by Hank Edwards
White wine in hand a few minutes later, they perused the festival in the spacious Lacetown Park, which took up almost the whole block of Lake Shore Drive, Main Street, Pike Street, and Route 551. A bluegrass band plucked and twanged away on stage, and laughter danced along with the rushing sound of Lake Michigan’s powerful waves crashing below the boardwalk. Lovers strolled hand in hand, gazing out at the water, and Jazz hoped Michael might be up for that later this evening. North of town the Lacetown Light—the recipient of the funds raised this evening—glowed like a beacon.
“So what do you feel like doing?” Jazz gestured to the many tents, where artists of all mediums had items on display. “Browse the vendors? Check out the games of chance?” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe take a stroll on the boardwalk?”
“Actually, I worked through lunch, and I’m already feeling this wine.” Michael gave a slight grimace. “Do you mind if we find something to eat?”
Jazz patted the slight paunch of his belly. “Does it look like I mind if we find something to eat?”
“I think you look great. And I like a man with some meat on his bones.” Michael must have heard how sexual that sounded, because he blushed again and seemed to sputter as he said, “Anyway. How about we find some food?”
Jazz chuckled and waved for Michael to proceed in the direction of the food stands. “After you, my hungry knight.”
Hopefully hungry for more than just food.
After some discussion, they each bought a corn dog and a large pretzel. They found a semiquiet spot at an empty picnic table and talked about the festival setup and the people walking past as they ate. Jazz finished the last bite of his corn dog and then reached over with a napkin to dab a smear of mustard from the corner of Michael’s mouth.
He would have rather used his tongue.
“Hey, Jazz. What’s up?”
Jazz turned at the sound of his name.
It was his client, Kevin Raines, the potential alibi he’d turned down last night, which now that he was with Michael, he was glad he hadn’t used. Kevin had mousy brown hair, thinning a bit at the crown, a strong jawline, and green eyes—easily his best feature—but none of it triggered attraction within Jazz.
“Hi, Kev.” Jazz tried to remain the man’s friendly hairdresser while giving off the “I’m on a date, so please leave” vibe.
Per usual, Kevin didn’t pick up on it. “Wanna get a drink, Jazz?” Kevin asked, smiling seductively. “Pick up where we left off last night?”
Michael stiffened.
Trying not to frown, Jazz said quickly, “There’s nothing to pick up on, Kev. And I’m on a date.”
Kevin turned his nose down on Michael. “You’re the funeral guy.”
Michael gave that smile again. “Yes, Mr. Raines. I took care of your grandmother. It’s been a long time. How are you?”
Kevin flinched, and a dark scowl crossed his face.
Surprised at his reaction, Jazz stared, eyes wide. When Kevin noticed Jazz’s expression, he managed a smile for Michael. “Oh, I’m fine, thanks.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Michael said, probably used to people reacting weird about lost relatives.
I am sooo glad I never fucked Kevin.
Not wanting this awkwardness to continue, Jazz stood up, happy to see Michael do the same. He took Michael by the elbow and started to lead him away, offering Kevin an apologetic smile. “Catch you later, Kev. Michael and I are just having so much fun that I don’t want to share him. You understand, don’t you? Bye!”
Before he could speak, Jazz directed them elsewhere.
“You are very popular.”
“And it’s very annoying this evening,” Jazz muttered, dropping Michael’s elbow. “And FYI, nothing is going on between Kevin and me besides a three-week haircut.”
“I’m glad to hear it. When his grandmother passed….” Michael glanced over his shoulder to where Kevin still watched them, then quickly looked back at Jazz. “Let’s just say his behavior was… unusual. And that’s saying something. I’ve seen my share of unusual reactions to death.”
Jazz frowned at the jealous glint in Kevin’s face and placed his back to him, encouraging Michael to continue walking with a gentle touch on the arm. “I’m not surprised. Kevin’s an all right guy. But he just won’t get the point that I don’t date my clients.”
“Neither do I.”
Jazz drew up short, then busted up laughing. “Damn, you’re funny.”
“I try.” Michael fell in step with him, smiling and holding up his plastic glass of pinot grigio. “Well, at least your popularity got us free admission and free drinks.”
Jazz smiled back. “Yes, it did that.”
As they strolled through the festival, Jazz longed to take Michael’s hand in his, but he had a feeling Michael might not appreciate the attention a PDA would garner him.
“I have an idea,” Jazz said when the silence stretched on between them. “How about we play truth or dare?”
Michael frowned. “The slumber party game teenage girls play?”
“Or the game two middle-aged gay men play to get to know each other better.”
Michael sniffed a laugh and finished his wine. “All right, I’ll play. Truth or dare, Jazz Dilworth?”
“Truth,” Jazz said.
“How did you end up in Lacetown? And please, start at the beginning.”
“That’s an easy one. I was born and raised in Kansas City, Missouri,” he said, pronouncing it Missur-a like some locals, just to be funny. Jazz had long since lost his accent. “It was the exact center of the flyover experience, so when I was eighteen, I moved to LA.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It was,” he admitted. “Until I fell in love and he stole all my money. I had to move back home with my mom and listen to her nag me that I needed to find a nice girl. Coming out changed things between us. We became strangers—not haters, mind you, but everything was different afterward. It never felt like home again.”
Jazz didn’t know why he added that last part. He hadn’t thought about that time in his life for years, but he supposed a man didn’t forget his mama’s disapproval, even if he had learned to live with it.
“Anyway,” Jazz said, changing the tone back to light and first-date appropriate. “I bounced around a lot, ended up in super exciting Toledo, Ohio, where I moved in with a friend named June. She encouraged me to go to beauty school and work for her. I did, and I loved it. Started making good money, which was great. I stayed living with June until her homophobe offspring Bobby moved back in, then I went north to the Detroit area. Worked there a long time, until I met Russell at a party and fan-girled all over him, and we fell in love.” Jazz made sure to do air quotes for that, because he recognized now their “love” had been Jazz’s blind admiration, and Russell’s not-so-blind need for it. “We used to rent a cottage here in Lacetown, down on the water. Those were my best memories with him, and I had always loved the town, so when I split, I came here and got a little studio apartment in the chandlery building.”
“Those are nice apartments.”
“Yup. Right above Misty’s salon, with a view of the lake. And it’s small enough I can’t keep filling it with stuff.”
Michael was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “Did you ever love Mr. Withingham?”
Jazz shrugged. “Sure. But there are different kinds of love. Ours was never true love.”
Was such a thing still possible? He glanced up at Michael, and the way the festival lights twinkled off his glasses and made his dark hair shine, softening his face almost to innocence, Jazz felt a flutter in his chest. He didn’t think he’d enjoyed another man’s company this much in years, their ease together almost kismet.
Before Michael caught him staring, Jazz nudged him with an elbow. “Did I answer truthfully enough for you?” Jazz said with a teasing wink.
Michael nodded his consent. “Indeed.”
Jazz just loved the way Michael spoke. So formal.
&nbs
p; Up ahead, Jazz spied a familiar scarf-wearing jackass. Think of the devil….
Russell.
He was arguing with a guy Jazz didn’t recognize. The stranger had brown hair, a fairly average build, and bushy eyebrows visible even at twenty yards.
Not wanting to see Russell and have any of his drama ruin this date, Jazz quickly placed a hand on Michael’s arm to get his attention. “More vino?” Jazz waggled his empty glass.
“Lead the way,” Michael said, gesturing broadly.
Thankfully, Michael didn’t notice Russell and the man.
Jazz shot a casual glance over his shoulder as they found another wine vendor. Russell was still arguing with the stranger. Oddly, Norbert was nowhere to be seen. After that show at the precinct, Jazz assumed Norbert would stake his claim on Russell before Dylan’s body was even cold.
Jazz shook his head at the whole mess.
Fucking Russell. Always so much fucking drama.
Dismissing his idiot husband, Jazz fixed his attention on Michael as they got in line behind an elderly couple.
Jazz gently nudged Michael in the arm with his elbow. “Okay, it’s your turn,” he prompted. “Truth or dare?”
“Well, truth, I suppose.”
When Michael squirmed, Jazz wondered just what Michael thought he might ask him.
Jazz would keep it innocent, even though he desperately wanted to ask about the heroin Dylan had up his ass. What the fuck was that about? No, best to keep that question to himself. He didn’t want Michael to think he was eavesdropping like Sheriff Meathead had implied.
With a casual smile, Jazz asked, “Have you lived anywhere besides Lacetown?”
The tension seemed to melt off Michael at the simple question. “I’ve lived here most of my life. Well, I got my bachelor’s in mortuary science at Wayne State in Detroit.”
“The Motor City?” Jazz asked Michael what year that was, and then quickly did the math in his head. “Looks like you were enrolled just before I moved there. Well, I’m glad we finally crossed paths. Did you come straight back to Lacetown after school?”
“No, I completed my undergrad in forensic science at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor.”
“Go Blue,” Jazz said, though in all honesty he couldn’t give a flying fuck about football or any other sport. Rugby was nice to watch once in a while or Olympic diving because of those skimpy swimsuits. But Jazz just didn’t have the time or patience for sports.
“Yes, ah, go Blue,” Michael repeated.
Jazz was pleased Michael didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the cheer.
“But I always knew I’d return to Lacetown and run the funeral home,” Michael went on. “It’s been in our family four generations now.”
“No choice?”
Michael smiled, eyes lighting up. “I always had a choice. My father was a kind man. But growing up in the business, well?” He seemed to ponder it. “It was just the correct choice for me. My grandfather was the last appointed county coroner, and since we already had the appropriate facilities in the parlor’s basement, several county officials encouraged me to pursue the profession so a local could take the position when he retired.”
“Lacetown loves their locals.” Jazz laughed. “You would’ve thought I was offering six ninety-nine chop-jobs when I moved here last summer. Thankfully Misty bragged me up and some ladies took a risk”—he did air quotes—“on the out-of-towner.”
“That’s a small town for you.” Michael chuckled. “After I completed my doctorate at Florida International, in Miami, Grandpa retired, and well? I became a coroner too. Not that I’m called to do much beyond the occasional autopsy of an unusual death, like a healthy person dropping dead, or a child. Dylan Roberts is a bit out of my wheelhouse, what with the criminal element and all. My PhD is in chemistry, not criminal investigation. Never thought I’d need that in Lacetown.” His expression darkened, pensive.
Not wanting to talk about the murder, Jazz whistled and said in his best Missouri accent, “Ooo-eee! I dun landed me a doctor!”
It had the desired effect, and Michael smiled again. “So it seems you have.”
They reached the front of the line, and Jazz handed tickets to the vendor. “Two pinot grigios, please.”
“We only have chardonnay here,” the woman said.
“That’s fine,” Michael piped up.
Jazz accepted the two drinks, saying to Michael, “So you lived in Detroit and Ann Arbor and Miami and still wound up back in Lacetown. Any regrets? I mean, Miami is a fun town. Woke up naked and hungover with a pair of hot Latin beach boys the first time I went down there.”
The woman selling wine harrumphed.
“Pa-leeze.” Jazz gave her an eye roll. “You wish you’d been a fly on that wall.”
She scowled and faced her next customer. “What can I get you?”
Michael chuckled, accepting his drink. They rejoined the festival-goers, strolling through the crowds and sipping their wine.
“The dating scene was easier in Miami than Lacetown,” Michael agreed. “Not that I saw much of it, with my studies and working in a funeral parlor in my spare time.”
There was an odd note in his voice, and Jazz couldn’t be sure if it was regret or sadness.
“But I love Michigan, Lacetown, and the lake,” Michael said, face bright again. “I grew up in the house I live in now.”
“And your parents? Are they still in town?”
“My mother left us when I was seven.”
“That stinks. My father bailed when I was real little. Don’t really remember him or care to. Do you talk to your mom?” Jazz hoped he did. It hurt his heart imagining Michael without supportive family. Jazz knew firsthand how shitty that could be, and while he’d made peace with it himself, Michael just seemed… more fragile somehow. Jazz couldn’t place why he thought that, but he did.
“Oh, she comes and visits. Sweeps in like a favorite aunt, rather than a mother. She lives in LA with her… um? Film director husband. Likes the novelty of having a gay son a bit too much, if you get my meaning. My dad was the one who raised me. He was a brilliant man.”
“Was?” Jazz questioned gently.
Michael gave him a tight-lipped smile. “He passed away five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
They walked quietly for a moment, the silence stretching out between them.
“Any other degrees or jobs you haven’t mentioned? Any hot Miami sex stories you wanna share?” Jazz asked, suspecting Michael might need to lighten the conversation a bit.
“Yes, um, hardly. No, but I was a coffee barista in Detroit. That was kind of fun, but the customers talked way too much.” Michael snapped his mouth shut immediately.
“I’m used to clients talking a lot,” Jazz offered, wondering why Michael seemed embarrassed by his comment. “But I guess in your line of work, customers talking back would be a little terrifying.”
Stopping, Michael studied him for a long moment. “Truth?”
“Sure, why not?” Jazz said as he spied an empty picnic table in the beer garden, close enough to the action that they could hear the music, but secluded enough for conversation. He pointed to it. “Care to sit?”
“Sure.”
Once they sat, Jazz waited for Michael to ask him a question.
“My line of work… it doesn’t make you….” Michael fiddled with his cup. “Uncomfortable?”
Smiling, Jazz shook his head in confusion. He opened his mouth to say, “No way, José,” but then decided Michael might need a more genuine answer.
Jazz reached across the table and placed his hand over Michael’s fidgeting one. Their eyes met.
“Michael, the one thing you’ll learn about me is that I’m honest. I can be blunt, though I like to think I have discretion. But I don’t lie and I don’t exaggerate. If I have a fat client with thin hair who wants to look just like Kim Kardashian, I don’t tell them they will, because they won’t. So when I tell you that I don’t have one single pr
oblem with your line of work, nor does it embarrass me or make me uncomfortable in any way, I want you to believe me. Okay?”
The awkward smile that flashed across Michael’s face felt like the greatest reward. He let out a whooshing breath and nodded several times. “Thank you for saying that, Jazz.”
Jazz did not want to let go of Michael’s hand, but eventually he gave it a gentle squeeze and discreetly moved his hand back. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth is getting heavy,” Michael said. “How about dare?”
“All right.” Jazz grinned wide. “I dare you to get a book cover photo with me.”
“What?”
“That booth we saw, where people can be cover models on their own book, I think it looks like fun. What do you say?”
Michael looked like he was trying to find a way out of his dare, but eventually he said, “Can I have another glass of wine first?”
Jazz laughed. “Of course!”
After a third glass of chardonnay, Michael seemed much more relaxed, and Jazz had a nice buzz. They dropped their cups in the trash just outside the book cover booth and stood side-by-side, looking at the selections. There were many different themes, from romance to science fiction to murder mystery. As they perused the options, Jazz felt Michael’s shoulder brush against his own. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, happy to see Michael smiling as he surveyed their choices.
“What do you think?” Jazz said. “Anything catch your eye?”
“They’re all pretty great,” Michael said. “What about you? Which do you like?”
“I think the bodice ripper cover is timeless.” Jazz pointed to the sample that showed a muscular man with an unbuttoned shirt blowing back from his amazing torso, and in his arms was a beautiful woman with long hair and a Victorian dress so tight her breasts practically popped out of it.
“What? No!” Michael’s nervous laugh made Jazz laugh himself.
“Okay, fine. But I bet the costumes would be fun to get into.”
“Be that as it may, I still say no.”
“But you accepted the dare.”
Michael gave him a narrow-eyed look. “The dare was just to get a book cover photo taken. It wasn’t to do a specific cover option.”
