Wednesday, February 15, 1995
“You have reached Detective William Bee of the LAPD on my private number.” Bee’s no-nonsense but accommodating voice greeted on the answering machine. “It’s your dime. Make it worth my time.” His reality check for Ian and Jacob not to ask stupid questions. Yes, there were stupid questions. Worse, asked by stupid folks. He felt a flutter in his stomach like a new Glock, Teen P.I. script waited in his mailbox.
“Bee, it’s Ian. It’s Wednesday, February 15. 9:16 AM. On my way to Glendale to meet with Treat Dobbs. See what business OOL had with Jake…Jacob.” His breath hastened. “As I promised, I’ll call you right away at this number if I run into any problems. If I don’t check in by 6 PM, you know what to do. Like I told Ricky…” BEEP! Time was up. His butterflies turned to knots. He told Ricky that the Bryant Lifestyle Center was a public place in a strip mall within walking distance of Glendale Galleria. Nothing to worry about. He clutched the steering wheel of his Jeep.
He felt like he’d entered another country as he drove through the 134. Outside, a gray smog drowned the air over the Los Angeles side and Hollywood that refused to set foot in the Glendale side with its cotton ball clusters of greenery between its neat rows of stucco-colored apartment buildings that didn’t grow over two stories tall. It calmed down around him. He heard his heart thud in his chest.
He’d nearly forgotten his parents were in Burbank next door. Did they still live in their ill-gotten bungalow home? He last saw them at Grandpa’s funeral in 1990. Asked Grandma for his ring before the vultures swooped in. Hillary said, surely he could buy Jacob a nicer ring. It wasn’t for Jake or anyone. Grandpa wanted him to have it. She winked at him as she slipped it on his left hand’s ring finger. He tried to tell Ricky. That’s why he went to Fantabulous! Why didn’t he mention it to Bee and the police? Why lose it in the chain of custody? It was more than evidence to Ian. It was his only link to his family. His only way to welcome Ricky into his family. Even if it was unofficially. Not the house. Not the Miata. Not even the modest CK One. Leave it to Grandpa William’s bargain-basement men’s ring to mean everything to the man he loved.
The Jeep’s powerful AC was turned up, but Ian sweated like a pig. He was costumed in black from head to toe like a priest—someone who’d blend in with the flock. Like Treat Dobbs but with Hollywood oomph. But Dobbs never let them see him sweat. Bryant Lifestyle Center was an unassuming white building with a glut of windows. Too many to be suspect, and too many not to keep secrets. He faked a smile for the parking attendant who called him Tommy. He paid the hefty parking fee for the mall rather than risk getting a ticket from the street parking meter.
There was no sign of the name Only One Love until he stepped into the reception area. Then suddenly, it was everywhere, while the Bryant moniker entirely disappeared. On the cold, polished floors, OOL was literally carved in stone in a gold circle within the outline of one also in gold. Not exactly how Ricky described Tyler’s tattoo, his mugger’s tattoo, or the graffiti on the Fantabulous! poster all the way back on Jake’s memorial. He glanced all over the sterile but obviously expensive room. Not made for comfort, but to quietly intimidate with its soundproofed glass walls, wood, glass, and chrome tables and bookcases stocked with light-colored literature of every size, for free, and the crisp, new scent of comfy brown leather recliners also in every corner. Where else would you sit to read about…he randomly picked up a gigantic book that looked like a Dungeons & Dragons guide. Quest Out of Homosexuality. He swapped it for a medium-sized pamphlet. Healing Homosexuality with Love. Finally, Ian settled on a 2-sided flyer. From Sin to Win: OOL’s 12-Steps to X. Dobbs must’ve written it himself. He made faces while he read about how it was to recover from homosexuality.
“Problem is,” he whispered, “why would I want to?” He covered his mouth.
Someone eavesdropped. “You find something amusing, Mr. Hornsby?” At six feet tall, the woman stared him eye to eye. One eyebrow raised so she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. Intimidating, yet there was something calm and warm about her. Nothing surprised her, so unlike Ian, she didn’t break out in a sweat. But like him, she was dressed in all black, a pin-stripe suit that was expensive but, for her, effortless.
“Have we met, Miss?” His mouth went dry. He stood up quickly.
“Juliet Jones,” she said, shaking his hand without taking her eyes off him. “You’re one of my constituents.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re running for City Council. Ricky mentioned you. His friend Sebastian Crowe supports you. Unlike the other guy, you’re a democrat? Why would you be here?” His Glock instincts raced.
“We live in the age of self-help, Mr. Hornsby. Only One Love offers the same roadmap to happiness as my girlfriend’s self-help books and meditation tapes.”
“Call me Ian. And it’s not the same. Not in a million years. Their name. Only One Love? What does it mean?”
“What do you think it means, Ian?” asked the gentlest voice, touching his shoulder.
He cringed even as he faced Treat Dobbs and his angelic face. He wore a black shirt with a dark brown jacket. Still lacked sweat glands. “If I had to guess, Only One Love refers to there being only one love. The love between a man and a woman. What about the rest of us, Treat?” With a glance, he included Juliet, who shook her head.
“Juliet, you were shown the door by the vocation you loved because of that love. Correct?”
“I was.” Her voice cracked.
“You’re a victim of DADT, too? Just like a friend of mine.” He sighed. “Why change yourself? Why not change your party–our party–from within? Some senators started in local government.”
“I didn’t come here to be judged by you, Mr. Hornsby.”
“Yes, you’re being judged by the exorcist over there.”
“Ian, I hoped we could discuss without the name-calling. I know it’s difficult to choose a new path, but I’m proof it’s worth it.”
“I keep on forgetting, Dobbs is the ex…” He bit his tongue before he was kicked out. Was the ring in the building? Was it on Dobbs? “Never mind. So what is your story?”
“I was a lawyer in West Hollywood about the same time Jake lived there.”
“Don’t tell me, you were the homo Jacoby & Meyers.” He chuckled so he could hide his inspection of Treat. He wore a wedding ring, but it was white gold with diamonds. No telltale shapes in his jacket or pants pockets of Grandpa’s ring.
“On the contrary, he was a civil rights lawyer. He was on the local news in nineteen-ninety. You sued an insurance company for discrimination. Before Denzel did it.” Juliet blushed from ear to ear.
“You remember?” Dobb’s eyes widened.
“Why did you stop being a hero, Treat? Why are you intimidating your own kind? You used to protect them.” His stomach sank at the revelation. Treat was once as angelic as he still appeared. Was that why wannabe City Councilman Juliet trusted him? And Jake knew Dobbs, their one perfect year together before Fantabulous! ruined everything. Correction. Ian ruined everything. Cui bono? What would Treat Dobbs gain from his death? They were still a hate group in a nicer wrapping. But Jake was a potential customer, not a complication. “Why?”
“The client I represented,” he said, fighting back tears, “was a man I lived with for many years. He was HIV-positive. Just to be clear, I am not. Only One Love isn’t my revenge. It’s my lifeline. The gay lifestyle of partying and promiscuity that led to his suffering and ultimately led to his death can be changed. Once you’ve accepted that change is possible. Will you accept that, Ian?”
“Did Jake accept it before he died, Dobbs?”
“No.” He choked up. “If he did, maybe he would still be with us. Places like Fantabulous! naturally invite death. Drug deals gone wrong. Spreading disease in the bathroom. Drag queens grooming children.”
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