Everyone Has Secrets

by Edward Kendrick

  That made me laugh. “Not at all. This place is filled with men, so you’re only one of many. I probably wouldn’t have noticed you tonight if my friend hadn’t commented about how shy you are, the last time I spotted you.”

  “I’m not shy. I’m just not here to pick up someone.” He gave me a pointed look. “Unlike you.”

  “I’m not denying that. Although I have been known to stop in to eat dinner and catch up with friends if they’re around, and nothing more.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You don’t believe me, umm…? What is your name? Or is that top secret?”

  He stared out at the dance floor again for so long I figured he wasn’t going to tell me. Then, surprisingly, he said, “Lorne.”

  “Hello, Lorne. I’m Brant.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  That brought me up short—again. “Oh, really? How?”

  “I overheard you talking to one of your friends.” The way he said ‘friends’ made me envision finger quotes around the word.

  “And remembered. I’m honored.”

  “Don’t be. I’m good with names.”

  “A handy talent, under the right circumstances. Like if you were a salesman.”

  “I’m not.”

  “College kid?”

  Lorne cracked a brief grin. “Was, until I graduated.”

  “So you’re older than you look.” I studied him again, causing him to look away. “Okay, wild guess, but from what you said, that puts you around twenty-three, twenty-four.”

  “Twenty-four,” he replied. “Old enough to be here, if that’s what you were wondering.”

  “Not really. They wouldn’t let you become a member if you weren’t.”

  “I could be someone’s guest.”

  “Then where is the ‘someone’? We’ve been talking for a good fifteen minutes. It doesn’t take that long to go to the john.”

  Lorne shrugged. “I could say he went upstairs with a guy he picked up. But since I’m not a guest, I don’t have to be here with anyone.”

  “True. Back to one of my original questions—”

  “You do seem to ask a lot of them,” he put in dryly.

  “I’m the nosy type, when I see a guy who interests me.”

  “Yeah? Well, forget it. I’m not looking. I think I told you that already.”

  “I said ‘interests’. I didn’t say I want to take you home, or even upstairs for a quickie.”

  He took a drink of water, then leaned back, his attention moving to the dance floor then back to me. “Why?”

  “Why don’t I want to take you home? Or why do you interest me? Oh, and another question while I’m at it. Who are you looking for? Because I’ll bet my bottom dollar that’s what you’re doing.” I based that on the number of times he had checked out the dance floor. There was no prurient interest in his gaze when he did.

  “No one,” he replied defensively.

  “Okay. Sorry I asked. Why do you interest me? Because you’re different.”

  “Meaning I’m not trying to jump the bones of every guy who looks twice at me.”

  “That too, given why the club exists in the first place. But also, there’s the fact you don’t take any guff, from what I’ve seen so far. You’re willing to stand up for yourself when pushed.” I smiled. “And I have been pushing.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Would you take it wrong if I asked if I could buy you a drink? Not alcohol, since I get that’s probably not your thing, but at least something more interesting than water.”

  There was the hesitation again, as if he had to think long and hard before answering. Then, “I guess.” He glanced at his water, shaking his head. “This does get old after a while.”

  “I imagine. What’s your poison, as they say?”

  “Umm, orange juice and tonic?”

  I chuckled. “You’re asking me?”

  “No. I’m just trying to think of something I’ve actually tried before. I’m not in the mood for tomato juice so…”

  “Got it.” I stood, waiting for him to join me while wondering if he was willing to give up his search for whoever it was and go to the bar with me. Apparently he was, because he got up as well. We made our way through the crowd, me in the lead until we got to the main room where we could walk side-by-side. I realized at that point he was almost as tall as I am. For some reason I’d been thinking of him as maybe five-ten at the most. I guess it had to do with his being young, at least compared to my thirty-two.

  There was only one vacant stool at the bar so I told him to take it. When Nate, the bartender, came over, I gave him our drink order, telling him to put it on my tab.

  While we waited, I eased in between Lorne and the guy on the stool next to him, putting me a lot closer to Lorne than I thought he might be comfortable with. He did inch away but didn’t make an issue of it. At that point I thought of something—probably because of that.

  “Why are you willing to talk with me?” I asked. “I gather, from what I’ve seen, and heard, you never have anything to do with anyone while you’re here.”

  “You kept pushing.”

  “True, but you could have gotten up and walked away.”

  “I could have, but…I guess I wanted to see how far you’d go before giving up. I didn’t exactly respond at first.”

  “No kidding. Another question.”

  Lorne snorted softly. “You have more of them than…than a reporter looking for a story.” He eyed me with a frown. “You aren’t, are you? I mean a reporter?”

  “Nope. I’m a financial planner. How about you?”

  “I work retail.”

  I chuckled. “So I was right. You are a salesman.”

  “Technically, I suppose, though I don’t think telling someone they can find screwdrivers on aisle five, or mixing paint for a customer, is really considered being a salesman.”

  “Hardware store?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t look too happy about that.

  “But you said you went to college.”

  “I did. I majored in photography,” he replied wryly. “I’m good, but that doesn’t mean there are a lot of jobs out there unless I want to shoot weddings, or kids sitting on Santa’s lap.”

  “Yeah, I can see doing that wouldn’t exactly turn you, or anyone, on.”

  Our drinks had arrived by then, so I suggested we move from the bar to a table, where we wouldn’t be squeezed together like sardines. “But not in the back room. I’ve had enough of loud music and sweaty bodies”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he laughed and agreed. We found a table for two and grabbed it before anyone else could. Once we were seated, it suddenly seemed as if we had nothing more to say to each other, so we drank to fill the silence. I noticed him glancing at the doorway to the back room more often than was warranted and wondered again who he was looking for.

  “Did someone in there catch your eye, and now you’re regretting being out here with me?” I finally asked.

  “No to both parts of your question,” he replied quickly. Too quickly. I knew he was lying, although I didn’t think it was because he had seen some guy he wanted to hook up with. If he had, he wouldn’t be sitting here.

  Leaning forward, elbows on the table, I asked him quietly, “Who are you looking for? And more to the point, why?”

  “That is none of your business,” he said tensely.

  “Probably not, but at least you confirmed my suspicions that you are looking for a specific person.”

  He glared at me, then without another word, got to his feet, leaving his drink on the table, and practically race-walked to the front door of the club. If he had a coat when he came in, he left without it.

  “Don’t tell me someone actually turned you down,” I heard a laughing voice say from behind me. Alan came around, taking Lorne’s seat.

  “Since I never propositioned him, that would be a no.”

  “Cute kid,” Alan said. “I’ve seen him around here a few times recently.
Never does anything but sit in the back room watching people, from what I can tell. How did you manage to connect with him?”

  I spread my hands. “I’m persistent? I knew about his shyness, from Bill, and wanted to see if I could get him to relax and talk.”

  “And then drag him upstairs?” Alan commented.

  “Actually, no.” I shrugged and grinned. “I know. Not me, huh? I came here for the usual reason, until I saw him and decided to try and get him to open up.”

  “Did he?”

  “Some. Not much. I get the impression he doesn’t come here to find a guy to have sex with. If I was to hazard a guess, he’s looking for someone specific. Maybe an ex who dumped him.”

  “That could cause trouble, if he finds him,” Alan pointed out.

  “Perhaps, although he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d go after an ex, fists flying, if that’s who he’s looking for.”

  “You never know.”

  We dropped the subject of Lorne at that point for a much more interesting one. Did we want to go upstairs, or did I want to go home with Alan—something I’d done once or twice? We opted for my going home with him, so we finished our drinks and did just that.

  * * * *

  Being inherently nosy—a trait that served me well when I was looking for someone to blackmail—I decided to see if I could find out anything about Lorne. Why? I wasn’t sure, other than, as I’d told him, I found him interesting. And I did like digging up people’s secrets.

  So, Saturday afternoon—after catching up on my sleep since I hadn’t gotten any at Alan’s place—I set to work.

  The first step was hacking into the club’s records to get a last name for Lorne. It’s Reynell, and as it turned out, he wasn’t the only member with that last name. There was, or had been—he hadn’t paid his dues for the last six months—a Kyler Reynell. Since it was hardly an average surname, I wondered if they were related. It didn’t say in the info I found so I moved on to step two. Going to a search engine, I typed in Lorne Reynell. I got one hit, or rather several hits about the same story—one involving Kyler Reynell.

  Six months before, Kyler had presumably committed suicide by jumping from the balcony of his tenth floor apartment. I say presumably because, according to the follow-up news stories on the incident, no suicide note was found. I knew that was fairly common, despite peoples’ belief to the contrary, but it still sent up a red flag. Kyler was twenty-six at the time of his death, survived by his parents, an aunt and uncle, and one brother—Lorne Reynell.

  Kyler had been a member of the club for two years before he died. Lorne joined a month ago. I had to wonder if his brother’s death somehow precipitated that. Lorne was obviously, to my way of thinking, looking for someone. Did Kyler have a lover who also belonged to the club? That was the logical explanation for Lorne’s being there, but not necessarily the correct one.

  Step three? Return to the club tonight and hope Lorne would be there. For whatever reason, the idea that he might be searching for his brother’s killer intrigued me. I knew I was jumping to conclusions. It could well have been suicide, and for whatever reason Lorne was trying to relive Kyler’s life—or some such. Though if that were the case, why was he apparently searching for someone at the club? Not a question I could get an answer for unless I talked to Lorne again and got him to open up.

  It was around seven when I walked into the club. I left my leather jacket in the cloakroom, and walked through the place, including the back room, to be certain Lorne wasn’t around. After that, I found an empty stool at the bar, and ordered my usual scotch. Then I turned, leaned back, and prepared myself for what might be the fruitless job of watching the front door of the club, waiting for Lorne to appear.

  I was on my second scotch, sipping slowly, when Lorne came in. He was wearing a heavy jacket he left in the cloakroom before entering the main room. I decided to wait for him to spot me, figuring it would give him a chance to turn around and leave if he didn’t want me bothering him.

  He saw me and, somewhat to my surprise, came directly over. “I was hoping,” he said shyly, taking the stool next to mine.

  “That I’d be here?” I replied with an ingratiating smile, since he didn’t finish his thought.

  He nodded, pausing to order an OJ and tonic. “It was rude of me to walk away last night the way I did.”

  “I pushed buttons once too often. I get that.”

  “Yeah, you did, but I still overreacted.”

  “A bit,” I agreed, because I figured he wanted me to, to absolve him of his guilty feelings. “Why don’t we find a quieter place where we can talk privately?” From the look on his face, he obviously took that the wrong way. Unsurprising, considering where we were, so I expanded my thought. “One of those booths over there—” I nodded to the side of the room, “—should work just fine.”

  The look of relief on his face was almost laughable. We picked up our drinks and went over to one. He slid in across from me, and there was a long moment of silence.

  “Okay, I might as well ask—again—since I know you’re expecting it,” I started to say.

  “I am looking for someone,” Lorne said before I could finish. “The problem is, I don’t know who.”

  “That makes it a little difficult,” I replied. “If you don’t know who he is, what makes you think you’ll find him here?”

  “Because this is where my brother said they used to come—at first. I do know what he looks like, sort of.”

  “Care to explain?” I took a drink of my scotch, looking over the rim of the glass at him.

  Lorne took a deep breath. “Six months ago, more or less, my brother killed himself. At least that’s what the police and everyone else thinks.”

  “You don’t agree.”

  “No. My brother Kyler and I were close. He was two years older than me and gay, too. He helped me come to terms with the fact I am.” He smiled sadly. “I guess you could call it a bonding experience, which it was. We talked…used to talk almost every day, even if it was only to check in and say hi. Then he told me he’d met a guy. He seemed so happy, I couldn’t help being happy for him. That happened two months before he died.” Lorne looked down at his glass, picked it up, and took a long drink.

  “Happy enough that he didn’t have any reason to kill himself?” I said, to break his silence.

  “Exactly!”

  “You said he and the man would meet here. I take it Kyler never introduced the two of you?”

  “No. He tried to, several times, but something always seemed to come up. Either Rob was called away on a business trip, or Kyler was. They both had jobs that required traveling as part of what they did. Kyler said that’s how they connected in the first place—bitching about spending too much time on the road.”

  “If you never met this Rob…Do you know his full name?”

  “Yes. Rob Roberts.”

  That sent my radar pinging. Unless I missed my guess, Rob Roberts was a special member of the club. That was the way they were code named—Cass Cassidy for Mr. Saunders, Jeff Jefferson for one I hooked up with one time. It would explain why Lorne never managed to meet the man. It didn’t speak too highly of Kyler that he allowed Lorne to think he was finally going to get to know this Rob guy, and then didn’t let it happen.

  “How can you look for someone you’ve never met? Especially in a place as crowded as the club? And why concentrate on the dance floor?”

  “Kyler said they liked to dance.”

  “There are at least a dozen clubs where they could have done that, you know.” I was fairly certain that wouldn’t have happened, but I didn’t want to clue him in until I had more facts about ‘Rob Roberts’.

  “Yeah.” Lorne’s shoulders slumped. “But I have to start somewhere, and they did get together here sometimes, according to Kyler, so…”

  “Got it. But if you don’t know what he looks like.” I spread my hands.

  “As I said, I do, sort of.” Lorne took out his wallet, removed a p
icture, and handed it to me. Obviously taken in less than optimum lighting, it showed two men, their arms around each other’s waists. I figured one of them was Kyler because he bore a striking, if shadowed, resemblance to Lorne. The other man was half turned away from the camera, smiling at Kyler. The only distinguishing feature, other than too-long brown hair, was his nose. It reminded me of an actor, although I couldn’t put a name to him. I traced it with my finger.

  “Adrian Brody,” Lorne said.

  “That’s who! Reading my mind?” I asked.

  “He was the first thing I thought of when I found the picture in Kyler’s things, after he died. Not that Kyler was dating him, of course. He should have been so lucky.” He chuckled dispiritedly.

  “It’s not much of a picture but I can tell you, whoever he is, I’ve never seen anyone here who looks even close. Of course, when it comes down to it, I don’t remember your brother, either.”

  “But he said he…Kyler wouldn’t lie. Not to me.” Lorne looked at me as if he was trying to convince me, or both of us that was true.

  “He very well could have met him here. How much do you know about the club?”

  He shrugged. “It’s private, and expensive to join. It’s gay. It’s got good food and drinks. Just because you come here doesn’t mean you have to go home with someone. Of course that’s true anywhere. There’s a second floor—” he glanced toward the stairs, “—with private rooms, if you meet someone and…umm…”

  “And want to hook up here, rather than go home with them,” I said, amused he couldn’t come out and say that. “There’s another feature. If you’re a special member—someone who doesn’t want anyone to know you’re gay—there’s a private entrance to the second floor. You end up in the lounge, which is just for the special members. You can only bring a companion in with you that way if you trust them implicitly. If you’re meeting someone who’s a regular club member, you wait in the lounge until they arrive. If you come alone, and want to hook up with someone, you let the man at the desk know.” I decided not to tell him that regular members would sometimes go upstairs alone, hoping to connect with a special member. Marcus only let that happen when he trusted them—us—not to talk about who we had seen.