The Paper Mirror (21 page)

Suddenly, his mood changed, and he turned to look at me. “So what did you want to know about Taylor?” he asked.

“Anything you can tell me. What kind of guy was he?”

T/T sighed heavily. “He was a fine young man, darlin’,” he said. “Like I told you on the phone, I knew him since he was just a tiny little thing. His daddy was dead, and it was just him and his mom. She worked cleanin’ house for a rich old white lady during the day and as a cook in a diner at night. They lived next door to us on Freemont Street near Summit, and you know what kind of area that is. It wasn’t easy for either one of us. I was only a teenager myself, and I didn’t have many friends—fat, gay black kids in the ghetto seldom do. Taylor wasn’t fat, but he was gay. I swear I don’t know how we got out of there alive.

“Anyway, Taylor used to follow me around while we were still kids. I guess he needed a man in his life, and I was as close to it as he had. We both had one thing in common: we wanted to get out of the world we were born into, and we both did, though in different ways. The good Lord looked after us both, and Taylor was blessed when that white lady his momma worked for helped him get a scholarship to college. She was a fine woman. Her own son had died, and she just sort of took Taylor under her wing.”

“Any chance that she’s still alive now?” I wondered aloud. “I might like to talk with her, if she is. Do you remember her name, by any chance?”

T/T thought a moment, then sighed. “Right on the tip of my tongue,” he said, “but I can’t think of it for the life of me. I don’t imagine she could still be alive…she was pretty up there in years. Her grandson’s still around, though, I’m sure, and I’m sure he could vouch for Taylor’s character, if you think it needs vouchin’.”

I grinned. “It’s not a matter of vouching for anything. It’s just for me to get a better idea of what other people might have known about him that you don’t. Do you recall the grandson’s name?”

He shook his head. “Same last name’s hers,” he said. “Dang! Why can’t I remember it?”

“Well, if you do, could you let me know? It probably doesn’t matter, but I would like to check out every possible angle, if I could.”

“I’ll do that, darlin’,” he said. He was quiet a moment, looking out the window, then continued. “That boy worked his tail off to make somethin’ of himself, and he did! I was so proud of him when he told me he’d got a job at such a fancy place.”

“Do you know of anyone else I might contact about him?” I asked. I was really curious about what sort of person Taylor Cates may have been. What little I’d heard had varied with the person I was talking to.

Still looking out the window, T/T said, “Not really, darlin’. He didn’t have many friends, I don’t think. He was quiet. Real quiet until you got to know him, and not many people did, I don’t think. He fought so hard against his ghetto days that I’m sure some people thought he was uppity. He had his own way of lookin’ at things, and sometimes he could be a little…well…” he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and grinned “…uppity.”

“Did he ever tell you about people he worked with, who he was dating, that kind of thing?”

T/T shook his head. “Not too much. Like I say, he was pretty quiet. I do know he didn’t get along with one of the guys he worked with…a ‘David’ somebody, I think. Taylor took his work
very
serious, an’ he felt this David didn’t. He didn’t like that at all.”

“Did he ever say anything specific?”

“Huh-uh. I could just tell every time he mentioned that boy’s name it was like he was suckin’ on a lemon.”

“How about people he was seeing?”

He looked at me. “I don’t think he had much of a social life,” he said. “I do know he was seeing some writer dude for a little while, but nothin’ ever came of it.”

“Did he say why?”

He sighed. “No, and I didn’t press him. Taylor didn’t take to bein’ pressed.”

“Did he mention anything about his work? Something he may have found out in the course of his cataloging?”

T/T pursed his lips and knit his brow. “Well, now that you mention it, he did give some hints that he knew somethin’ that would surprise a lot of people, but he never said what it was. I could tell he was pretty excited about it, though…as excited as Taylor ever let himself get.”

I thought a moment, not quite sure if I should risk somehow insulting T/T, but decided I had to take a chance.

“This is maybe an odd question,” I said, “but do you think Taylor might have been capable of blackmail?”

T/T’s eyes opened wide and he pulled his head back in surprise. “
Blackmail?
Oh, Lordy, no! That boy was as honest as the day is long. What in the world would ever make you ask a question like that?”

“Sorry,” I hastened to say. “It’s just that if Taylor’s death was not an accident, there had to be a reason for someone to kill him. He worked in a place that probably has a lot of secrets buried in all those research materials, and I wondered if maybe he found something that could be used to blackmail someone.”

T/T looked a little mollified, but still obviously unhappy over the perceived attack on his friend’s character. He shook his head solemnly. “Well, if he
did
find somethin’ like that, he never would have used it for blackmail. Never in a million years. He was a good boy.”

His voice cracked just a bit on that last sentence, and I realized perhaps for the first time just how much Taylor had meant to him.

“I’m sure he was, Teddy,” I said, hoping to reassure him. “But it’s my job to look at every possibility, no matter how remote.”

T/T reached over with one large hand and patted me on the thigh. “I know, darlin’, I know,” he said. “You just find out what happened to him, okay?”

“I will,” I said. “I promise.”

*

I dropped him off at his hotel and headed home, first offering to take him back to the airport for his return flight—he’d expressed a real interest in meeting Joshua, and I knew Joshua’s fascination with airports and airplanes, so…. He also said he’d join the gang after the show for a drink, which would give the rest of the guys a chance to say hello.

So what had I learned from him about Taylor? Not all that much, really. I realized that T/T’s firm denial that Taylor might be involved in anything even hinting of blackmail might understandably be colored by their long friendship, but I tended to believe him. Which meant that the mental picture I’d been forming of Taylor as an opportunist was probably wrong. So if blackmail didn’t enter the picture, what else did?

I kept flashing back to the missing letters and what I would stake my life on were missing manuscripts as well, and the answer as to who had taken them was obvious: Evan Knight. Somehow, Taylor had caught on to what Knight was up to, and Knight had killed him. Now all I had to do was prove it.

*

By the time I got back to the apartment, Jonathan had everything under control. Jared had called to suggest we might all get together for dinner at Napoleon before the show, and Jonathan had contacted the other guys to set it up. He’d also called for reservations for seven o’clock. I was impressed, especially when I compared him to the Jonathan I’d first met. He’d come a long way, and I was proud of him.

Craig came over around five. We hadn’t expected him until six, but I knew he enjoyed being around “older” gay men, i.e., adults. Being a teenager isn’t easy, and being a
gay
teenager is rougher still. The fact that he was out to his parents took a great burden off him, but still…he didn’t feel he really belonged with most of his peers—he was only out to one or two close friends at school. For the most part, he just played the game, and like many gay teens, resented it but realized the consequences of being totally out. And he was still far too young to fully participate in the gay community. He was very curious about the benefit and I could tell he would have loved to go, but, at sixteen, there was no way. The Metropolitan Community Church had just initiated a series of monthly dances and “socials” for teens, and Craig was looking forward to going to the first one, scheduled for the following weekend.

I gave Craig some money to run down to the local fried chicken outlet two blocks away and pick up dinner for himself and Joshua—Jonathan had already laid in a supply of milk and fruit, plus chips and pop for Craig for after Joshua was in bed.

*

Dinner at Napoleon was, as always, great. We were there early enough so that shuffling a couple tables around to seat all eight of us wasn’t a problem. The great thing about being with friends is that you can totally relax and just be yourself. We talked about nothing of any great importance, and laughed a lot. Jared and Jake, especially, took great delight in teasing Tim over the fact that Phil was featured in a new ad campaign for Spartan briefs, for which he was a top underwear model.

“What’s it like to have your lover be a J/O fantasy for every gay guy in the country?” Jake asked.

I resisted pointing out that so were Jared and Jake for anyone who’d ever seen them in
their
briefs.

“Yeah,” Jared said, “I went to take a look at it in Jake’s copy of
MenStyle
, but the pages were stuck together.”

Jake grinned and nudged Jared with his shoulder.

“Uh-huh,” Phil said, obviously embarrassed.

“Hey, let ’em look,” Tim said.

We actually got through the entire dinner without me being asked, mentioning, or even thinking about Taylor Cates’ death. As I said, a good evening.

*

We arrived at Steamroller Junction shortly before nine thirty, and the place was already fairly well packed. I was glad to see the crowd was a good mix of men and women, and a broad cross-section of ages. Dance bars never seemed to change much: same blaring music—probably different songs, but who could tell?—same pounding beat so strong that even the deaf could dance to it with ease; same strobes and flashing lights, and the same adrenaline-charged atmosphere. There was a live band in honor of the benefit, but the overall effect was the same.

I could also sense that Bob Allen was, as always, more than a little uncomfortable with the large crowd and I understood totally. The horrendous Dog Collar bar fire was ancient history for those who hadn’t been there, but for me, who had been walking up to the place when it began, and especially for Bob, who had actually been inside….

We ordered our drinks, and then maneuvered around the edge of the room toward the stage, positioning ourselves near an exit. Old habits die hard. And, as usual, Phil, Tim, Jared, Jake, Mario, and Jonathan headed onto the dance floor, leaving Bob and me—the only nondancers in the group—to guard the drinks. Since the music was too loud to make normal conversation possible, we just watched the dancers. To me there’s nothing sexier than a good male dancer. I was glad this was a benefit and not a regular mostly guys night when the shirts would start coming off as the evening progressed. I don’t think my crotch could have taken it.

Around five minutes till ten, the band finished a number and the DJ took over while the band moved their instruments to the back and side of the stage. Our gang left the dance floor to retrieve their drinks—Jonathan drained his Coke in one long series of gulps and went off for another. At exactly ten o’clock, the DJ switched on the “show” music, and the evening’s M.C.—the same incredibly androgynous lesbian as had M.C.’d the last show we’d seen at the Steamroller—came on to start the evening. She introduced William Pearson and Marv Westeen as heads of the Hospice Project and organizers of the benefit, who in turn spoke of the importance of the Hospice to the gay community, which was still being ravaged by AIDS. This was to be one of the first hospices in the country specifically for AIDS patients, and each of them pointed out that in addition to the need to help our own, AIDS was beginning to cross over into the heterosexual community, and that the Hospice would be open for all. “
We
will not politicize,” Pearson said, “and
we
will not discriminate.” They left the stage to unanimous applause.

The M.C. then announced the lineup of the evening’s performers, which included a top-ten-album female pop singer who, though straight herself, was noted for her support of gay causes. There was also a gay stand-up comic who I’d seen on a couple of TV comedy club shows, and Cree and Dunn, two cute male folksingers everyone assumed to be lovers, who had a large following in the gay community. And, of course, T/T, who had gotten his start in the local drag bars and gone on to be one of the most popular drag stars in the country. He, not surprisingly, was scheduled for last. If anyone could end the evening on a high note, it was T/T.

There’s something about minorities that those in the majority can never quite understand or appreciate—the sense of…well, almost euphoria…that comes with being totally surrounded by your own people in a positive, upbeat setting. Each successive act built the crowd’s energy level, which was allowed to let off some pressure during the fifteen-minute dance-break intermission, only to build again when the second half started.

By the time it was T/T’s turn, there was enough emotional electricity in the room to light up several city blocks.

We had worked our way as close to the stage as we could get and still be relatively close to an exit. And when the M.C. announced, “Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between, let’s hear it for our own Tondelaya O’Tool!” and a spotlight suddenly swept through the crowd to the front entrance where the doors swung open (we couldn’t see more than the tops of the doors, since the entire crowd was between us and the front), the crowd went wild. It took fully two minutes for T/T, flanked by four hunky Steamroller bartenders and bouncers clearing the way, to move through the crowd to the stage, waving, blowing kisses, and bestowing benedictions on old fans. She passed close enough to us to spot us, and zeroing in on Jonathan, she gave him a big grin and a wink, and a slow, languorous lip-licking motion. Jonathan blushed furiously but was of course delighted.