Love Never Dies E-Book

L.J. Diva

• Herausgeber: Royal Star Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Porn Star Brothers Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 617

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

This series is dedicated to…

Jackie Collins is the biggest inspiration in my life when it comes to writing, if not the only inspiration. She had the passion; the brains, the ballsy rollicking attitude, and the kind of life that made me want to be her.

And to the three Stefanovic brothers, Carlos, Pedro, and Tomas, without whom I would not have had names for my porn stars.

In the tradition of the bonkbustingly good Jackie Collins comes L.J. Diva’s Porn Star Brothers series.

Love Never Dies is a powerful, heartbreakingly moving love story on the biggest scale ever.

The powerful story of two young men living through turbulent times, clinging to their love amidst the backdrop of New York in the ’70s and ’80s and the tragedy of gay love and the burgeoning HIV/AIDS epidemic. They fight to stay healthy while all of their family’s friends and co-workers die around them, and struggle to survive in a world of the gay plague and gay deaths.

Then there’s the beautiful story of the Stephanopoulos family and the love they have for each other. They come together and close ranks, desperate to keep their boys alive until their heartbreaking love story comes to its very bittersweet end…

Through all they are dealing with, can soulmates Tomas and Roger still find their true love story…till death do them part…

Love Never Dies is the third novel in the Porn Star Brothers contemporary romance series featuring three sizzlingly sexy Greek Australian bad boy brothers. If you like family sagas, heartfelt romances and dancing to ’70s disco, then you’ll love the latest instalment in L.J. Diva’s page-turning series.

Unlock The Porn Star Brothers Series to start the romance today!

***These books contain swearing, lots of sex, and a plotline. They’re for the over 18s only, but we all know those younger ones will sneak a peek.

**** In order of reading – Carlos, Pedro, Tomas, Retribution (or the Porn Star Brothers box set or collector’s edition paperback novel), Forever, Love Never Dies, Stefan: The New Generation, DeLuca, Spiros & Jenny, And Always.

Leseprobe

LOVE NEVER DIES

L.J. Diva

TIMELINE

February 1980

March 1980

April 1980

May 1980

June 1980

July 1980

August 1980

October 1980

November 1980

December 1980

January 1981

February 1981

March 1981

April 1981

May 1981

June 1981

July 1981

July 1982

About the Author

Other Titles

Dedications

Copyright

February 1980

“Oh, my, God, I can’t believe we’re back in New York,” Carlos Stephanopoulos, the world-famous ex-porn-star-turned-writer-producer said to his supermodel wife, Vivian Villiers, as they danced up a storm at Studio 69 on Valentine’s Day.

New York’s hottest club was the place to be, regardless of what time of year you were in NYC, and it was all because of his little brother Pedro, who was not only an ex-porn star like himself, but the resident DJ. He swung Viv around and bumped and ground to the sounds of Relight My Fire by Dan Hartman as he cast glances around the room.

His brother Tomas was with his husband, Roger Dencott. Both were ex-porn stars like him. There were his parents, Jenny and Spiros Stephanopoulos, and Pedro’s wife, Angelina. Their daughter, Alena, and his and Viv’s daughter, Diana, were being babysat by his grandparents, Sarah and Matthew Marsh, on the sidelines wearing noise-cancelling headphones to block out the noise so they didn’t go deaf.

Having spent their last birthdays and Valentines at 69 because Pedro had been working, the family had then spent most of the year travelling. They had taken off to Europe for summer the day Angie started her break from Juilliard, and had travelled first class through Great Britain, France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, and many more countries, getting back just in time for Angie to start her third year at school. Then they had flown to Australia for December and January to spend Christmas and New Year’s with their family back in Armidale, N.S.W., visiting Sydney for the NYE celebrations, spending time in Melbourne, and on the Gold Coast in Queensland. It was summer in Australia, and they had chased the warm weather around the globe.

But now, Angie had to get back to school, and that was important to Jenny. No matter what, Angie must finish her four years at Juilliard before doing anything else work-related. Never mind the fact they had nearly two-year-old Alena to contend with while they worked and studied.But Jenny had been a big help in that department, having moved from Mykonos to NY just to help out with setting them up, and had then decided to stay in NY so she could help raise her grandbabies and be closer to her sons.

That’s why she’d bought an entire apartment building for all of them to live in, made him and Viv move from Hollywood to New York, made Tomas and Roger move from Miami, and made them all get out of the porn industry. They had been the Porn Star Brothers in ’77 through ’78, with the biggest selling movies of all time. Especially, The Greek Gods, which had broken all the records and still held them today.

Back in ’77, he had left home with the help of Viv and her friend, Connie DeLuca. She was one of his conquests on a nightly basis and the mother of his co-bartender, Antonio DeLuca. Porn was an easy step when they suggested it. He’d been fucking women since he was eighteen and had been paid well for it. So, why not star in movies? He found out months later, after a harrowing kidnapping attempt, that his brothers Pedro and Tomas were in the business too, and had also been kidnapped.

A group of FBI agents, detectives and cops had filled them in on who was responsible, and Carlos recognised the name. Stefano Papadopoulos. Going home to Mykonos to talk to their father, they found Stefano. He was also responsible for the death of Carlos’s lover, Rosalee Brentworth, the kidnapping of world-famous photographer, Aneeka Ne Masta, and was also his dead grandfather’s ex-brother-in-law.

His great-grandfather, Giorgio Stephanopoulos, took care of Stefano and the whole ordeal was over, ending in three weddings and them moving to New York. That was two and a half years ago and so much had happened since. Now, they were celebrating their birthdays. He was twenty-seven, Tomas twenty-five, and Pedro twenty-three, thanks to Mama having them all on the same day two years apart and it being Valentine’s Day. He stared adoringly at his amazing wife.

“It has been a whirlwind year,” Viv said above the din of Stomp, the latest hit by The Brothers Johnson, as it burst through the speakers. “And all thanks to your mother.” She grinned at his sappy expression and flicked her long golden-brown locks over her shoulder. Pinned back by colourful combs, it rained down her back in a riot of soft curls to brush against her pert ass in its pert satin pants. The matching top brought out the blue hints in her green cat-like eyes. She was back in fine form after giving birth, not that she hadn’t been during, exercising throughout her pregnancy, but it had taken some time to get back the shape she had before. And while she was in demand as a model still, it wasn’t like before when she did shoot after shoot.

No, younger, skinnier models were now in demand and pushing her and the likes of Bashiel, the forty-five-year-old African American beauty, Dante, the Brazilian model who was hitting forty, and Marica, the French-Swiss stunner, out of the way. With the older ones not as much in demand, the question was being asked, were they too old to model?

In Viv’s case, the fact she’d had a baby at forty-one, just two years ago, definitely seemed to put a dent in her career. But, being a new year and a new decade, she was considering other avenues of income, such as a beauty line, perfumes, and as suggested by Cabot Conroy, one of NY’s youngest, hottest photographers, an exercise program such as how to keep in shape in your forties. Viv had been seriously considering it, going so far as to write up a business plan, make contacts, talk to people, and find companies that would be interested. They’d all said yes, and she was ready to get it all going in June that year. The holiday to Europe had afforded her the chance to see what was coming, what was in the process of being made, and what companies would be a good fit.

“Yep, Mama knows how to take care of her babies.” With a double spin, Carlos dipped Viv, pulling her up against him to grind around in circles.

Jenny had asked for Stefano’s estate as he had no blood relative for it to go to, and they were the closest to legal relatives he had. She planned to blow it all on her children after what he’d done, and that’s what she was still doing.

“She certainly does. She’s even going to put some money up for my new business venture, Villiers Inc.,” Viv told him.

“So, you’re going ahead with the exercise tapes and cosmetics?” Carlos asked.

“Absolutely.” She nodded enthusiastically. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll model for. My bookings are already down from two years ago, so I have to find other options for income.”

“Well, I’m behind you a hundred percent,” Carlos said, holding her close. “Whatever you want, I’ll back you up.”

“Will you? How did I get so lucky?” She grinned and planted a kiss on him.

“How did I get so lucky, you mean?” He twirled her around the floor.

Tomas grinned at his brother and sister-in-law as they flew past him, then slid his arms around his husband’s neck. “How did I get so lucky as to meet you?” he asked, gazing adoringly into Roger’s big brown eyes.

Roger smiled lovingly down at his husband. At six feet three, he had four inches on Tomas, or T as he affectionately called him. But they matched each other where it counted. In bed. At a long, strong twelve inches, they suited each other perfectly, and he loved to hold Tomas and rest his cheek upon his head.

They’d met over two years ago in Miami, Florida where he’d been at The Joy Stick, a popular free and open dance club for all kinds to hang out, dance, and be free. He’d been on his own when he’d spied the beautifully tanned God on the dance floor with an older woman. The way he moved, the way he looked at him with his black eyes had made his heart race. He’d gone over to the bar and chatted him up, introduced himself, and given him a friend’s business card instead of his own. And how stupid had that been? If it weren’t for the ladies Tomas knew, he’d probably never have gone to Seralift Productions, a porn movie studio, and he would never have found Tomas again. But he had, and they’d gotten to know each other, very quickly falling in love and into bed. Even though Tomas was seven years younger than him at twenty-two and very inexperienced when it came to love and gay sex, and he was twenty-nine and quite experienced, they’d known what to do from the start. Coming together, it was like they had known one another their whole lives. And even through past lives as well.

There was a deep connection between them, something they couldn’t really explain. But it was there, and they loved each other, cherished and adored each other, and knew it was for eternity.

And thank God for Mrs S, Roger thought.

Seeing that love, she had organized a wedding ceremony for her gay son, so he didn’t miss out when his brothers were married. Rings had been secretly bought, and the whole family had gotten involved, plus she’d stolen a marriage certificate, so they could sign it and hang it on the wall. It took pride of place in their apartment along with a wall of wedding, holiday, and anniversary snaps.

“It was meant to be,” Roger finally murmured in his lover’s ear. “We were meant to find each other and be together.”

A love song came on and they slowed down.

“Yes.” Tomas kissed his husband. “Definitely meant to be.” Not that he ever meant to be gay, or straight for that matter. It just hadn’t happened for him until he was twenty-two. He’d never had feelings for girls or boys, women or men, and felt nothing at all, unlike his brothers, especially Carlos, who couldn’t keep his cock in his pants. Carlos had bedded half of the world and loved it, whereas he’d never been interested until he’d met a man that changed all of that. Luiz Manning had been his first lover, not his first love. He hadn’t fallen in love with Luiz, that’s not what it was. It was lust and passion and exciting; a new experience he’d never thought would happen, never believed existed. But Luiz had made him want men.

And it had come with a price.

Guilt.

A very heavy dose of it.

Luiz was engaged to one of his clients, Bertha St John. As a personal trainer, Tomas had trained her every day at the resort’s gym, hearing all about Luiz, her twenty-five-year-old fiancé, and his prowess in bed. And then he’d experienced it firsthand and loved it, until finding out who he was, and that’s when the situation had gotten really sticky. After a guilt-ridden weekend away of non-stop hot passionate sex, Tomas had confessed all to Bertha, and she’d forgiven him, knowing all about Luiz’s exploits and his being bisexual. They decided to both dump him and go to Miami. Tomas stayed, and there, he met Roger. But unbeknownst to them, Luiz was causing all manner of trouble behind the scenes, killing four gay porn stars from Seralift Productions where they worked, all in the vain hope of framing Roger and getting him away from Tomas. But he’d also poisoned Tomas then kidnapped him from the hospital. Tomas didn’t have recollections of that time and only remembered the airport when he was found in the trunk of the car he’d been kidnapped in, by Papadopoulos’s man that is. He’d killed Luiz and taken an unconscious Tomas from the hotel room.

Since then, he’d come out to his family, married the love of his life, left the porn business, become an uncle twice over, and travelled the world, all while not feeling a hundred percent well after the poisoning. He’d probably never fully recover, but wouldn’t let that stop him from enjoying life. And after two years of travelling the world with Roger and his family, he was back at 69 celebrating another birthday. The big 2-5, a quarter of a century. And if his great-grandfather lasting until he was a hundred and one was anything to go by, he had a long wonderful life with Roger still ahead of him.

Jenny Stephanopoulos lifted her granddaughter Alena into her arms. “Are you having fun?” she asked even though Alena couldn’t hear her with the headphones on.

With jet-black hair like both of her parents, and big blue eyes like Pedro, Alena was the spitting image of her father, with cherubic cheeks, a cheeky grin, and a personality to match. At twenty months of age, she was dynamite to be around, loved music like her parents, and adored her grandparents, especially her grandma who spoiled her rotten. She waved at her daddy on stage.

“Yes, wave to Daddy, wave to Dada,” Jenny said, holding her on her hip and waving Alena’s hand.

Pedro caught a glimpse and waved back, flashing his big toothy Stephanopoulos grin before going back to spinning the records.

“Dada,” Alena said, waving both of her hands.

“Yes, Dada,” Jenny replied and started moving around, dancing with her granddaughter.

Spiros came back from the bathroom and saw them. “How are they doing?”

“Dada.” Alena double fist pumped in her own way with her chubby little hands.

Spiros laughed. “She’s definitely taking after her father.”

“Yes, she is.” Jenny bounced her on her hip, getting a giggle in return. She’d done it since she was born, doting on her as if Alena was hers, and to a degree she was. She had finally revealed to her sons upon the birth of their daughters that they had a baby sister who didn’t survive. Jenny had named her Alena, putting her name on a Christmas bauble and stocking. The boys never knew the whole story, had never been told until Angie had given birth nearly two years ago. It brought back all of the memories for Jenny. Bad memories. Memories of giving birth to a dead baby girl. A child she had wanted so desperately. A child she’d had cremated just days later. Her ashes were in a small pink and blue urn on Jenny’s bedside table, and it travelled with her everywhere, even to Europe last year.

Pedro and Angelina had proudly christened their daughter Alena Jennifer Stephanopoulos in honour of his sister and mother, and Jenny had all but raised her granddaughter herself while Pedro worked nights and Angie went to school during the day. But she didn’t mind. With Angie and Pedro being nineteen and twenty-one when Alena was born, Jenny had taken over, getting a second chance at raising the daughter she’d never had.

Angie herself had filled a big chunk of that hole. Being five-foot-five with long black hair and big brown eyes, she was exactly how Jenny had pictured her Alena would have looked. And now she believed that her Alena had come back for another go at life with Pedro and Angie and that’s why she’d been so hands on. They both had another chance; Alena at a life, and Jenny at raising a daughter.

Of course, Diana, Carlos and Viv’s daughter, didn’t go without. With golden-brown hair like her parents, and her daddy’s big blue eyes, she was a gorgeous child. She was bright and full of life, and whoever looked at her knew she’d be a world-famous model just like her mother when she grew up.

Jenny spied Diana in Sarah’s arms on the couch and indicated that she would take her.

Sarah lifted Diana and Jenny wrapped her left arm around her, fixing her on her hip.

“Is Diana enjoying Uncle Pedro’s show? Mmm? Did Diana and Alena enjoy their Daddies’ birthday cake?”

“Ah, ah, da,” Diana cried, trying to remove the headphones from her head.

“No, leave it on, sweetie, we don’t want you going deaf,” Jenny said as Spiros came behind her and gently put them back on Diana’s head.

He pointed to Carlos and Viv on the dance floor. “Dada, Mama.”

Diana zeroed in and gurgled. “Dada, Mama.”

Jenny bounced up and down to the music. “Yeah.” She pulled faces at the girls, making them laugh. “Wanna dance?” She bounced them a little higher, a little faster, and the girls waved their hands. Jenny sighed in delirious happiness. “I luv you two sho mush.” Nuzzling Alena then Diana, she looked over her shoulder at her husband. “And I luv you sho mush too,” she told him, making him laugh before he kissed her.

The last couple of years had been a learning curve for the two of them. In fact, their whole relationship had been one. Spiros immigrated to Australia in 1950, met Jenny on the dock as he descended, and found his relatives lived next door to her in Armidale. She taught him English, and fell in love with him. They married in 1952, and had Carlos nine months later, with the other boys following. In 1967 they moved to Mykonos upon the death of his father for him to take over the meat shop and be the head of the family as the eldest. His mother got to spend time with her grandsons before passing two years later, and they had inherited the house. Ten years later, in 1977, her own babies started leaving home under suspicious circumstances, but fortunately, that was all cleared up and over with. With weddings and babies on the way, Jenny had decided to go where her babies were to help out, and that happened to be New York, where her youngest, Pedro and Angelina, were working and going to school. They were going to need more help than Carlos and Viv, and her decision had almost ruined her marriage to Spiros. When she decided to stay for the boys’ birthdays two years ago, he had stormed out and gotten drunk at some bar, only to wake up the next morning in a strange woman’s bed. Believing he had cheated on Jenny, he’d left her and gone back to Mykonos, leaving the boys to pick up the pieces. Finally, Jenny found out he hadn’t cheated on her and called him, demanding he come home because home was now New York. Realizing Mykonos was cold and empty without her and the boys, he’d packed up and arrived in New York in time for Viv to give birth to Diana. A day later, Angie gave birth to Alena.

Putting the dramas behind them, they helped raise their granddaughters and explored the city, renewing their vows on their twenty-seventh anniversary last year before setting off for their European vacation. Everyone had loved it, especially the girls, getting to celebrate their birthdays in Paris with lots of photos and videos. She’d made sure that everything was documented for prosperity. Every moment, every smile, every outfit, every little thing, and not just of her grandchildren, but her sons. She had done that forever.

Especially with Tomas after the whole Luiz ordeal. The fact she’d nearly lost her son to poison and a ruthless ex-lover appalled her, and she’d vowed to give Tomas and Roger whatever they wanted, send them wherever they wanted to go. She had a bad feeling about the repercussions of Luiz’s actions and had decided to do whatever she could for her son. And that meant getting as many photos and as much film as possible. Something told her she needed to document her son’s life for future use. And that she planned on doing.

Gazing over the club, she saw Tomas in Roger’s arms. A bright smile on his face, he radiated happiness from every pore, and Roger radiated it back. Jenny knew Roger was it for Tomas, and vice versa. She’d never seen her son happier than with the man he’d found. When she’d met Roger, it was after the kidnapping and poison, and when he’d reunited with Tomas, she saw the love that flowed between them and knew Tomas had found the person he wanted to spend to rest of his life with.

Smiling, her gaze wandered to Carlos and Viv. Their sixteen-year age gap made no difference to them. Yet, she worried for her son, as Viv would always be older and would more than likely die long before him. And future children? Tomas and Roger certainly weren’t having any, but what about Viv? At forty-two, Viv had all but sworn off having another child, but had never said the word no. So, who knew what was going to happen. The love they had for each other rivalled Tomas and Roger’s. It was forever.

She moved her attention to Angelina, who was joined by Pedro on the dance floor. They made the most incredible-looking couple. While Viv and Carlos were the golden couple, Pedro and Angie were the exotic couple. Dark hair and fair skinned, he towered over her at six feet to her five-five frame, but they made the cutest pair too. They were both still so young and raising a baby.

Pedro picked Angie up and swung her around, her long black silky hair trailing behind her as her head flew back with her laughter. Sliding down his sweat soaked body, she pushed him away, laughing when he leaned in to kiss her cheek. They danced next to his brothers. A fine family of fine-looking men and women, all hard workers, all wealthy in their own right.

The girls strained to get out of Jenny’s arms, leaning toward their parents. Laughing, Jenny carried them over.

“Hey, Alena.” Pedro’s face lit up when he saw his daughter, and he took her and swung her up into the air.

“Ah, ah, Dada,” she cried, clapping her acceptance.

“Diana.” Carlos pulled his daughter into his arms and sat her on his hip. “Are you having fun?”

Viv took Diana’s hand and waved it. “Having fun, my baby girl?”

Diana threw her arms up in the air and bounced along to the music, making her parents laugh.

Alena, not to be left out, did exactly the same thing, trying to outdo her cousin and get the attention back on herself.

Jenny laughed, glad to be surrounded by her family. “This is what you have to look forward to. The girls trying to get your attention every second of the day. I have a feeling they’ll always be in competition with each other no matter what they do.”

The boys grinned their big Stephanopoulos goofy grins.

“Why would it be any different for the girls, Mama?” Pedro asked. “I was always competing with Carlos for the girl’s attention.”

“Glad you said you, little brother,” Tomas called. “’Cause I certainly wasn’t competing with either of you for girls.”

Carlos threw him a cheeky grin. “Just as well we weren’t competing for boys.”

Tomas blushed, but couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“Now you’ll have the girls competing for everything. Clothes, shoes, jewels, bags, boys, grades, jobs, you name it, they’ll make it a competition,” Jenny said as Spiros slid an arm around her. “They’re going to be just like their parents.”

Amidst the music, glitter bombs, and roller-skating waiters, Jenny watched her family live. Her parents joined them on the floor, and they laughed and danced. Seeing her boys over her husband’s shoulder, she rejoiced in the happiness she had coming out of her in spades. The love she had for her sons was abundantly overwhelming and would never die. Neither would her love for her husband, or daughters- and son-in-law, regardless of what happened. Regardless of who got in the way, her family would always come first, always be in her heart, always be the one thing she fought for and won for. No one and nothing would ever come between her and her sons. Not even her husband. After the last few years, she knew he was on her side and they were a united front. No one would ever come between them, or the family, and the love they had for each other.

*****

“I can’t believe how adorable that kid of yours is,” Mike Gatos said as he and Pedro dressed at the end of the night. He was the bartender and had started the same time as Pedro, the two of them becoming fast friends. He also dated Angie’s best friend, Maggie.

Both men wore tiny gold shorts and lace-up boots for work and couldn’t wait to get back into normal clothes at the end of their shift at six every morning.

“I know, can you believe it, she’s nearly two.” Pedro pulled his t-shirt over his head. “So damn adorable.”

“Adorable? Who, me?” Leon, their roller-skating waiter, came in. “Of course I am, I always have been,” he continued, but ended with a hacking cough.

“Whoa, germs.” Pedro covered his face. “Winter flu?”

Leon pulled his coat from his locker and slammed the door shut. “I seem to have caught something from one of my many lovers,” he quipped. “But then you know I’m a lover, not a fighter, and I couldn’t bear it if they gave it to me on purpose. What would I say to them? I’d probably get my cock sucked to shut me up. Ah…” He sighed. “I love too much.” It may have been 1980, but black men, especially flamboyantly gay ones, were still seen as scum on the streets regardless of how many gay men there were in New York. They just never got a fair go. He coughed again, a dry hacking cough.

“Jesus, Leon, go and see a doctor. You don’t look so good,” Pedro said. “Have you lost weight?”

“Ugh, it’s this off again, on again case of diarrhea I have. Nothing I eat stays in me; it just keeps coming out, and I’m dropping weight like crazy.” He flung his coat around his shoulders. He was still wearing his tiny gold shorts, but had paired them with a tight gold top. “I even had to get smaller shorts from Eddie because I couldn’t keep my old ones up.”

“You’re not going home dressed like that are you?” Mike asked, pulling on his coat. He couldn’t wait to change out of his shorts every morning.

“It’s the day after Valentine’s,” Leon said, topping off his outfit with a huge fake fur hat that matched the coat. “I’m going to see if I can still get lucky, toodles.” With a wave of his hand, he flounced out the door.

Pedro traded a glance with Mike. “Did you see how unhealthy he looked? The weight loss, the muscle tone, there’s definitely something wrong. And how long has he had that cough?”

“A couple of weeks, I think,” Mike said as they walked out the back door into the alley. “But it doesn’t seem to be getting better, just worse.”

“He should see a doctor then,” Pedro said and unlocked his car.

“Have you ever known Leon to see a doctor?” Mike took off down the alley with a wave.

Pedro climbed in and sat thinking a moment. If Leon had something contagious, would he be carting it home to his family? Remembering how ill Tomas and Roger had been at Christmas in ’77 when Angie was pregnant, he’d been worried about her health. With a shake of his head, he started the car. “I’ll ask him about it tomorrow.”

But Leon wasn’t in the next night, having called in sick for the fourth time in a month.

Eddie threatened him with the sack if he didn’t get a doctor’s certificate, and Leon promised to have one to him as soon as he saw a doctor.

*****

“Cabot, darling, how are you? Do you have a minute?” Viv asked New York’s hottest photographer, Cabot Conroy, as she paraded into his Greenwich Village office. She’d modelled for Cabot off and on for five years, and they’d become good friends. He’d even taken some Christmas and birthday photos of them for Jenny and Spiros.

“Of course, darling,” the thirty-something schoolboy prep photographer managed before coughing. “Come in.” Quickly wiping his hands on his checkered handkerchief, he sat behind his desk.

“Oh, dear, you don’t have the flu too, do you?” Viv covered her mouth with her paisley scarf. “I don’t want to take anything back to my daughter.”

“Oh…” He groaned and waved a dismissive hand. “Probably. It’s knocked me out for weeks. I’m having night sweats, and I’m short on breath. I’ve barely been working.” He sat back in his chair and studied the delectable Vivian, disappointed that she hadn’t brought the tasty morsel that was her husband, Carlo Stefan. Although Carlos was retired from porn, that hadn’t stopped Cabot from reliving the videos over and over with every lover he had, and he had a new one every week, sometimes every night. While he tried to keep his sex life to himself, dressing like an asexual schoolboy, he loved men and knew how and where to find them in the most secretive of places. He never went back to their places, or his; he didn’t want to be found out. As much as he desperately wanted the world to know, he was afraid everything he’d worked so hard for would fall apart if the world did know. So, he kept it to himself.

“Are you okay, Cabot? You look a little…thin.” Viv studied his face. “And you’re very pale.”

“Oh, darling, I’ve always been this colour.” He nervously adjusted his bowtie. “But I think I’ve dropped a pound or two. I haven’t been eating much.”

“You don’t want to get too thin darling, that’s our job.” Although Viv had never been a model to succumb to the pressures of taking drugs to stay thin, preferring diet and exercise, she knew many who did.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” He coughed into his hanky.

“Well,” Viv started, “I’ve decided to branch out into other avenues of business and wondered if you’d like to be my official photographer.”

“What sort of business avenues?” Cabot tried to hide the pain starting to flare in his stomach.

“I’m going to be doing exercise videos like you suggested, so will need photo shoots for promotion. Plus, I’m getting into cosmetics and perfume and will need photos for those as well. Will you be my official photographer, Cabot?” Noticing the queasy look on his face, she wondered what he was hiding. As much as he’d never revealed his sexuality, everyone who worked for him, or with him, knew he was gay. Hell, even some of them were gay and were either hiding it or openly out about it. But Cabot hid it, and she wondered what was going on.

He couldn’t hide it any longer, the pain was too much to bear, and he bolted for the bathroom at the back of his office, barely making it to the toilet before soiling himself. He glanced up at the fresh clothes hanging on the rack within reach. He’d kept them there for the last few months since the damndiarrhea started. His weight was falling, he was having difficulty breathing, and he’d started seeing blotches pop up on his face and chest. He pulled his shirt and knitted vest up to see a few more of them on his torso. He knew he had more; he counted them every Monday morning when he showered and knew they changed, and grew, and moved around. Finishing up, he cleaned himself and changed his pants, leaving the soiled ones in the shower stall. He’d take care of them later; burn them if he had to. He could afford a hundred of them, all the same, all of them from the same place in the same size. He bought them, wore them, and then threw them out. A germaphobe from way back, he couldn’t wash and wear clothes a second time. He’d tried, but couldn’t. He had no idea why he was germ-phobic; he certainly wasn’t when it came to men. He loved freely and openly in the moment and had absolutely no trouble with it. But washing clothes and wearing them again, forget it. After spraying man’s cologne around the bathroom, he exited and went back to Viv.

“Are you okay, Cabot?” Viv was concerned. She’d come to Cabot for help with a job, but he was sick, and she was having second thoughts as she watched him sit back behind his desk.

He smiled grimly. “It’s this bug I’ve got. It’s made me pretty sick, but don’t worry about it, darling. Now, about this venture of yours, it sounds fabulous, and I’d love to do all of your photo shoots.”

Viv leaned forward in her seat, frowning. “Are you going to be well enough? It may not happen until late spring early summer, and we’re only in February.”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be better by then. Will that delectable husband of yours be joining you? I haven’t seen him since when…May ’78 when I did those photos of you and your sister-in-law with your big bulging bellies.”

Viv laughed. “That seems like a lifetime ago, yet it was only two years.”

“How come I haven’t seen you much?” He popped a breath mint into his mouth.

“Well, we travelled most of the last year, and I was busy getting used to a new baby the year before. I’ve done some modelling in between, but not much. Older models aren’t really wanted anymore as the youngsters are on their way up the ladder. Younger, thinner, no boobs. Not very attractive, but it seems to be what companies want now which is a pity,” Viv said. “It’s putting us older women out of work. After all the years we’ve put into our careers, we’re being pushed aside by children, which is why I’m thinking of new avenues to make money. Cosmetic, perfumes, helping women in their forties look good, feel good, be good.”

“It all sounds fabulous, darling.” Cabot leaned on his desk and held his hands in front of his face. “Just let me know when and I’ll book you in. You know I’m generally busy all year, but like to have some time off over summer for parties and lavish holidays.”

Viv remembered some of the parties she’d attended with Cabot. “You always do throw a spectacular soiree,” she said, gathering her things. “I’ll give you a call to set it all up. But as I said, it won’t be for a few months.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you then.” He rose slowly, escorted her to the door, and held it open.

She watched him a moment. “Do take care of yourself, Cabot.”

“Of course, darling,” he replied, air kissing her. He waited for her to enter the lift and waved goodbye before closing the door and running back to the bathroom.

*****

Jamal Devron, a police officer with the NYPD, was now thirty-nine years old and still hadn’t climbed the ladder. He’d applied for his sergeant’s exam five times in the last two years, and failed every time. When questioning why he hadn’t passed, he’d been told his attitude was a problem, and until he sorted it out, no promotion for him.

He scowled, looking at himself in the mirror. Six feet of black man with a close-cropped hairdo and newly trimmed moustache looked back at him. He felt something scratchy in his throat and coughed. He’d been trying to kick a bug for weeks. That was the problem with February, it may have been the end of winter, but the bugs just weren’t disappearing. At least it’s not like the flu I had last year, he thought.

It was the weekend after Valentine’s Day, and he had only just celebrated with his lover. This year it was an older man. Normally he went for the younger men, hot Latin, Brazilian, Middle Eastern, all twenty-something so he could be the big man in charge with his badge and cuffs. But over Christmas, he had met Stephano DeLuca, a fifty-something Spaniard in incredible shape with a head of jet-black hair and blacker eyes. He had a body to die for and a cock that could perform magic. And it performed magic on him. Jamal had first seen Stephano before Christmas when he’d come into the precinct to file a complaint of theft. They’d spied each other across the room, and sparks had ignited. He’d found a business card waiting for him at his desk with Stephano’s name and number on it, but he’d thought nothing of it until seeing Stephano at 69 that night.

Pedro wasn’t there, and there were fewer people, but he’d gone anyway as it was one of the best places to pick up. And pick up he did. Stephano had taken him home and hammered away until the sun came up, performing trick after trick with his magic dick, and his magic tongue, and his magic fingers. And God how those fingers had Jamal in the palm of their hand. “Oh, God.” He groaned as Stephano’s hand moved back and forth on his cock. “I really have to get dressed for work,” he breathed, his eyes closing against the rush of blood.

“Not just yet, not until I have my final fill for the morning,” Stephano told him, taking him into his mouth and getting what he wanted before forcing Jamal onto his back on the floor and sitting on his face while shoving his own cock into Jamal’s mouth. “Suck it,” he commanded. His legs pinned Jamal’s arms down as he leant forward to kneel and thrust his magic dick back and forth into Jamal. “Suck it, suck it. Oh, God suck it. Yes, yes, yes, oh, God, I’m coming, I’m coming. Yes, oh, God, yes, yes, yes.” Sitting back, he moved and mounted Jamal’s hard cock, slowly going up and down while he got his breath back. “Oh, yes,” he moaned, feeling the width of the man he was on. “Oh, yes.”

Jamal let him do all the work and lay back, noticing the marks on his lover’s body and the scratches from him. He coughed and tried to sit up, but he kept coughing, and the movement stirred Stephano further.

“Oh, God, yes,” he groaned. “But stop coughing, you are ruining the moment.”

“Can’t help it,” Jamal rasped. “Damn bug I picked up at Christmas.” He looked down, and that’s when he saw the small spots on Stephano’s dick. He’d seen them before on other lovers, especially in the last two years. Damn genital ulcers, no wonder he’d gotten them last year. It seemed to be a thing going around, but he’d gone to a doctor and had been treated. But, here they were again. “I gotta go, Stephano,” he rasped, his throat worse than usual. “I gotta get to work.”

“Just one more,” Stephano said, bouncing along like the bullfighter he was. “Just…one…more…ah…” He stiffened, his eyes widened to the size of saucers and his jaw dropped open. “Ah…” The air slowly left his body and he stared at the ceiling.

“Stephano?” Jamal hadn’t seen him act like this before and it worried him. “Stephano?” He poked his arm.

“Ah…” Stephano released and settled onto Jamal. “Sometimes you just need to hold it all in and let the release take its toll.”

“Its effect, you mean.” Jamal eyed his lover’s face.

“Whatever.” Stephano shrugged and got to his feet. “Now, you must not be late for work, and I must not be late for my flight.” He eyed his abs in the bathroom mirror before stepping into the shower.

“Flight?” Jamal looked up sharply from his spot on the floor. “You didn’t tell me you were going anywhere.” He slowly clambered to his feet.

“I wasn’t, but my wife is back in Spain after her long sojourn around the world, and we need to sort some paperwork out.”

“Wife!” Jamal exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me you had a wife.”

“Well, I didn’t tell my wife I was gay, and we have lived separate lives for many years. But we occasionally catch up for old times’ sake.” He turned off the faucets.

“So, am I the only man you’ve fucked?” Jamal stood in the middle of the bathroom watching as his lover towelled down.

“Of course not.” Stephano shrugged. “There have been many men, especially these last years.”

A noise came from Jamal as he stared in disbelief and understanding.

“What?” Stephano asked. “You didn’t think you were the only one, did you? Just as I am not the only one for you.”

Jamal finally got his act together. “No…no…I guess not. I just didn’t expect a goddamn wife. At least have the decency to be free, especially from a woman.”

“I am.” Stephano walked into the bedroom of his small hotel apartment. “We are just bound by law, nothing else.”

“That’s bad enough,” Jamal replied. “But you also got ulcers on your dick and should get them seen to.”

Stephano looked down and shrugged once more. “I’ve had those for ages. Everybody has.”

“Yeah, well, I certainly don’t have those blotches on my body.” Jamal pointed to the reddish-purple spots on Stephano’s feet.

Another shrug. “Ah, old man’s disease. They can be covered.”

“Really?” Jamal pulled on his pants. “Old man disease? So you’re old? You’re so old that old man disease has spread to your torso?”

Stephano glanced down. “Dry skin, bruises, of no importance.”

Jamal shook his head. What the hell had he gotten himself into? An older man who’d made no mention of a wife, an older man that had the same sexual diseases as every other man he’d been with had. Jesus fucking Christ, is the whole gay community fuckin’ disease ridden? Fixing his cuffs and doing up his tie, he looked in the mirror. His uniform stared back, glared back, yet his eyes were haunted, dull, and the frown lines were deeper, more evident, and so were the spots, small, around his ears, one near his collar. He figured it was an African thing, having seen those on the continent with the same markings in books and on TV. But after seeing similar ones on his lover’s body; he was beginning to question what they actually were.

*****

“Hey, boys,” Eddie said a week later to Pedro and Mike as they finished up on Saturday morning. “Would you mind going around to Leon’s and seeing if he’s there? He hasn’t been in all week, and I couldn’t get that medical certificate he promised. He’s not answering my calls, so I need someone to check.”

Pedro matched Mike’s groan. “Yeah, all right. I’ll do it.”

“Here’s the address. Not far from here, so it shouldn’t take long.” Eddie handed over the piece of paper. “Call and let me know.”

“Sure thing, Eddie,” Pedro said and followed Mike out back. “Wanna come?”

Mike shrugged. “Sure. I always wanted to see where he lived.”

Taking Pedro’s car, they stopped out the front of Leon’s worn down apartment building in Harlem fifteen minutes later, getting out to black kids and men watching and waiting, even though it was six-thirty on a cold Saturday morning.

Finding no elevator, they walked the six flights to Leon’s and knocked. And waited. And knocked. And waited.

“Leon?” Pedro called. “You home? You in there?”

“He ain’t there,” a voice from behind them said.

They turned to see a little old black lady in curlers and a purple terry robe and matching slippers.

“Do you know where he is, ma’am?” Pedro asked. “We work with him, and he hasn’t shown up all week.”

“He in tha hopital,” the gnarled old woman said.

The boys exchanged a glance. “Hospital?” Pedro asked. “Which hospital?”

“Tha NYC Health an’Hopital here in Harlem,” the old lady said. “Tha ambulance came an’ took ’im away.”

“Um, okay.” Pedro glanced at Mike. “Thank you very much.” They made it downstairs and to the hospital to find Leon in intensive care and a doctor coming out of the room.

“Doctor, we’re here for our friend, Leon Talley, how is he?” Pedro asked.

“Dying,” was all the doctor said, without looking up from his chart.

“What?” Two pairs of stunned brows flew up. “Say that again.”

The doctor put his serious face on as he looked at them. “His CD4 count is less than 200 microlitres; he is chronically dehydrated, wasting away, has candidiasis of the oesophagus, trachea and lungs, and is suffering from gonorrhoea, chlamydia, diarrhea, and has genital ulcers. He has swollen lymph nodes, and what we’ve just found out today is, he has pneumocystis pneumonia and probably has had for some time. It’s shutting down his liver and kidneys. He also has a rare cancer that’s only found in old men. Kaposi’s sarcoma. But from what we know, it can affect Africans. Basically, he’s a walking, talking cesspool of diseases. He’s gay, isn’t he?”

Pedro blinked. All of those words he didn’t understand and yet the doctor had rattled them off just like that. As if he was reading a shopping list.

“Yes, he is,” Mike barely managed, stunned out of his mind. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Everything,” the doctor said. “We’ve been seeing a lot of gay men with those symptoms, but not all together like this.”

“You said he’s dying,” Pedro said softly, his heart plummeting towards his feet.

“Yes.” The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry, since he’s your co-worker. Did you know he’d been so sick?”

Pedro slowly shook his head, thinking, his hands in his jacket pocket.

“He’s had a bug for a while,” Mike said. “Coughing a lot, had four days off this month alone.”

“Have you seen any sores on his body, loss of weight, diarrhea, weakness?” the doctor asked.

Mike mentally went through the list. “We saw he’d lost weight since Christmas, didn’t seem to eat much, loss of energy.”

“He was wearing a shirt the other night,” Pedro said. “We normally wear shorts and boots, but he’s been wearing t-shirts and tanks.”

“Yeah.” Mike nodded. “He started covering up.”

“When did you first notice the symptoms?” the doctor asked.

“I noticed during December, especially before Christmas.” Mike turned to Pedro. “You weren’t here, though, so you wouldn’t have seen anything.”

“No, but I certainly saw the difference,” Pedro replied. “Can we see him?”

“You’ll need masks and gloves. Don’t touch him,” the doctor warned and prepared them. “Two minutes only. Say your goodbyes now because you may not get another chance.”

They covered up, entered the room, and stood by his side. He was frail, thin, sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. He had a ventilator mask on and tubes sticking out of his arm. “Leon.”

Leon opened his eyes. “Hey, porn star,” he said softly, his eyes closing from the lack of energy to stay open. “You found me.”

“Eddie got worried when you didn’t turn up for work,” Pedro said. “Sent us around to your place. The old lady across the hall told us the ambulance brought you here. You’re really sick, Leon.”

A soft smile came to Leon’s face. “I know. They told me to write out my will a few days ago and who to give it to. I chose you, porn star.”

Pedro frowned. “Leon.”

“No, no,” Leon breathed. “You only need to see to it that my mama and grandma get the money in my bank account and my fabulous clothes and shoes. Everything else can go.”

“But I don’t know who your—”

“They’re in my black address book by the phone in my apartment. Under M for Mama and Grandma. See to it that they get everything,” he said.

With a glance at Mike, Pedro agreed. “If that’s what I can do for you in your time of need, then I’ll do it.”

“Good boy,” Leon rasped, looking at them through hazy yellow eyes. “It’s been good knowing you, porn star. Real good. I’m just pissed I never got a chance at your brother.”

Pedro grinned. “I bet he’s glad you didn’t.”

The soft smile came back to Leon’s lips. “At least I got a chance to know you all. Say goodbye to that wife and baby of yours, and that mama. She’s awesome.”

“I will, Leon. Anything else?” Pedro asked.

“Mike, say goodbye to Maggie for me. She loves you.”

“I know,” Mike said. “And I will.”

“Porn star. Tell everyone at 69 it’s been a ride, and make sure to have a wake for me and unite all of my ex-lovers. They’re in my little black book. Use my money to throw the funeral and service. Make it a blast, porn star. Make it a blast.”

*****

“He’s what!?” Eddie exclaimed ten minutes later. Pedro had called and told him about Leon. “What the fucking hell!”

“Yeah,” Pedro said from the hospital telephone. “The doctor said he hasn’t long to live, and he has so many problems they can’t fix them all. The antibiotics just haven’t done the job.”

“And the doctor said it’s because he’s gay?”

“The doctor said they’ve seen a lot of these symptoms in a lot of gay men, but not all together. He said Leon was a walking, talking cesspool of diseases.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eddie said. “What sort of fucking germs has he spread around my business? God knows what diseases he’s passed on.”

“From the sound of it, and from what the doctor explained, some of them are sexually transmitted, some are non-contagious, like the cancer and pneumonia. We can’t catch them.”

“Just as well, but not the point. I’m gonna have to get the place fumigated.” Eddie was on the verge of breathing fire.

“Yeah, well. We’ve said our goodbyes, and he’s written his will. He wants a lavish funeral and reception at 69. Wants us to send him out in style.”

“Mmm well, I’ll see what I can arrange. You’d better get home, kid.”

“Yeah.” After hanging up, he and Mike silently went their separate ways. Pedro went back to the apartment, finding Angie feeding Alena.

She glanced up from the table. “What took you so long? It’s after nine.”

He sighed and dumped his bag on the floor next to the coffee table. “You would not believe what I’ve just been through.” Throwing himself onto the couch, he put his feet on the coffee table and wearily gazed at his wife and daughter.

“From the way you look, I’d say someone’s died.” Angie carried Alena over to him.

“Alena, my baby girl,” he said, taking his daughter into his arms and kissing her cheek. She snuggled into his side while sucking her bottle.

Angie sat next to them. “Who died?” she asked.

He sighed. “Dying.”

“What!” Her eyes widened. “I was kidding.”

“I’m not,” Pedro told her. “Leon says goodbye to you and Alena. Mama too.”

“Leon, oh, my God,” she gasped. “You’re kidding? What happened?”

“We don’t know,” he replied. “Mike said he’d had some bug since Christmas and hadn’t shaken it. He’s lost weight, I noticed that, and he had a really bad cough. He didn’t make it in last Friday, so Valentine’s was the last time you’ll see him.”

“But what does he have?” Angie urged.

“Everything,” Pedro said. “Too many diseases to remember, but I remember the sexually transmitted ones. The doctors said they’ve ravaged his body on the inside. He doesn’t have long.”

“Oh, my God,” she said again. “Leon…oh, my God.”

“Apparently, a lot of gay men are showing up with the same diseases, just not all together. He also has pneumonia and cancer.”

Her face fell. “Oh, poor Leon.”

“Yeah. He looked terrible. Said the hospital staff made him write out a will and he wants me to make sure it’s all done.”

“You?” She frowned. “Why you?”

He shrugged and looked down at his daughter as she looked up. He saw the worry from his eyes reflected in hers. “He didn’t say. He did say he was glad to have met us and says goodbye to you and Alena and Mama. Wants me to make sure his mama and grandma get everything, and that we throw him a funeral, and a reception at 69.”

“How long does he have?” Angie saw how much it had taken out of her husband.

“Don’t know.” Gazing at his wife he saw the pain. “Hours, days, any day now.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were in the penthouse telling everyone.

“Oh, that’s so sad,” Jenny said. “He was always so nice to us, and now he’s so sick. That’s horrible.”

“Yeah.” Pedro slowly shook his head. “You should have seen him. So different, even to Valentine’s Day. It’s like he wasted away in one week.”

“What’s going to happen to his effects?” Spiros asked.

“He wants me to give his money and clothes to his mother and grandmother. And send him off in a lavish funeral, then a reception at 69. Eddie’s already said he’ll put something in motion.”

“We’ll have to do something,” Jenny said. “He’s been there from the start.”

“Yeah.” Pedro wearily sat on a couch in front of the fireplace in the lounge room. “We have to do something.”

*****

The next day, Pedro received the call. Leon had passed away, and it was time to do what was needed. Back at the hospital, he collected Leon’s effects and the will he’d written out. It was all fairly easy and straightforward, and he enlisted the help of his parents who’d offered the day before. Tomas and Roger tagged along. They made their way to Leon’s armed with boxes ready for packing. According to his paperwork, the clothes were to be given to his mother, and everything else to the Goodwill. He wouldn’t need it anymore. Not that there was much of that. After folding clothes and personal effects into the boxes and piling them up by the door, they moved on to a few photos on the walls and phone table. There were pictures of Leon with his mother and grandmother, pictures with Pedro, Mike and the 69 crew. The photo that sat front and centre was one with Leon and all three Stephanopoulos brothers and Roger.

Pedro chuckled. “He always went on about Carlos. Would have loved to have made him a conquest.” He picked up the photo. “I want to keep these.”

“Then keep them.” Jenny peered over his shoulder. “Any of him and his family, send on. Any of him with others, especially you or the boys, keep.”

After a look around, and boxing up anything extra, they carried the boxes down to pile them into the van they’d hired. The Goodwill people arrived and loaded the truck with everything else, and Jenny gave the place a quick sweep and mop.

“That’s it.” Pedro saw the last piece of furniture off and looked around. The walls, floor, and rooms were bare.

“That’s it,” Jenny repeated. “You just have to get his things to his mother. You have her address?”

“Yeah, in his little black book. Said his lovers are all in there and wants them all to celebrate at his funeral.”

“And his bank accounts? Did he have the money to pay for the funeral?”

“He had twenty-five thousand, but…”

“But?” Jenny looked at her son. Twenty-five thousand more than paid for a funeral, so she wondered where her son was going with his thought process.

“But I’d like to pay for it, give his mother all of the money, and pay for the funeral and the reception myself. As a parting gift.” The tears welled in his eyes. Leon had been a great friend. They’d hung out on occasion and got along well at work. But not once had he been invited to Leon’s apartment. But then…he’d never invited Leon to his either.

“Ready to go?” Spiros came back in. “Those stairs are really killing me.”

“Don’t say that!” Pedro turned sharply. “Don’t ever say that.”

“I didn’t…” Spiros, concerned for his son’s emotional welfare, went to his side.

Pedro relented and sighed. “I know. It’s just…”

“Being here is getting to you,” Spiros said, putting his arms around his distraught son.

“Yeah, yeah.” Pedro shook himself out of it. “Let’s get out of here.”

They walked downstairs, and Jenny went with Pedro to Leon’s mother’s home where they explained about her son’s illness and how he wanted a lavish funeral.

Betty Talley patted her tears and nodded, knowing her son lived the life he wanted, how he wanted, though she knew it would end up killing him. She accepted the boxes of clothing and accessories, laughing at the fake fur animal print coat and matching hat. “He always had a flair for clothes,” she said. “Thank you for bringing them.”

“Leon wrote that he wanted to be buried at the Chelmsford cemetery near here, so you could go and see him. He asked me to organise it and get a reception together at 69 where he worked. Would you want to come?” Pedro asked.

She looked up from a photo of Leon and her. “The funeral yes, but I’ll have a wake for my son here, with my friends.”

Pedro nodded. “Okay. I’ll call and let you know about the funeral. It will probably be next weekend.”

Betty touched a finger to her son’s face in the photo. “Thank you for doing this, young man; if he asked you, he thought a lot of you.”

A sad smile touched Pedro’s lips and tears welled in his eyes. “I thought a lot of him, too. So did my wife. And he loved her and our baby girl. I’ll call during the week. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, young man.”

With a sad sigh, Pedro left with Jenny following. The drive back to Fifth Avenue was a quiet one. A sombre one. One full of thought.

*****

On Monday morning, Pedro rang every number in Leon’s little black book. After a few failed attempts, and being given numbers to ring, he contacted everyone he could, telling them details of why he was calling and asking if it was possible for them to attend. The news he received was shocking, and he even had two hang-ups.

*****

Jamal slammed the phone down. He was at work in the precinct, and the call had been put through to his desk. Pedro Stephanopoulos calling about Leon Talley and his funeral.

Funeral!

Fuck!

Jesus, he was dead!

Leon was dead?

Having slammed the phone down, he had no more details because one utterance of that name and the fact he was dead was enough to make anyone slam the phone down in shock. He’d kept his sexuality a secret for years and wasn’t about to let it out now, especially having another new work partner.

Carmichael Burns had retired the year before, along with Giancarlo Gardo, the detective in charge of the Stephanopoulos case from 1977. Gardo had taken his leave because of his new kid and walked away from it all. They had met Pedro Stephanopoulos and his brothers, plus Roger Dencott, when they’d moved to New York. Dencott had known of him, known a mutual friend, and made it known that he knew he was gay. So, Devron backed off and had nothing to do with them again. But he’d lived life in the very secret fast lane, fucking a lot of men in a very short time, including a quick night with Leon two years ago. But the new cop partner didn’t know he swung like that, while Burns had and didn’t care. And even though it was 1980, his new partner was a homophobe and had made it very clear. No, Jamal would never tell anyone. He’d keep it to himself and make a note of the papers to see if he could find Leon’s death notice. Just in case…

*****

Stephano DeLuca put down the phone, cutting the conversation short, thinking about what he’d just been told. He’d been in Leon Talley’s little black book, and Leon was dead, and a young man by the name of Pedro Stephanopoulos had wanted to know if he’d be attending the funeral on Saturday.

“What did he die of?” Stephano had asked.

“Many sexually transmitted diseases, cancer, pneumonia, a whole bunch of horrible icky stuff,” Pedro had replied.

“My, that’s horrible,” Stephano said. “Thank you for telling me, young man. You wouldn’t happen to be related to a Carlos Stephanopoulos, would you?”

Pedro had baulked. “Why?”

“My son once worked with a Stephanopoulos.”

“Your son?”

“Antonio DeLuca, in Mykonos.”