Smile Like You Mean It - 6. Six

Waylon blew out a breath of relief. “So you do know him?”

Unable to form more coherent communication, Bruno repeated, “That’s Sammy.”

Comprehension dawned on Waylon’s face. “Your ex.”

“Do you think he killed Loren?” Bruno asked in a shaking voice.

“I don’t know. The escort...Sammy….is definitely a person of interest. Your involvement adds to possible motive …..I definitely want to find this guy and talk to him. Do you mind coming down with me to the station. I need you to tell me as much about this guy as you can, on the record.”

Bruno forced a smile. “Sure. I’ll do anything I can.”

Hours later, after telling Waylon everything he could about Sammy, which was depressingly little considering how long they had dated, Bruno felt exhausted, empty. Like a crushed beer can discarded on the street. Waylon offered to drive him home.

“I can take an Uber.”

“Look, you’ve had a rough day. Let me do this.”

Relief flooded Bruno as he gave in. “Thank you.”

They were silent on the drive and didn’t speak until Waylon had walked Bruno to the front door. Bruno opened his mouth to say ‘goodbye,’ but other words came out.

“Play stay with me,” Bruno said. “I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Waylon stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes searching his companion’s face.

“Anything you need.”

Most of the night was spent in companionable silence as they cuddled on the couch watching Netflix; they had discovered they both had a passion for WWII documentaries. Bruno had changed his hipster business casual for sleep pants and an ancient tee; Waylon had discarded shoes, socks, jacket, tie, and button down. They snuggled close together, drinking beer and sharing a bowl of popcorn.

When it came time for bed, Waylon enfolded the smaller man in his strong arms, and Bruno found a peace he had never known.

Waylon had to leave early the next morning, and Bruno had risen to make the older man coffee. As they said goodbye, Bruno leaned forward and kissed Waylon gently on the cheek.

“Thanks for staying last night,” Bruno said. “I was feeling scared and alone, and I know you probably shouldn’t have, so thanks for breaking the rules for me.”

Waylon looked serious and said, “No, I shouldn’t have, but….your being safe is more important to me than any rules. And if you need me, call me.”

“No matter where you are; no matter how far. If you call me, I’ll be there in a hurry; on that you can rely and never worry.”

Waylon gave him a quizzical look.

“Sorry….I have a habit of quoting song lyrics….what you said...it reminded me of ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.”

At Waylon’s continued puzzled expression, Bruno continued. “Surely you know it….Diana Ross? Tammi Terrell?” He began singing. “Baby, ain’t no mountain high enough; ain’t no valley low enough; ain’t no river wide enough, to keep me, baby, from you.”

“Okay….yeah, I do remember that,” Waylon said, smiling now. Then his expression changed, became serious, and he cupped Bruno’s face in his big, calloused hands. “I do feel that way, just for the record; if you ever do need me….there ain’t valley high enough or low enough or whatever the hell the song says that can stop me from coming to help you. Believe that.”

As Bruno watched Waylon walk away, the early morning sun dancing across the detective’s broad shoulders and dark hair, the ginger told himself that Waylon was just a nice guy. That Waylon would have done the same for anyone, and that the two of them could just be friends.

After all, nothing sexual had happened the night before, just two guys hanging out. That cuddled, and slept in the same bed, like two random guys do.

Two guys, hanging. They could just be friends, Bruno told himself. He always was a terrible liar.

On Sunday, Bruno had felt that his head might explode from the swirling thoughts and the tense atmosphere that he seemed to be moving through. Those anxious feelings were nothing to what he felt after learning of Sammy’s potential involvement in Loren’s death.

It was scary enough to think an ex was stalking to you...to learn the ex was a potential murderer…..Jesus, that was scary. Not to mention learning the closeted ex was also an escort….had Sammy being doing that while he and Bruno had been dating? Not that it mattered now (and thankfully Bruno had been cleared of having any STDs during his last physical).....but it showed how little Bruno had known the other man. It made Bruno question how well he knew any man.

What made it worse was that Bruno didn’t have anyone to talk to about any of this. He refused to tell his mother…..God, he could only imagine the tizzy she would be in if she knew about Sammy’s involvement in the case and the fact that Bruno was contemplating pursuing another relationship with a closeted man. She would be on the first plane to New Orleans, ready to simultaneously swathe him in bubble wrap and beat some sense into him.

And Bruno didn’t want to worry Shane. Shane was already stretched to the breaking point over Loren’s death, building the charity, the vandalism….Bruno didn’t want to add any other potential burden. And while Shane knew that Waylon was gay, Bruno didn’t feel right talking about him to one’s of the cop’s own friends...it felt like crossing a boundary.

To make it all worse, Bruno’s usual remedy for stress, throwing himself into work was tainted. His main project right now was determining a renovation plan for Loren’s house. Even without the spectre of Loren’s murder hanging over the project, the physical scars left by the vandal or vandals was sickening.

Bruno had felt physically ill when he saw the ripped up floors, and smashed remains of what little furniture had been left in the house after the auction. It looked like a rabid beast had been let loose to demolish it. Especially upsetting were the huge fissures left in the plaster walls; they reminded him too much of the smaller, but no less frightening holes Sammy had left in Bruno’s apartment when they broke up. The police were still uncertain if the two crimes were linked, but inside, Bruno knew. He felt it. Whoever killed Loren had returned to destroy the lawyer’s home.

However, Bruno thought, there was at least one positive thing happening. Waylon had asked Bruno to keep quiet about Sammy’s I.D. as a suspect until the escort was brought in for questioning. When the police had gone to Sammy’s home to take him in, he hadn’t been there. His family insisted they didn’t know where he was, and so far, he remained at large.

Bruno had worried about keeping such big news about the investigation from Casey, who was so obsessed with the murder case and was both intuitive about when another person had a juicy bit of news and ruthless about ferreting it out. The twink was certain to be furious when he found out Bruno had withheld such big news about Sammy and his involvement with Loren.

Luckily, Casey had other things, or more accurately, another thing to focus on: Chad. The “accidental” meeting on Sunday had gone well, so well in fact, that Chad hadn’t been content to wait until Thursday to see Casey again, calling the blond on Tuesday to go see a band on Frenchman Street. Casey had been too busy walking around with stars in his eyes and gushing about the bartender to notice Bruno’s distraction and agitated mental state.

And in fact, this Thursday evening, as Casey drove them to meet Chad and Seb at the Broad, he was talking about Chad: how wonderful he was, how sweet, how handsome, etc. Chad had a brother and, apparently, they had plans to launch a catering business, but wanted to start with a food truck…….. Bruno, though happy for his friend and glad Casey’s chatter covered his own silence, tuned him out.

Bruno was no longer looking forward to this evening. Sure, he loved seeing old movies on the big screen, and any distraction from the current nightmare in which Bruno was living was good, but Seb’s involvement with the outing was an issue.

Bruno had finally accepted that he had it bad for Waylon. True, he barely knew the man, but….feels before reals, as they say. Feels before reals.

Seb was great on paper...handsome, successful, apparently into Bruno, but….he wasn't Waylon. And even though Bruno had no plans to pursue what would likely turn into another heartbreak, he didn’t want to lead Seb on.

Bruno only hoped that he wouldn’t have to have “The Talk” about “let’s just be friends” tonight. He barely felt up for drinks and a movie, much less “The Talk.” He had actually thought about cancelling, but faced with Casey’s bright faced enthusiasm for the double date, he hadn’t been able to muster the will to disappoint his friend.

Too soon, they had arrived at the theater, a former warehouse built in the 1920s, and were sitting at a table in the lobby/bar sipping wine. Mercifully, Seb was running late, so Bruno didn’t have to entertain the lawyer. He didn’t have to worry about entertaining Chad and Casey either; the couple was basically sitting in each other’s laps, so wrapped up in an anecdote from Sunday’s visit to the 700 Club that they didn’t notice Bruno had stopped replying.

The pair’s cuddling continued in the auditorium. Normally PDAs didn’t bother Bruno, but sitting board-straight next to a “date” (Seb had arrived just before the movie began) and trying to avoid any physical contact that could possibly convey the wrong idea while the other half of the double date team seems to be on the point of tearing each other’s clothes off is always awkward.

The movie itself didn’t help. The Bergman movie turned out to be “Gaslight.” Initially, Bruno had been excited to see the title; he had seen and liked the movie before and was excited to see it on the big screen. But watching a creepy, Gothic thrill about a curly haired protagonist being driven to the brink of insanity in an atmosphere of tension heavy enough to be physical….well it cut a little too close to home to Bruno’s own life these days to be entertaining viewing. He felt like he was living the movie in some ways, at least living in the same sense of dread as Ingrid Bergman’s character.

At least Seb seemed to be enjoying it. Whenever Bruno dared to look over, the lawyer seemed riveted to the screen, hopefully enamoured enough with the film to not notice his date’s lack of interest. He even gasped audibly at the big reveal of the villain and his motivation.

After the movie was over and they stood outside the auditorium discussing it, Chad suggested grabbing something to eat. Bruno, nerves stretched almost to breaking, was relieved when Seb promptly declined, citing an important case he needed to work on.

What about you?” Chad asked Bruno. “Up for a bite?”

“No, not really hungry.”

“Are you sure?” Casey asked, eyes begging his friend to decline again.

“I’m sure.”

“In that case,” Chad said, turning to Casey, “let’s go back to my place. I’ve been working on a recipe I’d like you to try. I need to stop by Whole Foods first, though.”

“That sounds amazing. If we’re going to the store, remind me to get some real coffee. That swill you served me yesterday morning was not coffee, no matter what the bag said.”

Seb and Casey both offered rides to Bruno, which he declined. Home was a shortish walk down the Lafitte Greenway, and he hoped the exercise would clear his muddled head. After a round of hugs in the parking lot, they parted ways.

The Lafitte Greenway was a walking/bike path that had been constructed over a former railway that ran from Mid-City to the edge of the French Quarter, a paved path set in a swath of green grass, lined with trees and native plants. Bruno loved walking it.

Minutes after Bruno began the mile or so journey home, though, he began cursing himself for being an idiot. Here was a guy who loved to shout at the fools in horror movies and thrillers that needlessly risk their lives by checking out that noise in the basement or confronting the killer instead of calling the cops. Yet what had Bruno done?

His ex, a possible killer was stalking him, and Bruno decided to stroll home alone in the dark on a nearly deserted path. Even without that threat, after watching ‘Gaslight,’ the walk would have been creepy. True the Greenway was lit, but there were still large sections of dark between the pools of light, and the breeze that made the night air pleasant also jostled the tall grasses along the side of the past, the resulting rustling noise sounded, to taut nerves, too much someone walking behind him.

Every movement he noticed, every noise he heard made Bruno’s heart leap, spurring him to walk ever faster. By the time he reached the brightness and busyness of Carrollton Ave., Bruno was running.

Keyed up by the walk, his fear of Sammy, the unease stirred up by the movie he had just seen, Bruno was unable to relax even after he was safely locked up in his apartment. He tried television, turning on a documentary on D-Day that he and Waylon had started but not finished, but unsurprisingly watching people shoot at each other and display man’s inhumanity to man didn’t soothe him.

Usually his attic apartment, with its sloping roofline and deep gables was a sanctuary, but tonight, the small space seemed to be closing in on Bruno. He paced, picking up books and magazines, then putting them down. Opening drawers, then closing them. On edge, ever moving.

Finally, Bruno decided to try making some tea to soothe himself. He was standing in the apartment’s tiny kitchenette which overlooked the backyard of Casey’s store. Movement caught his eye and his leaned forward.

Was that...Oh my God, Bruno thought, Somebody is back there. A figure, clothed in black walked out the back door. It stopped, turned its head towards Bruno’s lighted window. The face was covered with a ski mask, but Bruno knew the instant the prowler spotted him. The black figure turned and fled.

Bruno dropped his mug, and stepped back from the window. He ran into the living room and dove for his phone. Without hesitation, without thinking, he dialed Waylon.

“Hey, Bruno,” the deep voice said.

“Waylon,” Bruno gasped. “There’s….there’s somebody out there.”

“Calm down. Tell me...what’s happening?”

Bruno took deep breaths, trying to draw on his yoga breathing, to center himself. “I saw somebody come out of Casey’s store. I don’t know who, but…” his voice broke. “...I’m scared.”

“Is Casey at the store?”

“No. He’s on a date.”

“I’m 30 seconds away. I’ll be right there. Make sure your doors are locked and stay inside, Stay safe. I’m on my way.”

It seemed like forever, but Waylon made good on his promise, arriving before a minute had passed. Bruno was waiting by the front doors clutching the only weapon he could think of on short notice, a bronze sculpture of an angel on a heavy marble base.

Through the glass panes of the front doors, Bruno saw Waylon hurrying up the porch steps. The ginger discarded the statuette, tossing it on a sofa, and ran to unlock the door. He launched himself into Waylon’s arms.

The detective wrapped Bruno into a hug, whispering soothing sounds into his ear, and smoothing Bruno’s wild auburn curls with had come loose from their tie.

They stayed that way for a moment, warmth rushing back into Bruno’s body, before Waylon reluctantly released him.

“You’re safe now. Tell me what you saw.”

Before Bruno could reply, he noticed something over Waylon’s shoulder. A car parked on the street in front of Casey’s shop. A bright yellow convertible. A convertible that should be parked outside of Chad’s apartment in Treme.

“Fuck,” shouted Bruno. “Casey!!!” He pushed past Waylon and ran down the stairs and across the drive to Casey’s porch, ignoring Waylon’s cries to wait.

Bruno shot up the stairs, aiming for Casey’s hidden key, but when he reached the porch, he realized he didn’t need it to get in; the door was ajar. Bruno heard Waylon rushing up behind him screaming at him to “Stop!,” but he ignored the cop and rushed inside.

The light from the streetlamps streaming through the large plate glass windows was pale and silvery, but it was enough to illuminate the store. Clothing lay strewn about; debris, including costume jewelry and handbags were thrown around like confetti, but Bruno did not register any of that. He only saw his friend lying on the floor in a pool of spreading blood.