No Such Thing as a Secret: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As...A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (11 page)

“Is something wrong?” I asked through a mouth full of fries. He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

“Where do you put it all?”

“Huh?”
It must have been my scintillating conversation that drew him to me.

“This.” He gestured at the buffet set before me. “How can you eat so much and not look like a baby Beluga?”

“I don’t eat like this all the time,” I explained, defensively. “Besides, I work out.”
Ha!
I waited a beat to see if God would make me choke on my fries for being such a big fat liar. Nothing happened, so I kept on eating.

The truth is I don’t actually work out. I joined a gym. Big difference. I joined because my friend, Michelle had told me that former World Wrestling Federation Champ, turned movie star, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson was a member of her gym. She happened to know I have a tiny crush on The Rock—the life size poster in my bedroom may have given it away. Anyway, I decided it would be better to become an actual member, rather than stake out the parking lot and look like a stalker. I spent half a month’s salary on non-refundable dues, only to be informed by Michelle that, oops, she’d made a little mistake, it wasn’t The Rock after all, she meant Vin Diesel. I am now the proud owner of six hundred dollars worth of workout clothes and absolutely no intention of using them.

We finished our dinners and the bottle of wine, and then waited for the waiter to bring the dessert menu. I selected a chocolate mousse and some decaf. Very sensible.

“Vince,” I began, as I dove into the mousse, “remember I said on the phone that I needed to ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

I launched into my story about John and the photographs, leaving out a few details, like, I think he was murdered and the entire Philadelphia Police Force is in on it.

“Let me get this straight.” Vince sat up and leaned forward on the table, his palms resting on the surface. Suddenly, he was no longer the neighborhood nebbish, surreptitiously asking me out. He was a prosecuting attorney, and he was pissed. “You’re telling me that John handed over these pictures to the police and nobody fuckin’ bothered to inform the D.A.’s office?” I guess that answered my question. He stabbed at his cheesecake, took a huge bite out of it and washed it down with a swig of coffee.

“Is it possible they checked out the photos, but they didn’t think they amounted to anything?”

“Anything’s possible. I swear, these guys wouldn’t recognize their own butts if they weren’t attached to them.” Vince sat back and eyed me critically. “What’s your interest in all this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve known you a long time, kiddo. You’re holding out on me. What is it?”

“Are we talking D.A. to concerned citizen, or friend to friend?”

“Depends.”

Wrong answer.
I shook my head. “I just thought it was weird, that’s all.”

He gave me a look that said he knew there was more to it than that, but I was in no mood to give anything away. I decided to throw a little guilt his way and see what he did with it.

“I just think that if the police can’t use the photos, they should be given to John’s friend, Daniel. John would’ve wanted him to have them.” It had the desired effect. Vince promised to talk to the investigator and get back to me. He finished his coffee and signaled the waiter for a refill. I held out my cup as well, forgetting that I’d cut myself off from the high-octane stuff.

“Man, this case has been a bitch and a half,” Vince grumbled.

“How so?”

“The mayor’s getting squeezed from all sides. The ‘Conservative Right’—the folks who probably finance his campaign are up in arms that these freaks are allowed to walk the city streets. I’m sure most of them think Novack got just what he deserved. Now, the Gay Rights activists are screaming bloody murder, no pun intended, saying the mayor isn’t doing anything to protect ‘alternative lifestyle’ citizens.” He laughed, mirthlessly.

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t think anyone deserves what happened to that poor bastard.”

“So, what’s the mayor going to do? How does he manage to placate two such diverse groups?”

“The mayor is praying the voters bump their collective heads and develop group amnesia. He just wants this stinking mess to go away.” I couldn’t see that happening. Philadelphians are tenacious buggers. “I gotta tell ya,” Vince continued, “this is wreaking havoc with his re- election plans, and who knows what it could do for his bid for governor.”

Vince offered to walk me to my car, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. I wanted to do a little window-shopping before I went home. We stood outside the restaurant together, his arm draped amiably over my shoulder. It had turned cold, and a wind was beginning to kick up. My coat was unbuttoned, and I could feel the night air work its way inside. Vince took his arm from around my shoulder and buttoned the top of my jacket. A protective, brotherly gesture.

“Thanks,” I smiled.

“Any time, kiddo.”

“Vince, tell me the truth, was this like a
date
tonight? I mean, when you called, were you asking me out?”

Vince snorted loudly, shaking his head. “Christ, you’re a pistol.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Okay, I guess I did kinda have it in mind to ask you out.
Well
,” he added with an embarrassed laugh, “you looked really hot when I saw you the other day, and—Ah, Bran, you know I’ve had a crush on you since the third grade. I figured, what the hell.”

“Well, now that you know what a glamour queen I really am…”and let my appearance finish the sentence.

“I’d ask you again in a New York minute.”

“Thanks, Vince.” I kissed him on the cheek and we hugged, a big gumbotz embrace.

“Don’t forget to call me.”

I walked back to Paul’s car feeling optimistic about my dinner with Vince. He would find out about the pictures, and I’d finally be able to lay that question to rest. I was thinking so hard about our conversation that I must have walked right past the car. I started to backtrack but stopped when I realized that I was practically back to where I’d started and there was no sign of it.

Frantically, I raced back towards to the restaurant, searching up and down the street for the Mercedes. I rounded the corner and relief flooded through my body as I spotted it. A split second later I let out a blood-curdling scream as I realized it was driving down the block without me. The goddamn car was being towed!

I sprinted off in pursuit of the tow truck, waving my arms around like a pinwheel to try to get the driver’s attention. “Hey,” I shouted, “Stop!” My voice carried about as far as the length of my outstretched arm. The tow truck kept on barreling down the street, out of sight. This can’t be happening! What am I going to do? Paul is going to kill me. Worse, he’ll be
disappointed
in me. How could I let this happen?

I sat on the curb and whipped out my cell phone. After three rings, it picked up.

“Uncle Frankie, it’s Brandy. I need a little help.”

It took Frankie twenty minutes to locate me. I sat on the curb, a cold, forlorn mass of guilt. Paul had trusted me with his car and I screwed up, big time. I don’t even know why I’d been towed. Well, maybe I’d been sticking out a “smidge” more than I’d thought. Frankie pulled up alongside the curb and crooked his finger at me. I hopped into the cab of his silver Ford F150 and we took off for the impound lot.

“Thanks for coming to get me, Uncle Frankie.”

“Any time, Midget Brat.” Midget Brat. That’s what he used to call me when I was little. It was only fitting that he use the term now. At the moment I felt like about five years old.

I looked over at my uncle as he drove along, one massive bicep draped along the back of the seat cushion. Uncle Frankie manages a boxing gym down on South Street, and he works out daily. He’s in amazing shape. Frankie could have been a professional boxer, but too many years of hard partying curtailed any dreams he may have had in that direction. Now, he spends most afternoons working with kids on the edge, giving them hope for their futures, a place to go, someone to listen to them.

I met Bobby at my uncle’s gym. He was sixteen and had just moved from Chicago, into the neighborhood. God, he was angry in those days, and he had good reason to be. His mom had just been killed by a drunk driver. No one knew where his dad was. He’d deserted the family when Bobby was four, so Bobby was shipped off to Philadelphia to live with an aunt he barely knew.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on him. I’d gone to visit my uncle, after school. He’d promised me a boxing lesson, but at the time he was still drinking and had forgotten that I was coming. I was really mad, and I sat outside on the dumpster, banging my boots against the metal sides. Bobby came out back to see what the racket was, and suddenly I was staring at the most beautiful creature God ever dropped onto the planet.

He was 5’ 9” (he hadn’t had his growth spurt yet) with wavy dark hair and the deepest blue eyes I’d ever seen. They were so dark they looked almost purple. He was wearing the neighborhood special, jeans and a “wife beater” tee shirt, which accentuated his muscular arms. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He seethed with rage and sadness and adolescent sexuality. That boy was
hot
. My face grew red as he gazed steadily up at me. I stared back down at this magnificent Fallen Angel, not knowing what to say. I finally went with “false bravado.”

“What’re
you
lookin’ at?” I sneered, my tone registering a ten on the brat scale.

“What’re
you
lookin’ at?” he shot back, his eyes never leaving mine. I felt myself being sucked into the deep end of the pool. Suddenly, his face broke into a slow grin, and in one fluid motion he hoisted himself up onto the dumpster lid and sat down beside me. At once the muscles in my lower abdomen contracted, and I felt my entire body flush with a rising heat. The heat settled right between my legs and stayed there.

“My name’s Bobby,” he said. And I vowed to tell him mine just as soon as I remembered it.

Lucky for me Frankie knew the people who ran the impound lot. The place was closed when we got there, but he managed to contact someone who pulled a few strings, and a couple of hundred dollars later Paul’s car was out of hock. Now, if I could just get it home in one piece he’d never have to know about his car’s little adventure.

It was after 9:00 p.m. by the time I got home. I yanked off my shoes and left them in the front foyer. Then I flopped down on the couch, grabbed the remote and began to channel surf. “Bewitched” was on Nick At Nite, an early episode with the original Darren. Oh, goody.

I snuggled deep into the cushions, my legs curled under a blanket. “God, it feels good to relax,” I thought, at which point I remembered I had to call John’s dad. Groaning, I half dragged myself off the couch and headed for the kitchen.

The answering machine was beeping like crazy, demanding attention like a visual whine. I ran back the tape and started to press “play” but then stopped myself. I’d already stalled long enough. John’s dad deserved a phone call.

I picked my mother’s phone book off the Formica counter top and flipped to the M’s. Taking a deep, cleansing breath I picked up the phone and punched in the numbers.
One, two, three rings.
Okay, not home. I slammed down the receiver as fast as I could, in case John’s dad decided he was home after all. I knew it was the chicken’s way out, but I was just so happy to have this small reprieve. I had no words of comfort for this man. Sighing, I pressed “play” on the answer machine.

“Hi sweetheart. It’s Daddy. Just checking in with you.”

“Ask her does she want me to come home,” my mother yelled in the background.

“Who needs to ask her?” my dad shouted back. “They can hear you in Iowa.”

“Iowa? What’s Iowa got to do with anything? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Sarcasm is not a recognized response in my mother’s world. Any attempt at such wordplay just earns the perpetrator the rebuke, “Don’t be ridiculous.” As sarcasm runs rampant in my veins, she says that to me a lot.

“Brandy,” my mother spoke directly into the phone, now. “Daddy and I are worried about you. Call us.”

“We love you, honey.” That, from my dad, who had once again assumed the position of second banana and had been relegated to background noises.

“We love you, honey,” my mother repeated. Bye bye. Call us.”

Call number two was a hang-up, followed by a familiar male voice, a voice on the edge of exhaustion.

“Brandy, it’s Bobby.” He hesitated, and I could hear the rush of breath leave his lips. “I’d like to talk to you, so could you give me a call? My number’s 505-2753. Uh, thanks,” he added, uncertainly.

I must have played his message ten times over, just to hear the sound of his voice. Guess I have some “residual issues” as my friend Michelle would say. With shaking hands I punched in Bobby’s number and waited for him to pick up the phone. My heart skipped a beat when his voice came on the line.

“Hey. We’re not in right now, so please leave a message.”

Well, of all the nerve!
We’re not in right now. Me and the little Mrs. aren’t in right now. Mr. and Mrs. FUCKHEAD aren’t IN right now!
I slammed down the phone without leaving a message.

I returned to the couch and “Bewitched.” Apparently, Endora had turned Darren into a donkey. I tried to immerse myself in Darren’s troubles, but my mind was definitely elsewhere. Why did I get so mad? It’s not like I don’t know Bobby’s married, but I suppose hearing him refer to himself as part of a “couple” drove home the reality of the situation. He dumped me and now he’s part of a happy twosome.

I don’t even care about getting married right now. Maybe ever. But it would be nice to have the option. I’ve had six dates in the past four years. Two of those dates included sex but I’d done it with the same guy twice, so there was actually just one lover and I didn’t even like him. I only did it to be polite.

My mind wandered back to my life in Los Angeles. I’ve been happy there, the past four years. Happy enough, anyway. I live six miles from the beach, I have a rent- controlled apartment and I’ve made some good friends. Why, then, do I feel a perpetual loneliness? I popped a couple of Hershey’s kisses and waited for euphoria to set in.