by Dorien Grey
As soon as I arrived at Chris and Max’s—stopping only long enough to exchange greetings and give Jonathan a hug—I asked to use their phone and dialed Tait’s number again. This time it rang. I was rather surprised to hear Tait’s voice answering the phone, and said so.
“I had just hung up from a long overseas call,” he said. “What can I do for you, Dick?”
I told him exactly what I’d intended to tell him. That I’d had to tell Gene that Tait had hired me to be sure no one at the Whitman was responsible for Rod’s death, and that Tait did not believe Gene was at all involved. I also told him that Gene had a logical explanation for arriving early, and left it at that.
“I was hoping Gene wouldn’t call you before I had a chance to let you know what’s going on,” I said. “I didn’t want to risk placing you or your friendship with Gene in a possibly awkward position.”
“I appreciate that,” he said.
“Gene mentioned that you had met Rod before the two of them came out for the auditions.”
“Yes,” Tait said. “He stayed here a few days after his grandfather’s funeral, then returned to California. I didn’t see him again until Gene and he flew in for the auditions. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason, really. I was just curious. Thanks for your time, and I’ll keep you posted on anything else I might come across.”
“Do that,” he said.
We exchanged good-byes and hung up.
*
I made my apologies to the guys and asked what they’d decided to do for the day. I’m sure they were all curious about my meeting with Morrison but didn’t pry.
“Chris is going to show us where he works,” Jonathan said, and then turned to Chris. “You’re sure you don’t mind, you being on vacation and all? I really want to see your windows, but we can go another time.”
Chris smiled. “Today’s fine. We practically go past it if we go to the Chrysler Building and the U.N.”
Since it was nearly noon, Max suggested we head out. Chris said Barton & Banks had a very nice restaurant open only for lunch, and asked if we’d like to try it.
“Are we dressed enough for it?” I asked. Marston’s, the fancy department store where Chris used to work back home, also had a top-floor restaurant that catered almost exclusively to very wealthy ladies.
“We look fine,” Chris said, grinning. “Actually, there are two really nice restaurants in the store; same floor, different sides of the building. The piss-elegant crowd goes to the Garden, which overlooks Fifth Avenue. The Pub is on the other side. Same food—the kitchen’s actually the only thing that separates the two, though most people don’t realize it. The only basic difference is the Fifth Avenue side has fancier china and higher prices.”
He paused and looked at me. “And they serve a great Monte Cristo,” he added.
“What’s a Monte Cristo?” Jonathan asked.
“It’s a batter-dipped ham and turkey sandwich deep fried and sprinkled with powdered sugar and served with mint jelly,” Chris said.
I was more than a little impressed by the fact that Chris had not only remembered that the Monte Cristo was my very favorite sandwich, but what was in it and how it was made.
“How in hell did you remember that after all this time?” I asked.
He smiled a bit sheepishly and looked to Max.
“Maybe because it’s my favorite, too,” Max said.
“That settles it,” Jonathan said. “You two are twins.”
*
Barton & Banks was not really all that much bigger than our own Marston’s back home, which was now a part of the B&B chain, but it was one of the oldest and most prestigious stores on Fifth Avenue. About 12 display windows faced Fifth Avenue and every one of them was a creative gem. Jonathan and I were both equally impressed by their combination of understated elegance, style, and good taste. Yet they were bright and colorful and not the least bit stodgy. Chris had every right to be proud of them.
“I can’t believe you did these all yourself!” Jonathan said.
Chris grinned. “Well, we have a staff of about twelve people. I just mainly do the design ideas and sketches. The staff does most of the work.”
“Well, I think you’re fantastic!” Jonathan said.
“Me too,” I seconded.
“Me three,” Max said with a grin. “Let’s eat.”
We took the escalator up to the fifth floor, so we could make a quick check of every floor. I didn’t stop to look at any of the price tags, but I didn’t have to—the place was definitely first-class.
The Pub lived up to the rest of the place, though the atmosphere was laid back and comfortable. Probably because it was at the back of the building, there were no windows, but lots of polished wood and soft lighting.
And the Monte Cristo was to die for. Jonathan decided to have one, too, and I could tell it was only with great effort that he resisted ordering another.
We took our time over lunch, and then headed for 42nd Street. As we passed the service alley beside the store, we heard a voice call, “Hey, Chris!” and we all stopped as a short, cute blond came up to us.
“Hi, Chuck,” Chris said. “You’re not off work already, are you?”
“Yeah. A couple of us came in at six to put in that new menswear display on Two. I’m just heading home.”
There was only a slight pause until Chris said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Chuck, this is my other half, Max, and our friends Dick and Jonathan. They’re visiting us for a couple of weeks.”
We exchanged greetings and each shook hands with him.
He sure doesn’t look like a slave, I thought.
Of course he doesn’t, one of my other mind-voices responded. They usually have it stenciled across their foreheads.
“Where you headed?” Chuck asked.
“Up to Forty-second,” Chris said. “We’re going to go by the Chrysler Building and the U.N.”
“Great,” Chuck said. “Okay if I walk to Forty-second with you?”
“Sure,” Chris and I said in unison. Chris gave me a quick look and our ability to think the same thing at the same time was obviously still working. I automatically sensed he knew I wanted to talk to Chuck about Tait. I think Jonathan and Max knew, too. Since it was impractical to walk five abreast down the busy sidewalk, Jonathan and Max moved a couple of steps ahead so Chris, Chuck, and I were more or less on our own.
“I was telling Dick what you told me about Tait Duncan,” Chris said casually.
Chuck looked at me. “Yeah? You know Tait, too?”
I nodded.
“Really?” he said. He gestured toward Jonathan. “Are you and him…?”
I knew he didn’t mean “lovers,” but I said, “You might say that.” Chris said nothing.
Chuck grinned. “Yeah, I sort of got that idea when I first looked at you.”
Oh?
“So tell me about Tait,” I said, not wanting to pursue my relationship with Jonathan any further at the moment.
“What’s to tell?” he asked. “He’s pretty damned hot for an older guy. But older guys are usually the best anyway. He wasn’t the best Master I’ve ever been with, by a long shot, but he was okay.”
“Had you seen him before?” I asked.
“Nope, but the buddy I was talking to when he came into the bar knew him. He told me the guy’s name later—Tait Duncan. Hard to forget a name like that.”
“Did he say anything about where he usually hangs out?”
He looked at me again, a little oddly. “The only things he said to me all night were ‘shut up,’ and that was less than a minute after I met him, and just orders after that. He took me to his place—down by the Battery—walked me around to the back of the building and took the service elevator up. He told me to shut my eyes until we got to his floor, then made me hold on to his belt while he led me into his pad, and didn’t let me open my eyes till we were in his bedroom with the door shut. You want the details after that?”
“Uh, no,” I
said. “Anything unusual, though?”
Now that was a stupid question, Hardesty, I thought. Why don’t you just admit you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to Masters and slaves?
Chuck didn’t seem to notice. He shrugged. “Well, other than the fact that it was just an ordinary bedroom, not a playroom like the really hard-core Masters have, and he wasn’t as rough as I like, it was pretty routine.” He thought a minute then added, “Oh, yeah…the mirror thing was kind of different.”
“Mirror thing?” I asked. “What was that?”
“Well, a lot of Masters have mirrors—big ones so they can watch what’s going on. This one was pretty good sized, and he kept looking at it, not so much like he was watching us, but like he was…well…just looking at it. I thought for a minute it was a two-way mirror with somebody behind it.”
“But it wasn’t?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know; probably not. Just kind of weird the way he kept looking at it.”
“And then what happened?”
Chuck shrugged again. “We finished our thing, and I left. That was it.”
“How did you get home?”
He looked at me strangely again. “I caught the subway,” he said, as if wondering why I’d care.
“Did you notice anything about the apartment on the way out?” I asked. While I was almost positive it had to have been Tait’s place, it didn’t hurt to make sure.
“No,” he said. “The lights were all off, and the bedroom was pretty close to the front door. Though I could see the Statue of Liberty and lights from the harbor out a whole slew of windows I guess were in the living room.”
“And how long ago did this happen?” I asked.
Chuck thought a moment. “Two, three weeks ago. On a Saturday.”
Jonathan and Max had stopped at a corner and I looked up at the street sign: 42nd St.
Chuck saw it too. “Okay,” he said, “here’s where I get off. See you later.”
Jonathan and Max turned around toward us.
“See ya,” Max said.
“Nice to meet you, Chuck,” Jonathan said.
Chuck turned toward Times Square and the rest of us waited for the light before crossing toward the Chrysler Building.
“Hey, Dick,” I heard Chuck call. He beckoned me over.
He cocked his head and stepped closer. “You want to get together while you’re here, you know where I work. Bring your friend if you want. You look like you can handle two of us.”
“Thanks, Chuck,” I said, and turned back to join the others.
My crotch, of course, thought it was a marvelous idea, but I somehow suspected Jonathan might not.
“What was that all about?” Jonathan asked.
“You really want to know?” I said.
“Not really, but I sure hope you said ‘no’.”
I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him toward me. “Now what do you think I said?” I asked.
“Ooh, I’ll bet Chuck would love this if he’s watching,” he said with a grin.
Chris, who had begun to tell Max and Jonathan about our conversation with Chuck, resumed where he had left off.
“So Chuck really thought we were…well…?” Jonathan asked when Chris had finished.
“Apparently so,” I said.
“See?” he said with a laugh. “I knew we’d been missing something. Just wait until we get home! Have I got a game for you!”
“Sounds like fun,” I said.
“Ahh,” he said, wagging a finger at me, “but we take turns!”
*
I was really glad we’d run into Chuck, but as I knew it would, my mind immediately set off in all directions, which made it difficult to fully appreciate either the Chrysler Building or the U.N., though I was aware enough to be appropriately impressed by both. But I could tell that Jonathan enjoyed them enough for both of us.
The Chrysler Building was beautiful: Art Deco in its highest form. So Tait’s into the Master/slave scene. I still found it hard to believe, and incomprehensible to picture myself in it. Mom always taught me to play nice—no offense to Masters. But if Tait was a Master, it’s pretty obvious that Keith was on the slave side of the equation. But what did I know? Looking at what little I did know about Keith in light of a Master/slave relationship, it did seem to fit the pattern. But I was really hampered by my almost complete lack of knowledge of such relationships and how they worked. Jared, back home, was into leather, and had tried to explain it to me once, but most of it went right over my head.
And, fascinating as all this might be, what the hell did/could the fact that Tait and Keith might have a Master/slave relationship have to do with Rod Pearce’s murder?
The United Nations—imposing, impressive symbol of man’s hopes for the future. The vast General Assembly Hall with its huge marble U.N.-emblem background inspired something close to reverence. Was Rod into Master/slave too? But that would mean Gene Morrison was too. And while I still find it hard to picture Tait as a Master, I simply can’t see Gene in either role. And anyway, as far as I know, slaves don’t kill their Masters and Masters don’t kill their slaves, and…
Yeah…as far as you know, which ain’t very damn much.
Jeezus! Whatever possessed me to get into this business?
When we left the U.N., we debated on trying to make it to Rockefeller Center but decided we wouldn’t have enough time, since Max had to be at the theater by seven o’clock. He had suggested that he could just grab a sandwich at home and Chris, Jonathan, and I could go out for dinner later, but we said we’d rather eat early so he could join us.
We headed back toward the Village at around 4:30, and rather than going directly back to the apartment, got off the bus a few stops early so we could walk through parts of the area we’d not seen before. I really did my best to concentrate on the moment, and to keep my mind from wandering back to the case. As usual, it didn’t quite work.
Could Tait have a two-way mirror in his bedroom? Why?
We passed by a small restaurant called Scandia, which caught Jonathan’s eye.
“This looks like a nice place,” he said, turning to Max and Chris. “Have you eaten here before?”
“No, but I’ve heard about it. It’s supposed to be pretty good.” We stopped to look at the menu in the window.
“Dick! Look!” Jonathan exclaimed happily. “Today’s special is kroppkakor!”
“Great!” I said. “What’s kroppkakor?” I looked to Max and Chris, who apparently didn’t have a clue either.
“It’s potato dumplings stuffed with meat. It’s wonderful! My hometown is about three-quarters Scandinavians, and a neighbor taught my mom how to make it, and I love it! You will t…!” He suddenly stopped talking and a look of embarrassment crossed his face. He looked at each of us quickly in turn. “I mean,” he resumed, “if you guys wouldn’t mind if we ate here.”
Max and Chris grinned, and Max stepped forward to open the door, ushering us in with a wide sweeping gesture with his free hand.
If it was a two-way mirror, the only logical person to be on the other side would be Keith. Again, why? Is that how the two of them get their kicks? Tait having sex while Keith watches? Not very satisfying for Keith, I’d imagine. On the other hand, maybe he digs the voyeur role.
Scandia proved to be a very comfortable little place, not fancy by any means. It was only about quarter after five, so we were about the only people in the place. A blond woman wearing her hair braided in a bun and dressed in a white blouse under an apron-style long brown dress showed us to a table.
“Do you still have the kroppkakor?” Jonathan asked, apparently fearing they might have sold out already.
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to see a menu?”
“I don’t need one!” Jonathan said. Chris, Max, and I looked at one another.
“Are you game?” I asked them.
“Sure,” Chris said. “Why not?”
Max nodde
d.
We ordered coffee while we waited, which turned out to be not long.
You’re making wild guesses, Hardesty. You don’t know that any of what Chuck said is true, and you don’t know enough about Master/slave relationships to even know if it’s logical.
The waitress returned first with a loaf of hot, fresh bread on a wooden tray, butter, and a knife. She went into the kitchen only to reappear with four large plates on which were what looked like two large, dirty snowballs each, surrounded by several vegetables and a scoop of what looked to be cooked cranberries.
“Lingonberries, too!” Jonathan exclaimed with delight as he quickly tasted them.
“Enjoy your dinner,” the waitress said with another smile, and left.
Obviously, you have to check to see if there is a mirror, if it’s a two-way, and what’s on the other side. Great idea! Now all you have to figure out is how to find out.
The vegetables were perfect, as was the bread. The kroppkakor proved to be something of an acquired taste. I’d never seen potato dumplings this large. They looked to be quite heavy and, being served by themselves rather than in a soup, appeared almost pasty on the outside. But when you took a small bit of the cran—excuse me, the lingonberries (I couldn’t tell much difference)—with it, it had a rather nice flavor. And the meat filling—salt pork and beef, Jonathan informed us—was very good. It was a chore to finish both of them.
“And you can’t go swimming for two days,” Jonathan advised. “You’d sink right to the bottom.”
But we all complimented him on his choice, which obviously pleased him.
*
On the way back to the apartment, we passed a neighborhood movie theater, obviously an art house, showing two classic Russian silent films, Battleship Potemkin and Ivan the Terrible—incredible films. I commented to Jonathan and Max that Chris and I had seen them shortly after we’d gotten together.
“As first runs?” Max asked, and Chris gave him the finger.
It almost seemed like that now.
We got back to the apartment in time to have a cup of coffee and relax for a few minutes before Max left for the Whitman. I was very tempted to call Tait and set up another meeting, but realized I really should think it out a little before doing so. For one thing, I wanted to have a better idea of the layout of his apartment, specifically, what rooms were adjacent to Tait’s bedroom. I knew the dining room was adjacent to the living room, and the patio where we had lunch was just off the dining room. There was a hallway on the other side of the dining room, which led to the library to the left, and the conservatory was just off the library. What lay to the right of the hallway I didn’t know.
