Boystown 7: Bloodlines

by Marshall Thornton

  “I don’t know the answer to that.”

  “I read the autopsy,” he said.

  “Then you saw it.” Meaning the pulmonary edema.

  “I did.”

  “Which raises the question, why kill a dying man?”

  “She didn’t know that he was dying.”

  “Her mother suspected. Madeline would have suspected, too.”

  “None of this is helping,” Owen said. “Our job is to make her look like a woman who deserves leniency.”

  “Maybe you should just put her up there. Skip everyone else. I mean, she orchestrated the whole thing. Let her play it out.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “Tell her to cry.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  I stood there a moment, awkwardly. Since I’d pretended to quit Jimmy’s case for the Feds listening in, I was technically done working for Owen. “Um, so I’ll send you my invoice. Let me know if you have anything else come up.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sure we’ll have something soon.”

  We gave each other a silly smile and then I walked out of his office.

  I managed to get back to Federal Plaza before two o’clock by skipping lunch. I watched as the office workers came back from their own lunch. Few of them looked excited to be returning. I did continue to get donations though. The largest came with whiffs of alcohol, as though those who drank their way through lunch were trying to make up for it by giving to charity. I didn’t see anyone even close to the parameters I was looking for. I gave some thought to the possibility that I was wrong about the kind of person who might be betraying Jimmy. I just didn’t feel wrong.

  I let my mind wander onto other things. Did I really want to paint my apartment? It was a lot of trouble. And even though I didn’t particular care for the current color, I’d just spent a year in a transient hotel; I was fully capable of ignoring my environment. But that was half the point of the apartment, wasn’t it? It was an environment I wouldn’t want to ignore. I’d be able to sit at my window, look at the lake, enjoy my coffee in the morning and my scotch in the evening. And if I managed to pick a color and paint the walls, I could enjoy that, too. Isn’t that the way normal people thought about things? And wasn’t that what I was trying to become?

  Around three, a short black woman of about seventy appeared out of no where and attempted to talk me out of my Catholicism. She appreciated that I was following the Lord but I was doing it all wrong. She was particularly distressed by our belief in saints, which she likened to the pantheon of Greek gods. I put up a little bit of a fight, just enough that she didn’t tip to the fact that I wasn’t really a priest, and then excused myself to take a break. I was starving, so I walked down to Dearborn and Adams and found a lunch counter called Mel’s Italian. I ordered a beef sandwich with onions, peppers, and mozzarella cheese. It came with fries and a Coke.

  There was something about the Madeline Levine thing that kept nagging at me, except I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. She had to have had a reason for killing two people. And I thought it had to be a better reason than that they were fucking. I just didn’t know what that reason was, but the idea that I should know just wouldn’t go away. I was missing something. I knew it. But I couldn’t think what.

  When I went back to my spot on the plaza, I began to wonder how often Prince Charles came in to see the task force. Though it seemed like he’d covered most everything in the transcripts I read, the closer we got to an indictment the more often he’d need to come in. The transcripts covered twelve or fifteen hours of testimony. The testimony Prince Charles would give in front of a Federal Grand Jury would probably be limited to three or four hours. They’d have to do some work to get the important details in.

  Around five, I decided to call it a day. People would be leaving work soon but there wasn’t any reason to think that Prince Charles would be among them. He was an informant; he wouldn’t be keeping regular hours. In fact, I needed to keep that in mind. He was more likely to come in after the rush of people early in the morning and leave before the rush of people on their way home. My bucket was more than half full. I probably had forty or fifty dollars just in change. I had a pocket stuffed with singles. I’d gotten concerned that they’d fly out of the pail when I took my breaks.

  I went down into the subway and caught the Jackson/Howard going north. Rush hour had begun and the car I was in was crowded. It was one of the new silver cars with the orange and butterscotch colored seats. A woman in her early sixties got up and tried to give me her seat. I refused, of course, and then a younger man of about twenty-six or so took the hint and got up to give me his seat. I couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse him, so I got to sit.

  Was Joseph’s life full of these little perks? Would he miss this sort of privilege? Or, knowing that he had doubts, did they weigh on him? Did they make him feel guilty? People had been looking at me differently all day. I was very aware of that. Certainly a lot of people just ignored me. Non-Catholics. But a lot of other people silently afforded me respect. Well, they gave respect to the collar I wore. Not me.

  I got off the train at Belmont and walked down to Clark and then up to my office. There were no messages on my answering machine and that made me happy. I didn’t feel like returning any calls. In fact, I was done with work for the day. I was not going to think about Madeline Levine-Berkson or Jimmy English for the rest of the day. I might try to think of something I could do on Jimmy’s case Saturday morning or I might not. I’d decide then. I put the plastic bucket on my desk and dug around until I found a bag of my clothes. I pulled out an old Irish sweater I sometimes wore and put that on instead of Joseph’s priestly collar. I figured I’d be warm enough with just the sweater so I skipped my coat. I had an idea about how I wanted that night’s “normal” date with Joseph to go, so I tried calling him. After eight rings, he picked up.

  I’d barely said hello when he said, “You’re cancelling, aren’t you?” I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not.

  “No. I just want you to meet me somewhere else.” I gave him my new address.

  “Where is this?”

  “It’s a surprise. Do you like surprises?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone’s tried to surprise me since I was in grammar school.”

  “Okay, well, I guess we’ll find out.”

  I hung up and hurried out of my office. I had a lot to do in the next hour. First, I walked quickly over to Two Towers. Clementine was in the office and, after she answered the buzzer, she asked me to come back and sign the lease. When I finished signing, which took all of a second, she gave me my copy of the lease and my keys.

  “Um, I have someone coming by in a bit. Can we get my name on the buzzer?”

  “Sure, just give me ten minutes.”

  Rather than go up the apartment, I hurried out of the building. My first stop was the Walgreen’s on Broadway where I, perhaps too optimistically, bought a package of Trojans and a tube of KY jelly. The cashier didn’t bat an eye. I’m sure she thought I was just another straight guy trying not to knock up his girlfriend. I wondered if that assumption was soon to change.

  Then I walked up Broadway to the Treasure Island at Cornelia. Treasure Island called itself “America’s Most European Supermarket” and it was filled with things you couldn’t get in other stores. There was a sign at the edge of the parking lot that was designed to look like a treasure map. It was exactly the place I wanted for my “normal” date.

  It had taken almost fifteen minutes to walk there so I was rushed as I entered the store. I grabbed a cart and started heading down each aisle. I grabbed a loaf of French bread, a hard salami, two kinds of hard cheese, two bottles of red wine, a cork screw, two wine glasses, and a plastic coated red gingham table cloth. I cringed a little when the cashier told me it was thirty-one dollars and forty cents. We could have had a nice dinner out for that. Still, I liked the idea of my “normal” date and I was going to stick with it
. I was definitely running late when I got out of the store, so I grabbed a cab and ignored the cabbie’s scowling when he realized it was only a six-block trip.

  Unlocking my door and walking into the apartment was a good feeling. The sun was going down and lights were beginning to come on in the buildings I could see along Lake Shore Drive. My electricity was on, it was included in the rent, but there were only three light fixtures. In the bedroom there was a ceiling light, the bathroom had a light and there was one in the tiny kitchen. I turned them all on and spread out my little picnic. I kicked myself for not buying candles, though I didn’t have anything to stick them—

  The intercom buzzed. I went over and pressed the talk button.

  “Hello?” I let go of the button and pressed the listen button.

  “Nick?” It was Joseph.

  Rather than keep hitting buttons to talk, I pressed the button to let him into the building. I stepped back into the living room to make sure everything was the way I wanted. It looked just fine and the light from the little kitchen was actually plenty. I opened the front door and waited for Joseph to get out of the elevator. A minute or so later he appeared, looking in both directions trying to figure out which way to go. He saw me and I waved. He smiled, showing me his broken tooth. Why did I like that tooth so much? I wondered. I led him into the apartment and shut the door. He turned to look at me, questioning, but I pulled him into a kiss.

  He pushed me away and asked, “Where am I?”

  “This is my new apartment.”

  “Oh.” He looked around again. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  “I’ve had the keys for an hour.”

  “I like it. That’s a great view.”

  “The view got me. If they’d shown me a closet with a lumpy cot and that view I probably would have rented it.” And I could have lived on a lumpy cot. Had in a way for a long time. But now the person who’d done that seemed far away. Remote. For just a moment I wondered what I was I doing. Wanting things, the apartment, the man standing next to me, that was danger—

  “Hello? Where’d you go?” Joseph asked.

  “I’m right here,” I said. “Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  I picked up the bottle of wine and the corkscrew up off the tablecloth and began the process of getting the wine open.

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I interviewed someone in the building.”

  “Oh, will that be awkward? Running into them on laundry day?”

  “I don’t think so. It wasn’t a combative interview.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  “I don’t know. It’s more than my last apartment by a lot. But I think it’s probably less than a lot of what you find on Lake Shore Drive.”

  He nodded like that mattered somehow.

  “I think you’ll be very happy here.”

  “I’m thinking of painting. But I don’t know what color. What do you think?” It felt like an important question and I tried not to think about why.

  He looked around. “Well the carpet’s brown. So it has to be something that goes with brown.”

  “Doesn’t everything go with brown?”

  “Yes and no. It’s a dark brown so you don’t want to pick anything dark because then it might feel like a cave. Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about color.”

  “You’re doing great. And I asked for an opinion. Not a decision.”

  I’d gotten the bottle of wine open and poured us each a glass. After I handed him his, he raised it and said, “To your new place.”

  “Thank you.”

  We drank.

  “Nothing too pastel,” he said. “You’re not an infant.”

  “Thank you for noticing that.”

  “Beige,” he suggested.

  I didn’t think I’d like beige, but I said, “That’s an idea. I’ll have to go to The Great Ace and look at paint.”

  I offered him some food and we sat down on the floor. Then I realized something rather important. “Shit. I didn’t buy a knife.” Or a cutting board. Or even a plate. Joseph pulled out his keys. As part of his key chain he had a tiny fold out knife.

  “You were a Boy Scout, weren’t you?”

  “Eagle Scout, yes.”

  “I only made it to Webelos. Which explains why I’m not prepared.”

  I didn’t bother using the knife on the bread; that ripped apart easily enough. It worked well enough on the cheese, but was practically useless when it came to the salami. It wasn’t long before we resorted to simply biting big chunks out of it. Laughing at each other each time we did.

  “I hope this is okay to bring up,” Joseph began, seeming uncomfortable. “I’m not supposed to mention anything you said in confession. Even if it’s just you and me, but…well, since I may be setting all that aside, I’m going to fudge the rule. Are you doing better than you were?”

  “Are you asking if I’ve forgiven myself?”

  “I suppose, yes.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it much.”

  He smiled. “Not thinking about it is probably a good thing.”

  “I killed someone and I shouldn’t think about it. You want to leave the priesthood and you have to think about it all the time. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it makes sense. You made a decision that can’t be undone, there’s nothing to think about anymore. I’m about to make a decision that will completely change my life. That needs to be thought through.”

  “I guess I’m better. I mean things are going better, so I must be.”

  “It’s okay to be happy.”

  I didn’t want to think about that. I wasn’t sure I agreed but I also didn’t want to challenge him. I wanted to just let it be true. I changed the subject. “Now let me ask you a question. Are you going to miss listening to people’s secrets?”

  “I wouldn’t miss the secrets. People’s secrets are much less interesting than you’d think. There’s a lot of coveting going on. In fact, that’s most of it. A lot of hoping family members die. Rarely does someone have an interesting secret. I do like absolving people though. They seemed so relieved, so pleased. I think I would miss that.”

  I leaned over and kissed him. He kissed me back for just a brief moment and then pulled away. “I’m not sure I should be doing that.”

  I nuzzled him. “You can go to confession tomorrow.”

  “The certainty of absolution should not allow us to sin.”

  I felt my face set into a scowl. “This is rather silly, don’t you think? We both know why you came here.”

  “I—Nick, if I decide to remain a priest I don’t want to have to regret too much.”

  “So that’s a real possibility? Remaining a priest?”

  “I made the decision to become a priest, it’s possible that I might make the decision to stay one.”

  “Earlier this week you sounded like thinking things over was just a formality.”

  “I want my life to mean something. I’m thinking seriously of staying.”

  “So then what are we doing?”

  “Becoming friends. Maybe.”

  That annoyed me. Mainly because I felt there had been some false advertizing. “The trouble with that is that I’ve fucked most of my friends. In fact, it’s kind of how I make friends.”

  “Do most gay guys do that?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done a survey. And besides, what difference does it make. If you’re going to stay a priest then you don’t need to know anything about gay guys, do you? Except maybe which Bible verses to condemn us with.”

  “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

  “I wanted to fuck you.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, if you were good at it, I’d want to fuck you again.”

  “You’re being rude on purpose. I’ve hurt your feelings.”

  I wasn’t hurt. He was right the first time, I was angry. Strangely,
I felt safe wrapped in my anger. It felt like armor. With as much distain as I could muster, I said, “It’d take a lot more than you to hurt my feelings. It’s time for you to go.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  After Joseph left, I had a couple of options. I could sit down and drink the remaining bottle and a half of wine. Or, I could wander out to the bars and see if I could find someone to fuck. Neither option was particularly appealing. I didn’t want to drink all that wine because I didn’t feel like having a hangover in the morning since I would be going out Saturday night and likely have one on Sunday. Sometimes it’s good to plan hangovers in advance. I didn’t want to pick some guy up, not because I wasn’t horny, but the idea of actually having to talk to someone at that moment was not appealing. I was talked out.

  Of course it was Friday night and, as a still almost young gay man living in the city, I should be out having a blast. Instead, I decided I’d move. I had a great parking place on Aldine just around the corner, but I decided it was worth giving up. I could shuttle a lot of my boxes and my clothes from my office to the apartment and be half moved in by midnight. Yeah, it would have made more sense to go out and look at paint to decide on a color and paint the place before I moved in, but after fantasizing that Joseph might help me I wasn’t up to doing it on my own.

  I was going to be fine. I knew that. The only real upside of having a lot of big shitty things happen to you is that when little shitty things come along they’re kind of a breeze. I mean, all Joseph really did was tease me a little. Comparatively, it was not a big deal. And I knew better. All along I knew better. He was a priest. Never try to fuck a priest. Even if they’re talking about leaving the priesthood. That should be a rule somewhere. A former priest, maybe. And even then I don’t know. The thing is, your big competition is God. And if God wants your boyfriend he’s going to take him. Best to avoid the whole thing.

  That night I was able to bring three loads of stuff over in my car. Dishes, books, linens, clothes. I felt like I’d accomplished something, which helped to make up for the evening’s disappointment. It also meant that I had a pillow and a couple of blankets so I could make myself reasonably comfortable sleeping on the living room floor. Before bed, I opened up one of the director’s chairs, put my feet up on the marble windowsill and finished the first bottle of wine while I studied the lights of Lake Shore Drive.