Vacation Therapy (24 page)

When nothing happened, Sergio pushed me out of his bed and propelled me into mine. “The bathroom. Grab your pillow and blankets and run,” he shouted.

I bounced on my bed and ripped them from their places. Spinning on my heels, I heard the bathroom door slam shut. “Wait for me.” I dove across Sergio's bed and pushed against the bathroom door. “Open up, open..."

The door gave way, and I flew into darkness.

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"Holy shit! Can you believe that?” Sergio picked me up from the bathroom floor, spun me around, and slammed the door shut. His nimble fingers twisted the lock on the doorknob.

"Do you think locking the door's going to help?” I nodded toward the lock. Slowly, I backed away and sat down on the edge of the tub. My blanket was wrapped around my body like a shroud.

Ignoring my comment, he lit the candles and joined me on the tub's lip. With his blanket pulled over his head and the flickering candlelight, he looked like he was wearing a nun's habit. Turning to face me he asked, “Who do you think was out there?"

Thunder pounded in my ears, and it took me several seconds to realize that it was my heartbeat drowning out the storm. My breathing came in gasping bursts, just like Sergio's.

Before I could answer, a crash echoed through the room next to us. Our arms reflexively rose up and covered our heads, expecting the ceiling to be ripped off and the tempest to enter.

When nothing happened, we tentatively peeked out from under our covers and up at the ceiling. Half expecting it to be gone, we saw the exhaust fan vent cover flapping with the gusting storm.

Sergio tossed off his blanket, grabbed a hand towel, and stepped onto the stool. As he jammed the cloth into the opening, he said, “That should prevent anything from blowing in.” He stepped down to re-gather his blanket around him. Joining me on the tub, he pressed his body up alongside me.

Usually, if anyone came this close to me, I moved away. My tactile defensiveness increased in times of stress, and after all of this, my reaction should have been homicidal. After all we'd been through, the closeness seemed to help calm me. Surprised by my body's response, I fumbled. “Who... who do you think was out there?"

"I don't know. It happened so fast. I...” His words were drowned out as the whole building shuddered hard, rocking the foundation. The candles bounced across the countertop and dimmed. Threatening to extinguish themselves, they sputtered a few times and returned with small flames. Sergio exhaled the breath he had been holding. “I have this strange feeling. Didn't you think his body looked familiar?"

"I didn't see a body, all I saw was a silhouette.” I pulled the blanket tighter. The candles flickered in the mirror, driving shadows around the room and across the shower curtain. The image of Duane's body in our shower came back in full detail, followed by another image, the one of him washed up on the beach with Sergio's scissors sticking out of his throat.

Suddenly, the wind slowed, the howling died, and the building stopped rumbling. Eeriness settled over the small room. It lasted only a few seconds and started up again with a vengeance.

Sergio shuddered. “I know, but it looked like Tom to me."

I closed my eyes, trying to push Duane's image out and the silhouette back into my mind. As it flashed across the back of my eye, Mike's form superimposed itself there. “It looked more like Mike than Tom."

"No way. Did you see those shoulders? They were huge. Just like Tom's. Besides, Mike wouldn't have thrown that rock overhand, he's an underhanded thrower if I ever saw one."

"What?” I said, pushing even more unwanted images from my mind. “Never mind. What about his legs? Tom has really long and muscular legs. The thrower seemed to have short squat legs, more like Mike's."

"I did notice the frog-like legs,” Sergio nodded in agreement. “Maybe he was crouching down.” He shrugged. “Anyway, his upper body was powerful.” He paused, eyes staring straight ahead. “Kinda like Geoff's."

"Now that you mention it, it did look a little boxy like Sean."

"Sean? Who's Sean?” Sergio turned to face me.

"That's right, you haven't met him. He's Tom's crabby agent, the one he was fighting with on the beach."

"They were fighting?” Sergio leaned forward.

"Not fist fighting, but arguing about something. I walked in on the last part and missed what it was all about. All I know is that Sean wasn't happy with Tom's lack of participation at the resort."

"Lack of participation? What did he want him to do? Perform a strip tease on the beach? Or better yet, bang someone during supper?"

"I don't think he meant that. But you know, it's weird."

"What is?” he pressed.

"I feel like I'm protecting Tom from something."

"Here? At the resort?” Sergio screwed up his face, questioning me.

"I think Sean is forcing him to be here, or at least do some publicity here that he doesn't want to do."

"But it keeps his paycheck coming in, right?” he asked.

"I know, but I keep getting the feeling that he's holding something back."

"He is. Himself. He wants to jump your bones.” Sergio elbowed me lightly in the ribs.

"He's married. Will you get serious.” I pushed him back.

"You're the one who said that he was after something. He's not after me, he wants you.” He batted his eyes at me innocently.

I rolled my eyes. “I feel like I'm acting as a buffer for him here at the resort."

A metallic ripping cut through the air, and a loud bang sounded. We jumped and looked at the thin wood, praying it would hold.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Metal slammed against the side of the building a few more times, squealing loud enough to hurt my ears. It thumped and slid along the hallway with the wind.

"It must've been the rain gutter ripped from the eaves,” I suggested.

Sergio nodded in agreement and smiled. “I know, you're Tom's beard."

"I'm a what?"

"A beard,” he motioned with his hand for me to understand him. “A gay man's cover."

My confused look forced him to explain.

"Some gay men use women in public to prove they're not gay."

Finally realizing that he wasn't talking about the metal noises outside, I made the connection. “I...what?” My voice went up a few octaves.

"He's using you to keep the other guys away from him. Duh.” Sergio slapped the side of his head.

"But I invited
him
to spend time some with us. I think."

"He would make you feel that way. He's an
actor
, remember?"

"I guess."

"Come on, admit it. You're his little buddy, right?” Sergio teased.

Playing along, I nudged him. “No. I'm your little buddy, not his."

"I wish,” he said, or at least that's what I thought he said, as he threw his hands up and flipped his head back.

"Yeah, right.” I pulled the blankets tightly around my shoulders. The wind continued to howl outside as sheets of rain beat down on our building. “Cute, but let's get serious. Could that silhouette have been Logan? He has that square build."

"Like centuries ago.” Sergio scoffed.

"He could've been the one out there throwing rocks at us."

"But why?"

"Well. His file said he was going to be dropped by his publisher if his next book wasn't a blockbuster."

"How many books do you have to sell to have a blockbuster? A million?"

"You know, they have to hit the
New York Times
best seller list. They need to sell like Grisham, King, or Collins."

"Oh, I just love Jackie Collins. She always has so much dirt on her characters, and you know she bases them on real people in Hollywood. I bet Tom is in one of her books."

Closing my eyes, I counted to ten. “Getting back to Logan, he's won a few critical awards for his earlier novels, but the new ones haven't sold as well as his first ones did."

"But why not? Aren't they any good?"

"Molly and I love them, but we tend to like something different, something new, and not the same old story over and over again.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Other writers are more violent, and not as beautifully written or character-driven. Vile crimes seem to sell more than great characters."

He nodded in agreement. “Molly's said the same thing, but what about that guy? The one the books are dedicated to?"

"I almost forgot about him. He did seem to be in a lot of the same places as Logan. Hey.” I stood up and flipped through my pile of books.

"You brought your books in here?” Sergio asked.

"I wasn't going to let them get damaged in the storm.”
Slaughterloo
rested on the bottom of the pile. Flipping it open, I read the dedication page, “And to John, who is always there."

"Who's John?” Sergio asked.

"My guess is that he's the guy in all those pictures in the file."

"Have you seen him running around the resort? He isn't the model John as...” he nodded toward the autographed towel hanging from the rack, “as in that John? Do you think?” he squinted hard to see the resemblance.

"I doubt they're the same one.” I squinted hard in the gloom. “But there is a similarity, maybe.” I slipped the book back into the pile.

"So is Logan gay?” Sergio pulled his blanket up to his neck.

"You don't know? What does your gaydar say?"

"Closet case, just like you."

The whole building shook again. My eyes narrowed at him.

"Just kidding.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Can't you take a joke? So, what are his books like?"

"There aren't any gay characters in them."

"Oh, men's books,” Sergio's voice lowered as he flexed his arm muscles.

"Not the kind you're thinking of."

"What kind are
you
talking about? You're reading one of
my
books, right? Maybe I'm trying to recruit you.” His eyes widened. “Look into my eyes. You are in my power."

"Yeah, right. My dad couldn't get me signed up for the Marines, so I doubt you'll get me to join ‘the Club.’”

"Your loss,” he shrugged. “Like we'd even invite
you
to join. Do you think Logan would kill to keep being gay a secret?"

"It would make more sense for him to use this vacation as a publicity stunt to sell his new novel than resort to murder."

"Homophobia isn't pretty."

"Well, his crimes aren't pretty in the novels. They're very explicit and violent, but he doesn't seem dangerous to me."

"He's an author you like. You wouldn't suspect him anyway, now would you?"

"His body looked nothing like the silhouette out there."

"How do you know? You can't see in the dark, and besides the wind was whipping a zillion miles an hour. Do you really think you saw it clearly?"

"And you did?” I countered, licking my dry, sunburned lips.

"Well, I have a plan.” Sergio smiled at me. He stood up and crawled underneath the sink's counter. “I'm going to bed and I'm sleeping here tonight."

"And where am I going to sleep?"

Sergio rolled onto his side, lifted his blanket, and motioned to the space he had just made.

"Great. Why was I afraid you'd say that?"

"Do you have any better ideas?"

Something blew down the open hallway outside of our room, scratching along the wall as it went.

Standing up, I placed the blanket down inside the bathtub. Stepping inside, I felt the cool porcelain supporting my body. “I guess I'm trapped here...” My voice echoed in the hollow.

"You can always come over here,” he offered again.

"I'll take my chances here. Thanks.” I settled my head down on the pillow.

"So, do we have a plan for tomorrow?” he asked.

"You're not going to suggest that we split up and question our list of suspects, are you?"

"You are good. Molly said you were slow to catch on to most things, but I think she underestimates you.” Sergio shook his head.

"Thanks. I think."

"Fine then, we have a plan.” Sergio ticked off the list. “Tomorrow, you pump Logan about his John, ask Mike if he was running around in the storm throwing rocks at us, and see if Tom is engaged and using you as his beard. I'll go check on the Davids, see if John is looking for a writer husband, and see if Geoff ventured out into the storm. And we'll see what we get."

"What about Cha-Cha? She could have been the one out there throwing rocks."

"I've read all about what happened at Stonewall. Drag queens and bricks, she's all yours,” he said, rolling over, turning his back to me, thus ending our conversation.

My feet fought the blanket for room within the tight quarters, and my back chilled from the porcelain of the tub. In my cramped space, I wondered why he got to hide under the counter. Rolling over onto my side, peeking over the edge of the tub I asked, “Who do you think we can trust here?"

I closed my eyes and images flooded in of Skinny David's panic from the thrown snake. Gary's blood-covered head and bed. The snake that slithered out from under my bed. What lay bleeding beneath us.

"No one.” He rolled over and faced me from under his blanket.

"Exactly. We sound like Mulder and Scully. Trust No One."

"Can I be Scully? She's smarter,” Sergio asked, with a serious expression on his face, but then it brightened into a big grin, “but Mulder is soo..."

"Whatever.” I rolled over, turning my back to him. My mind re-read the files; everyone had a secret, but whose was big enough to kill for?

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The hurricane stalled over the resort throughout the night, and my sleep was restless and fitful. Between Sergio's snoring and his constant waking and asking, “What was that?” each time something bumped or banged in the night, I got little sleep.

Maybe I was expecting someone or something to come bursting in through the bathroom door or the storm to rip the ceiling off. Either way, my adrenaline was high, and sleep eluded me.

Finally, giving up on sleep, I put my contacts back in, kicked Sergio out of the bathroom, and jumped into the shower to use what was left of the hot water.