Scott Sherman: First You Fall

The pen was an expensive Mont Blanc.

Al en had a thing for nice writing instruments. A row of similar pens stood like soldiers in a mahogany holder at the back of his desk. Any one of them could have paid half my monthly rent.

His last written words, I thought to myself. I ran my finger over them. Just a few days ago, Al en’s gentle hand had rested there. I sighed.

“Something interesting?” Tony asked.

“No, just…” what could I say? “Nothing.”

I continued to look around. Everything seemed normal. Horribly wrong without Al en there, but normal nonetheless.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “What did you want to show me?”

“What do you see?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Wel, nothing weird or anything.

What’s the point?”

“Sit down,” Tony said to me. I settled on the couch.

Tony sat in a chair across from me.

“So, everything looks normal?”

I nodded.

“Nothing broken? Nothing missing? No blood?”

I could see where he was going.

“No signs of a struggle? Or a robbery?” Tony continued.

“I get it,” I said.

“I wanted you to see,” Tony said, “because I know how you are. You’re not going to let this go unless you see for yourself. So I showed you.”

This was Tony’s way of looking out for me. It was actual y pretty sweet. But he was wrong.

Something about the note.

“Come here.” I took him over to Al en’s desk. “He had just written this.” I pointed out the note. “Cal T. S.”

“Who’s T. S.?” Tony asked.

“I don’t know,” I said curtly. “That’s not the point.

This is: Why would he make a note to cal someone if he was going to kil himself? Wouldn’t he have known that he wasn’t going to be around to make that cal?”

“He could have written that days ago,” Tony answered.

“No,” I said. “That’s a good fountain pen. You can’t leave it uncapped like that, it’l dry out. Al en was very careful with his pens.”

“Kevin, look around. This place is untouched.

There was plenty of cash in a drawer in his dresser, and a lot of expensive…” he gestured at the paintings and furnishings, “stuff here that nobody bothered to take. There’s no reason to think that this man was murdered. I don’t think an uncapped pen is evidence of a crime.”

He looked at me with serious eyes. “Nothing here is evidence of a crime.”

Suddenly, I noticed how warm it was in there. Had someone turned off the air conditioning? I felt a little woozy again.

I thought a hug from Tony might be the perfect antidote, but that didn’t look likely.

“I need a drink,” I told him. “Can I grab a bottle of water from the frig?”

“Go ahead,” Tony said. I went into the smal kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A rush of warm air whooshed out. I looked around the side and saw that it was unplugged. Apparently, the air conditioning isn’t the only thing turned off when someone dies.

Al the fresh food had been removed. There was stil bottled water, but it was warm and unappealing.

Also left behind were a few other non-perishables, including a six pack of Budweiser beer, which I knew Al en would never drink. He must have gotten it for a guest.

Al en was always considerate like that.

Now, I felt like I was going to cry again. Which I was determined not to do in front of Tony.

“There’s nothing cold,” I said, coming back into the living room. Again, Al en’s absence weighed on me like an anchor. “Can we get out of here?”

“Sure,” Tony said. “There’s a bar right down the street. Why don’t we get something to drink?”

We walked without speaking and were there in five minutes. About twenty men and women stood by the bar, laughing and flirting. Framed pictures of famous athletes lined the dark wood wal s. Cigarette smoke and the wails of Aerosmith fil ed the air. If this place were any straighter, I’d melt like a vampire in daylight. We took a quiet table in the back.

Tony went to the bathroom. When the overly made-up waitress came over I ordered bottled water for myself and beer for him. It was waiting when he got back to the table.

“Hey,” he said, after taking a huge gulp of his beer, “didn’t I tel you not to tempt me with alcohol on the job?”

I couldn’t talk about Al en anymore. I didn’t want to think about death and suicide and murder. I just wanted to flirt with this man I’ve pined for since before I had pubic hair. I wanted to see where it would take me.

I bit my lower lip. “Funny,” I said, “I remember something about temptation, but that wasn’t it.”

Tony rol ed his eyes.

“Anyway,” I added, “you can only tempt the wil ing.”

Tony leaned closer to me. “You know what I did after I left your place last night?” he asked. “I went home and fucked my wife’s brains out.”

“Hmmm, what do you suppose had you al worked up?”

“Actual y,” Tony picked up his beer again, “I fuck her brains out every night. That’s my point, Kevin. I’m straight.” He drained his glass and signaled the waitress for another.

I wondered if he wasn’t trying to get drunk enough to fuck my brains out tonight. Not that I’d mind.

“Listen,” I said. “If you cal ed me here to reject me again, mission accomplished.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I cal ed you because I wanted you to understand what happened to Al en. I didn’t want you making yourself crazy that he was murdered. But as far as the stuff between us,” his voice dropped a couple of decibels, “I don’t want to lead you on. It’s just… you know how you get me al worked up. I mean, defensive. Even when we were kids, you were always looking at me, always wanting something.”

“Yeah, wel, we’re not kids anymore. And now you know what I want.” I gave him the ful works: Took off my glasses, flipped my hair back and ran my tongue over my lips.

“I know.” He loosened his tie a little more.

“And you are tempted, right?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Just a little?”

“You know I real y cared about you, right?”

“Enough to break my heart?”

“You weren’t the only one with a heart,” he answered.

“Could have fooled me.”

“But now there’s someone else’s heart I have to think about.”

If I had to hear about his wife one more time, I was going to scream.

Just then the waitress brought Tony’s beer over, giving him a long stare. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” he said, not even looking up.

She stood a moment longer. “ Anything?” She thrust her hips out. This bitch was about as subtle as a hysterectomy.

“I’m fine,” he said to her. Then to me, “So, what were you up to tonight when I cal ed you?”

Wel, I thought, I was just headed home after being bound and lightly spanked by a harness-wearing accountant who wouldn’t hurt a whore. “I was kind of tied up.”

“Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

An occasion to say a line I rarely use. “I’m free.”

“Good, because I wanted to tel you something else about Al en.”

Ugh. I real y wanted to be done with that topic by now. I knew I wasn’t going to convince Tony I was right until I could come up with some kind of evidence. And I was tired of hearing him always tel ing me I was wrong.

“Go ahead,” I said.

“I’m going to share something with you, but it’s off the record, OK?”

I mimed pul ing a zipper across my lips.

“When I got to the station this morning, the captain wanted to talk to me. Turns out that Al en’s death is not an entirely random thing.”

That got my attention. “What do you mean?”

“There’s been a rash of suicides in the gay community lately. Six in the past three months.