Caesar's Fall

by Dorien Grey

  Bruno shook his head. “Thanks, no. My nephew Cage is coming into town this evening. I haven’t seen him in years.” He smiled. “I’ve been hearing a lot lately from the few relatives I have left. I’m sure it has nothing whatever to do with my winning the lottery, of course.

  “Anyway, Cage has been emailing me just about every day, hinting that he’d love to come visit for a few days to ‘catch up on old times.’ Actually, there weren’t any ‘old times’ to speak of. We have almost nothing in common, and we’ve spent very little time together. But both my brother and sister-in-law are in pretty bad health, and I can understand his wanting to get away for a bit, so finally I gave in. He’s arriving at around seven.”

  “How long is he staying?”

  “He didn’t specify, but I hope no longer than a couple of days.”

  “He doesn’t have a job he has to get back to?” Elliott asked.

  “Cage—his real name’s Edmund, but he unofficially changed it when he took up acting—has been living in New York for the past six or seven years, and I’m pretty sure just scraping by. He was in some off-Broadway revival that just closed, and he’s back in Rockford. I don’t know for how long.”

  “Well, it’s nice of you to have him visit at all. And maybe it won’t be all that bad.”

  Bruno gave him an unconvinced smile. “Maybe.”

  Both men got up and went into the kitchen, where Bruno set his glass down on the counter beside the sink. Turning to Elliott, he said, “Thanks for the drink. I really enjoyed talking with you.”

  “Same here.”

  *

  Cessy called Tuesday night to reverify what he’d told her on Sunday—that Steve would be coming with him to Brad, Jr.’s, swim meet on Saturday. He again declined her offer to ride with her and the family to the meet, which was being held at New Trier High School in suburban Winnetka.

  “Thanks, Sis,” he said, “and no offense, but four adults and three kids in one car, even an SUV, can get a little crowded.”

  “Well, actually, there’d be four kids—the parents of one of BJ’s teammates won’t be able to come, so we’re going to pick him up. But there’s still plenty of room.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll meet you there. Three o’clock, right?”

  “Right. We’ll be going early so the boys have time to get ready, but we’ll save you seats.”

  They talked a few more minutes then said their good-byes. Elliott had just returned the phone to its cradle when it rang again.

  “Elliott Smith.”

  “Elliott, it’s Bruno. I just talked with Marvin, and he is definitely interested in selling. He just lost another tenant, so the building’s empty except for him, and I get the impression he’s in a lot worse financial shape than I’d thought. When I asked him if he was still thinking of selling, he immediately asked me if I wanted to buy it. I told him no, but that I knew someone who might be looking. He said to please give you his number, and he’d be happy to talk to you, and would be glad to show you the place any time you might want to see it.”

  “Thanks, Bruno. I appreciate it. Let me get a pencil and get the number.” As he rummaged for a pencil and paper, he said, “So, did your nephew show up?”

  “About half an hour after I got back to the apartment from your place.”

  “Everything going okay?”

  “About as expected. We’re just getting ready to go out to dinner. He wants to try the restaurant at the top of the Hancock. I’ve never been there, but I understand the view is spectacular. Then he wants to go barhopping.”

  “He’s gay?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s a long story I’ll have to tell you sometime.”

  “I’d like to hear it. But I should let you go to dinner now. I can write down Lamb’s phone number now, and thanks again for getting it for me. I’ll give him a call.”

  *

  He deliberately waited until Thursday to call, so as not to give the wrong impression about either his eagerness to see the building or his possible interest in buying. He waited until he’d had dinner and talked with Steve, who was enthusiastic at the prospect.

  “I’ve got a really good feeling about that place,” Steve said. “I hope you like it.”

  When he called, the phone was answered on the second ring.

  “Marvin Lamb?”

  “Yes?”

  “My name’s Elliott Smith. My neighbor, Bruno Caesar, mentioned you were considering selling your building on Armitage.”

  There was a slight pause, which Elliott sensed was calculated.

  “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have been thinking of it. I was talking with Bruno a couple of nights ago, and he said he knew someone who was into restoring old buildings. This one’s a gem, if I do say so myself, and it’s in great shape for its age.”

  Elliott resisted saying he’d already driven by, again to avoid giving the impression of eagerness.

  “Well, I might be looking for another property and wouldn’t mind taking a look at it.”

  “Of course. I work during the day, but any evening—or maybe this weekend?”

  “Saturday morning might be good.” It occurred to him that maybe Steve would like to go along. Then the fact he’d considered that rather startled him.

  “That’ll be fine. What time?”

  “Eleven?”

  “I’ll be here. You have the address?”

  “Yeah, I got it from Bruno, and I think I know the place. That whole stretch along Armitage is one of my favorite parts of the city, architecturally.”

  “Then you’ll love this place. Built in eighteen ninety-six.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing it,” Elliott replied. “Saturday at eleven, then.”

  They exchanged good-byes and hung up. Elliott thought of calling Steve but then reconsidered, since they’d already talked shortly before.

  He still hadn’t figured out exactly why he’d even thought of asking Steve to come along. He had never taken anyone other than Larry Fingerhood, his real estate broker, with him when he viewed a property for the first time.

  He eventually decided he’d had the idea in the back of his head, as soon as he saw the building, that Steve, as an artist, might have some advice on color schemes if he were to decide to buy it. Victorian-era buildings often combined many hues, and while Elliott felt he had a good sense of color, this was the first time he’d had the chance of working with a true Painted Lady. An artist’s eye might be helpful.

  He deliberately avoided considering the other possible reasons he wanted Steve to go with him.

  *

  He mentioned it to Steve when they talked Thursday night, and Steve was pleased Elliott wanted his help in choosing colors should he decide to buy the place.

  “I appreciate that, Ell. I’d never have mentioned it myself, but the first time we drove by it, I had some really great ideas.”

  They agreed to go to dinner Friday night—Elliott suggested the Cornelia just off Halsted, to which Steve had never been. Steve suggested they could then spend the night at his place and go see the building after breakfast. They could stop at Elliott’s condo on their way to Winnetka so Elliott could change clothes, and go on from there.

  *

  And you’re kidding whom, exactly?

  I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  Uh-huh. Steve. Remember him?

  Yes, I remember Steve, and if you’re going to pull a Cessy on me, you can just forget it.

  Sorry. It’s just that you’re a bit on the stubborn side at times.

  Yeah, and I like you, too. But just let me take this at my own speed, okay? I’ll think about it when I think about it.

  You’re thinking about it now.

  Give me a break, will you?

  Okay. I really like the building

  You’ve seen it?

  Of course. As I say, I really like it. But you can make up your own mind.

  Thanks.

  Anytime. I’ll let you get back to sleep, now.
/>   *

  Sorting through his mail Friday as he crossed the lobby to the elevator, he didn’t see Bruno until he was almost on top of him. Bruno wasn’t alone, which was hardly surprising.

  The handsome young man beside him was in his early thirties, just under six feet tall, with a swimmer’s build, black wavy hair, and eyes so dark they, too, were almost black. He reminded Elliott of a gondolier in Venice with whom he’d had a furtive fling on one of his trips to Italy with his parents as a teenager. His complexion, Elliott noticed, was flawless, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was the result of nature or of professional-level makeup.

  “Elliott!” Bruno said, smiling. “Good to see you.”

  Elliott felt the nephew’s eyes giving him a very slow head-to-knees scan.

  As if realizing for the first time that someone was standing beside him, Bruno said, “This is my nephew Cage. Cage, this is my downstairs neighbor, Elliott Smith.”

  The young man smiled warmly and extended his hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Elliott,” he said. “Uncle Bruno has been telling me about you.”

  The handshake was warm and firm, the kind Elliott called the hail-fellow-well-met handshake—one meant to impress. And, given Cage’s overall packaging, Elliott was quite impressed.

  As they got on the elevator and pressed the buttons for their respective floors, Bruno said, “So, what are you up to tonight?”

  “Steve and I are going out for dinner, then maybe a drink after.”

  He noticed that every time he glanced at Cage, Cage was looking at him and smiling.

  “Cage and I are going out for dinner, too.” Bruno paused, then said, “I know this is spur-of-the-moment, and I hope I’m not imposing or being too bold, but would you and Steve consider joining us? My treat. We’re thinking of going to that semi-gay restaurant behind Little Joe’s bar. I can’t remember the name, but it’s just east of Halsted.”

  Elliott smiled. “The Cornelia,” he said, “and that’s where Steve and I were planning on going.”

  “Small world!” Bruno grinned broadly. “Poor Cage has been practically shackled to my hip since he arrived. I’m sure he’d welcome spending time with some new faces.”

  Elliott was somewhat taken aback by the unexpected invitation and the coincidence of the choice of restaurant, though he sincerely doubted, from the looks of Cage, that he was the kind of guy who would allow himself to be shackled to anyone’s hip.

  “That’s really nice of you, Bruno.”

  Since they were all going to the same restaurant, declining the invitation would be awkward. Besides, he was curious to know a bit more about Bruno’s handsome nephew and what he might have in mind regarding Bruno. For some reason, he felt a vague sense of protectiveness toward Bruno, and didn’t want to see him being taken advantage of. Whether or not that was Cage’s intention he didn’t know, but figured spending some time with him might provide a clue.

  He noted Cage’s gaze was still on him.

  “Let me give Steve a call,” he said. “We’ll be staying at his place tonight, so it’ll probably be best if we take two cars.”

  Bruno smiled. “No problem. We weren’t planning to leave before seven, but whatever time is good for you.”

  As the door opened on 35, Elliott said, “I’ll get back to you as soon as I call Steve. And thanks.”

  *

  Putting his cooler and the mail on the counter near the sink, he reached for his land-line phone—strictly from force of habit—to call Steve.

  “Are you up for a change of plans?” he asked.

  “What kind of change?” Steve sounded mildly puzzled.

  Elliott explained Bruno’s offer and the reasons why he hadn’t simply declined with thanks.

  There was only a slight pause before Steve said, “Sure. No problem. It never hurts to get in a multimillionaire’s good graces. What’s his nephew like?”

  “We didn’t have a chance to talk much, but he seems okay. Really nice-looking guy, early thirties, I’d guess. Bruno told me they’ve never spent much time together, and I’m just curious to see if there might be any ulterior motives in his suddenly reestablishing contact.”

  “I can think of fifty-nine million, right offhand.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m a little concerned about, even though it’s none of my business. But I like Bruno and think I can guess what he’s going through with all this. I wouldn’t want to see him being taken advantage of.”

  “Nice of you to feel that way. Should be an interesting dinner. What time?”

  “How about seven? I’ll pick you up, and we’ll meet them at the restaurant.”

  “Okay, I’ll be waiting out front.”

  Elliott hit the disconnect button and called Bruno.

  *

  After dinner, they went with Bruno and Cage to Sidetrack, one of the largest and most popular bars in Boys Town, for a drink. It would not have been the choice of either Steve or Elliott, neither of whom was fond of crowds; but Cage had heard of it and wanted to go, and Bruno had insisted they join them.

  As usual on a weekend evening, Boys Town was a solid mass of bodies. They wisely left the cars parked near the restaurant and walked to the bar. Luckily, it was a warm evening and, after making their way through the three or four main areas on the ground floor, they went upstairs to the roof patio, where they found a relatively uncrowded corner.

  They’d been there less than ten minutes when Elliott heard a voice behind him call, “Bruno!” Bruno, facing the caller, smiled and waved. A moment later, they were joined by a man they’d seen at Bruno’s party, the one Button had identified as Rudy and described as the Heidi Fleiss of Boys Town.

  Since they had not officially met at the party, there were introductions all around. Rudy was accompanied by an all-American college-boy type he introduced as Tim.

  “I was hoping we might run into you,” Rudy said, addressing Bruno jovially. “I was telling Tim about you, and he wanted to meet you. And I, of course, wanted to see if your nephew lived up to your glowing description.” He smiled broadly at Cage. “I’m happy to see he exceeds it.”

  Elliott noted with some amusement that, while he and Steve were not being ignored, the dynamics of the group were clearly focused on Tim’s predatory attention to Bruno and Rudy’s only slightly more subtle attention to Cage. Elliott wondered if Rudy was thinking of adding Cage to his stable of “protégés,” and what Bruno might think of the idea if he were.

  *

  “Interesting evening,” Steve conceded as they drove back to his place a little after midnight.

  “That it was.”

  “So, what conclusions did you draw about Cage and his intentions toward Bruno?”

  “Hard to tell. The guy is an actor, after all, and if he has ulterior motives, he’s playing his cards pretty close to the vest. You’ll note he did drop several hints he’s thinking about moving to Chicago, which might or might not imply his moving in with Bruno.”

  “Yeah, I sort of got that, too,” Steve said. “Though he might ask you if you’d like a roommate if Bruno doesn’t go along.”

  “And where did you get that idea?”

  “Ever seen a lion eyeing a wildebeest?”

  Elliott grinned. “Just what have you been smoking? But if that’s the case, it might underscore that what he’s really looking at are dollar signs.”

  “Bullshit. You’re hot.”

  “May I write you a check?”

  They both laughed.

  “You’re crazy, Smith.”

  *

  When Elliott awoke Saturday morning, Steve was already up. He found him in his studio, working on a painting, wearing only a pair of paint-splattered sweatpants.

  “Coffee’s ready,” Steve said without looking away from the canvas, which was facing away from Elliott.

  “How long have you been up?” Elliott asked from the doorway. While he had never said so, the room was Steve’s private space, and Elliott never entered without
an invitation.

  Steve shrugged, dipping his brush into one of the small cups of paint on the pallette in his left hand, still not looking at Elliott.

  “Not long. I just had an idea and wanted to act on it before I lost it. I’ve almost got it. Pour me a cup while you’re getting yours, okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  He went into the kitchen. He’d been a little surprised to see how many finished canvases Steve had stacked against the wall. He usually showed them to Elliott as he finished them, but almost always, he brought them into the living room. Seeing them one at a time, Elliott had lost track of just how many there were.

  He’d just put Steve’s coffee down on a coaster on the table beside the couch when Steve came in, wiping the flat of his hands on his sweatpants.

  “Sorry,” he said, joining Elliott on the couch. “I didn’t want to wake you.

  “No problem. I hadn’t realized how prolific you are. I’m impressed.”

  Steve nodded then took a sip of coffee.

  “Yeah, there are quite a few. I wish Devereux had room to show more, but…”

  Elliott knew Steve’s paintings sold well through the gallery, which went out of its way to showcase newer artists. Steve met with the owner about once a month, showing him new works and exchanging those Devereux selected for ones that hadn’t sold. The meetings never took very long, so Elliott often accompanied him.

  “I guess I never paid attention to how long it takes you to do a painting,” Elliott admitted.

  “It varies,” Steve said, turning slightly to put his cup back on the table. “A lot depends on how much time I have to paint. Some only take a couple of days. Some I work on for months. But usually, they go pretty fast once I get started.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes I think I should feel guilty for taking up so much of your time.”

  “Hey, what are you talking about? You aren’t taking anything I’m not happy to give.”

  “You’re speaking of time, I assume,” Elliott teased, and Steve blushed.

  “Now, about breakfast…” he said.

  Chapter 3

  They arrived at the Armitage building at 10:50, parking across the street. Elliott wanted to take a close-up look at the structure before meeting with Lamb, and Steve had brought his camera. He took a couple of shots as they got out of the car.