Played to Death

by Meg Perry

  In the first one that popped up, one of the names used as the example was Jamie.

  I read through it and decided I liked it a lot. We could edit to personalize. I copied and pasted it into an email from our joint account and sent it to the same account with the subject line See what you think. We can edit.

  I skimmed through some of the other sites but didn’t see anything I liked as well. I glanced up at Pete, who was grimacing at his computer. He’d be busy for a while. I closed my laptop, returned it to the desk, and picked up the book I’d been reading.

  A couple of hours later Pete closed his laptop with a sigh. I said, “Finished?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you have to flunk anyone?”

  “A handful.”

  “Out of five classes, a handful isn’t too bad.”

  “No. But there were a couple of handfuls of D’s. The D’s and F’s will have to take it again.” Pete got up from the desk and stretched. “Ready for a shower?”

  After our shower, we crawled into bed. I was drifting off when Pete said softly, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Mm. Sure.”

  “If Ethan’s father had been accepting of him - or if he’d passed away while the two of you were together - do you think you’d still be with him?”

  “Pfft. Who knows? Probably not.” I took Pete’s hand. “But that’s alternate history. The Nazis didn’t win World War Two, and we don’t speak German. Ethan’s dad was a homophobic prick, and he dumped me because of it.” I turned his ring with my fingertips. “And I am exactly where I want to be. Where I’m supposed to be.”

  I felt his smile against the side of my head.

  Tuesday, June 16

  Jamie

  When I walked into the library Tuesday morning, Ethan was waiting for me.

  Oh, for God’s sake. I looked at my watch. “What happened to ‘you’ll never see me again?’ It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”

  Ethan had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. I promise, this will be the last time. I need a restaurant recommendation.”

  “Uh huh. For this guy you met?”

  “Yeah. Someplace casual, intimate and delicious. Know any place like that?”

  There was a place near Hancock Park where Scott and I had often eaten, a small Italian restaurant with ten tables and fabulous food. “Eugenio’s. It’s on Waring. It’s a good setting for a date.”

  Ethan grinned. “Awesome. Thanks.”

  “You could have just called.”

  He shrugged. “I know. I was running errands and had to come this way.”

  I said, “Ethan?”

  He looked at me, all innocence. “What?”

  I lowered my voice. “That had fuckin’ better be all it is.”

  He turned slightly pink. “It is. Seriously, you will never see me again.”

  I folded my arms and glared at him. “Uh huh.”

  “Thanks for the recommendation.” He hurried out of the building.

  I watched him go, thinking, Crap.

  Scott

  Scott woke up slowly the next morning, smiling at pleasant memories - until he tried to move. “Ow ow ow.” Ethan had taken him rowing the afternoon before, and now every muscle in his body was screaming in agony. Ethan had supplied gloves, so he hadn’t blistered his hands. And he’d worn sunscreen, so he hadn’t gotten burned - but he was discovering muscles he didn’t know he had. And they were all painful.

  He’d thought he was in pretty good shape. He’d kept up, from a cardio standpoint - which was probably why he’d rowed as long as he had. Clearly, running was not adequate training for rowing.

  Why would it be? They were about as much alike as playing the cello and the trombone. Both were music, but the skills didn’t transfer.

  Scott rolled to his feet with a groan. Maybe he’d feel better if he walked on the treadmill for a while. He pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, put on his running shoes and grabbed a bottle of water.

  After a half-hour on the treadmill and a soak in the tub, he was feeling slightly better. He wrapped a towel around his waist and hobbled to the kitchen to get another bottle of water - and his phone rang. He picked it up, expecting the cops - but it was Ethan.

  His heart began doing backflips. Scott mentally chastised himself. He really needed to get these physical reactions under control or Ethan would think he was an idiot.

  He answered, trying to sound calm. Mature. Sexy. He figured he’d fail at all three. “Hello?”

  Ethan’s voice was warm. It occurred to Scott that Ethan always sounded like he’d just been laughing. “Hey, how are you?”

  “I’m great. After a hot shower, I can move without screaming.”

  “Oh no. You’re that sore? Shit, I’m sorry. I should have stopped you.”

  “Nah. I should have stopped myself. I had a great time yesterday. Thank you again.”

  Ethan sounded pleased. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, in spite of the aftermath. Let me make it up to you. Are you busy this evening?”

  Scott wanted to shout, “NO! NO!” Instead he said - mature, sexy - “No, I’m free. What did you have in mind?”

  “Let’s go to dinner. Someplace small that no one else knows about, with great food and atmosphere, where we don’t have to dress up. A friend suggested Eugenio’s, but if there’s someplace you’d rather go, that’s fine too.”

  Scott grinned. He hadn’t been there for months because Brent refused to eat there. “I love Eugenio’s. The food is fantastic.”

  “That sounds perfect. Where is it?”

  Scott gave him the address. “I’ll get a reservation for seven, if that’s a good time. It’s generally not necessary, but this way we won’t be disappointed.”

  “Excellent. Seven is great. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay, see you then.” Scott hung up and sucked in a breath, then did a ridiculous - and extremely limited - happy dance around his living room.

  This would not do. He had to calm down. He got dressed, slowly climbed to his loft, and began to play.

  As he lifted his bow, it occurred to him to wonder - what friend had told Ethan about Eugenio’s?

  Scott reached Eugenio’s shortly before seven, to find Ethan there waiting. Ethan was wearing slacks and a polo shirt, and he looked fantastic. As Scott smiled at him, he silently recited his mantra. Calm. Mature. Sexy.

  Ethan grinned back. “This place smells amazing. My mouth is already watering.”

  So was Scott’s, but not necessarily because of the food. “The food here is wonderful. I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  They were seated and ordered wine. Ethan studied the menu and Scott studied Ethan. He felt himself begin to relax. They were going to have a lovely evening, and once more Scott would be able to forget about Elena Morales for a while.

  After they’d ordered, Ethan held up his wineglass. “Here’s to Eugenio’s. I love it already.”

  Scott clinked his glass against Ethan’s. “I’m glad. What friend told you about it?”

  “Oh.” Ethan’s gaze flicked around the room. “An old friend from the Bay area. Someone I went to school with who lives here now.”

  “Ah. I didn’t realize you knew anyone in town.”

  Ethan shook his head. “Just a handful of people that have filtered down here from San Francisco over the years. No one close.”

  Scott thought to himself, Good.

  Jamie

  Tuesday evening was Santa Monica College’s graduation, which Pete was expected to attend. He’d be home late; I had an evening to myself, with nothing pressing to do. I ate Indian takeout then made some phone calls to my dad, my grandfather and my sister-in-law, Val. Then I decided I’d better solve my “something blue” problem.

  Blue wouldn’t go with anything I was wearing. Not that I had to be matchy-matchy, but if I was wearing beige, tan and black then blue socks wouldn’t do. I laughed to myself - fourteen months with Scott had sharpened my fash
ion sense. What blue thing could I wear or carry that wouldn’t show?

  I looked at a couple of Pinterest boards but found no inspiration there. I opened our joint email account to read through the vows I’d found. Pete had done some editing, which I was happy with - but the vows didn’t spur any “blue” thoughts.

  I idly wondered if Graham and Kent had followed the borrowed and blue tradition - and was struck with an idea.

  I opened a Word document and began to write.

  Thursday, June 18

  Scott

  Tuesday evening’s dinner with Ethan had gone even better than Scott could have hoped. They’d lingered for three hours, talking and laughing. They’d been a little buzzed on wine by the time they left the restaurant, so they walked the streets of West Hollywood for a while, window shopping and people-watching.

  Scott had never dated anyone so easy to be with.

  With the possible exception of Jamie.

  They spent the afternoon and evening together on Wednesday. Scott drove up to Malibu - Ethan had never been there - then they visited a gallery where Ethan bought a Frankenthaler print. Scott hadn’t said so, but the one Ethan chose was his favorite as well.

  The gallery said the print would be ready the following day, so Scott had volunteered to pick it up and deliver it. Ethan had offered lunch; Scott had accepted. He was anxious to see Ethan’s house.

  You could learn a lot about someone from their home.

  Pulling into the driveway, Scott was immediately impressed. The house was a clean, bright contemporary with beautiful landscaping. So far, so good.

  Ethan opened the door and took the wrapped print from Scott. “Come on in. Thanks so much for doing this.”

  “I’m happy to do it.” Scott stepped inside the house and thought, Yes. “This is gorgeous.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you like it.” Ethan propped the print against a wall. “Let me give you the grand tour.”

  The entire house was decorated in pale neutrals, woods and stone. Exactly as Scott would have done. He tried not to gush, but it was difficult. “You’ve done a fabulous job in here.”

  Ethan was pleased - he turned a bit pink - but he shrugged. “Everything was done. All I did was add furniture.”

  “Well, it looks wonderful. Where are you going to hang that print?”

  They spent some time choosing the right spot, finally settling on the bedroom. Scott took in the bedroom with appreciation, while trying to look like he wasn’t scrutinizing it. He was glad to see that it was clean and neat. Not a dirty sock in sight.

  And the scariest thing - his was decorated in a very similar fashion.

  As they ate lunch - a simple pasta salad which Ethan threw together as they talked, with crusty bread - Scott thought to himself, I’m in big trouble.

  Jamie

  A couple of days passed without word from Kevin, Donna Aguilar or anyone else about the case. I wondered how Scott was doing in the chat rooms, but I didn’t want to know badly enough to call him. I figured I’d hear when something happened.

  Pete had spent the afternoon at Kevin’s waiting for a furniture delivery, and I was meeting him there to help assemble some of it. After work, I took my life in my hands crossing Wilshire to get to Kevin’s condo. I found Pete in the living room, pieces of desk scattered around him. There was a new leather sofa against the long living room wall.

  “I brought you clothes to change into. They’re on the kitchen bar.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I went into the guest bedroom to change and found a new queen-sized bed with two end tables. When I went back to the living room I said, “Did you put those end tables together?”

  “Yeah. The stuff came about three hours ago. You can start on the bookshelves.”

  I opened the box containing the components of the bookshelves, which weighed a ton. “Jeez, this is heavy. I’m glad he didn’t get the compressed wood crap.”

  “I know. This stuff is Made in USA. It’ll last forever. He said he found it online.”

  About an hour later, Kevin walked in the door. I’d just finished assembling the bookcase, and Pete and I had hauled it and the desk into the office. I said, “This is good furniture. It’s heavy as hell.”

  “It should be, for what I paid.” But he was smiling. “I like them. You all done good.”

  Kevin ordered pizza and changed clothes while Pete and I washed up. When the pizza came, we dug in. I said, “How much of your $38 million have you spent on all this?”

  “On furniture and both Abby’s and my mortgages? About one point five.”

  Pete said, “That’s not bad.”

  “No. This place had been on the market for a while, so I was able to offer less than they asked.” Kevin took another slice of pizza. “Have you guys closed on your land yet?”

  Pete and I were buying a lot in Alamogordo, New Mexico, with plans to build in another year or so. I said, “Not yet. This coming weekend.”

  “Mm. So.” Kevin waved his slice of pizza at me. “Let’s talk bachelor parties.”

  Pete and I both groaned. Pete said, “Can’t we do without?”

  “What fun is that?”

  I said, “Seriously. I don’t think gay guys have bachelor parties.”

  “Of course they don’t, not like straight bachelor parties. I was just thinking that we should go out somewhere after the rehearsal.”

  “Like where?”

  “Wherever you two want. It’s your party.”

  Pete and I looked at each other. He said, “Let us think about that. Who’s staying with you for the wedding?”

  “Jeff, Val and the boys.”

  “Where’s everyone else staying?”

  I said, “Dad, Barb, Doug and Linda are staying at Neil’s. Carly, Mike and Tyler and his boyfriend are staying at Ali and Mel’s. Uncle Denny and Aunt Whoever are staying at a hotel.”

  Kevin said, “What is her name?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  Pete said, “My family’s staying at a hotel, too. Oh, and Steve said he’s bringing Meredith.”

  Meredith was Steve’s ex-wife; they’d remained friends. I said, “Are they seeing each other?”

  “I don’t think so. She was my sister-in-law for several years, and I always liked her. She wanted to come.”

  “Good. I’ll be glad to meet her.” I picked up another slice of pizza and waved it at Kevin. “Ready for graduation?”

  Kevin’s graduation ceremony for his paralegal program was tomorrow. “Yeah. It’s weird, since I’ve been out of school for six months. But there’s only one extension graduation every year. Oh, and Mel’s coming.”

  “Good.” Kevin had bought the maximum four tickets earlier in the year, thinking to have Dad, Abby, Pete and me. With Abby out of the picture, he’d had an extra ticket.

  “I figured she was mainly responsible for the events that culminated in this certificate, so she deserved to be there. She’s very excited.”

  I said, “As she should be.”

  “I’m excited too. I found my old cap and gown so I didn’t have to buy another one.”

  Pete laughed. “You could afford one.”

  “Yeah, but why waste the money? The old one still looks fine. I just had to iron it.”

  I said, “Years of training in frugality from Dad and Sarge are going to be tough to overcome.”

  Kevin pointed a pizza crust at me. “I don’t want to overcome that. And neither should you.”

  I saluted him with the remains of my slice. “I don’t, trust me. Have you found your killer and/or thief yet?”

  “No to both. Scott’s asked a couple of questions about collecting original scores of some other young composer. We hope someone else will chime in with information we can use.”

  I said, “Did you get into the girl’s computer?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t helpful. She must have suspected her parents of snooping because we found nothing that they could have used against her.”

  Pete said,
“That’s unusual. College girls generally won’t shut up about whomever it is they’re seeing.”

  “She must have been so paranoid about her parents finding out that she didn’t even tell her friends. We’ve talked to everyone at PCC that ever crossed her path. Everyone knew she was seeing someone, but no one knew who it was.”

  I said, “Even if you do find the guy, you still have the problem of how he got into the wedding.”

  “I know. And we can’t find anyone to convince Brian Dalziel’s father to let us interview him. We’re working on a subpoena for Brian’s computer but -” Kevin’s phone rang.

  “Brodie. Yes. Where?” He listened for a minute. “No, that’s perfect. Don’t touch a thing. We’ll send print techs out, and my partner and I will be down as soon as we can get there. From Westwood. That’d be great. Thanks, Sergeant.” He hung up and made a call of his own.

  I said, “What?”

  “Hello Kitty.” Kevin spoke into his phone, obviously to Jon. “Hey. The Morales girl’s Hello Kitty bag showed up in a donation box at the Culver City Goodwill. Don’t know yet. Her wallet was in it, and they didn’t look beyond that because the Culver City cop remembered the BOLO for the bag. Yeah, I’m home. Pick me up out front. Okay.” He hung up.

  Pete asked, “They don’t know yet if the music is in it?”

  “No.” He got to his feet and gathered his wallet, keys, badge and gun. “Hate to eat and run.”

  I said, “No worries. We’ll clean up.”

  Friday, June 19

  Scott

  Scott had stayed at Ethan’s into the evening then excused himself, saying that he needed to play. Ethan had asked him to dinner for this evening, but Scott had begged off, saying that he had plans, made before he’d met Ethan a week ago. Technically true, since he’d gotten involved in the murder investigation before his trip to the bookstore. He’d softened the blow by inviting Ethan to dinner tomorrow evening; Ethan had gladly accepted.

  The truth was he wanted to slow down some. He needed time to think.