fruitless…”
“Literally speaking,” his skinny friend Rik interrupted.
“Though we know it’s pointless,” Jeremy rephrased, “pining after straight surfer boys. But you’re the antidote to all that-a gay surfer boy!”
“Hardly a boy,” I said.
“Metaphorically speaking,” he said. “So as long as Brad is willing to share, we can pass you around amongst ourselves, whenever we feel that surfer-boy urge.”
“Jeremy Leddinger, I am not your pimp,” Brad said. “I am not anybody’s pimp. And I’ll have you know, Kimo is my friend. Not my boyfriend.”
“Then what’s with the Brad Jacobson makeover?” Jeremy asked. He leaned over to me. “Tell me you didn’t start out today looking like that.”
“I didn’t.” I felt the way I thought a ping-pong ball must, in the middle of a tournament. I didn’t mind, though. It was flattering.
“He needed a makeover,” Brad said. “I complied. End of story.”
“Gee, I hope it isn’t the end.” I batted my eyelashes at him. It seemed like the right thing to do.
The table roared, and Brad blushed. I felt a stiffening in my still-pressed chinos, and wondered if Brad was feeling the same thing.
“So do you make over every guy you meet?” I asked, when I finally had a chance to talk to Brad again.
“Just the ones who need it.” He looked at me and lowered his shoulders. “Okay, they all seem to need it. But you more than most.”
He looked around, and then leaned in close to me. “You actually never met Lucie, did you?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I’ve been watching you, and you’re asking questions about things you would know if you really had known Lucie.”
I looked at him in amazement. “Geez, you ever thought of becoming a detective, Brad? Cause you know there are departments on the mainland that take in gay cops.”
“I figured as much. I’ll bet you think that if you can figure out who killed Lucie, those cops might take you back.”
Give Brad points for seeing through me, though his take on the situation wasn’t quite correct. “I need to show them I’m still a good detective,” I said, thinking fast. That wasn’t far from the truth.
“We can help you,” Brad said. “Larry is a shopaholic like Lucie was; they used to compare notes all the time. Ari owns an apartment building where Jeremy lives, and where Lucie used to. George swings both ways, and he slept with Lucie at least once that I know of, because I walked in on them. And Rik was really friendly with Lucie, always wanting to know where she was. I’m sure he spent a lot of time with her.”
I was amazed yet again. It was just the kind of network that Sampson had hoped I’d tap into as a surfer. Behold the power of the homosexual.
“Let me get things moving.” Brad sat back, and when there was a lull in the conversation, he said, “I was kind of teary this afternoon. We got some new Armani in and the first person I thought of was Lucie.”
“Have they found who killed her yet?” Rik asked.
Brad shook his head. “But I have a little news flash for you.” He motioned for everyone to lean in close to the center of the table. “We now have our very own cop. If we all tell him what we know, maybe he can find out what really happened to her and Lucie can rest easier in her grave.”
“Our own Hawaii Five-O!” Jeremy said. “I still think Jack Lord is so masculine and handsome.” He sighed. “I wish they’d remake that show.”
“We could be your-what do they call them on TV-your confidential informants,” Rik said.
“You mean snitches,” George said, laughing.
“If there’s anything you know, that you want to tell me,” I said, “I can guarantee that it will get into the right hands. I know for a fact the investigating detectives weren’t able to find out much about Lucie or the others who were killed.”
“There were others!” Jeremy shrieked. “No one told us anything!”
I immediately regretted that slip of the tongue. But Brad saved me. “See, Kimo already knows a lot about the case. I mean, none of us even knew that anyone else had been killed. So we have to help him.”
“Who were the others?” Ari asked.
“A championship surfer named Mike Pratt,” I said. No response from the crowd. “And a Chinese computer guy named Ronald Chang.”
“Lucie had a friend named Ronnie,” Rik said. “He was a computer guy.”
“Yeah, I met him once,” Brad said. “Is that him?”
“I think so,” I said. “But I don’t know much about him either, so anything you guys know would be helpful.”
They all seemed eager, and my date book filled up. Breakfast the next morning with Ari, the landlord. I could surf until about three, when chubby Jeremy, who was a fourth grade teacher at Sunset Beach Elementary, could see me after school. Then cocktails with butch George Olsen and cute Larry Brickman followed by dinner with skinny Rik. “What about me?” Brad pouted.
“Ahh, you and I have tonight,” I said, taking his hand.
Brad blushed and the table cheered. The party broke up a little later, the rest of the guys going off wherever, leaving me and Brad at the big table at Sugar’s. I felt that I had made a lot of progress that evening, and I deserved a chance to put aside the homicide detective for a few hours and just be who I was-a lonely, horny gay man who had only recently admitted his sexuality, and who had no idea how to manage the feelings that kept welling up inside. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you earlier,” I said to Brad. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done, and if you’re not into me, I totally understand.”
Brad nearly spit out the last of his strawberry daiquiri. “Not into you!” he sputtered. “You have the face of an angel and the body of death.”
I laughed. “Yeah, the guys are just lining up to date me.” I stood up. We’d already settled the check. “I just need a ride back to my truck, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, honey,” Brad said, standing up too. “I’m giving you a ride, don’t you worry about that.”
And ride me he did, once we got back to his apartment, where he massaged my back and certain other body parts. I don’t know why I pursued him as I did; he seemed grateful enough for the chance to be nice to me, to be able to present me to his friends. Maybe that’s why I did it, because I thought he ought to know that wasn’t enough. That he deserved somebody to be nice to him for a change.
Not that he was any kind of charity case. Under the designer pants and form-fitting black t-shirt was a body any Waikiki boy would be pleased to call his own, or to use for an evening of passion. While his abs might not have been rock solid or his biceps bulging, he had a mouth, a dick and an ass, and he knew how to use all three.
“Mmm, you know what’s the best part about this,” Brad said, snuggling his backside up against my groin, where my penis was too tired to even consider responding.
“What’s that?” I asked, leaning over and kissing his shoulder.
“I can spoon up against you and fall asleep, and though I know you won’t be here in the morning, at least I know my wallet and my stereo will be.”
On that terribly sad note, I let Brad fall asleep, and then, as he expected, crept out the door and back to Hibiscus House.
Brad’s Newest Project
I was at Pipeline at six, about half an hour before sunrise. It was creepy moving across the beach in the pre- dawn darkness, but nothing I wasn’t accustomed to. I caught a couple of five-foot waves, letting me practice barrels and tubes, but by seven the swells were getting bigger and it was time for me to pull out.
I met Ari at seven-thirty at Rosie’s Cantina, a little Mexican place known for its surfer breakfasts, and when I sat down opposite him I suddenly felt a week’s worth of hard surfing, the night before with Brad, and my lack of sleep swell up inside me. I yawned when I shook his hand and took the card he handed me, which read Aristotle Papageorgiou, President, North Shore Real Estate Investments. “You see why people call me Ari,” he said.
“It’s not you,” I said. “I really need to get more sleep.”
Ari simply raised his eyebrows and smiled. Coffee revived me a bit, and we ordered breakfast. “So what kind
