45
The Road Home
It was eight-thirty by the time the officers and I headed out to their unmarked car. On the way to the station, I asked what they needed to show me.
“It’s better we don’t say,” Payne responded. He took his eyes off the road for a second to give me another let-me-put-your-mind-at-ease smile. “We’re not trying to be mysterious. It’s just that anything we tell you may be prejudicial. If we ever have to put you on the stand—and I’m not saying we would—I wouldn’t want some smart-ass defense attorney claiming we’d influenced you before you saw the evidence.”
It made sense, but didn’t make me as comfortable as a more straightforward answer would have. I considered coming at it from a different angle, but Payne distracted me.
“Tell us about you,” he encouraged. “What’s your day gig?”
“No kidding,” O’Brien, the redheaded rookie, said when I’d finished. “Sophie’s Voice? I love that show.”
I thought he was just being polite until he started recapping particular episodes and quoting some of my mother’s more outrageous remarks.
I can honestly say that the only thing flaming about O’Brien was his hair. He was as butch as they come, an obviously new but typically tough NYC police officer, displaying nothing that triggered the slightest flicker of my gaydar.
Still, once he’d confessed his fanboy enthusiasm for my mother’s program, I considered it a declaration of homosexuality second only to leading the New York City’s Gay Pride Parade.
I suppose there are straight men in the world who genuinely love Oprah. Who subscribe to Martha Stewart’s Living, and whose preference for watching Rachael Ray over a baseball game is simply an indicator of their varied and enlightened range of interests.
Yeah, right.
I remembered now how red O’Brien turned when he saw the provocative picture in my living room. I’d mistaken arousal for shock. Then, there was the way he kept sneaking sidelong glances at me. He was sizing me up, just not in the manner I’d thought.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Here was Tony dumping me because of what he thought his peers would think, while at least one would not only have approved but might have been interested in joining us for a three-way.
Maybe I’d have to get O’Brien’s number. Sleeping with one of Tony’s subordinates—insert evil cackle here. Not that I was spiteful or anything.
I was distracted enough that when Payne announced, “Here we are,” I got out of the car before I even realized we weren’t anywhere near the station.
In fact, we were parked in the “No Parking” space in front of the Park Grand, one of New York’s ritzier hotels. Payne took my arm while O’Brien flashed his badge and talked with one of the parking attendants.
“This isn’t the police sta—” I began.
“Not unless we’ve moved way up in class,” Payne interrupted, leading me forward. “No,” he continued, “the evidence you need to see is here.
“I just hope you’ll be able to see it for what it is.”
As a high-priced call boy, I’d visited clients in a lot of high-end hotels. The Park Grand was one of them.
But in my profession, the goal was to pass through the common areas as unobtrusively as possible. Don’t attract attention from hotel security, press, or an unsuspecting spouse. Head straight for the elevators and casually make your way to your client’s room.
So, although I’d passed through the Park Grand dozens of times, I never took notice of the lobby, the meeting rooms, or the restaurants. I kept my head down as if deep in thought and made a beeline for the residential floors.
Therefore, I had no idea of the hotel’s geography and where Payne was hustling me with the cool efficiency of a skilled bodyguard. Or a hitman. His paternal authority invited no questions, either. It was all “Come-with-me-if-you-want-to-live.”
On my other side, O’Brien walked in lockstep. He didn’t have Payne’s natural aura of control, but he kept me between them, reinforcing the sense that I was better off going along quietly.
We arrived at what appeared to be a meeting room, its twin doors closed. From inside, I heard murmurs over an amplified voice that I couldn’t quite make out. As my ears adjusted, I understood the last words of what sounded like an introduction.
The speaker’s voice was loud but slightly distorted through the sound system. It was recognizable, but I couldn’t quite place it. He had a strong New York accent. An older man, somewhere in his sixties or seventies, I’d guess. “. . . the man of the hour himself. Congratulations on this highest of tributes.”
Was I here for some kind of show?
Apparently so.
Payne opened one of the doors and pushed me inside.
“Just stand with me in the back,” he whispered. “Looks like we got here just in time.”
The man on the stage stood in the center of a bright spotlight. The room had been set up for a dinner. I’d guess about a hundred tables, each of which sat ten, faced the front of the room. A huge panel of LCD monitors, which combined to form a single image, dominated the back wall.
The room was so darkened that it was impossible to make out the audience.
The monitors showed the face of the man who’d just finished speaking. Now I knew who it was. The city’s current mayor, a pretty popular Independent who’d risen to prominence in the business world before entering politics, waited for the next speaker to come to the stage.
The image behind the mayor flickered and was replaced by a blue-and-white logo for the New York City Police Department. A string of letters ran across the bottom of the screen: The Police Officer’s Public Service Division’s Detective of the Year: Tony Rinaldi.
The words were greeted with riotous applause, as was the man who made his way to the stage.
Tony.
My Tony.
Who’d taken his mother to this dinner instead of me.
Who was ashamed of me.
Who’d walked out on me and never looked back.
All of which led to the obvious question: What the hell was I doing here now?
The mayor greeted Tony warmly and handed him a bronze plaque. They posed briefly for a photo together, and the mayor grinned as if they’d been best friends for years. The camera flashed, the mayor’s job was done, and he walked off stage with the distracted look of a man thinking about whatever Comes Next.
For the first five minutes of Tony’s speech, my heart was pounding so loud it drowned out whatever Tony said. I caught the big themes. It was his privilege to serve. He’d always tried to work on behalf of the public. He thanked his fellow officers who’d awarded him this humbling honor.
Although most of what he said was a drone to me, I couldn’t help but be proud of how assured he seemed. What a confident speaker he was. Not to mention how breathtakingly beautiful he looked, bathed in the spotlight’s glow like a vision of masculine perfection. I doubted there was ever an actor on Oscar night who looked better onstage.
With his natural charisma and easy charm he held the audience in the palm of his hand.
Having been there myself, in more ways than one, I knew what a nice place that was.
Eventually, my—what? Anxiety? Excitement? Hope? Whatever I was feeling, it began to calm down and I was able to hear what he was saying.
“Part of this plaque,” Tony said, referring to the trophy in his hands, “says it’s due to my ‘outstanding courage in the face of danger.’ And I suppose that’s true. If there’s a situation where I can count on my fellow officers, or my wits, or my training, or, worst come to worst, my gun—to save a life or protect an innocent, I’m prepared to make a stand.
“But tonight, I have to make a confession. Behind this badge, it’s easy to be brave. But to be honest, in my personal life, I haven’t held myself to the same standards. There I’ve allowed fear and shame to rule me.”
There was a slight quaver in his voice. What he was about to say wasn’t easy. That he cou
ld say it at all made my heart want to burst.
“But no more. There comes a point where you have to man up. Where you have to take a stand. For me, that time is tonight. Surrounded by my friends. My family. And my extended family—the men and women in blue who put their lives on the line every day for this city.”
That elicited a hearty round of applause. I don’t think anyone suspected where Tony was going with this—at least, where I hoped this was going—but he had them on his side.
“For a long time now, I’ve been in love with someone whom I’ve kept a secret. A person who I was afraid to acknowledge as the most important thing in the world to me. A true partner. A lover. A soul mate.
“No longer. Tonight, I tell you all the truth.”
Tony paused. For a moment, he looked lost. The room was so quiet you could have heard a pubic hair drop.
“Could you . . .” Tony paused for a moment and looked up, toward where I imagined the control booth was. “Do you think you could turn up the house lights a little?”
Whoever was controlling the A/V equipment complied. He slightly increased the ambient lighting.
“Rafi?” Tony asked, squinting against the spotlight. “Could you come up here?”
Rafi? What was he doing there?
The audience burst into laughter and applause as the exuberant five-year-old, looking all kinds of adorable with his curly hair and rented tux, ran to the stage. Tony knelt and held out his arms. He scooped up his boy and held him tightly.
“You remember what we talked about before tonight? About how this was going to go down?”
Rafi nodded enthusiastically. “I do, Dad!”
His pip-squeaked reply brought more laughs and cheers.
I doubt P.T. Barnum could have planned this better.
“You okay with it, buddy? Because if not, you don’t have to do it.”
“I am!”
“You sure?”
“I want you to do it, Daddy! And just like you told me, I brought the—”
Tony clasped his hand over Rafi’s mouth. “Not yet, Rafster. Let’s leave something as a surprise, okay?”
Mouth covered, Rafi opened his eyes wider in an attempt to communicate. He nodded eagerly. This elicited several “oohs” and “ahhs” from the crowd.
“All right, then,” Tony said. “It’s time I showed some of the courage I’ve brought to this job in my personal life.” He put his open hand over his eyes as if scanning the back of the room. “Payne, O’Brien, I hope you guys came through for me. . . . Kevin, are you there?”
The crowd suddenly fell silent. The good-natured tittering Rafi’s antics elicited stopped dead.
Kevin? What kind of girl was named Kevin?
All eyes turned to the back of the room where Tony seemed to peer.
My mouth felt full of cotton. I tried to speak but nothing came out.
“Damn, boy,” Payne nudged. “Haven’t you been waiting for this? Answer your man!”
I tried again.
There was no air.
“Well, at least get your ass up there!” Payne commanded.
Tried that, too.
Someone had bolted my legs to the ground.
O’Brien let out an exasperated sigh.
“We’re on our way!” he called.
O’Brien wasn’t subtle. He pushed me forward like a man being thrown in front of a firing squad. Forward momentum kept me moving toward the stage. I found myself standing next to Tony with no memory of how I’d gotten there. I looked at the crowd, but the overwhelming glare of the spotlight prevented me from making out any detail.
So, I turned to Tony, who still held Rafi in his arms. They looked like the two most self-satisfied men in the world.
“Tony,” I whispered, “you don’t have to do this. This is supposed to be your night to—”
Tony shut me up with a finger on my lips. “Shut up,” he whispered back. “I’ve been a jerk. And a coward. But no longer.”
Tony turned back to the crowd. “As an officer and a detective, I’ve always been responsible for holding up the law. Tonight, I’m going to continue that tradition. But not by arresting someone. Instead, I’m going to exercise my right to a recently enacted statute, one that I couldn’t imagine even existing when I first joined the academy.
“Bill number A08354, signed into law by Governor Andrew Cuomo in June 2011. Otherwise, known as the Marriage Equality Act.”
Tony took my hand and led me to the side of the podium, where the audience could see as he put Rafi gently on the ground and then lowered himself to one knee in front of me.
“Now,” Tony said to his son, “you can give me what I asked you to hold for me.”
With great ceremony, Rafi reached into his tuxedo jacket and retrieved a small velvet box that he handed to his dad. Tony flipped it open to reveal a simple, but gleaming, gold band studded with diamonds.
“Kevin,” he said, looking at me with the purest love I’d ever seen, “there’s so much I want to say to you. But”—he looked at the crowd hanging on his every word—“maybe we’ll save that for later.” He winked playfully.
The audience tittered again. They seemed to be recovering from their initial shock and were back on Tony’s side.
I followed Tony’s gaze to the crowd. There I saw the table closest to the stage, where Tony’s mother sat beaming, as if she were truly happy to witness this. Somehow, he’d won her over. My mother and father were there, too, as were, God help us all, Freddy and Cody. How Tony managed all this I’d never know. My mother leaked elegant tears while Freddy sobbed dramatically, clutching Cody for support. What a drama queen.
Then I looked at Tony again. I thought he was . . . shimmering. . . until I realized I was seeing his spotlit form through the filter of my tears.
I’d wept a lot over the past few weeks, but couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried from happiness.
“Anyway . . .” Tony continued, his voice suddenly choked up and breaking with emotion, “I have so much I want to tell you. But I don’t know if I can find the words. Because it all boils down to this. Something I should have asked you a long time ago.”
He removed the ring and held it out to me.
“Kevin Conner,” he said, the next four words ones I’ve longed to hear more than I ever imagined, “will you marry me?”
I fell to my knees beside him. “Yes,” I said, although I realized no sound came out. I tried again.
“Yes.” My voice was a ghost, blocked by years of waiting and hoping and dreams.
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”
I grabbed the ring from him and slid it on my finger before he had a chance to change his mind. It fit perfectly. When and how long had he been planning this?
Maybe he forgot where we were. Maybe he didn’t care. All I know is in an instant Tony’s lips were on my mine and I never felt more connected.
Rafi threw his arms around us both.
“I love you, Daddy Kebbin!” he cried.
In the background, as if they were a million miles away, I heard the crowd roar. Maybe there were a few disapprovers who sat this one out, but when I turned my head slightly to look, most of the room was on its feet, cheering, crying, applauding our love.
I felt like Sally Field in Norma Rae. All I needed was a handwritten sign with union scrawled on it.
Then, I forced myself to stop thinking in pop culture terms and face the real world.
Tony. This man, this good man, whom I would now share a life with.
Rafi, too. A child who, I swore then and there, would never wind up a Lost Boy.
This was my family. This was my life.
Against the odds, I’d found them.
I’d never be lost again.
If I had it my way, none of us would be.
And, much to my surprise, I had better luck having it my way than I’d ever have imagined.
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Copyright © 2012 by Scott Sherman
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Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) Page 34
