The Player

by Joe Cosentino

  I rose. “You too, Sherry.” When she wobbled, I said, “Can I help you upstairs?”

  “I can manage.” She slapped my arm playfully. “Offering to take me to my room. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get into my bed—in room number one at the top of the stairs.” She chortled all the way up the stairs.

  As I drank my lemonade, a full-figured middle-aged woman and Sergio entered through the front door. He made a plate and poured a drink for her. They sat together on an adjacent chaise. Spotting me, she said, “Hi, I’m Renata Garcia Santino. My son Sergio and I are staying in rooms three and four.” She grinned. “The sports room and the bird watchers’ room.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Andre Beaufort in room six, the music room.”

  Sergio said, “Hi.”

  “Are you here alone?” Renata asked me.

  I nodded, not wanting to bring up the ghost who was staying with me. “Just for two nights.”

  “We’re here for the week.” Renata seemed quite chatty but sweet. “We came from New York City. I’m a nurse, and Sergio manages a youth center. Luckily, we could get the same week off.” She glanced around the room. “It’s such a beautiful place.” Then, nibbling on grapes, she asked me, “What do you do?”

  “I’m an elementary school music teacher.”

  She poked her son’s thick shoulder. “Music. Like you have at the center.”

  Sergio explained, “I mainly coach the kids in basketball.”

  I nodded. “Kids should learn it all.”

  “I agree.”

  “That makes three of us.” Renata crossed her legs. Her amber blouse tented, and I noticed a PFLAG sticker on her jeans.

  I asked her, “Are you a PFLAG mom?”

  She nodded. “And proud of it.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what? Loving my son? Wanting him to be who he is and love who he loves?”

  I smiled. “Many parents don’t think like you.”

  “Well they should.” Renata slid to the edge of her seat. “My husband died last year of a stroke. If it wasn’t for Sergio, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  He squeezed her hand.

  “I have a wonderful son.” She kissed his cheek and blinked back tears. “Supporting him is the least I can do.”

  Resting his strong arm around her, he said to me, “She gets emotional.”

  “And why shouldn’t I?” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I love my son. That means I love all of him, not just a part of him. It also means I love all kids who are like him.”

  “Thank you again.”

  Leaning toward me, she said, “Are your parents PFLAG parents?”

  I explained, “They died in a car accident when I was four. My aunt raised me.”

  “Is she a PFLAG aunt?”

  “My aunt Nia has always accepted me.”

  “That’s not enough.” She flicked back her long dark hair. “We need every voice and every dollar to fight the right’s ‘religious freedom’ laws taking away your rights and to stop the escalating anti-LGBTQ hate crimes.” Renata dug into her purse and handed me her card. “Tell your aunt to call me.”

  I glanced at the card. “We’re in New Jersey.”

  “I’ll connect her with the New Jersey chapter nearest her. Everyone needs to act before the pink triangles come back.”

  I realized she was referring to the badges the Nazis forced gay men to wear in the concentration camps. Placing the card in my pocket, I said, “I’ll be sure to give it to her.”

  “Good.”

  I rose. “Well, it was very nice meeting you… both.”

  “You too,” Sergio said.

  I added, “I saw you earlier—talking to Nelson at the front desk.”

  Sergio nodded. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  “Did you meet here?”

  He shook his head. “We met when Nelson and his family lived in New York City.”

  “Great.”

  “Not to Nelson’s parents.”

  Renata folded her arms over her ample chest. “Cynthia is downright hostile to my son. You’d think a mother would want her son to be happy.”

  “Let it go, Mom.”

  “Cynthia should let it go, or she’ll be letting her son go—for good.” She stewed. “Any mother would be lucky to have you dating her son.”

  “Obviously Cynthia doesn’t see it that way.”

  Renata groaned. “I’ve got news for her. She’ll get hers one day. Karma is a bitch.”

  “Mom, calm down.”

  “When somebody disrespects a member of my family, they disrespect me!”

  After an awkward pause, I said, “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you both around the inn.” I placed my used glass on a side table and then exited out the front door. The sun had covered the inn like a canopy. As I perused the beautiful setting, I couldn’t help noticing Gabriel and Zian sitting on the bottom step with their backs to me.

  Zian said, “Sounds like we share a love of food. My mother is Vietnamese. She’s a great chef. I get my passion for eating from her.”

  “That’s really nice.”

  “I agree. And it would be even nicer if you would come to dinner with me tonight.”

  Gabriel squirmed. “I don’t think so.”

  “You have to eat dinner.”

  “I’ll get takeout.”

  “Did I do something to turn you off?”

  “No, you’re a great-looking guy, and you seem really cool.”

  Zian scratched at his thick black hair. “So the problem is?”

  “I’m not looking for someone right now,” Gabriel said.

  “That’s good, because I’m right here. So there’s no need to look.”

  “I mean, I’m not dating.”

  Zian replied, “It’s just dinner.”

  Gabriel sighed. “Zian, you seem like a good guy. And I’m flattered you like me. But believe me, you can do a whole lot better.” He stood and hurried up the stairs.

  As he passed me, I placed a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

  Gabriel nodded and continued up the stairs.

  After Gabriel had gone into the house, Zian appeared next to me. “Gabriel doesn’t think very much of himself, does he? Or maybe he doesn’t think very much of me.”

  “I think something is bothering him.”

  “Whatever it is, he should deal with it.”

  “I agree.”

  I followed Zian back inside. As he helped himself to a snack, I made my way up the stairs and knocked on Gabriel’s door.

  A moment later, he opened it.

  “Are you all right?”

  He looked like a naughty child. “I feel guilty about being rude to Zian.”

  “I know we just met today, but I’m a good listener if you’d like to talk.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “No, I don’t. But I’d like to. And I think you’d like to talk to someone.”

  He opened the door wider and motioned for me to sit on an armchair next to the fireplace. His room was similar to mine, except the color scheme was green instead of blue, and a ship’s anchor replaced the player piano. The wallpaper highlighted nautical themes. Gabriel sat on the armchair next to mine. “I’m attracted to Zian, but he’s—”

  “Gabriel, I don’t think this is about Zian. I think it’s about you. So why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Because you wouldn’t understand.”

  “About what?”

  “How it felt to live in a house where everybody else was family and you… weren’t.”

  “True, but I know what it felt like living in a house without a mother or father.”

  “Maybe you were lucky.”

  It dawned on me. “Did your adoptive parents abuse you?”

  “No.”

  “Was it your brothers?”

  He took in a shaky breath.

  “I know we only met today, but you can trust me—if you�
�d like to tell me about it.”

  “Actually, I think I would.” He seemed lost in his thoughts. “Ever since I can remember, Roger, my oldest brother, called me names: sissy, girly, queer boy.”

  “What did your other two brothers do?”

  “Pretend they didn’t hear it.”

  “Didn’t you tell your parents?”

  He nodded. “My dad told me to be a man, learn from my brothers. And my mom poured herself another drink, telling me everything would work out if I stayed away from ‘her son.’” He blinked back tears. “Unlike me, my brothers excelled at sports and were popular, likable guys. They had lots of friends. So I figured, what Roger said about me must be true. Since he didn’t like me, I assumed I was the problem, and I needed to change.”

  “Did you?”

  “I tried… by asking my brothers for help. At first they coached me in sports, loaned me their clothes, and showed me how to be like them.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Not well. When it didn’t work, my brothers gave up on me. Except for Roger.”

  “He continued to call you names?”

  Gabriel stared at the floor.

  “Did he hit you?”

  “It started out as a kick in the shin under the table at breakfast, a quick elbow in the stomach when I came out of the bathroom, a wedgie when I left the house, or a head slam against my locker at school when one of his friends mocked me.” A tear lodged in his eye. “But when Roger’s friends started calling him ‘the faggot’s brother,’ things got worse.”

  “How?”

  Gabriel stared blankly in front of him. “My bedroom was on the attic floor of the house. After coming home from school and doing my chores, I spent most of my time in there drawing or listening to music. It was a perfect, safe retreat. Until one night.” Fear gripped his delicate face.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I want to.” He sucked in air. “Roger visited me in my room. I knew something was up, because he had never done that before. I was sitting at my desk. He sat on the rocking chair, rocking back and forth slowly. At first, he was friendly. He asked me how my day went at school. I answered quickly, telling him everything went fine. I was a good student, so I wasn’t totally lying. He asked me why I spent so much time in my bedroom. I said being alone doesn’t bother me. Then he asked why I didn’t have any friends. I mentioned Katey, a girl at school who was always nice to me. Roger told me my brothers were losing their friends. He asked me if I knew why. When I didn’t answer, he told me their friends don’t like their youngest brother, ‘the fag.’ He said even though I was adopted, my ‘faggot ways’ reflected on him.”

  I took Gabriel’s hand. “What did Roger do to you?”

  His body tightened, and the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. “He lifted me from my chair and punched me in the stomach, then in the face again and again. I saw stars in front of me and the blood dripping into my eyes. As I gasped for air, he grabbed me by the ankles and hung me upside down from the window. I screamed my lungs out for help. Finally, he pulled me back inside, threw me onto the floor, kicked my side, and left my room laughing loudly, as if he’d heard the best joke. I guess the joke was me.”

  “No, the joke was Roger.”

  “That’s not what my parents said after I cleaned up, got myself to my parents’ room, and told them what had happened.”

  “What did they say?”

  “My father accused me of fantasizing about Roger, claiming I probably hurt myself to get attention. My mother said her son Roger would never do anything like that. Then she poured them both a drink.”

  “Did you go to the police? A teacher? Katey?”

  He shook his head. “I believed it was my fault, and I just wanted everything, including myself, to go away.”

  “Did Roger bother you again?”

  “No. Soon after that, he left for college. Thankfully, two years later, so did I.” He grimaced. “But when I close my eyes, I can still see Roger’s angry face threatening me.”

  I placed my hand on his knee. “Gabriel, are you in therapy?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been seeing someone in Vermont over the last few years.”

  “Is it helping?”

  “It’s helped me sort things out—finally at twenty-seven.” He added, “And designing houses has been my therapy too.”

  “Gabriel, you should confront Roger about this.”

  “I did. Shortly after I began seeing my therapist.”

  “And?”

  He stood at the fireplace, using the mantel to steady himself. “He denied it had ever happened. My other brothers backed him up.”

  I rose. “Do you think this is why you sleepwalk?”

  “That’s what my therapist says. I’m running away from Roger in my sleep.”

  “Gabriel, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

  He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I’ve done some soul-searching over the years, and I’m getting things under control.”

  “Good. If you ever want to talk more about this, don’t hesitate to knock on my door.” I hurried to the desk and wrote my phone number on the pad. “And after we leave here, feel free to call me in New Jersey. Anytime.”

  “I appreciate that.” He approached me. “Living on my own, designing houses, and figuring out who I really am has made a difference. I’ve created a future plan for my life, and I’m comfortable with it.”

  “I’m glad. Do you have an LGBTQ center where you live?”

  He nodded. “But I’m not ready to trust a man enough to have a relationship.”

  “But you will be one day soon.”

  He smiled. “Especially if the man I meet is as nice as you.” He offered me a hug and said in my ear, “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You listened. And that’s more than most people do—especially for someone they just met.”

  I held him by his narrow shoulders. “Gabriel, what Roger did to you was not your fault. You were the victim. But you don’t need to remain a victim.”

  He smiled. “You sound like my therapist.”

  “You have a good therapist.”

  “Big head, anyone?”

  We shared a tentative laugh.

  He said, “Part of the reason for this trip was for me to sort things out and move on with my life.”

  “I’m glad. Please let me know if I can help.”

  “You already have.” He walked me to the door. “Now, I’m going to wash my face and let you get some dinner.”

  “Would you like to join me?”

  Stopping at the doorway, he said, “I think you’ve had enough of me for one night.”

  “At the risk of sounding like Zian, you have to eat dinner.”

  “I brought some dry snacks with me from home. I’ll nibble on those and turn in early.”

  I rested a hand on his shoulder. “If you change your mind, knock on my door.”

  “I will.” He smiled. “Thanks again.”

  As I walked down the hallway, I couldn’t understand why some people like Gabriel’s brother did such horrible things. I needed to talk to Freddy.

  Chapter Three

  I ENTERED the room and found Freddy sitting at the desk, staring down at a packet of old folded parchment papers tied with a frayed string. “You look pale as a ghost. Sorry, bad choice of words.” Arriving at the desk, I pointed to the papers. “Where did you get those?”

  “Sitting here, I remembered my mother’s secret compartment. Where she hid candy for me to find as a child.” He opened a drawer, reached inside, flipped a switch in the back, and a cubbyhole appeared inside the drawer.

  “That’s where you found the papers?”

  He nodded.

  “What are they?”

  “Letters.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I read the first one. They are my mother’s love letters.” He gently placed them back inside the cubbyhole and closed the drawer.


  I had never seen Freddy so pensive. “Freddy, I know how much you loved your parents. And if you want to keep your father’s letters to your mother private, I understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s amazing how the parchment paper and ink held up for all these years.”

  He seemed as if in a trance.

  I called out, “Freddy, are you all right?”

  He came to. “Yes, of course.” Then glancing up at me, he seemed anxious to change the subject. “You look a bit pale. What’s wrong?”

  I sat on the bed. “Things have changed since you had merry parties in this house, Freddy. Everyone seems unhappy.”

  Sitting next to me, Freddy offered, “Let’s have a beat session. Tell me all about the current inhabitants of my country home.”

  I took in a deep breath. “Cynthia Butler Russell is the manager. Her husband, Jim, cooks breakfast. Their son, Nelson, is the desk clerk. Cynthia’s sister, Sherry, is visiting in room one. Jim appears to prefer his sister-in-law to his wife, though there is trouble in that relationship as well.”

  “Dicey!”

  “Exactly. The Russells have been running the inn for only a year.”

  “What did they do before that?”

  “They were originally from Cold Spring. Over the last several years they’ve lived in New York City. Jim and Nelson were engineers, Cynthia a judge. However, there’s trouble in Russell paradise.”

  “Is Cynthia an icy mitt?”

  “The iciest. According to Renata Garcia Santino, Cynthia is trying to stop her son from seeing Renata’s son, Sergio Santino, a young man Nelson met while living in New York City. Sergio, who works in a youth center, and Renata, a nurse, are staying in rooms three and four respectively.”

  “Nelson and Sergio are cake-eaters?”

  I’d gotten accustomed to Freddy’s word for gay men in the 1920s and 1930s. “Yup. And they seem to be enjoying each other’s frosting—to Sergio’s mom’s delight and Cynthia’s chagrin.”

  “Ah, forbidden love!” He rested his palms on the bed. “My pal, the silent film star Billy Haines, was mad about Jimmie Shields. Jimmie adored Billy right back. Joanie Crawford called them the happiest married couple she’d ever seen. Bea Potter created characters in one of her books based on them. However, when Billy refused to keep his relationship with Jimmie a secret, L. B. Mayer streeted Billy from Mayer’s studio. It was a rough time for Billy, but he remained faithful to Jimmie until the end. After Jimmie passed on, Billy joined him. The peeper ‘said’ it was suicide.”