Innuendo (19 page)

“Ah…”

In the end, Todd asked for the chicken penne, a small Caesar, and black coffee, and the woman, leaning on the counter, wrote it all down. Rawlins ordered the pizza of the day a concoction of artichoke hearts and feta cheese, and a glass of the house red. Todd let Rawlins pay; they were almost to the joint checking account stage of their relationship, but not yet. And as he watched Rawlins write a check—which were accepted just about everywhere in the Twin Cities, more often than not without identification—Todd wondered if the two of them were now going to make it to the banking phase of their relationship.

“What are you getting coffee for?” asked Rawlins as they sat down and waited for their food to arrive. “Are you on at ten again?”

“Actually, I was going to be,” replied Todd, taking off his coat and hanging it on the back of his chair, “but I'm not.”

“What do you mean?”

Todd had held out when they'd talked briefly earlier today; he hadn't mentioned Tim Chase, and he wasn't going to, at least not yet. If Rawlins was going to start a game of poker, then Todd wasn't going to take the high road. Hell, no, he'd play right along too.

He volunteered simply, “I have a meeting at nine.”

“Oh? With whom?”

Right, this was poker, and Todd decided he wasn't going to do it, he wasn't going to play his lucky card, the one that would dominate the conversation, just yet. No, he thought, looking across the small table, he wasn't going to tell Rawlins if for no other reason than he didn't want to sidetrack things. He had to keep things focused. Focused on Andrew Lyman. And Rawlins.

“It's not important.”

Never a fool, Rawlins studied him for a long moment. “What's the matter? Everything okay?”

“It's been a long day, that's all.”

As he unfolded his napkin in a manner that was much too deliberate, Todd realized that the test hadn't concluded last night. No, Rawlins was still taking it. This was part two, otherwise known as the second chance. And if he failed this part? Oh, shit, thought Todd, he already didn't know how to handle this.

He leapt right in with the acid question, “So, anything else new regarding Andrew Lyman? Anything turn up?”

The issues of Andrew Lyman and infidelity lay there, oddly, horribly, like a loaded gun waiting for someone to trip over it. Rawlins raised his eyes and, Todd was sure, looked at Todd with more than a little suspicion. And Todd sat there thinking, Yes, you fool, I know!

Rawlins said, “Aside from the knife, not really.”

“But you still think it was the murder weapon?”

“It fluoresced blood when they sprayed it with Luminol, but I don't think they'll be able to get a blood sample off it. After all, it was sitting in water at least overnight. With any luck we'll be able to get some prints, but I don't hold up much hope for anything else.”

“And the mom?”

“Like I said, she came to town alone, which was strange. I mean, where was her husband? Why wasn't he here?”

“I don't know. Why?”

“Beats me.”

Todd looked at him with a cocked eye. “Divorced?”

“No, not that I know of anyway. But there's something strange, and I bet you dollars to donuts that it started when they found out Andrew was gay.”

“Ah, homosexuality—the ruin of many a family.”

Todd felt Rawlins's eyes upon him, felt Rawlins studying him. Okay, so what of it, so Todd was being pissy.

Rawlins leaned forward, cupping one hand over Todd's, and with those deep, warm eyes that had hooked him right from the start, said, “Man, you have had a long day, haven't you?”

Todd withdrew his hand, cast his eyes to the side. No, he didn't want to be pulled out of this. Rawlins had a gift for that, using those wondrous eyes or the subtle grin to lighten Todd's mood, and Todd was determined not to let Rawlins charm him tonight. Just tell me whatever happened, he wanted to say, because I don't care. I just can't stand silence. Do you get it? It's silence that makes me crazy. And I love you, and I need to know about Andrew and you right now. No, actually I need to know if there's only one of you and if that person is all mine. Or are there two, one guy who loves me and a second who loves many others?

“Well,” continued Rawlins as he fiddled with a fork, “there is one other thing, something I don't think I told you. Do you remember another kid Andrew was with? Sort of tall, long hair.”

Of course Todd knew who he was talking about, the very kid who'd leaked the news, but he said, “No, not really”

“He's maybe a year or so older than Andrew. Nice-enough-looking. I think he was at the meeting we spoke at.”

“And?”

“And it turns out that he's from the same town as Andrew. His name's Jordy Weaver, and I think they had something going even back then. They were either little lovers or fuck buddies, I don't know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and it looks like the two of them ran away together, came all the way here.”

“Well…” Todd didn't know what to say, everything or nothing, and instead the snottiest came out. “So what do you think, was our little Andrew the whore about town? Is that what happened the other night? Do you think the two of them, Andrew and this Jordy—”

“Jesus Christ, Todd,” snapped Rawlins, glaring at him. “Even if they were doing tricks, which I don't think they were, it doesn't mean Andrew deserved to have his throat slit.”

Todd looked out the window and stared at a plain yellow car. “I'm sorry. No. No, of course not.”

They sat there in silence. A moment later Todd looked over, saw Rawlins eyeing some other guy, some young stud with a bubble butt. Okay, great. Maybe this wasn't the big romance of Todd's life. Maybe they were already through it, maybe they were already finished with the best that they could be together. And maybe tonight Todd was just trying to make that perfectly clear, maybe he was merely trying to drive Rawlins screaming from the table.

With a cloud of savory steam, their food descended in front of them. Todd took one look at the beautiful nuggets of chicken, the glistening tubes of pasta, and realized this wasn't at all what he wanted. Not some nice meal. Not some pleasant place. Fuck, he wasn't even hungry. He glanced out the large glass window, saw the same yellow car sitting there. Yes, the traffic on Hennepin was building to a forceful crawl. And, yes, little by little the Twin Cities were growing up, each year becoming less and less toy towns.

Again, Rawlins leaned forward and in the gentlest of voices said, “Todd, what's the matter?”

Some bullshit came to the tip of Todd's lips. He was going to say something about the station manager, something about running around all day, but then he tripped over his own insurmountable need to know. He speared some pasta with a javelinlike pitch of his fork.

And said, “You haven't been holding out on me, have you?”

Balancing a slice of pizza in hand, Rawlins clearly flinched. “What?”

“Let me be as blunt as possible.”

“So what else is new?” asked Rawlins with a nervous smile, having been on the receiving end more than once.

“Is there more? Is there something about Andrew Lyman that you haven't told me?”

Todd watched him, studied his every facial tic, the cock of his head, the way his hand quivered ever so slightly as he put the uneaten slice of pizza back down on his plate. Oh, shit, realized Todd, he'd backed Rawlins into a corner from which there was no escape. And this was it, the final acid test. As Todd knew only too well from cornering a politician or a developer or a murderer, you learned more about a person by what he didn't say than what he actually did. Yes, that was the horrible truth.

“Actually… actually there is something,” confessed Rawlins.

Todd's gut flooded with relief. “Yes?”

“Oh, shit…”

Rawlins wiped his mouth even though Todd didn't think he'd taken a single bite. Sure, in this long pause, Rawlins was weighing something: the consequences. And Todd's heart began to pound.

“Todd, it always comes down to this, doesn't it? It always comes down to our jobs. You know, that's the one thing that really scares me about us and our relationship. Our careers. It's the one thing that we keep coming up against, that we keep butting heads about.”

“What?” replied Todd, afraid that he was in fact understanding.

“There is something else about Andrew Lyman, something that I haven't mentioned, but… but as a cop—”

“Oh, fuck, Rawlins, don't do this to me. Don't fuck around. I just want a simple answer to a simple question.”

“And I'm just telling you—”

“I don't believe this.”

“—what we both know. That as a cop there are certain things I can't say to you, Todd Mills, star reporter.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

If they'd been at home Todd would have gone completely tilt. He would have started yelling, started stomping around and waving his hands and cursing at the top of his lungs. Because instead they were in a public place, he somehow mastered control of his fury. Every one of Todd's muscles tightened rock hard as he somehow perfectly folded his napkin and laid it down on the table, put his fork quietly down on the plate, then reached behind and lifted his coat from the back of the chair.

“Todd, what the—”

“I've got to go.”

“What?”

“There's something I haven't told you, either. That meeting? It's actually, well, a date.”

“What?”

“You heard me, a date. I've decided maybe I do want an open relationship after all.” Todd was glad for the instant pain he saw burning on Rawlins's forehead. “I'll see you later. Like much later.”

“Wait,” pleaded Rawlins in a hushed voice that was pathetically weak. “Todd, don't do this! Don't go when you're so upset. Please, sit back down, let's—”

“Sorry.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I just want you to think about this: I know.”

A wildfire of shock whipped across Rawlins's face, and then Todd turned and started for the door, wondering just what in the hell he was walking out on, a plate of pasta or the greatest thing in his life.

With a knot wrenched
so tight in his stomach that he felt he might vomit, Todd headed home. Driving through a neighborhood that was dominated by clapboard houses with big Midwesternly front porches, he eventually came to Lake of the Isles, which in truth wasn't much of a lake but more of a sprawling pond long ago dredged to Victorian scenic standards. He followed the single lane parkway around the gently curving lake, past the Malt-O-Meal mansion, a Dayton dwelling or two, then three mansions built at the turn of the century for the Cream of Wheat clan. Oblivious of the couples strolling along in the cool air, and not so much as glancing at the tranquil waters, Todd eventually came to Cedar Lake Parkway, where he turned. Operating on automatic, he followed that and still another meandering parkway all the way to his condo. As he headed into the private drive that led up to the buildings garage, he glanced at his watch and figured that he had about an hour and a half before he had to leave to meet with movie star Tim Chase. And about an hour and a half to get his shit together. Was he really going to be able to put on a happy face?

Coming out of the closet had had one remarkable and undeniable effect on Todd—he no longer felt obligated to any kind of guy stereotype. When he'd been in the closet he'd held back so very much, far more than just his sexuality. Preventing family and friends from discovering his “horrible” truth had meant he had also prevented them from learning just about all his inner hopes and desires. And once he'd finally admitted to himself that he was gay he'd liberated a great deal more than just his sexual orientation. Absolutely. Once he'd broken the dam so very much more than just his love of men had come bursting forward. Like a good chunk of his personality, not to mention his soul. And perhaps for that very reason he now felt totally flooded with emotion. Yes, and he was drowning in confusion. If he were a crier he'd be bawling right now, but he'd never been very good at that, expressing his pain in tears. For him being queer didn't automatically bring that benefit. So what in the name of God was he supposed to do? Beat his head against the wall?

The answer came bouncing back: honesty, you fool. That was all he'd been asking of Rawlins, and yet that wasn't at all what he himself had been dishing in return. No, he'd been making Rawlins feast on a bitter diet of Todd's own ruse, and as a consequence the both of them were getting more than a little queasy. Todd saw it now quite clearly, that after a certain point he'd been just as deceptive as Rawlins. And there was no quicker way to poison any kind of relationship, gay or straight, business or platonic, than that, the withholding of information.

Upon entering his two-bedroom apartment, Todd passed the kitchen on his right, entered the living room, and crossed right to the balcony. He pulled aside the door, then stepped out into a day that was dying beautifully, the sky fading from blue to red to midnight blue. A cool wind, fresh from the plains of Canada, whirled around him, and he breathed it in, relishing it as a chilly aperitif of what was soon to come these ways.

The great things in life were, if not impossible, then truly difficult to find. And yet he had found someone again. First there was Karen, then Michael, and now there was Rawlins. Somehow he had gotten that lucky. Lucky enough to have found someone like both his ex-wife, Karen, and Michael, who had loved Todd even though he'd been in the closet, and now lucky enough to have found someone like Rawlins, who loved him out. At this point in his life Todd was too humble to think he was so great that love was destined to tumble his way, but he didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky either. He wasn't particularly religious, but having found these people was the one thing that really made him believe in a higher power, because God only knew he didn't deserve it. Or was Rawlins not a gift? Was he a trick or a curse, something that was now beginning to come unraveled?