Smile Like You Mean It - 2. Two

Chapter 2

On a Sunday morning two weeks after the fundraiser, Bruno biked over Jason’s favorite coffee shop by the Fairgrounds to meet him for a late breakfast. Shane was holed up in his studio, and Jason was feeling restless. It was a beautiful day; though it was already hot, the humidity was mercifully light.

Jason had sent a text he was running a bit late, so Bruno went ahead and ordered a cafe au lait. Deciding to enjoy the unexpected lack of humidity, he settled down in one of the small, umbrella-shaded bistro sets outside the cafe. As he sipped his coffee, he thought about Loren and his upcoming date.

Well, still potential upcoming date. The lawyer had called the day after the fundraiser to announce that he had go out of town unexpectedly for business for several days, but would set something up when he got back. Since then there had been a series of texts, but no firm plans. Bruno knew that Loren had returned to town this Friday, however; Shane, who was now on the board of the Amanda Brooks House, had mentioned that Loren was at their meeting on Saturday.

Bruno was a little bummed out that Loren had been back for a day or two and not followed up. Sure, he understood that there were always lots of tasks and errands to take care of after a trip, especially an unexpected one, but if Loren had really been interested, he would have called to set up the date by now,right?

Maybe Loren hadn’t been as interested as he seemed. Bruno thought back to the night of the fundraiser; Loren had seemed into him. After all he had kissed Bruno. People get busy, he told himself.

Thinking of that night, led Bruno to thinking about Sammy, and he frowned. Bruno would happily have gone the rest of his life without seeing his ex again. True, besides the closet issue, they had had good times together. But the breakup had been unpleasant.

Bruno had seen glimpses of the darkness and rage that ran underneath Sammy usually even temperament, but that anger had never been directed toward Bruno until the night he told Sammy it was over. That had been a scary night…...Bruno shook his head involuntarily. No. NO. He didn’t want to think about Sammy anymore. Besides, one ex sighting in six months, that wasn’t so bad. Bruno could deal with those numbers.

Bruno checked his nearly empty cup, and the time on his phone. Still a few minutes out til Jason’s ETA. He debated whether to refill now or wait. The urge for immediate caffeine won out, and he stood to head back inside the cafe. Before he had gone more than a few steps, he heard his name. Turning to see the source, he cursed inwardly.

As if conjured by Bruno’s earlier ruminations, Sammy stood before him, clutching a bag from a nearby grocery store in one hand.

“Bruno,” Sammy implored, walking toward the other man. “Can...can we talk, please? Just talk.”

Bruno sighed, “There’s nothing to talk about. All the talking we ever needed to do has been done. Please, just leave me alone.” He turned to head back inside, his empty cup in one hand.

In a repeat of their last encounter, Sammy’s free hand grasped Bruno’s arms, the fingers digging in deeply enough this time to leave bruises, and jerked him around. The force of the movement was enough to send Bruno’s cup flying to the ground where it shattered with a loud noise.

“You will talk to me,” Sammy snapped, his eyes flashing in anger. “I won’t be dismissed like that. You understand me?”

“Let go of me,” Bruno said, struggling to break the iron grip. They were on a public street, but it seemed strangely empty, and tendrils of fear were beginning to climb up Bruno’s spine. Sammy seemed almost unhinged.

“What the fuck is going on?” a voice boomed behind Sammy. Bruno looked up in relief to see Jason standing there. The chestnut haired man wasn’t huge, but he was sturdy and muscular, and his right hand was clutched in a fist. “Leave him alone,” Jason said, his voice deep.

Sammy glared at him, his fingers still clenched tightly in Bruno’s arm. “This is none of your business. Fuck off.”

Before anyone in the tense group could reply, a new, even deeper voice spoke. “This is my cafe, so this definitely is my business.”

A huge bald man that Bruno recognized as the owner, stood in the doorway. Dusted with flour, the man was covered in tattoos and wearing a stained white apron. He was also clutching a Louisville slugger. “So, mutherfucker, unless you want me to break this bat off in your ass, you better let go of my customer and get the hell out of here. You got 10 seconds; then I’m calling the police...and if I’m feeling generous...the paramedics,” he said, gesturing with the phone in his other hand. “One…..two….three…”

“Fine,” Sammy said releasing Bruno, who began instinctively rubbing his sore arm. To Bruno he said, “But this isn’t over….you can’t avoid me forever. One day you’ll have to listen to me.” And then, mercifully, he head down the street at a fast clip.

Both Jason and the owner rushed to Bruno’s side.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked, pulling Bruno into a side hug.

“I’m fine,” Bruno exhaled shakily. “Just a little shaken up.”

The owner peered at him carefully. “You sure? Do you want me to call the cops so you can report him?”

“No,” Bruno said emphatically. “I’m okay.”

“If you’re sure,” the owner said. He looked at the shattered cup. “I’ll send somebody out to clean that up and bring you a refill. Another cafe au lait?”

Bruno nodded yes. The bald man looked at Jason. “What do you want?”

“Just a plain black coffee.”

“Coming up,” the owner said, heading to the door.

“What was that about?” Jason asked, as they settled into metal chairs around a small table. “Who was that guy?”

Bruno sighed. As usual when he was nervous, he automatically began redoing his ponytail, smoothing back his pre-Raphaelite curls. “That was Sammy.”

“The ex?” Jason asked. “Has this happened before?”

“Only once...I ran into him at the fundraiser. He was there with the caterer.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to report this?” Jason looked concerned. “I’ve seen this sort of thing before…..it can get ugly; really ugly. You can’t afford to ignore this.”

“I know. But….maybe I’m a fool, but say I report him. What happens? The police show up at his door saying his ex-boyfriend is charging him with assault. He still lives with his parents….I don’t want to be the one who outs him. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

Jason observed Bruno, his hazel eyes troubled. “Look,” Jason finally said, “at least talk to my friend, Waylon. He’s a detective with the NOPD. He can give you some real advice.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please?” Jason implored.

“Fine,” Bruno said. “I guess talking can’t hurt.”

“Cool. I’ll give him a call.”

The next morning, Bruno was in his shop a little after 8 am. He was closed on Monday, but had plans to do some major rearranging. Shane and Casey, whose shop was also closed on Monday, were coming by in a bit to help. Shane’s schedule was flexible, and neither Casey nor Bruno had full-time employees, so both tried to help each other out when they could. Bruno would need their help to move some of the big items, but he wanted to get a head start before they arrived.

He had just started unloading a bookcase, when he heard a knock. He sighed. No matter how prominently he displayed the shop’s business hours, no matter how large a font he printed the words “Not Open on Monday and Sunday,” customers invariably ignored those messages. Bruno plastered on a smile and headed toward the glass doors.

Through the glass, Bruno could see a man, large framed and dark haired. Bruno unlocked and opened the door while saying, “I’m sorry, we’re not open on Mondays…”

Before he could continue his spiel, the man spoke, his voice a deep, rich bass. “I’m not here to shop. I’m here to talk to Bruno Vignau. Is that you?”

Startled, Bruno looked at the man carefully. The stranger had dark brown hair, cut short and conservatively, though it seemed a bit disheveled, and he appeared unshaven. He was in his early 30s, handsome in an old fashioned way, reminding Bruno of 50s movie stars, with sherry colored eyes and an olive complexion; the man was a little over six feet, with a powerful build revealed by the wrinkled cotton dress shirt, which stretched tautly over a bit of belly. He was exactly Bruno’s type, and the shopkeeper couldn’t seem to find it within himself to stop staring and to respond.

“You are Bruno, correct?” the man said again, seeming a bit disconcerted.

“Sorry.” Bruno shook his head. “Yes, I am. And you are?”

“Waylon Venturi,” the man said, a smile lightening his tired looking face as he extended his enormous right hand. “I’m a friend of Jason and Shane. Jason said I should talk to you.”

“The detective,” Bruno said, flustered. “I..l didn’t expect you to show up in person; I figured you would call. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“No, bother,” Waylon said, the smile lingering.

“Well, come in,” Bruno said, stepping back and holding the door open. “Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee?”

“No thanks. I’ve been up all night on a case. I stopped here on my way home to catch a few hours of sleep, and I wouldn’t want it to keep me awake.”

“How about some lemonade? It’s homemade.”

Another smiled flashed, lightening the expression on the tired face. “That sounds nice.”

“Follow me,” Bruno said and led the way through the shop.

The house had been converted to a commercial space decades before, but the last occupants had installed a fully functioning, though small, kitchen . It had been designed to look original to the building, with glass front cabinets, an arched niche for the refrigerator and a built in dining nook. Bruno settled Venturi into the latter, pouring the detective a glass of lemonade before pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Once they were both settled, Waylon began. “Jason said you’re having some trouble with an ex. Stalking, harassment.”

Bruno flushed, embarrassed by the whole situation. “I’m not sure it’s that serious. We broke up six months ago, and I’ve only seen him twice since then.”

“Jason said he got physical.”

“He grabbed my arm. That’s it.”

“What about last time?”

“Same thing,” Bruno admitted reluctantly.

“When was the last time?”

“About two weeks ago. I performed at a fundraiser...:”

“That Amanda Brooks thing,” Waylon interjected. “Shane invited me, but I had to work.”

“Yes. Anyway, he was there and snagged me when I went backstage to change.”

“Why was he there? Do you know? Do you think he knew you would be there?”

“He was working. He’s a waiter, and he does catering gigs for extra money sometimes. Usually, he has no idea where or what the event is until the day of. Honestly, I think it really was a coincidence. I didn’t have anything to do with helping pick the caterer, and I can’t see how he would have known I was going to be there. He’s deep in the closet, and we don’t have any friends in common.”

“What about yesterday? Do you think he followed you? Knows your routine?”

Bruno shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I wasn’t really paying attention, so I guess it’s possible he followed me, but I didn’t notice him until he called my name. And I don’t know that he knows I live here,” Bruno gestured to the loft above him. “This is all new since we broke up. And the coffee shop was Jason’s choice not mine. I’ve been there once or twice, but it’s not part of my regular routine.”

Bruno thought a bit, concentrating on yesterday. “And….he had a shopping bag, one of those plastic grocery ones. I really think he went to Canseco’s and just happened to see me.”

The detective looked concerned. “It’s all possible, coincidences happen, but...I don’t like it. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you break up? And how did the initial breakup go?”

“We were together about two years. It was one of those things that started casual and was supposed to stay that way, but we ended up falling for each other. I knew he was in the closet from the beginning, but I wasn’t thinking of him as a boyfriend then. And later, I guess I convinced myself that it would all work out; that love was enough, and that he would eventually come out. But toward the end, we were fighting constantly; not just about the closet; about everything. Then there was one of those straw that broke the camel’s back moments, and I ended it.”

During Bruno’s speech, unreadable emotions flashed quickly across Waylon’s olive skinned face, but he said nothing until Bruno had stopped speaking.

“What was the final straw?”

“I got mugged. The guy roughed me up a bit; I had a mild concussion. It wasn’t really serious, but I was freaked out.”

“Understandable.”

“I guess,” Bruno said with a wry smile. “Anyway, I tried calling him from the hospital to pick me up, but there was no answer. I knew he was at his parents’ anniversary party, but I just wanted my boyfriend, you know? And it hurt that the rest of his siblings were there with their significant others, and I’m alone in the emergency room. I ended up having to call a friend to come get me, and when Sammy finally did get in touch he was more pissed that I had blown his phone up all night and his brother noticed than upset I had been jumped. So I dumped him.”

“How did he take it?”

“It was ugly,” Bruno admitted. “Lots of screaming, breaking things...he even punched a few holes in the wall of my apartment. It was scary, but he didn’t attack me. I finally got him out the door, then I spent the next few nights with Shane.”

“Did he harass you then?”

“Actually, no. I was, I admit, half way expecting it. He sent some texts and called for a few days until I blocked his number, but after that….nothing. At least not until the fundraiser.”

“Here’s the deal,” said the detective, putting his elbows on the table and leaning in. “You’re right to take this seriously, but there’s not a lot you can do legally at this point, unless you’re willing to report the incident from yesterday, and Jason said he didn’t think you would. Is he correct?”

Bruno nodded affirmatively.

“In that case, what I can tell you to do is to be careful. Keep your doors locked as much as possible, keep a close watch on your surroundings, pay attention, keep your phone charged and close to you. Start documenting any contact. And if he touches you again, call the police. I know you don’t want to cause him trouble, but, Bruno,” Waylon said, his voice softening, “you need to take this seriously. He may be harmless...but if he’s not, you could be in danger. Do you understand?”

Again, Bruno nodded, his eyes locked on Waylon’s. Waylon seemed satisfied with Bruno’s response, and stood. He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a card case, pulling a card out to hand to Bruno.

“Here’s my number,” Waylon said. “If you see him again, or you feel frightened, or for any reason, actually, call my cell.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” Waylon said, “Take care.”

A few hours later, Shane and Bruno threw themselves down in a pair of midcentury leather chairs in the front showroom, winded after moving a heavy bureau. Casey had left to pick up lunch from Parkway Bakery, and Bruno used the opportunity to ask Shane a question that had been on his mind all morning.

“So your friend the detective came by this morning to talk to me about Sammy.”

“Jason said he had called him. Waylon’s so nice, isn’t he? I mean he looks all gruff and scary, but underneath he is a real sweetheart.”

“I got that impression. I also got another impression,” Bruno said. “I got the impression he was maybe checking me out. Is Waylon, by any chance, gay?” Please say ‘yes,’ Bruno was thinking. Please let my gaydar be working correctly.

Shane hesitated for a fraction of a moment, his brows furrowed. “Yes,” he said before pausing again. “....But...:”

Before Shane could complete the sentence, Bruno somehow knew what the next words would be and spoke them in unison with his friend, “...he’s in the closet.”

Bruno sighed heavily. “Of course he is.”

“It’s not like Sammy,” Shane rushed to reassure him. “He’s obviously out to some of his friends,” he gestured toward himself, “and to his older sister. And I know he traveled some with his ex-boyfriend. But, yeah, he’s not out at work or to his parents. And they live on the Northshore, close enough for it to be a problem. I’m pretty sure his being in the closet is why he and Rob broke up.”

“Shit,” Bruno said. “What is it with me and closeted guys? I mean, I’ve come to understand that I was lucky, and after hearing horror stories from you, and Loren, and some of the kinds the foundation is working with, I get it now. Why people can be afraid to come out, but….I don’t know. I don’t think I can do it again. Shit.”

“Sorry,” Shane said sympathetically. “Look, Casey should be back any minute, and we need a break. I’ll go fix us some ice tea. Sound good?”

Bruno smiled weakly. “Sure,” he said.

After Shane left for the kitchen, Bruno continued to sit and brood. A couple of weeks ago, it looked liked his love life may be on an uptick, but now….a potential suitor that doesn’t call and a hot guy who is off limits. Maybe he should just embrace celibacy. He was still brooding when the front doors opened with a bang and a clash of bells.

Startled, Bruno jerked and turned to the front door. It was Casey, clutching a white paper bag. The bag was only marginally whiter than the blond’s face which had a stricken look.

“Have you heard the news?” Casey asked.

“What news?”

“What’s wrong,” Shane said, entering from the back of the store clutching two glasses of iced tea.

“I saw it online,” Casey said. “Loren’s dead.”

“Dead?” Shane said, his own face draining of color. “What happened?”

“He was murdered last night.”