Second You Sin - Sherman, Scott

by Scott Sherman

I kept pulling. “Sorry, guys.”

  Freddy pulled back. “I want to go back to that place,” he whined. “That was my happy place.”

  “We have to go,” I said. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m sure you do, darling,” Freddy said, twisting his arm away. “But I need to close the deal with those two highly motivated young men, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.”

  “It’smurder,” I hissed.

  “Yes, darling, I know it’s hard for you to wait, but I really do need to hump those boys some more. Maybe you should take one of your pills.”

  “Not that,” I said, pressing myself against Freddy and whispering fiercely in his ear. “Someone is killing the most beautiful male prostitutes in New York. And I think it’s up to us to find out who.”

  Rueben brought us back to Ansell’s bedroom. I filled Freddy in on what I’d just learned about Sammy White Tee. Then, I told Rueben what happened to Randy, and what Randy had told me about Brooklyn Roy.

  “Holy hookers,” Freddy said. “That’s three.”

  Rueben looked as white as one of Sammy’s trademark T-shirts. “You really think something’s going on?” he asked. “I mean, it could just be coincidence, right?”

  “Could be,” I answered.

  “Not likely,” Freddy responded. “Kevin has a way of getting involved in murders.”

  “Freddy!”

  “Darling.”Freddy turned to Rueben. “Let me tell you a little story.” Freddy told Rueben about our role in investigating the death of my friend Allen Harrington, and how, in the process, we stumbled upon a particularly nasty homicide ring.

  “We were like the Hardy Boys,” Freddy explained. “Well, like a queer Hardy Boys. Or, young, beautiful Jessica Fletchers. Or . . .”

  “Charlie’s Angels!” Rueben enthused.

  “Exactly,” Freddy agreed. “We made the comparison ourselves, frequently. I was the glamorous, sexy poster-icon Farrah Fawcett-Majors (may God rest her soul), and Kevin was the brainy and plain Kate Jackson.”

  “Hey,” I complained.

  “Well,” said Freddy, “you always need one on the team who’s kind of ordinary. How else will the audience relate?”

  I glared at him.

  “Don’t blame me,” Freddy continued. “Go argue with Tori Spelling if you want.”

  “Tori was the daughter,” I corrected. “Aaron Spelling was the creative genius behindCharlie’s Angels.”

  “What did I tell you?” Freddy turned to Rueben. “Brainy.”

  “But wait,” Rueben chimed in. “Weren’t there always three Angels?”

  “Of course,” Freddy answered.

  “Well, there you have it. You guys need me!”

  Freddy and I looked at each other.

  “Think about it,” Rueben continued. “We’d be the most diverse Angels ever. Plain old white Kevin over there . . .”

  “Hey!” I said again, as if anyone cared.

  “The spectacular Nubian goddess La Frederista over here.” Rueben put his hands together as in prayer and gave a Freddy a slight bow. Freddy nodded as if to say,I accept your tribute.

  “And,” Rueben continued, “now me, a midseason addition to the cast, an outrageous and curvaceous Latina spitfire always sure to elicit a guffaw and boner!”

  Rueben leapt off his chair and shook his hips suggestively. “I am . . .” he intoned dramatically, “the third Angel! I must be on the team.” He threw his arms in the air like a gymnast nailing the perfect dismount.

  “There is,” I said sternly, “no team.”

  “Oh, please.” Freddy stood and put his arm around Rueben. “It’s perfect! Right out of central casting. You’re hired!”

  “This is silly,” I said.

  “Don’t be bitter just because you have to be the plain one,” Freddy cautioned.

  “Yes,” said Rueben. “Even if you’re not as pretty as we are, we still need you on the team to, I don’t know, drive the car and defuse bombs and such.”

  “Guys . . .” I began.

  “Enough,” Freddy interrupted. “This is going to work. I just know it. Three is always better than two.”

  “Apparently,” I said, remembering his little ménage on the dance floor.

  “You know what they say,” Freddy added. “The triangle is the strongest shape there is.”

  “Who says that?”

  “Archeologists,” Freddy asserted confidently.

  “Architects?” I asked.

  “Whatevaperon,” Freddy said, tossing his head as if he had a Farrah-like mane instead of his shaved dome. He leaned into Rueben and mock-whispered, “I told you we need a smart one.”

  “Now,” Rueben said, “we have to get back to the party before Ansell starts wondering where I am. And you guys are here to been seen. What say we all meet soon and start planning our investigation?”

  “Sounds perfect,” Freddy said.

  I groaned.

  “Ideally,” Rueben continued, “I’d like to include some undercover work. Maybe we could join a college wrestling team or a roller derby or something.”

  “I don’t see what . . .” I began.

  “We’ll work out the details at our meeting. Now let’s see . . . I’m going to be busy all day tomorrow doing follow-up for tonight’s event, but how about Wednesday? Can you guys come over around seven? I’ll order in Thai.”

  “Marvelous,” Freddy said. “I’ll bring the speakerphone.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “But now”—Rueben dragged us with him toward the door—“it’s time to get our party on. And Imust introduce you to Ansell!”

  Rueben hustled us through the loft. We squeezed by the dancers, slipped past couples of every persuasion making out, and avoided the waitrons wielding precariously balanced platters of drinks. Rueben knew where to find Ansell, in a roped-off area on a platform behind the dance floor.

  The man had a VIP area in his own apartment. Unbelievable.

  The tall, bald, and heavily muscled shirtless bodybuilder who guarded the velvet rope nodded at Rueben and let us pass. Freddy stopped on the way through. “Would you look at that?” he asked me. “That guy’s more cut than a baby at a bris.”

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I whispered back. For some reason, despite Rueben’s testimony to his character, I had a bad feeling about Ansell. When Rueben went to find him, I said as much to Freddy.

  “Yeah, honey.” Freddy patted my cheek. “I think that ‘bad feeling’ is envy. I mean, look at this place! Look at these people! It’s like we died and went to homo heaven.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  Rueben reappeared, with a reluctant-looking Ansell Darling in tow. Ansell wore an expression like he couldn’t imagine who would be worth the trouble it took him to walk over here. Then he got a look at me and Freddy and his face brightened considerably.

  “Well,hello,” he purred at Freddy, putting his hand on Freddy’s prominent pec poking through his silk shirt. “This fits you like a second skin.” He rubbed his hand up and down a little. “You don’t mind, do you? It’s just so rewarding to see my work worn so well.”

  Freddy rarely minded being felt up, and the fact that Ansell was rich and famous didn’t hurt, either. Freddy was a true fashionista, and for him, being groped by Ansell Darling was like being touched by the hand of God. “It’s an honor, Mr. Darling,” Freddy gushed. “This stuff is beautiful. You’re a genius.”

  Ansell chuckled. I took a moment to study him. Tall and thin with long black hair pulled into a ponytail. He had a strong nose and narrow lips, set off by pronounced cheekbones and elegantly arched eyebrows. His smooth, unlined skin seemed a little waxy. Was he wearing foundation? He wasn’t handsome or well built, but he exuded confidence and control in a way I supposed was attractive.

  “Seriously,” Freddy said. “I’ve totally admired your stuff for years. That Ashton Kutcher spread inDetails last spring? Like butter.”

  Ansell ran his hand down to Freddy’s taut
stomach. “You wear it better, you dazzling boy, you. You ever consider modeling?”

  I turned from Ansell and looked at Rueben. His eyes narrowed to slits and his mouth set in a tight, thin line.

  “And you.” Ansell turned to me and beamed. “Just as I imagined. My golden boy.” He reached out to grab me but I took a step back. Ansell covered by bringing his hands together in applause. “Just beautiful. Those shorts you’re wearing? I plan on charging two thousand five hundred dollars a pair for them in my couture line. Less than a yard of fabric. Best of all, I can sell a cotton version for forty-five dollars through my Little Darlings line at Target and still make a boatload on them.”

  Ansell put his hands on Freddy and pulled my friend closer to me, so that we were standing shoulder to shoulder. “The two of you. Incredible. We have to make sure one of the photographers gets a shot of you two tonight.” Ansell turned to Rueben.

  As Ansell’s head pivoted, Rueben rearranged his face into a generous smile. Only his eyes betrayed his tension. I don’t think Ansell noticed. “My treasure,” Ansell called to him. “Will you take care of that?”

  Rueben nodded, fake smile in place.

  Ansell blew him an air kiss. “You’ve really come through for me tonight.” At that, Rueben’s eyes relaxed and he released an audible sigh of relief. “All the boys you brought are delicious, but these two are perfection!”

  Freddy beamed and I tried to look less annoyed than I felt. Like I said, I was predisposed to dislike Ansell Darling, and his treating us like prime sides of beef didn’t do much to change my opinion.

  Ansell leaned into us and in a conspiratorial murmur muttered, “You working boys are the best.”

  Freddy’s smile ratcheted down a notch. “Uh, Mr. Darling, I’m not a, you know . . .”

  Ansell cocked his head to the side.

  “I’m not a . . .” He searched for a polite term. This being his first attempt at tact, it didn’t come easily.

  “Freddy’s not a ‘professional,’ ” I stepped in. “He’s actually the volunteer coordinator at an AIDS service agency.”

  Ansell’s attention promptly fell from my friend. “Ah,” he said, his olive eyes settling fully on me. “And what about you, my golden boy? Are you for hire?”

  “For some people.” I gave him a saccharine smile. “I have sex for money, if that’s what you mean.”

  Ansell reached out for me again, and this time I let him rest his hands on my glittered hips. “Mmmm,” Ansell said, leaning in to my ear. “You really are a tiny dream, aren’t you, my dear.” He ran his hands over my ass. “Yes, this fabric feels just as good as I thought.”

  He let go and reached into his pocket and took out a small, sterling silver case. “This is my card,” he said, opening it and slipping a piece of paper into my back pocket. “My personal number is on the back. Why don’t you give me a call and we’ll see what we can work out? I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

  Ansell, confident that I’d call, let me go. What working boy wouldn’t want to score with a rich celebrity like him?

  Freddy extended his hand for a card, too. Ansell ignored it and put the silver case back in his pants. Freddy’s face dropped.

  “So nice meeting you, too,” Ansell said to him with a total lack of interest. Then, back to me, “Be sure you call.”

  Lastly, he turned to Rueben, whose face once again was stone. “You’re too good to me,” he said. “You get me everything I need, my sweet.” He pulled Rueben into his arms and I saw clouds of anger, relief, appreciation, and disgust roll across Rueben’s eyes. With Rueben’s back to me, Ansell looked at me over Rueben’s shoulder. His lips silently mouthed the word one more time.“Call.”

  He let go of Rueben and disappeared into the adoring crowd.

  The moment Ansell was out of sight, I took the card from my pocket and held it out to Rueben.

  “Here,” I said, “I don’t want this.”

  “No,” Rueben said stoically, “you keep it, bambino.It’s for you.”

  “Really,” I said. “Take it. You’re my friend, man. I wouldn’t use it.”

  “No.” Rueben was steel. “Ansell wants you to have it, so you keep it. Use it. Really, I won’t mind. That’s kind of my job around here. To get Ansell whatever he wants. Really. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  “Rueben,” I began. “I couldn’t do that to you . . .”

  Rueben held up his hand. “No, stop. You wouldn’t be doing anything other than helping me. Besides”— Rueben’s lips trembled a little and he blinked hard —“Ansell will take good care of you.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Rueben put his finger to my lips. “Shhh. He will. Hasn’t he taken good care of me?”

  What could I do? I wrapped my arms around Rueben and hugged him. “I’m sor—” I began, but Rueben once again cut me off.

  “No!” he barked. “Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry for me.” He put his fake smile back on. “I’m fine, really. It’s just the way it is. He’s given me so much. It’d be selfish for me to expect fidelity, too.”

  He stepped back and gave a shudder, like a dog shaking water out of its fur. “We’re still on for dinner, right?” He looked at Freddy and me. “Two nights from tonight, right?”

  We nodded.

  “Good.” Rueben grinned, a little more steady now. “Good. Now, I have to go find my man. You two will be all right, yes?”

  We nodded again.

  “Muchas gracias, muchachos.I’ll see you then. Angels unite!” He blew us air kisses and disappeared into the crowd.

  Freddy put an arm around my shoulder. “This fun thing we’re doing tonight? Not so much with the ‘fun,’ huh?”

  “Not so much,” I answered.

  “Let’s say we blow this joint, huh?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. “I thought you were having a great time. Five minutes ago, you were calling this ‘homo heaven.’ ”

  “Yeah.” Freddy squeezed me closer. “Now? Like I said, not so much.”

  Freddy and I sat in a diner down the street from Ansell’s apartment. I kept my gratefully retrieved coat tied tightly around my waist. “Isn’t it warm in here?” Freddy teased. “Sure you don’t want to take that off?”

  “ I’m fine,” I growled, giving him what I hoped was a silencing squint.

  “Do you have something in your eye?” Freddy asked.

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “Don’t flirt,” Freddy chided me. “So, your friend Rueben, what was that all about?”

  “Pretty sad, huh?”

  “I’d say. And what’s with that Ansell Darling? That guy could have practically anyone he wants—actors, models, hell, I would have done him even though he’s not that good-looking. I mean, he’s Ansell Darling, right?”

  I nodded.

  “But, the minute he found out I wasn’t a working boy, he lost all interest in me. Lost interest inme!” Freddy repeated, as if it were entirely unbelievable. “Is he only into sex if he has to pay for it? Is that what he’s about?”

  “It looked that way.”

  “Why? What would make a guy like him limit himself like that?”

  “His parents never loved him enough, making him feel undeserving of anyone’s affections. He went through school a skinny fag, with bad skin and an unflattering hairstyle, constantly rejected and hurt. As an adult, he’s achieved a high level of fame as a designer, but really, his entire empire is built on ripping off other people’s work. He feels like he doesn’t merit his own success, and thus his selfimage is fragile and suspect. Since he doesn’t think he’s actually earned anything, he doesn’t trust anything that comes his way unless he’s paying for it. The only love he can believe in is the love he can buy.”

  Freddy looked impressed. “Wow. Really? How do you know all this shit?”

  “I don’t,” I said snarkily. “I just made that all up. Pretty convincing though, right?”

  Freddy stood up and slapped me on the head.r />
  “Ow. But, seriously, who knows? Most of us don’t even understand our own motivations, let alone anyone else’s. I spent this afternoon fooling around with a guy who only likes to have sex when he’s dressed like a clown—having a thing for rentboys isn’t even the weirdest kink I’ve seentoday.”

  “You fucked a clown?” Freddy asked wide-eyed.

  “That’s beside the point,” I said, instantly regretting opening that door. Freddy wasn’t the type to let something like that pass unnoticed.

  “It wasn’t a group thing, was it? Like, you opened the door to his apartment expecting to find one clown there, but then a hundred tumbled out?”

  I tried giving him another evil look.

  “There goes that thing with your eye again. You really should see an orthodontist.”

  “Optometrist.”

  “Whatever. Or maybe you got some whipped cream in there. He didn’t throw pies at you, did he?”

  This was getting too close for comfort.

  “Seriously,” I said, “enough with the clowns. What about Rueben?”

  “Yeah,” Freddy said, looking down at his drink. “That was pretty sad. He seemed really upset at how blatantly Ansell put the moves on you. He treats Rueben likes he’s staff.”

  “I agree. It’s a bad scene. Rueben’s trying to stay on the straight and narrow, and I can’t believe his relationship with Ansell is helping.”

  “So what should we do?” Freddy asked.

  “I don’t know. We’ll see him in two days, right? Maybe we can talk to him then.”

  “Great! We’ll rescue our friend and solve the murders, too!” Freddy said. “I love this crime-fighting stuff.”

  “Yeah, well, last time you weren’t the one who wound up tied up and tortured, were you?”

  “Would youpleasestop talking about your job?” Freddy asked. I threw my napkin at him.

  “Listen, before we go too far with this stuff, we don’t even know that there were any murders,” I reminded him. Sitting in the diner, the whole thing seemed a lot less likely than it did an hour ago. “Let’s not let our imaginations run away with us.”

  “Yeah,” Freddy said, “we really should stop clowningaround.”

  “It’s a shame your parents didn’t have any human children,” I said.