A Simple Suburban Murder by Mark Richard Zubro Read Free Book Online Page B

back? We could have him, his wife, and his kids over for a party. We could all be best friends."
    I ignored his comment and said, "You handled him well."
    He passed it off. "I've been handling fans and reporters for years."
    "I meant the introduction, being here with me."
    Scott shrugged. "What was to see? We didn't neck in front of him. Let him think what he wants."
    I looked at him carefully. "You've changed. A couple years ago you'd have gone into a panic with what you walked in on."
    Scott said, "This is your home. I shouldn't have to be scared of being gay here."
    Scott and I met eight years ago. I remember it clearly. It was four-thirty on a gloomy November afternoon. It had alternately rained and sleeted since 8:00 A.M. I was in Unabridged Bookstore up on Broadway in Chicago in the gay section of town. It's my favorite bookstore in Chicago. I had two plastic bags crammed full of purchases. Halfway out the door I turned around to say good-bye to the owner. Not watching where I was going, I stumbled out the door and smacked into someone sheltering in the doorway. We both pitched over onto the pavement, the stranger on the bottom. I cursed. I tried getting up and fumbling for my scattered books at the same time. Rain poured down. Three of the books lay face open to the downpour. Then I noticed the blood on my victim's face. It seeped into his eyes faster than the rain could wash it away. He sat on the sidewalk looking dazed, riot trying to get up. He must have hit his head hard, especially with me on top of him.
    "You're bleeding" were my first words to him.
    He touched his hand to his forehead, brought it to his eyes to look at the bloody mess. "Shit" was his first word to me.
    The owner let us use the washroom in the store to clean up. When we finished cleaning, I apologized again. I buttoned my coat, put on my gloves, and picked up my packages. I turned to go.
    At this point he said very softly, "Wait, please."
    I noticed how deep the voice was, along with the southern drawl. I remember turning around and gazing into his deep blue eyes for an eternity. Eventually his face turned red in embarrassment.
    "Are you gay?" he blurted out.
    "Are you taking a survey?" I answered.
    He looked bewildered. "I'm asking because—" He stopped. "I only—" He stopped again. He hung his head like a first grader in trouble with a favorite teacher. "Forget it," he mumbled.
    I guessed he was a severe closet case, and I didn't know if I wanted to be involved in his coming out. But he was good-looking, and it was cold and raining, and I was responsible for his injury. He looked like a bedraggled puppy. I felt sorry for him.
    "Let me buy you a cup of coffee," I said.
    "Nah, it's okay," he said.
    But I insisted and reluctantly he agreed. We walked the half block to the Melrose Restaurant. It wasn't odd when he asked to sit far in the back away from the windows.
    From that first cup of coffee, once he relaxed, he was a lot of fun to be with. I've never felt more relaxed and at ease than when I'm with him, and it started that day. Besides, he makes me laugh. He's the funniest man on earth.
    People have asked if I recognized him right away. I didn't. Even when he told me his last name I didn't associate it with a baseball player. He was known, of course, but he wasn't anywhere near as famous then as he is now. In fact, it was three months before he told me what he really did for a living. At first he said he was a part-time manager of an exercise club, which was true. The imminent arrival of spring training and his need for leaving precipitated the revelation of his actual occupation. I told him I wasn't prejudiced and didn't care what his job preference was. Even after three months, I think he feared I'd call all the media and announce our relationship.
    For the first few years, even before fame and its attendant difficulties, Scott was paranoid about us being seen in public together. I pointed out to him that lots of guys who aren't gay go to