by H. L. Sudler
MIDNIGHT
_______________________
H.L. Sudler
An Archer Publishing Book
Washington, D.C.
Return to Summerville
Published by Archer Publishing
P.O. Box 21843, Washington, DC 20009
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by H.L. Sudler
Portions of this story originally appeared in the Rehoboth Beach Gayzette, in somewhat different form.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any printed or electronic form. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
ARCHER PUBLISHING is a registered trademark of Archer Media Networks LLC.
The ARCHER PUBLISHING logo is a registered trademark of Archer Media Networks LLC.
Archer Publishing ISBN
978-1-7351993-9-9
Books by H.L. Sudler
Patriarch: My Extraordinary Journey
From Man to Gentleman
Summerville
From Man to Gentleman:
A Beginner’s Guide to Manhood
Return to Summerville
The Looking Glass: Tales of Light and Dark
CafeLiving’s Favorite Cocktails
Stories by H.L. Sudler
The Looking Glass
Blood Moon
You Won’t Forget Me
Blood Moon
Sandman
Night As We Know It
Daytrippers
If you live every day as if it were your last,
someday you’ll be right.
Steve Jobs
_____________________________
Midnight
“So you shot him in the head? You’re admitting that?”
“Yes. And yes, I’m admitting that.”
Jon Hammond looked up at the clock that hung on the wall. All white wall. Black and white clock. A very simple clock. One that looked as if it belonged in a school. Numbers in Helvetica. A second hand that ticked audibly.
“And you shot him because…?”
“He tried to kill me.” Jon looked down at the table before him. Metal colored in titanium green. A hideous and discomforting color. He looked up at the clock again.
“You got somewhere to be?”
Jon looked at the detective. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You got someplace to be? You keep looking at the clock.” The detective used the pen in his hand to point to it. He had a mustache, thick and brown. A no-nonsense face, a body stocky and intimidating. His steel-blue eyes bore into Jon, looking at him as if he were looking over glasses despite the fact that he wore none. He looked like either a high school shop instructor or a gym teacher. To Jon, he seemed as if he had been a parole officer in a previous life.
“No, I’ve got no place to be.” Jon dropped his eyes back down to the table. “Better here than a morgue.” He looked at the clock once more. Appreciative this time. “You see, today is my birthday. It’s five to twelve, which means I’ve got five minutes left in this day. I spent all last week trying to forget my birthday. And I’ve spent most of tonight trying to survive it.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty-five.”
“You look good for forty-five,” the detective said. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you.”
There was quiet a moment as the detective looked at Jon’s bloody left hand that sat resting on the table. He then looked up to Jon’s wavy brown hair, his beard, his dark eyes, sexy, and hiding a world of emotion, of history, of secrets behind them. The detective was confident Jon had broken many a heart, he was that handsome.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“Yes.” Jon took a deep breath, as if recollecting the last six hours. “It started with a birthday party I didn’t want.”
“Why didn’t you want a party?”
“I didn’t,” Jon said, defensively. “Is it so bad to not want a party for your birthday?”
“I’m assuming it would be considered rude to turn down your own birthday party if friends wanted to give you one.”
Jon huffed and looked around the small interrogation room. “Well I didn’t want one…but I got one anyway.”
“So…how does you not wanting a party connect to what happened tonight?”
Jon drummed his fingers on the table. The bloody fingers of his bloody hand. At first he stared into space, then he looked at the clock. It read one minute to midnight.
“I couldn’t get out of the party,” Jon said, forcing himself to look at the detective. “Too many people had committed.”
“How many?”
“A lot. My friend April called everyone we knew and then some.”
“Where was the party?”
“Hell’s Kitchen, at The Skyline.”
The detective nodded. “I know that place.”
“You do?”
The detective looked at Jon deadpan. “Cops don’t live under rocks.”
It was Jon’s turn to nod and smile. “It’s a fancy place. Good food, good music, pretty people. Expensive as shit. Very Manhattan. I’d only been there once before.”
The clock ticked as if it had something to say. Jon looked at it again.
Midnight. It’s finally midnight. This day is done. Now tell him the story.
Jon didn’t bother going home to change. He’d never have enough time to get out of Manhattan to Sleepy Hollow and back in time for the party. He worked late, tying up loose ends of the day’s activities at Walsh Publishing. He headed the Rights & Clearances department, and there were still calls to be made out to the west coast, three hours behind New York.
By the time he’d left the office for The Skyline, he had changed into a new shirt to go along with his navy blue suit. Something less formal than the white shirt and power tie he’d worn for a meeting earlier that day with the east coast arm of a media company looking to option rights to one of Walsh’s books for a film they were considering. He really didn’t want to go to this party. He really didn’t have the energy for it, and it was all he could do to convince himself to actually attend. There’d be food there, and drink, enough to keep everybody happy and drunk. It was also Friday, October 31, Halloween. The crowd was bound to be in a partying mood.
Why didn’t he want to celebrate his birthday? Why was there such appeal in going home to be by himself in the quiet of his condo? What was it about this day in particular, that made him want to ball up and cocoon? What unseen thing was he trying to avoid, because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? The reason why he didn’t want to celebrate his day? There was something right there, right in front of him, that he could touch, that he could almost see, that needed to be mulled over and handled. Except he didn’t know what IT was.
This feeling was not sudden. It had been coming for some time, since his last birthday, actually. It had intensified as the weeks passed, until the whole matter, the whole figuring it out, left him exhausted and in need of solitude. Sex yes, but not much more interaction than that. Work yes, but no socializing after hours. Dinner yes, but alone and at home, with a meal he cooked and a drink he prepared himself. Alone, in his pajamas, in front of the television, with no company. Just himself.
He walked into The Skyline to a crowd of people who cheered and immediately burst into song. Happy Birthday. It was
as he suspected it would be. Too loud. Too many people. Everyone talking at him. Touching him. Kissing him. Shaking his hand. And all he wanted to do was close his eyes and exhale long and hard, and suddenly be home. Alone.
The Skyline was beautiful. Expertly styled Neo Deco. Dimly lit. Dark cherry furniture. A roaring fireplace. A bar that was a magnificent tower of colorful bottles of alcohol lit by soft lighting. A dining room that was a perfect setting for both new romance and old money. Bass thumping music was being supplied by a DJ in the corner. Everyone was dressed in suits and cocktail dresses and competing fragrances. The hostess, named Luz, came up to him and wished him a happy birthday.
“Thank you,” Jon said, smiling. He knew it was going to be an effort keeping this mask on the whole night. He asked her, “You know where a guy can get a drink in this joint?”
“The bar is all yours, Mr. Hammond. Welcome to The Skyline.”
“Call me, Jon,” he said. “Something tells me I’m going to need more than one drink to get through this evening.”
“A little overwhelming?”
“Just a little.”
The hostess chuckled. She was beautiful, Latina, with a head of flowing black hair and a wide smile that could melt the hardest heart. She reminded him of a Gibson girl. “Try to have a good time. The food is excellent. Our finest bartenders are on staff tonight. And it’s your birthday. If there’s anything you need, please let me know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again.”
Jon walked through the crowd, smiling, nodding, hugging, shaking hands. He made it to the bar, to a handsome, young African-American male.
“Good evening, Mr. Hammond. And Happy Birthday. What can I get you to start off?”
Jon did a double take. “You know who I am?”
“Ms. Stanton pointed you out when you walked through the door. She told me to give you whatever you wanted.”
Jon nodded. “Sounds like April. I think this party is more for her than it is for me. And thank you for the birthday wishes.”
“Not a problem. We’re here to make this day very special for you.”
Jon smiled, but it was forced. Yes, it was going to be a long night. “Let me have a double of scotch, rocks.”
“Coming right up.” The bartender started to walk away.
“Wait a minute. I’m sorry. What’s your name?” Why was it such a struggle to be polite?
“Rodney.”
“Rodney, pleased to meet you.”
Rodney looked at Jon a moment. Jon had bowed his head, was looking at his hands, rubbing them together stiffly.
“You look like you’d rather be any place but here.”
Jon nodded. His face was red, his lips pursed. He was agitated. “That obvious, huh?”
“Let me get you a drink. My specialty. An ice-cold martini, nice and dirty.”
Jon smiled a little. “Sounds tasty.”
“A good drink can chase the blues away.” Rodney turned to the wall of bottles behind him.
“Hey, Rodney.”
Rodney turned back.
“I know everything for me is free tonight…but let me tip you.”
“That’s all been taken care of, Mr. Hammond.”
“No, please. I insist.” Jon dug into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. He handed it to Rodney. “Thank you for being nice to me, and being…”
“Quiet?” Rodney said, quietly.
“Accommodating,” Jon corrected with a sly grin.
Rodney leaned in close to Jon. “Sometimes a man celebrates his birthday with a large party, girls, food, too much drink. And sometimes a man celebrates his birthday by thinking deep thoughts. Who’s to say which one is right.”
Jon watched Rodney turn away to prepare his martini. The party raged on around him. He let his eyelids droop and then close. He could see himself in his condo right now. Walking around his living room stark naked, a beer in hand. He’d lay on the sofa, finish off the beer, let himself doze.
“Hey there, Mr. Antisocial!”
Jon opened his eyes, his daydream gone in an instant. He knew the voice. April was hugging him from behind.
“Hello, April.” He turned to her, and looked upon her face. Although her eyes were stunning, and she was far from ugly, he’d not call her beautiful. She had an intelligent face, dark brown hair, a svelte body. She was sexy, and in love with him. Had been since they’d met more than ten years ago.
“Oh, come on!” she said, looking in Jon’s eyes. “Are you still tripping over this party?”
“I’m…just tired.”
“Tired, my ass.”
“Mr. Hammond,” Rodney said from behind Jon. “Your drink.”
“Thank you, Rodney.”
“Happy birthday, once again.”
“Rodney,” April said, leaning over Jon’s shoulder. “May I have a drink as well. A very large glass of merlot.”
“Coming right up, Ms. Stanton.”
April sidled up next to Jon, as he tasted his martini. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with you, Jon. People went through a lot of effort to put this together and you look like you’re at a presidential funeral.”
“I told you I didn’t want this party.”
“Well now you have it and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”
Jon gulped more of his drink and stared straight ahead at the bar. The drink was cold and salty and satisfying.
“Fine, spill it,” April said, tossing her hair.
Jon twisted his jaw. “Celebrating my birthday is not a big thing any more. It’s just not. There was a time when I was a kid, I would tell everyone under the sun that my birthday was coming. And now…”
“Now what?”
Jon was quiet a moment. “Now I’m hurting. Self-assessing. Going through something, and I don’t know what the hell it is.”
“Well, you’re not going through a mid-life crisis, because you’re too young for that. C’mon! You’re handsome, you make more money than God, and you have a great body. Go out and get laid. That’s what the hell I’d do.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing the last 45 years?” Jon said looking at her. “I feel like I’ve fucked everybody in this damn city.”
“Not me,” April said, raising her hand. “Just saying.”
“I don’t fuck friends.”
“Poor me.”
He looked up to the ceiling, then at the party all around. “I’ve gotten my fair share, April.”
“I know you have. I have fantasies that thing of yours is marble hard around the clock.”
Jon looked away. “I see someone’s had a few drinks already tonight.”
“I’m serious. You’re like the sexiest man I know.”
“And what good has it done me. The women in bars, the women who belonged to some other guy, the women at conventions and in foreign countries. The ones I fell in love with, the ones who fell in love with me. One-nighters, affairs…and that threesome in L.A. with the cop and his wife.”
“I remember you saying you had a good time with that.”
“Not that good a time. It was fun. Different. I wish I could say I was more drunk than I was, as an excuse. But I actually wanted to do it. I wanted to know what it felt like to touch other people, not just one person. I wanted to know what it was like to have more than one person touch me. To get that thrill of a blurry night that seemed endless and hedonistic.”
“And the guy?”
“He wasn’t bad. A former college football player. Taught me some things I have now conveniently added to my repertoire. It was an experience I’ll never forget.”
Rodney came back with April’s wine. She mouthed a thank you.
“Now you feel like you’ve seen the world, and you’re all bored with it,” she said.
Jon looked at her seriously. “I don’t know what I feel.”
“
What does that even mean, Jon?”
“It means…” he began. He looked away, thought a moment through the thumping bass of dance music, the conversations all around him and the laughter. “It means, something has to give. Something’s got to change. I don’t know if I’m happy. I feel like…I should be going in a direction, but I have no idea what that direction is or what I’m supposed to do when I get there. And this party. Everybody looks like they’re having a good time. And me…I feel like I’m dying inside. Minute by minute.”
April frowned. “Are you all right? You’re not going to kill yourself or something, are you?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m not all right. Something’s wrong. I’m stuck. The money, the sex, the job. I have all of it and I’m still stuck.” Jon was quiet a moment. He looked at his drink. “And this martini is really very good.”
“And you’re unhappy…on your birthday.”
Jon sighed heavily. He downed the martini and signaled Rodney for another. He turned to her.
“Is it in bad form if I get drunk?”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you. I wish I could kiss you…love you…and make everything better. But I know you don’t want that or me, so the only thing I can offer you is this party to tell you how much you matter.”
“It’s my party, and I can cry if I want to.”
“People from your office are here, so I wouldn’t recommend that or getting drunk. What I would recommend is that you table whatever’s bothering you until tomorrow and enjoy this party that I spent a whole lot of money on.”
Jon sighed and shuffled over to April. He hugged her.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I love you. You’re the best friend ever.”