“What’s not to be okay?”
“Harry loves Brandon, and Brandon loves Harry,” Arleen said. “I think it was just your friend here taking his sweet time.”
“So when’s the wedding? And am I going to be the best man?”
“April,” Harry said. “And yes, you’re the best man.”
“There’s more,” Arleen said. “We’re buying a house. Just up the street from here. We wanted to show it to you.”
The rest of the lunch was taken up with details-buying the house, fixing it up, selling Harry’s condo in Waikiki, where Brandon would go to school, and so on. I think I zoned out for a bit, thinking about the case, wondering if my brother had known more than he let on. Was he gambling at the clinic?
When we finished eating, I followed Harry’s SUV up a couple of winding streets to the new house. They hadn’t closed the sale yet so they didn’t have a key, but we walked around outside, peering in the windows. “Looks great, brah,” I said, as we came back to the street. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.”
We hugged, and then he and Arleen piled into the SUV and drove off, and I got into my truck.
It wouldn’t start.
I cursed a couple of times, then reached for my cell phone to call for a tow.
The phone battery was dead. I was sure it had been charged when I used it earlier in the day, but it must have been low then, and run down while I was at lunch.
I cursed again. I was stuck in a residential neighborhood, no pay phone in sight. I could always walk up to a random house, but it was the middle of a Saturday afternoon and most of the driveways around me were empty.
I could walk downhill toward Aiea Field, look for a business, and maybe hail a patrol car, if one passed me. I was staring out over the steering wheel at the street ahead of me when I saw the sign at the intersection, and realized it marked the street where Mike Riccardi lived.
He’d driven me past the house once, pointing it out, but I’d never been inside. I have a pretty good visual memory, so I thought I could recognize it again. But did I want to?
Hell, he owed me a favor, after that drunken visit Thursday night. And all I needed was to use the phone and call a tow truck. If Mike was around, and feeling generous, he could drive me home. But that was it.
Before I could change my mind, I got out of the truck and started walking to the corner. I turned onto his street and began climbing. After a couple of twists and turns, I saw his truck ahead of me, parked on the street, the yellow and red flames streaking the side.
There was just one problem: I couldn’t tell which half of the duplex belonged to him, and which half to his parents. It was that “the lady or the tiger” dilemma-from the short story we’d read in high school English class. Behind one door lurked a tiger; pick that door and get ripped to shreds. Behind the other door was a beautiful lady- or in my case, a handsome guy. Pick the right door and live happily ever after; pick the wrong door and confront the doctor who’d diagnosed my gonorrhea, and who blamed me for breaking his son’s heart.
I stood on the street, rethinking my plans. Suddenly, the idea of walking down to Aiea Field seemed a lot better. But any time I think about running away from something that scares me I know I have to man up instead.
I took a guess that Mike’s half was the right-hand side, because there were a couple of weeds under one window. I didn’t think his father would tolerate any unwanted foliage. I walked up the path and knocked on the door.
The man who answered didn’t look happy to see me. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
TRUE CONFESSIONS
Mike stood before me in a pair of ragged athletic shorts and nothing else. “You stalking me now?”
“In your dreams.”
He looked behind me. “Where’s your truck?”
“Invite me in, and I’ll explain.”
Mike’s house was nothing like I’d imagined it. First of all, it was a mess, and I’d always had the idea he was a neat freak. Second, it was nondescript, and I’d thought he’d have beautiful, simple things.
Maybe he wasn’t as gay as I thought.
“Want a beer?” he asked, leading me into the living room. Newspapers were scattered everywhere, along with dirty clothes. The place had an unpleasant smell, too-sweat overlaid with dirty dishes and garbage that hadn’t been taken out.
“How many have you had today?”
He turned around to face me. “Fuck you. You come up here just to harass me? Gonna tattle on me to my folks again?”
“Somebody had to. Jesus, Mike, you can’t bring a bottle of vodka with you to work at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“I needed a little pick-me-up. What’s it to you?”
What was it to me? Before I could think, the words spilled out of my mouth. “Because I still fucking love you. I don’t want to see you kill yourself.”
Mike grabbed me and kissed me hard on the lips. I kissed him back, not considering the consequences or deliberating the reasons why it was a bad idea. I just knew that I wanted to kiss him more than anything. We were all over each other, my hands slipping down in the waist of his shorts, his grabbing onto my ass and pulling me into him, when the front door opened.
“Michael, you left your door unlocked,” his father said, walking in. “Your mother and I are-”
He froze in the doorway, and Mike and I pulled apart and turned to face him.
“I didn’t realize I was interrupting,” Dr. Riccardi said. “Detective, I wish I could say it was good to see you again.”
“I’m thirty-five years old, Dad. Get a grip. Blame anything you want on me, but leave Kimo out of it.”
“You may be thirty-five, but you’re still my son. You expect me to stand aside while you ruin your life?”
Maybe that walk down to Aiea Park really had been the better idea. “I’ll leave you guys alone,” I said, starting toward the door. Kissing Mike had been an impetuous act, and one I knew was only going to lead me into trouble.
“Stay where you are,” Mike said, reaching out to take my arm. “Dad, I’ll talk to you later. You can go.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Michael. Have you been drinking again? My God, boy, do you ever stop?”
“Out. Now,” Mike said.
His father turned and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him. “He won’t even slam the fucking door,” Mike said. He shook his head. “Jesus, to think I’m the product of his sperm.”
He looked at me and tried to smile. “How about that beer now?”
“I’ll take one.”
He went into the kitchen and returned with two Bud Lights. “At least you’re watching your weight,” I said dryly.
“Sorry about that,” he said, popping the top on his beer and waving it toward the front door. “My dad still thinks I’m about twelve.”
“Maybe if you acted like you were thirty-five he’d think you were.”
“Don’t you start.” He knocked a dirty T-shirt off a chair and sat down, then motioned me to the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I looked at the sofa. One end was piled with rumpled newspapers, the other with dirty jeans, socks, and T- shirts. Feeling like I was channeling my mother, I piled the papers neatly on the floor and then sat down.
“I don’t remember you being such a priss,” Mike said.
“We going to do this all afternoon? Snipe at each other?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
I sipped my beer and considered. “You ever hear of MenSayHi?” I asked.
