Second Shot, page 6
Just then the man’s arm jerked from beneath a tucked-in blanket. Jimmy took a step back.
He thought the man was incapable of moving. So, maybe he could somehow hear. Was he saying thank you, or was it from a sense of panic? Of being discovered as the other brother. Taking one last look at the man, he retreated to the corridor, where Doctor Morgan was waiting.
“Mission accomplished?”
“His right arm moved.”
She paused before saying, “An involuntary muscle spasm. Don’t read into it.”
“I thought you said he didn’t move at all.”
“Mr. McSwain, comas are complex medical states, not fully understood.”
“He moved right after I spoke to him.”
“Coincidence.”
He’d have to accept her denial but store in the back of his mind nonetheless. He still wanted information from her. “May I ask a few more questions? I’ll be brief.”
She looked around, then led him to a sitting area near the end of the corridor. Life was quiet on this floor, he hadn’t seen another person other than a couple nurses. There were plenty of chairs available. Jimmy took one facing forward, Dr. Morgan sitting at an angle. Again, she pushed her glasses above the bridge of her nose. Perhaps they weren’t loose. Perhaps it was a tell. Stuff like that made Jimmy suspicious.
“I noticed the name on his door. Just a last name.”
“We do that with all patients. It’s out of privacy.”
“What if the person’s last name is Smith or Jones?”
“Mr. McSwain, Hammondsworth’s procedures are not things I’m free to discuss.”
“Fine. Do you know who the man is in that bed?”
“It’s Mr. Portnoy.”
“Which Mr. Portnoy?”
“I think you’re starting to violate doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Well, even his wife doesn’t know if it’s her husband or his twin brother.”
“Again, not something I can discuss.”
“What about medical records. Surely the men suffered from different ailments. Broken bones. Neither of them are spring chickens. Maybe one had a condition the other managed to avoid. That kind of thing.”
“Again, confidential.”
“What can you discuss? His prognosis? Is he going to recover? Wake up? Don’t you, with a medically-induced coma, gradually try to ease the patient back to consciousness?” He paused, letting his knowledge sink in with her. This place had done it with Mallory. “Or will he just linger and take his secrets to his grave?”
“That’s a rather dramatic way of putting it.”
“My family works in the theatre world. It comes naturally.” It was meant as a joke, but it came off as flippant.
She stood, brushed her white coat. “I think we’re done, Mr. McSwain. I have patients.”
“One more question, please.”
She sighed. But she remained. Silence fell between them. “What is it?”
“What are you afraid of?”
Her face quivered. Again, she pushed on the glasses. “My best wishes as your sister continues her recovery. One of our happy success stories. I’ll see that security escorts you out.”
With that, she hightailed it down the corridor like a rabbit in the woods. Gone in a flash. Jimmy remained seated, thinking about what had just transpired. Dr. Morgan had never warmed up but just now she’d gone decidedly cool. Something wasn’t right. Jimmy hadn’t expected to get much out of her in terms of information. It was the disinformation that was more revealing. As he contemplated what she’d said between the lines, he realized all that would have to wait. Because he saw the security guard, Trudy, from downstairs making her way toward him. Guess his stay was over.
“Mr. McSwain, the welcome mat has been put in storage.”
“Clever,” he said.
He was escorted to the entrance of the building and was soon back outside in the bright sunshine of the September afternoon. He checked his phone for messages. Surprisingly, all was quiet, which left him with a few hours free. Already so-called upstate, he got in his car and drove the familiar route from Hammondsworth to Brewster, and further to quiet Peach Lake, where he pulled into the driveway of his grandmother’s cottage. As he got out of the car, he heard the sharp bark. And then, standing five feet in front of him, was a slim, medium-size dog.
“Shade, it’s okay. He’s one of the good guys.”
That’s when he saw Mallory standing on the porch. Standing! She had a cane in her right hand to keep her steady.
Jimmy took a step forward, crouched down to get on the dog’s level.
“Come on, baby.”
He looked back at Mallory, who simply nodded. Then Shade trotted over to Jimmy, tail wagging, and licked his face. It was a sweet, welcoming gesture. Jimmy ruffled his soft fur, then stood, encouraged the dog to follow him. He obeyed. Service dogs knew their place. And Shade’s was right by Mallory’s side, keeping a careful watch when Jimmy leaned in and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek.
“You look great,” he said.
“Every day, progress.”
“Where’s Hester?”
“I’m in the living room, and my name is Grandma.”
Eighty-seven. Nothing wrong with her hearing. Or her fortitude.
“And Ma?”
“She and Meaghan and Joey left for the city this morning. Previews start in a few days. I’m assuming this isn’t just a friendly drop-by? You’re up here on the Portnoy case?”
“You’re informed, Mal. Too much. Slow down.”
“The more I return to normal life, the sooner I get my routine back.”
Shade barked in agreement.
“He’s cute.”
“So’s Brenden, from what I hear.”
“I think you should go inside and rest, let me visit with Hester.”
“It’s Grandma!”
They both laughed, and then Mallory and Shade made their way back inside the cottage, leaving Jimmy standing alone on the porch. The countryside was beautiful, the leaves still green on the trees that lined the street. Down past the picnic area and other cottages was the lake, where Jimmy had spent much of the summer. Swimming, sunning, trying to forget certain things he’d seen at the end of the Fresh Kill case. Having just gone back home and now here again, he felt he was living in two universes.
About to enter the cottage, the city’s cry intruded upon his country tranquility.
There was no name on the Caller ID. Just a number. But it was a number he knew. Just not a name he wanted to see.
He didn’t want this phone call. He also knew he had to take it.
“This is Jimmy,” he said.
“Hi. It’s, uh, Frank. Frank Frisano. I was told you were expecting my call.”
Yeah, months ago.
Chapter 4
The family was indeed back home, unchanged from a summer away. Ma was brewing after-dinner coffee and Joey was napping in his crib in the living room. And Meaghan? In her usual spot, sitting on the edge of Jimmy’s bed, needling him as only a bratty younger sister could. Her legs crossed, arms crossed, too, snapping her ubiquitous piece of gum. Not even motherhood could break her of those habits. Like always, she was fishing for information. Being nosy.
“So, a date?”
“I’m just going out.”
But he knew his eyes were being transparent. Maybe it was the black jeans, or the slim-fit shirt. Or the double spritz of cologne he’d just applied. The musky scent giving evidence toward the night’s intentions. Jimmy was standing in front of the mirror on his closet door. He double checked his hair, he checked how many buttons would be unclasped. He decided the top two would do. He’d already had more than a hint from his date that he liked what grew underneath.
“You’re so full of shit, Jimmy McSwain. Who is he? Not uh…you know, him?” Meaghan asked. Waiting for an answer, she blew a bubble that popped over her mouth. Thankfully silencing her for a moment.
Because she meant Frisano and the answer was an emphatic no. Though his ex-lover’s renewed presence in his life lingered in Jimmy’s mind, especially after yesterday’s phone call, he certainly wasn’t going to get into it with his bratty sister. Suddenly going into defense mode, he buttoned up the second one. Keep things conservative. He wasn’t giving it away tonight out of revenge.
“Meaghan, don’t you have a son to take care of?”
“Ma’s got Joey. Me, I’m just enjoying watching you squirm. Denying yourself.”
“I’m not…and besides, it’s none of your business. I’m just going for a drink.”
“Paddy’s?”
“No.”
“Oh, Gaslight, which means it is a date. You okay with that? I mean, considering.”
Jimmy turned away from the image staring back at him, then approached his younger sister. She had this way of pushing his buttons, getting under his skin, pick your metaphor. An expert in them all. She had done it as a kid, she was doing it now, as a so-called adult with a six-month old son and a pathological lack of responsibility She was still and forever Meaghan McSwain.
Which meant so was he Jimmy McSwain. You couldn’t change the inside. The DNA.
Jimmy put on dark shoes, putting his feet one at a time on the bed to tie them.
Meaghan untied them. Smiling as she did so.
“Can you go away?”
“Just tell me who.”
“Someone new. I don’t know much about him. He’s a lawyer.”
“Oh, that cute new guy from Mal’s office? She told me about him.”
Of course she had. Never doubt the bond between sisters. Jimmy often the target of their ridicule. It was tough being the middle child, and a boy to boot. And a gay boy to booter.
He left his bedroom without confirming her suspicion; there was no need. Making his way to the living room, he gazed down at a sleeping Joey, envying him his innocence. Unaware of what life changes were happening all around them. He found Maggie at the front window, staring out at the night sky. A glow of lights coming from the construction site across the street, the steel skeleton lit by the moon. She held her coffee cup, not drinking from it. Almost as though its warmth was more necessary than its caffeine.
He put his hands on her shoulders from behind.
“It’s horrible. A view I’ve loved for decades. Soon to disappear.”
“You can’t stop progress, Ma.”
“You smell nice, Jimmy. It’s not Frisano is it?”
He kissed the top of her head. “No, Ma, it’s not. At least, not tonight.”
She turned away from the eventual high-rise, looked in his eyes. “You’ve talked to him?”
“It’s a work thing. Nothing personal.”
“A new case?”
“Two of them, one involving him.” He paused. “I’m fine, Ma. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She touched his cheek. “I still don’t like that beard.”
He knew someone who did, and it was that thought that had him exiting the apartment and trotting down the five flights with perhaps more enthusiasm than he expected. His brain and body at odds as to whether tonight’s meet-up was a good idea. He’d almost canceled. But he also had urges and those tended to take over when the day turned to night and shadows became the safest place to hide.
So here he was, ten minutes later, opening the doors into the dim lighting inside the bar. Time was just after ten pm, he fashionably late. Or reluctantly late. There was that conflict again. He took a deep breath and ventured forward.
Gaslight was a local gay establishment that Jimmy had frequented over the years. Located on 46th Street between Ninth and Tenth Avenues, it was a small place, music bouncing off its walls as cute young men and those who liked cute young men indulged beers and martinis, crotches and lips, everything in between. For Jimmy, he recalled a year and a half ago meeting that British editor guy, Barry. He had qualified for the cuteness factor, enough so that he and Jimmy had left together, had sex, even went on a few dates. He eventually hopped back over the pond. What would this night bring? A couple guys eyed him, one smiled. His mind screamed that he shouldn’t be here. But then he found himself further inside the bar, encased by men, essentially sealing his escape.
Brenden Hendricks was already present. Jimmy saw him before he saw Jimmy.
His dark blond hair perfectly styled, dressed in maroon-colored jeans and a black T-shirt, he somehow managed to still exude the buttoned-up lawyer that lived within him. Perhaps it had to do with the way he was leaning against the bar, confident, or maybe arrogant. Addressing the jury or playing judge. The entire effect was imbedded in his smile. Crocodilian, alluring…slightly dangerous. Don’t approach me, I’ll approach you if I want. He held a glass in his hand, his choice of drink unclear.
Jimmy approached, sidling past two other men who had obviously been checking Brenden out.
“Hi.”
“Hi. Glad you’re here. Wasn’t sure you would follow through.”
“I said yes. I don’t say no after I’ve said yes.”
“I just love the way you talk. You speak like the streets.”
“The streets tell the truth.”
The bartender cut their exchange. Jimmy ordered a Harp draft. Soon, the two men clinked their glasses. Cheered to whatever the night held. Jimmy could guess with one finger how Brenden wanted the night to end. With the morning. He, though, was unsure of what, if anything, he wanted to happen on this night. Whatever this was. A date? A hook-up? A way to get back at Frisano? He hated each choice and wished he could just relax and not be himself, not over-analyze. Just enjoy getting to know someone new. Hadn’t he just told his mother that life progressed? Weren’t we all construction sites? You only experienced tomorrow if you allowed today to happen.
“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Jimmy said. Polite, an ice breaker.
“I would have waited all night. You look hot.”
Jimmy wasn’t sure that was true. A simple enough outfit of jeans, dark-colored shirt. It was still warm out, even at night. No jacket required.
Before another word was spoken, Brenden leaned in and snuck in a kiss. Quick, but with meaning. Even the two guys behind them noticed it. Parted, Jimmy sipped his beer, not sure why. Was he trying to hide his feelings or bury the taste of the man’s heat? The night’s temptation had quickly elevated and Jimmy wanted to slow things down. Not that he wasn’t attracted to Brenden. He just needed a breather. If this was a courtroom, he’d ask the judge for a recess.
“So, I met with Mrs. Portnoy,” he said.
“I know, but I’m not on billable hours right now.”
“Just thought you’d want to know.”
“I do. Just not tonight. You’re pretty uptight for a private investigator.”
“I’m not on billable hours either.”
“Touché.” Brenden set his glass down, asked for another. “So, you’re an uptight guy when not playing the tough guy private dick?”
Innuendo not lost on him. “It’s not a first-date conversation.”
“Oh, so you admit this is a date.”
“Brenden, I come with lots of baggage.”
“Who doesn’t. My last boyfriend regularly slapped me. To put me in my place.”
His words stung as much as those slaps must have. Because the image made Jimmy think not of Frisano but of Remy. It had been months since Jimmy had thought of him. But it didn’t mean the abusive relationship he’d been in—kind of not knowing he was in one—didn’t manage to surface every once in a while. Like during the Stage Fright case. When he and Remy finally had it out, closure came with Jimmy finishing things off with an angry fist. Now, in the confining glow of the bar, he gave Brenden a renewed look. He’d revealed something honest. Beyond the lawyerly attitude. Jimmy saw hurt in his eyes, felt hopefulness in his stance.
“I’m sorry.”
“Life moves forward. You grab what’s in front of you.”
Jimmy shifted. Set his beer down. The attraction between them was palpable.
“I wish I wasn’t working for you.”
“The Portnoy Case has nothing to do with us right now.”
“It’s what brought us together.”
“Fine. You’re fired.”
Jimmy laughed deeply. Smiled. Maybe for the first time in months. He felt a stirring within him.
“Will you rehire me tomorrow morning?”
“Let’s see what you do to me tonight.” Brenden gave what could only be called a knowing leer. He undid that second button Jimmy had worried about. “I think you’ll do fine.”
This time it was Jimmy’s turn for a kiss. And it wasn’t so quick. It lingered, it had heft, and it had meaning, and it stirred an erotic sensation within him. He felt Brenden pressing against him, his crotch sending a clear message. He was aroused. But so was Jimmy. It had been too long since he’d felt ready to be with someone new. Could he go through with this? Could he do this tonight? He could think of it as just an exertion of physical desire. Fuck him, send him on his way. Not like he hadn’t done that before. Except as he grew older, he’d grown tiresome of the one-nighter, the way it gratified and mortified him both at the same time. That’s why he’d enjoyed his relationship with Frisano. Because it had been a real connection. Or, at least, he thought it had been.
“You want another drink?” Brenden asked.
“Do you?”
“Ooh, answering a question with a question. How lawyerly.”
“You still didn’t answer it.
“Neither did you.”
Silence hit them. Because their eyes spoke everything. It was almost a game, which of them would speak truth first. Their words came at the same time, one in the form of a question, one an answer, both leading them toward midnight’s secrets.
“What do you want?’ Jimmy had asked, leaning into him.
“For you to fuck me,” Brenden answered, rather quickly. Then he leaned in for a third kiss.
Deep, penetrating. Jimmy felt his libido flare. Feeling Brenden’s touch, his hand snake-like against his chest, undoing a third button. Jimmy felt eyes on them. Envious looks from the other patrons. Brenden remained focused on Jimmy. Fingers toying with his chest. He pulled back, panting. Eyes staring at the exposed triangle of hair. Then to his eyes.
