifting your prints and testing them against those found on the murder weapon.”

  “You’re lying. Shawnee said Alexander’s were the only prints found on the scarf.”

  “But surely your apartment would have some kind of DNA the officers could confiscate for testing—a flake of skin, a hair follicle, a drop of saliva—that might be found on the murder weapon.”

  “They’d need a search warrant for that.”

  “Which a detective can get easily.”

  “I know you’re playing with me, Andre.”

  “I don’t think Alexandria was playing with you when she threatened to enforce the contract you both signed.”

  Sweat broke out on his forehead. “This contract you keep mentioning, if it exists, where is it?”

  I fabricated a response. “Alexander has Alexandria’s copy.”

  �
��Not any longer.”

  “I’m guessing you stole it from his apartment.”

  “That drag queen wannabe shouldn’t leave his door unlocked.”

  “Then there’s your copy of the contract. I assume you had your lawyer dispose of it after you killed Alexandria. After all, it was the least your counsel could do after not bothering to read the small print on the contract before you signed it.”

  “Which leaves no evidence against me.”

  I leaned forward. “But I’m pretty sure a visit from my soon-to-be Uncle Takoda will get your legal rep plea-bargaining his way out of jail.”

  He clenched and unclenched his fists, uttering almost to himself, “That moron. What kind of a lawyer doesn’t read a contract before his client signs it?”

  “A cheap one, I’m guessing.”

  My mental jousting proved effective as Leander suddenly became manic. “He was cheap and stupid!”

  I continued my psychological maneuvers. “Or he fell under Alexandria’s spell and sold you out.”

  His eyes darted all over the room wildly. “It was my camera. I created it. Alexandria could have waited a little longer and it would have turned over a big profit—for both of us! That bitch had no right to steal my invention from me.”

  “So you stole her life.”

  He sounded like a naughty child. “I didn’t want to hurt her, but I had to get my camera back.” He whined, “Don’t you think I deserved that?” Jumping out of his seat, he added, “And now I can market it myself. When I get that camera into the right hands, it will revolutionize the film industry. And I’ll become famous!”

  I rose and stepped out onto the balcony. “I’m not so sure you’ll be able to do that from jail.” I adlibbed, “I can see Shawnee and his police officers in your apartment. They’re searching for the film you shot of yourself doing your nightly routine.”

  He hurried to my side. After straining to see inside his living room window, he said, “Nobody’s over there.” He paced rapidly around the small space, ranting, “The police have nothing on me. If you tell Shawnee, it will be your word against mine. And no detective is going to believe a black faggot.”