Castle Cay (18 page)

Soaked and exhausted, Rolly had unconsciously
held his breath during much of that long, stress-filled battle. Now
he began to breathe more deeply. His strength was depleted, and his
body ached from head to toe.

Is this where it ends?
I just wanted a life.
A life that wasn’t a lie…

•

Marc Solomon was filling in that day at the
Art Institute in Boston, substituting for the art teacher. He
circled the classroom, stopping at each easel to congratulate or
critique each student’s work.

“
Your brush strokes are too tight. Too
constricted,” he said of Rolly’s painting. “Don’t be afraid to
experiment! To let go! You’re not a child and this isn’t a coloring
book. You don’t have to stay within the lines. Do what you want to
do, not what you think you have to do.”

Rolly bristled. He thought that Solomon’s
comments were about more than
painting
and his embarrassment
had swiftly grown to anger.

What did that conceited asshole know about
anything? His painting was fine and his life was better than it had
ever been!

Rolly had his own efficiency apartment. He’d
been promoted at the hospital and he was earning enough to live on,
even save.

And he had a special friend, too. His name
was Ash, and he worked in the records department at the hospital.
They’d met one day when Rolly was eating lunch in the cafeteria.
The place had been jammed and, as usual, Rolly was sitting at a
table by himself.

“
Hi, do you mind if I sit here with
you?”

The boy was so pretty that Rolly was
dumbstruck. Ash had a slim body and he wasn’t very tall. He had
wavy brown hair that tended to fall over one long-lashed eye or the
other, so that he had to reach up and tuck it behind his ear. His
skin was a light coffee color…Indian, Rolly thought…and he had very
white, straight teeth…a very beautiful mouth.

“
No,” said Rolly, finding his voice. “Go
ahead.”

They found it easy to talk to each other and
began seeking each other out whenever they were in the cafeteria at
the same time. Soon, they were coordinating their lunch breaks.

Rolly became obsessed with seeing Ash at the
hospital. He fantasized about him at night. It seemed that Ash was
interested in him, but he wasn’t sure.

At last, they made a plan to meet for a
movie. Rolly sat through it, staring at the screen, filled with
desire. He yearned to touch Ash, ached for Ash to touch him. It was
the most exquisite torture he had ever felt.

Rolly was in a secret limbo, loving it and
hating it, all at once.

And then along came Marc Solomon, who
criticized his painting…who criticized him and his life… in front
of everyone.

Rolly stewed over it for weeks.

His attempt at free brushwork was a disaster.
He overworked his colors and they all ended up looking like mud.
The more he tried, the worse his painting became.

Was Solomon right?

Rolly made a decision.

One day as he and Ash were leaving the
cafeteria in the basement of the hospital, he stopped at a door.
“Come in here,” he said to him. “I have to tell you something.”

He never told Ash anything. He’d just locked
the door behind them and kissed him on the mouth. There was no
protest; Ash was as eager as he was.

In no time, Rolly’s pants were down around
his ankles and Ash was kneeling before him, blissfully changing
Rolly’s life…and inadvertently improving his art.

•

In the darkness of the Gulf, Rolly smiled,
even as the rain began again.

* * * * *

J
ulie woke up facing Joe, her head
resting on his left shoulder and her left leg draped across him.
She carefully extricated herself, trying not to wake him. Lying on
her own side, she admired his long, lean body.

The light fuzz of hair on Joe’s tanned skin
was blonde from the sun, like the stubble of his beard. In his
nakedness, though, Julie could see that his skin was actually much
lighter… and his hair darker. He was beautiful.

How did I resist this man for so long?

Joe wore a rugged, stainless steel watch with
a brown leather strap. Julie ran her finger lightly over a vein on
his forearm, near the watch. He stirred, opened his eyes and then
smiled, obviously remembering the night’s activities.

“Morning, Merlin.”

“Morning,” said Julie, kissing around the
left nipple on his chest.

“Make bigger circles,” he said.

“Okay, but you can’t move…”

•

They joined David in the kitchen about an
hour later.

“Good morning, you two. Did you sleep well?”
he asked.

One look at them told the story. “Well…since
you don’t smoke…how about some coffee?”

It was still raining. David had turned on the
TV to get an update on the storm. The weather picture hadn’t
changed much. Tropical storm Carlo was stalled over Cuba, causing
widespread flooding. The gusting wind and rain in the Keys was
predicted to continue and probably worsen. David was sick of
listening to it. He picked up the remote control and changed the
channel from the weather to the news.

“
There is a new development in the Florida
murder case of artist, Marcus Solomon. According to a source in the
Key West police department, an APB went out yesterday for Roland
Archer, another artist, and a friend of the victim. Roland Archer
is now a ‘person of interest’.

“
We have learned that the police found
Roland Archer’s car in a grocery store parking lot. There is some
speculation that the he may have left Florida in his boat, the
‘Miranda,’ which is reported to be missing from a Key West
marina…”

“Oh, dear God!” said David. “Rolly’s out
there in the boat!”

As one, they all looked out through the rain
to the huge white yacht anchored across the canal.

It was pulling its moorings taut…rising and
falling as waves pounded the dock.

* * * * *

R
olly was slumped over in his seat
clinging to the wheel, barely able to keep the Miranda’s bow
straight atop the swells. He was soaked to the bone, and the
windshield was so wet and crusted with salt that he didn’t know it
had stopped raining. He was grateful for the meager daylight,
though, and amazed that he was still alive to see it.

Somehow the Miranda had stopped fighting the
waves and begun riding them. The compass said he was headed north.
Rolly no longer cared. He was going to die. He would keep her
straight as long as he could, but he was weak and he knew that the
next whirlwind would take him under. Dark, threatening clouds
stretched overhead. On the horizon, there was a faint, pink smear
of sunshine…so far away.

He shivered.

No one could have foreseen all this mess. At
least David would never know that Rolly took the money. That was
good. It would have hurt him so much, and he was already
grieving.

David’s sweet nature reminded him of Ash, and
the long-ago love affair that had freed him in so many ways. Marc
Solomon had noticed the creative part and suspected the rest.

•

“
That’s fabulous, I love it!” said Marc,
looking over an oil Rolly was just completing. “The colors are so
clear and vibrant. The impasto gives it great depth and power. Good
job, Rolly!”

The whole class heard him, including the art
teacher. Rolly was thrilled, and he stayed after the class to thank
Marc.

“
That meant a lot to me, what you said
about my work. Thank you.”

“
Don’t mention it. It’s a terrific
painting. You’re very talented.”

From that day on, Rolly had seen Marc as a
role model rather than an enemy, and they had eventually become
friends.

However, Rolly’s childhood had produced a
secretive adult. Despite Marc’s urging, Rolly remained “in the
closet”. The liberating change came when Marc moved to the Keys and
Rolly came to visit.

Key West was a revelation…gays were
everywhere! They walked down the street holding hands! Rolly loved
it …the artsy, quirky waterfront atmosphere…everything.

After two more vacations, Marc convinced him
to move down, to pursue his art in earnest. He even offered to show
some of Rolly’s work in the Sandpiper, an art gallery he and his
agent had opened. And so, Rolly had moved to Key West.

He’d gotten a job at the Marina, cleaning,
scraping, caulking and painting boats. He made creative signs and
devoted his free time to his own painting. Rolly was a happy and
fulfilled person for the first time in his life.

And he owed it all to Marc Solomon.

Of course, he’d met David, Marc’s partner. He
hung around with them, and enjoyed their company. He considered
them to be a happy couple, which they were. Time passed, and their
mutual friendship deepened.

One day in winter, the three of them were
returning from a diving trip. When they got off the boat at the
Marina, Rolly took them to see a boat he was working on, the
“Miranda”.

“
What do think of her?”

“
What do I think? I think she’s a wreck,”
said Marc.

“
Me, too,” said David.

“
No, she’s actually seaworthy,” said
Rolly. “She just needs a lot of work. I’ve got three thousand
dollars I could put down on her, and another thousand for parts and
materials. But…I haven’t got any credit history, and I can’t get
the other fifteen thousand.”

“
Eighteen thousand? That’s pretty cheap
for a boat this size,” said Marc.

“
Are you sure you can fix her up?”

“
Positive.”

Marc contemplated the situation.

“
I’ll loan it to you,” he said. “We can
fish and dive off her. She’ll hold more gear than our
boat.”

“
Are you sure?”

“
Of course, I’m sure,” said Marc. “After
you got caught with my marijuana? I owe you, man.”

Rolly was ecstatic. He bought the Miranda
before the week was out, and by summer, she was in the water. He’d
only made five payments when Marc came to his apartment.

“
Rolly, I need to talk to you about David.
He has a crush on you.”

Rolly had known that, but he had hoped that
Marc didn’t. He was quick to reassure him. “You don’t need to worry
about me, Marc. I would never do that to you.”

“
That’s just it, I want you to.”

“
To what?”

“
To have an affair with David. More than
that, Rolly. I hope it develops into much more than that.”

Rolly was stunned.

“
What! Why?”

“
Because David and I don’t have sex
anymore. Because I have AIDS and he doesn’t. Because he’s a sensual
person and he can’t go on this way. Because I love him, damn it…and
I’m dying!”

Tears streamed down his face.

It took Rolly a while to reply. He couldn’t
imagine such a calculated relationship with David.

“
No, I can’t do it.”

“
Look, he means everything to me, Rolly.
Don’t take this the wrong way but - if you do this for me - I’ll
cancel the debt on the Miranda. Please, just think about
it.”

A few days later, Rolly took the deal.

•

Weakly, Rolly clung to
Miranda’s
wheel, trying in vain to minimize the old boat’s sickening slide
into a trough.

Your plan worked, Marc.

His head dropped at last, and everything went
black.

* * * * *

T
here was no tactful way to broach the
subject. Julie had flat out asked David about his Xanax
prescription.

“Marc wouldn’t have taken that because of his
anti-HIV drugs. He was careful about his medications.”

“What about oxycodone? Did Marc have a
prescription for that?”

“Yes, he did, but he never wanted to take
them; too many of his friends had become addicted to their pain
meds. For the most part, Marc managed his pain with marijuana. When
he did take a pain pill, he’d cut it in half…

“Oh, God, it’s true, isn’t it? Someone
murdered
him!” He began to cry and grabbed a handful of
napkins off the kitchen bar. “But it
wasn’t
Rolly!” he said.
He turned - napkins pressed to his face - and hurried to his
room.

Julie was sorry she had triggered his
distress.
Damn. Now he’s embarrassed; crying like that in front
of Joe.

“Poor guy,” said Joe.

“Yeah…well, I could have handled that
better,” said Julie.

“No. You have a direct way of asking
questions, Merlin. It’s productive. And that’s a professional
opinion.”

Joe’s cell phone rang, and he flipped it
open.

“Hi, Sherm!” he said, putting the phone on
speaker, for Julie’s benefit.

“
Joe, listen…I can’t give you details, but
it’s in your best interest, as well as the agency, for you to tell
me everything you know about Avram Solomon.”

“No problem,” said Joe, eyes wide, looking at
Julie. “Julie O’Hara is here with me. I’ve got you on speakerphone,
is that okay?”

“Yes. Actually, that’s good. Hi, Julie. In
case Joe hasn’t told you, I’m Sherman Dixon, and I’m with the FBI.
Joe and I have been friends for a long time, so call me ‘Sherm’,
okay?”

“Okay, Sherm,” said Julie.

Joe began filling Sherman in on what he had
learned since their initial conversation. He told him about his
trip to Castle Cay with Will Sawyer, the evidence of drug traffic
in the recent past, how the timing of it seemed to coincide with
Avram Solomon’s management, and the impending sale of the
island.

“
Slow down, Joe, I’m taking notes. Okay,
go on.”

Joe continued, telling him their suspicions
in regard to Marc’s murder.