Smile Like You Mean It - 5. Five

Bruno stood in his kitchen just before 8 am rubbing his tired face with one hand, as he used the other to load a strong blend of coffee and chicory into the filter of his coffee maker. An endless cycles of thoughts had kept him awake: worry about Sammy turning into regrets about his other romantic choices (while Sammy was without a doubt Bruno’s worst relationship decision, Samy had made other bad ones...many other bad ones). Then Bruno would remember his night with Waylon leading to painful longings. And then, after a wallowing in self pity about his lack of a future with the big cop, Bruno would worry that he was doomed to end up alone, which would end up leading to thinking that solitude was better than a life with the wrong man, which would lead back to Sammy, which would start the cycle over.

Finally, the coffee finished brewing, and Bruno took a large mug of the pungent brew, pitch black and strong enough to use as paint thinner, out into the backyard. The square backyard wasn’t a large space and was paved with ancient brick. Creeping fig covered the fence in a blanket of soft foliage, and clusters of banana plants provided shade and shelter. Fuchsia bougainvillea covered the small detached garage, and gardenia bushes in large terracotta pots perfumed the warm air.

Intending to use the space as an extension of the store, Bruno had furnished it with an eclectic mix of vintage furniture and outdoor fabrics. The result had been appealing enough that he abandoned his plans, and decided to claim the osais for his very own. Usually, its peaceful charms were enough to soothe his most agitated moods, but not today. Even as Bruno sipped his coffee and tried to concentrate on reading a stack of design magazines, the mental gymnastics of last night continued.

Lost in his thoughts, Bruno was startled with the gate flew open and a loud voice said, “Darling, your Auntie Mame is hung!”

Bruno turned to see Casey slumped against the opening, swathed in a vintage caftan from his stock, huge Jackie O. style sunglasses hiding most of his face. “Would Auntie Mame like some coffee,” Bruno asked with a smile.

“God, yes.”

When Bruno returned with the coffee, which, unlike his own was creamy with milk and sweetened, he saw Casey had thrown himself into a lounge chair. Gratefully taking the steaming mug from Bruno, Casey smiled weakly. “You may have saved my life with your quick actions,” he said.

“Anytime.”

They sipped in companionable silence until Bruno spoke. “Do you want to go to brunch? My treat.”

“Sounds great,” Casey said, glancing at his phone. “But I don’t have time. After I finish my coffee, I need to head home. I have a couple of things to take care of, and it will take some serious time and TLC to repair the ravages of last evening.”

“Oh, what’s the refurbishment for? Big date?”

“Not exactly,” Casey said, putting his mug down before pushing his enormous glasses on top of his head. “I am planning to go to tea dance today.”

“Really? Another evening of debauchery? Shouldn’t you give your poor liver a chance to recover?” Bruno cocked a hand behind his ear. “I swear I can hear the poor thing begging for mercy.”

“Ha ha. I’m not going to drink. I’m going so I can casually run into Chad.”

“Who’s Chad?”

“That absolutely gorgeous bartender I met last night at the memorial. How do you think I got overserved? I kept going back to the bar to have another chance to chat him up.”

“Did you have to get a Cosmo every time?”

“Probably not. But, to be fair, I was too busy checking out potential murder suspects to notice how hot Chad was until I was already a couple of drinks in. By that time, another Cosmo sounded like great idea, and they take a while to make, so more time to float. Anyway, since i was so rudely…” Casey dragged out this last word in his best Bette Davis intonation “....dragged away from the party…”

“It wasn’t a party! It was a memorial service.”

Casey waved a hand like he was swatting away an insect. “Memorial service, party, whatever. I was rudely dragged away from the memorial service” he emphasized the words “ before I could get Chad’s number. However, through the haze of vodka that was last evening, I remember him saying that he always goes to tea on Sunday. So I thought I could go, and…”

Stalk him?” Bruno supplied.

“Bump into him,” Casey said frowning at his friend. “But since I don’t want it to be misconstrued as stalking, I can’t go alone. I need to be with others. I was thinking…”

“Oh no. In fact, Hell no. I am not going to tea dance.”

“Please.”

“The last thing I feel like doing today is hauling my cookies to the French Quarter so you can stalk some poor, unsuspecting prey.”

“And what else do you have to do? And..” Casey held up a hand to stop the words he could see forming on Bruno’s lips. “Don’t tell me you have plans. You never have plans. You’re going to sit around here brooding..And yes, I know that’s what you have plans to do. You have on your ‘Bruno is broody’ face. I know,” Casey said, brightening. “Why don’t you call that delicious lawyer of yours to join us. The more people I’m with, the less suspicious.”

“He’s not ‘my’ lawyer.”

“Oh, please, girl. I may have been drunk last night, but I wasn’t that drunk. He was looking at you like he was a lion and you were an injured gazelle. Come on, do it. It will be fun, I promise. And when am I ever wrong about fun?”

After more pleading Bruno gave in, after feigning a reluctance he no longer felt. Why not go? Seb was great on paper: charming, as well as gorgeous, and seemed interested. In the words of Sally Bowles, “What’s the good of sitting all alone in your room?” Maybe Seb was the answer to Bruno’s romantic woes. Only one way to find out.

After Bruno promised to serve as wingman no matter Seb’s answer to the invitation, Casey departed. However, the lawyer seemed pleased, if a bit surprised, to hear from Bruno, and quickly agreed to the request to join the friends in the Quarter.

Casey proved to be right, Bruno acknowledged to himself. The outing was fun, though not entirely enough fun to drown out the turmoil in Bruno’s head. He just felt a tension in the atmosphere of his life, like a hurricane growing ever closer. His general dissatisfaction, Loren’s murder, the reemergence of Sammy, everthing.

Bruno kept trying to throw off the feeling of gloom, to dislodge Broody Bruno, but wasn’t entirely successful. Too often, his laugh felt forced, but in brief moments Bruno managed to actually forget his cares.

The trio had met at Cafe Lafitte’s in Exile, deciding to sit on the balcony in the balmy breeze of the late afternoon, where they could talk and sip cocktails while Casey scanned Bourbon Street for any sign of Chad. Eventually, Casey’s survelliance paid off and he spotted the hunky bartender below, who had stopped to chat with some people outside of the Clover Grill across the street.

With urging from the blond, the group hurried outside, where Casey proceeded to “bump” into Chad. Casey’s professions of surprise were the worst acting Bruno had seen outside of Pia Zadora's career, but Chad didn’t seem to notice or care, if the broad smile that split his face at the sight of the slim blond was any indication.

Chad was headed to meet some people at Good Friends and quickly issued an invitation for the group to join him. After an unconvincing moment of hesitation, Casey accepted the invite for them all, and they headed off down the Fruit Loop to the other bar.

Once there, they headed upstairs; after introductions, drink orders, and small talk, Bruno and Seb ended up alone at one of the small balcony tables.

“Smile,” said Sebastian.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” asked Bruno who had been staring sightlessly down on St. Anne, lost in thought.

“I said you should smile. You’re too cute to look so solemn. Seems like something heavy is on your mind.”

“Not really….or at least, nothing in particular. Sorry if I haven’t been the best company.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really.”

“In that case, you really do need to smile. Like you mean it.”

“Even if I don’t?”

“That’s the best time. It’s like fake it ‘til you make it. Or never let them see you sweat. Feeling down? Put on the biggest smile you can.”

Before Bruno could reply, Casey walked up to the table, his hand in Chad’s.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “Chad had a great idea. The Broad Theater is doing a series of ‘40s film noir movies on Thursday nights, and he thought the four of us could go this week.”

“Sounds cool,” Bruno said. “I love old movies. What’s playing?”

“I’m not sure,” Chad said. “I know last week it was Suspicion, but I can’t remember. I just remember Ingrid Bergman was on the poster.”

“Ooooh, Suspicion,” said Casey. “I love that one. Young Cary Grant was sooooo dreamy.”

“And middle aged Cary Grant, and older Cary Grant,” said Bruno.

“True,” Casey agreed.

“I haven't watched many old movies. What’s Suspicion about?” Seb asked.

“Well, it’s a Hitchcock fil. Joan Fontaine is a plain heiress, or Hollywood in the 1940s version of plain, which means the actress is beautiful, but she’s not a platinum blonde with Jane Russell’s boobs, so we, the audience pretend that she’s some sort of hideous beast,” Casey explained. “Anyway, she marries Cary Grant, who’s obviously beautiful and charming….way out of her league, but he’s penniless. The whole film is about whether he is or is not trying to kill her for her fortune. There’s this famous scene where he’s bringing her a glass of warm milk….he’s walking up the stairs with it on a tray...it’s actually shot so the milk is almost glowing….we’re watching wondering if it’s poisoned.”

“Is it?” Seb asked.

“I can’t tell you that, silly, That would spoil it”

“Well, if the Bergman film is anything like that,” Seb said, “I’m in. Sounds like fun. You?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he looked at Bruno.

“Sure,” Bruno said.

“Coolness,” said Chad. “I’ll order the tickets. Casey and I are about to head to the 700 Club. Want to join?”

Quickly interpreting the death glare Casey shot at him as a “don’t you dare say ‘yes’,” Bruno realized his role as wingman was over. “That sounds great, but I need to head home. Have to be up early in the morning.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you. Looking forward to Thursday.” Chad shook Seb and Bruno’s hands before heading inside to close his tab.

Mouthing “wish me luck,” Casey followed.

“Are you serious about heading home, or was that just a graceful exit from a four’s a crowd situation?”

“I really do need to head home. I have a project I have to work on in the morning.”

“Want a lift?”

“I’m good. I took the streetcar.” Bruno saw the look of disappointment in his handsome companion’s eyes. Seb seemed like a great guy, and they did have kind of a date scheduled, and the afternoon was turning into a lovely twilight, so Bruno extended an olive branch.

“Since it is a beautiful evening, I was going to take a detour to the Moon Walk on the way to the streetcar stop. Want to join me for a stroll?”

“Sounds great.”

They walked down St. Anne to Jackson square. When they got to the river, they settled onto a bench, watching the last rays of the sun die and the lights on the bridge beginning to twinkle lie jewels. They sat close, close enough that Bruno could feel the warmth of Seb next to him and inhale his expensive cologne.

“So, what the project you’re working on?”

“It’s Loren’s house. The foundation is ready to put it on the market, but it needs some updating and a few issues fixed. It was going to be strictly cosmetic, but they found some major issues with the wiring and the HVAC system. So, since they’re going to have to open walls, etc., the realtor recommended they do some more extensive changes. Like replace the carpet in the bedrooms with hardwood floors, remodel the guest bath….it’s like the worst of the 1980s in that bathroom.”

Bruno sighed, “Mainly the realtor wants to erase as much personality as possible, but I do think she’s right….it will help it sell. Plus maybe the smell of all that new paint might distract buyers from what happened. I promised Shane to pull together a plan….one of those most bang for the buck things so the foundation can make as much as possible for the kids. It’s not much, but it’s a way I can help. But I need to finish my plans ASAP. They’ve already started working on the air conditioning, I think the plumber is coming by tomorrow to scout potential issues, demo’s starting on Tuesday…..it’s going to be a madhouse there by midweek.””

“It’s a shame the way it all came about, but the charity is a great thing. I wished there had been help for me when I was that age,” Seb said.

Bruno turned to study the lawyer’s face, taut with emotion. The ginger laid a hand on the Seb’s thigh. “I’m assuming your parents didn’t take your being gay well?”

“Yes and no. Yes in that they threw the teenaged abomination out into the cold to fend for himself. No, in that they weren’t my parents. At least not my real parents.”

Seb laughed bitterly. “The irony. Before they told me to leave and never return, they let me know I was adopted. That I wasn’t their flesh and blood. As if that was supposed to wound me. That was probably the only kind thing they ever did…..to let me know I was no part of them.”

“Did you ever look for your biological parents?”

“Eventually. First, I had to focus on surviving.” Seb turned to face Bruno. “But, if you don’t mind, I don’t really want to talk my past anymore.” The lawyer cupped Bruno’s cheek in his hand. “Right now, I’m in a beautiful city, on a beautiful night, with a beautiful man. I’d prefer to focus on that.”

***************

“Hey, Shane,” Bruno said. “What’s up? Still on for this afternoon?”

“No, actually. That’s why I’m calling.” His voice was shaking.

“Shane, what wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit freaked out. When the plumber got there...somebody broke in last night and trashed the place. Smashed holes in the wall, ripped up floorboards...just demolished it.”

“Jesus,” Bruno breathed. “Any clue what happened?”

“No. The house next door is vacant, half the rest of the block is Airbnb rentals with no occupants. So nobody saw or heard anything. There will be an investigation, but…..oh, God….I just…” Shane’s voice broke.

“Look, I’ll head right over.”

“No,” Shane’s voice was stronger. “I’m good, and Jason’s here. I just wanted to let you know. Well, look on the bright side...you really did dislike the stain Loren chose for downstairs. Now you get to pick another one.”

No sooner had Bruno ended his call with Shane than his phone again. “What fresh Hell is this?” he muttered before noticing that it was Waylon calling. Against his will, Bruno flooded with warmth, forgetting his voice to move on from this pointless infautation.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Bruno,” Waylon’s deep, warm voice said. “Are you busy this afternoon? It’s about Hunt’s murder. I need to talk to you.”

“Of course. Whatever I can do. I assume you know about the house?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think the vandalizing has anything to do with Loren’s death?”

“It’s way too early to tell. It’s something we’ll definitely have to consider, but who knows at this point. I have to go. Is 5 good?”

“Yeah. I’ll be here.”

Bruno spent the rest of the day a nervous wreck. Excitement about seeing Waylon warring with confusion about what Bruno could add to the investigation mixed with outrage over the damage to Loren’s house. Through all this, he had to make polite conversation with customers and pretend to care deeply about which throw pillows worked best with which throw.

By the time 5 had come around, he had firmly escorted the last customer out and was nursing an extremely large Jameson. He jumped at Waylon’s knock.

But when Bruno saw the handsome policeman, his nervous energy melted away. He felt right; whole. He could feel a foolish smile forming, but was powerless to stop it.

“Hey,’ he said softly.

“Hey,” Waylon replied. "Before we get started, I want to apologize for the memorial....I should have..."

"It's cool," Bruno said, the smile still in place. "I understand." Waylon smiled back.

They stood there smiling at each other like idiots until the bark of a passing dog broke the spell.

“Come in. Where do you want to do this?”

“The kitchen I guess.”

“Do you want a drink?” Bruno asked.

“Actually that sounds great. That whiskey?” Waylon gestured to the tumbler in Bruno’s hand.

“Jameson.”

“I’ll have the same...but only about a third of that.”

As Waylon settled into the kitchen nook, Bruno fixed his drink. Bringing it over to the table, he hesitated for a moment before sliding in beside the large detective. The banquette wasn’t large, and Bruno mashed up against his guest’s commanding bulk.

A wicked grin flashed over Waylon’s face, but professionalism took over, and he scooted over a bit, breaking the contact. Then Waylon reached into the leather bag he had placed on the table and took out a folder.

“I guess it’s the business portion of the visit,” Bruno sighed. “But I can’t imagine what I can add to what I’ve already told you.”

“I’m not sure you can,” Waylon said. “to be honest. This is probably a long shot. Here’s the deal: going through Loren’s personal electronics, we’ve found that he occasionally hired male escorts. Honestly, nothing unusual about that. Most appeared to be one time things.

However, he hired the same one several times not long before his death. The escort used a burner phone so we haven’t been able to trace him yet, and the messages weren’t particularly noteworthy, except one.

That message said: Stay away from that curly haired whore, or you’ll regret it. It was sent the night after the Amanda Brooks gala, and I got to thinking.... There’s no tactful way to ask this, but….”

“Am I ‘that curly haired whore’?”

“Are you?”

“I guess it’s possible. I didn’t spend much time with him that night, but he did kiss me...that’s all we did, by the way….but I can’t have been the only guy there with curly hair.” Bruno’s mind reeled. What the fuck?

“We recovered some photos of young men on Hunt’s computer, and we were able to match a set with this particular escort. Unfortunately, the face isn’t visible, but his tattoos are, and they’re pretty distinctive. I’m assuming he was there that night. Possibly a performer. I know it’s a long shot, but hopefully there’s a chance you saw him and you can identify him.” Waylon handed Bruno the folder.

Bruno took it with shaking hands. Even before he opened it, Bruno knew what he would see. There, in all it’s sculpted, olive glory was a torso he knew well. It was one he had loved, graced with a tattoo he had helped design.

“That’s Sammy.”