He sat down beside me on the couch. He took a breath and waited a beat. He licked his lips. “There’s this podcast I mentioned.”
“Meat Locker?” I cocked my head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Well, you might. Bailey Anderson, the host, might even try to get in touch with you.”
“What? Why?”
He held up a hand. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Let me start at the beginning.” He drew in and then blew out a big breath. “Remember I told you I had a boyfriend a long time ago who died?”
I nodded, remembering. On our second date, over lunch at Ann Sather, we’d shared our dating and relationship histories. I’d only had one serious boyfriend and that partnership had lasted six years, even though we never crossed into living together. Jeff was sweet, but dumb as a rock. If he hadn’t been so cute and so much fun, we’d never gotten past the first date. But what can I say? Maybe I’m shallow and a pretty face, nice pecs,and a big dick holds my fascination much longer than a sharp intellect. Proof was in the pudding, I guess. We’d had so much fun, I’d never had a regret over the mismatched union. I think I always knew our relationship would have a short shelf-life.
But this wasn’t about me. “You mean Randy?” I seemed to remember he’d mentioned a boyfriend he’d had about ten years ago. Since then, according to Josh, there’d been a little dating here and there, a lot of hooking up, but no one serious had come along. He’d said he was happy being carefree and single.
Until me.
In our original talk over Swedish meatballs, egg noodles, and limpa bread, Josh had told me the guy had died in a car accident on Lake Shore Drive, hit by a taxi cutting across three lanes to exit at Lawrence Avenue. I’d believed him. Shit like that wasn’t rare. Plus, he’d embroidered the wreck with such detail.
Why would he lie?
“Yeah. Not Randy, though. Reggie. Reggie Baker.” He eyed me. “I’m sorry, Ted, but I lied. He didn’t die in a car crash. He was murdered. Stabbed to death. In an alley in Boystown.” He stopped to straighten some magazines and stack the books on the coffee table. “I was with him.” Josh’s green eyes became glassy with unshed tears. “At least until I wasn’t, until I left him there for some monster to come along and slash him.”
He sniffed. He was trying to pull himself together. “My lying about what happened wasn’t because of anything to do with you, or keeping secrets. I just wanted to forget what happened. It was so horrible.” He shook his head. “I still have nightmares. I probably have PTSD, but I’ve never gone to the trouble of getting diagnosed.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Must have been awful.” I picked at a scratch on my knee my cat, Mrs. Davis, had given me the day before. I was intent on it and didn’t stop until I pulled away a finger with blood on it.
When Josh saw the blood, he groaned.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Stop with the apologies. You don’t need to.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” I met his gaze. “You have to know I would have understood.”
Josh turned to me. “Of course.” He sighed. “I guess I’ve told that particular lie to so many people over the years that it almost seems like the truth, even to me. Itwasten years ago, hon. A decade. It’s still a big wound, an empty space inside, but I’ve tried, through those years, to put Reggie’s murder behind me. Because I was a person of interest, andnota suspect—an important distinction—I don’t like to talk about it or even think about it. Then there’s the fact that it was such a long time ago—it was just something I didn’t need to burden you with, or at least that’s what I thought. I was wrong. And, to be perfectly honest, I was selfish. I didn’t want you wondering if they got it right when they pointed a finger at me.”
“I know we’re new, but I’d never think that.”
“Thanks.” He looked over me and then out the window for a minute. Then he went on.
“What happened was we were the victims of some homophobic asshole.” He paused. In his eyes, the wheels of memory turned. His body trembled for a second. He continued. “It’s an old story. I won’t say we bore some responsibility for the nightmare that happened that night, but we could have been more careful. Reggie and I had been out. Sidetrack—we loved to go there for the comedy videos, especially after indulging in a little weed at home. It wasn’t all that late, maybe a little before midnight. Halsted was still busy.” He smiled. The memory, at least at this point, must have been a good one. “We were happy. Horny. Going home to do what young lovers do.” The smile wavered and then vanished. Storm clouds moved in, dimming his features. “Reggie pulled me into an alley for a kiss. We werealmost home. The kiss got a little out-of-hand. There may have been some groping.” He sighed. “We got so caught up in each other that we didn’t notice we weren’t alone in the alley.”
The memory must have been terribly painful. He hung his head and, for a long while, said nothing, radiating numbness, maybe a kind of retroactive shock.
I placed my hand on his knee, which made him jump. “You don’t have to go on. We can at least wait a little while. Or you can write it down and give it to me that way. I can see how much this hurts. I don’t need you to relive it. Not even for me.”
“Thanks. You’re so thoughtful.” He drew in several deep breaths. “There isn’t that much more to tell, really.
“Okay, so we were suddenly aware there was someone behind us, watching. You know how you can feel when there are eyes on you?”
I nodded. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.
“I turned around. I saw him.” He gnawed for a moment at his lower lip. “There was nothing about him to make me afraid, not at first. He wasn’t what I would have thought of when I thought words like killer or fag-basher. He looked so normal. Harmless. White tank top and cargo shorts, flip-flops. A mop of dark hair that fell over one of his eyes. He was smiling.”
“And?”
“I was almost ready to say something along the lines of, ‘we’re not looking for company’ because that’s what I thought of at first—he was some guy out cruising and thought he might turn this lucky find into a three-way. It probably happens all the time, especially in that ‘hood, although Reggie and I were too new, too in love, to imagine inviting anyone into our intimacy.”
He stopped for a long time. I could hear the nearby elevator doors open and close, the sound of its ascent or descent. A siren, probably over on Sheridan Road, wailed.
