Secret Light (7 page)

“I’ll get us a drink, then.”

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43

“All right. If it’s convenient.”

“It’s after midnight on a workday, and you rap on my back door? It’s not a question

of convenience anymore.” Rafe left for the drinks cabinet without turning on the lights.

He heard Ben cracking ice from his aluminum ice trays and then his footsteps as he

made his way to the living room.

Rafe poured them each a healthy glass of whiskey and took up his customary spot

on the wing chair. He must have looked ridiculous, sitting barefoot in his flannel

pajamas, waiting on a guest. Ben faced him from the couch. He put the makeshift cold

pack on his face with a grimace.

“I want to hear about Walter.”

“I lived in New York when I first got here—staying with Walter Hart’s sister

Christina and her family like a foster son.”

“I see.”

“Hart was kind to me—to all her children.”

“Just a man who had time and a boy who needed it? Nothing…more?”

“Of course nothing more. He was a good man. Eventually, he met someone—a

freelance photographer named Ian Gorsky—and they left for Los Angeles to open a

camera store together.”

If he closed his eyes, he could just see them, laughing and teasing together, packing

their car with all their belongings. Joking how they would never have to shovel snow

again.

“After I graduated high school, I moved here, and they gave me a job. They found

me an inexpensive room in a home with a nice family. They treated me like a beloved

pet.”

“Or like a son.”

“Yes.” Tears burned behind Rafe’s closed eyelids. He packed his pipe. The ritual—

tamp, match, and puff—calmed him. Smoke filled his lungs, and the familiar flood of

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chemicals—of nicotine and the whiskey he’d been drinking—flowed toward his fingers

and toes, numbing them and his emotions along with them. “They treated me like a

son.”

“They had a…special friendship?”

“I… Yes. They did.” Rafe shrugged. “I realized that when I moved here. We never

spoke of it, but it was obvious what was between them. One night the store was robbed,

and the police came and took their statements. I thought nothing of it, but after that,

things changed. After that, they were afraid.”

“That’s only natural. Sometimes, in cases like that, criminals come back, figuring

you’ve got new stock, or—”

“They were afraid of the police, not the men who robbed them.”

“That’s absurd.” Ben leaned forward. “Why would they be afraid of the police?”

“Because after the initial robbery, the police came back weekly to pick and choose,

taking the best of the cameras, film, and equipment for themselves as payment for what

they called
extra vigilance
.”

“A protection scheme?” Ben’s face hardened. “And you have proof for an

accusation like that?”

Rafe’s heart sank. Of course Ben wouldn’t believe him. “Some things never change.

I hear the same song, over and over again. I live the same lie. There are corrupt people

with power, and they use it to prey on the weak. I don’t have to prove that to you. It’s

everywhere. It’s all around us.”

“But do you have proof that in Walter Hart and Ian Gorsky’s case the police were

shaking them down?” Ben asked again. This time Rafe sensed he was really
asking
, not

dismissing the story out of hand.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I
am
the proof. One night, Ian and I were alone

in the shop. I was dusting, I believe, and he was up front rearranging the things in the

window. He suddenly begged me to hide under a display table. It had a cloth that went

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all the way to the ground. At the time, I think he wanted to keep me safe, but also

maybe to use me later as a witness.”

“And?”

“Two uniformed police officers came in. They made veiled threats and demanded a

Bolex 8mm movie camera. I don’t know what they took the other times, but that time

Ian handed over that camera. Ian begged them to go away, to let it end there. He said

the store would go out of business if they continued to rob him, and they laughed at

him. They said he was lucky they weren’t arresting him for being a
faggot
. They left

with the camera—without paying a dime for it. Ian said that sort of thing was

happening more and more often.”

“
Christ
.”

“That day, Walter and Ian had the first fight I’d ever witnessed between them.

Walter wouldn’t allow me to tell anyone what I’d seen, and he was furious at Ian for

even considering it.”

“You can’t go up against a dirty cop. Even other cops steer clear, if they can. They

look the other way or find a way to solve the problem in-house.” Ben sat flexing his

fingers in the darkness. His very presence seemed smaller though, as if hearing Rafe’s

story diminished him. As if it defeated him.

“Ian said they had to do something or they would lose everything, but Walter was

furious that he involved me. He asked how a skinny German-speaking refugee kid was

going to get anyone to listen to him about corrupt cops in 1946. In the end, Walter

thought if he could follow them, get a picture of them extorting someone else, they

might stand a chance.”

“But they caught him at it,” Ben whispered.

“Yes. He was arrested. They pulled him in on some phony charge of soliciting sex

in Pershing Square.”

“And he died in custody. I read the file. His family made a big stink, but in the end,

there was no proof and nothing to be done.”

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“Ian took a handful of sleeping pills a week later.”

“And you lost your best friends.”

“I lost my
only
friends.” Rafe’s eyes burned. He’d never shared this with anyone. “It

was like losing my parents all over again.”

“My God, Rafe.”

“Two words. Walter Hart. Can you tell me things are any different now?”

“No. Things aren’t different now.” Ben sighed heavily. He rose and walked to

where Rafe sat, silent now, and knelt so Rafe could see him clearly. Mooki took that

opportunity to cuddle up to him. “Hey, Mooki. Sweet thing.”

“What is it you want from me?” Rafe asked.

“I thought maybe we could be friends.”

“You want more than friendship.” Rafe could feel it in his gut. He hated to put such

a thing so blatantly, but he had to be sure they understood one another. “You think
I

might want more than that.”

“Yes.” Ben met his eyes. “I think you do.”

Rafe felt the blood drain from his face. “What makes you different from the men

who took my friends’ cameras?”

Ben’s jaw clenched, but his eyes remained calm. “I will never, ever take anything

from you that isn’t freely given.” Ben laid his hand lightly over Rafe’s.

Rafe felt something—a tingling, electric jolt of recognition—when Ben touched him.

He wanted to turn his hand and lace their fingers together. He’d been so long without

human touch he thought he might die from the pleasure of that simple contact.

“I think you’re like me,” Ben whispered. “And I think you’re looking for someone

like
me. A man who’s strong enough to keep your secrets.”

“It’s not safe.” Rafe swallowed around the knot of anxiety he’d been feeling since

he’d met Ben.

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“Nothing is safe, Rafe. Driving to work is a gamble. I see accidents all the time. I see

enough tragedy every day. I’m here to tell you, nothing is safe. But I’m careful and

loyal. Whatever part of yourself you want to share, you can put your faith in me.”

Before he even realized what he was about to do, Rafe lifted his hand and cupped

the battered side of Ben’s face. Lightly, he thumbed the mottled skin beneath Ben’s

swollen eye. When Ben grinned at him, Rafe grinned back.

“
This
is a tragedy. Such a pretty face all…
zusammengeschlagen
.”
Ruined
. In his heart,

he knew he was the cause of the altercation between Ben and his partner.

Ben must not be harmed because of me again.

But
Christ
, it was intoxicating—the warmth of Ben’s skin, the way those green eyes

studied him. The longing. The tenderness.

Ben had experience, and Rafe knew it. It was written in the calm, almost leisurely

stroke of Ben’s fingers up and down the inside of his arm. It manifested itself in a dozen

different ways but mostly in the deliberate slowing of Ben’s movements—his even

breathing—when Rafe felt like he’d have to gasp for breath or explode from his skin

like popped corn.

Is that fear?

Is it nerves or anxiety or—God almighty—is it desire
? Rafe desperately wanted this

man’s hands on him. His sure, skilled fingers. Rafe wanted Ben to make him feel all the

things he’d barely dared to imagine.

Suddenly Ben rose until he was tantalizingly close. Rafe barely tipped his head and

Ben’s lips met his, causing rockets to burst in his bloodstream. All the colors of the

rainbow throbbed behind Rafe’s eyelids, and he clung for a few seconds to the fantasy

that he could
do
this. That he could have Ben.

That for once, he could let go of his fear.

The possibility sparkled in the air between them like fireworks, but just as quickly,

the utter darkness of doubt closed in.

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Shaken, Rafe pulled away. He picked up his glass with trembling fingers and

tipped back the last of his whiskey. He intended to rise from where he sat and see Ben

out. But he couldn’t move.

There couldn’t be any more for them than this.

His voice was nearly inaudible when he said, “Good night, Ben. Thank you for

listening to my story.”

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Chapter Six

December 9, 1955

Rafe sat in his office, tapping a pen against his blotter, staring at the same yellow

lead cards he’d been looking at all day. He had to get a cup of coffee and find his

gumption, or the leads would still be sitting on his desk on Monday morning.

Somewhere, in that stack of little yellow cards was the man to whom Rafe would make

his next sale, and getting to it meant he was that much closer to closing the deal.

What was wrong with him? Rafe could not allow his life’s momentum to come to a

grinding halt at the first touch of a man’s lips on his.

But what an astonishing kiss.

Even now he could feel the delicate brush of Ben’s mouth against his, the scratchy

upper lip, the whiskey-scented breath between them.

Why had he done it? Why
now
? After a thousand opportunities with men and an

equal number of come-ons from women, why had he given in to temptation with Ben—

a police officer
, of all people?

Why?

A tap at his office door caused him to glance up. Jack Gold’s head poked in, but the

rest of his body dutifully remained outside until he was invited.

“Jack. Come in.” Rafe backed away from his desk and indicated that Jack should

take a seat. “How are Dorothy and the kids?”

“Fine, just fine. That’s what I’m here about. You probably aren’t aware that tonight

is the first night of Hanukkah.”

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“Is it?” Actually, he had been aware, but only peripherally. He was aware of most

Jewish holidays from the signs on the restaurants and businesses of the Fairfax district

where he shopped for guilty pleasure foods that reminded him of home and the time

he’d spent on the East Coast.

“We light the first candle at sunset tonight. Dorothy wants to make a big deal for

the girls, but it’s the Sabbath, so we’re having a party tomorrow night. We didn’t really

plan ahead or send out invitations, but she asked me to talk something up at the office.

You’re invited, of course.”

“Really, for Hanukkah?”

“Like I said, Dorothy’s idea is to make it a big deal. The kids want Christmas. That’s

all they’re talking about. They see the hoopla in stores and on television, and they feel

cheated. One of the girls asked Dorothy if we could get a Christmas tree and call it a

Hanukkah bush
, and she just went up in flames.”

“I—”

“You don’t have to bring anything. We just want the girls to feel like our holiday

is…festive.”

“I’d be pleased to come.” On the whole, Hanukkah wasn’t a very important

holiday, traditionally, but it could be fun. “I have an appointment in the afternoon

tomorrow which will hopefully lead to a listing. I probably won’t be there by sunset

or—”

“No. Just come when you can. We won’t light the candles until after Shabbat ends

at nightfall. I promise, it won’t be a big deal. Just some food, some friends, and we have