Authors: Mehmet Murat Somer

Tags: #mystery, #gay, #Istanbul

The Kiss Murder (18 page)

BOOK: The Kiss Murder

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In order to avoid further irritation, I decided to have nothing more to do with him. I headed for the bar to greet the boys and get my drink. Şükrü was busy. He muttered to himself as he prepared a drink, without looking up.

A cool hand touched my arm. I turned. It was a man in a dark suit. He was fairly young.

“Good evening,” he said in a dry voice.

“Good evening,” I responded. I looked him up and down. He must have been one of the two men asking after me. I tried to place his face. No, I didn’t know him. He seemed respectable enough. Other than those cold hands, there was nothing objectionable about him. His hand remained on my arm. That was a good sign.

His suit was well tailored; his face clean-shaven; his white shirt pressed. His dark tie was fastened snugly. He was well groomed, smelled good, and was taller than me. His greenish blue eyes were a bit small for his face, but went well with his light brown hair. His chin was strong, his neck thick. Although he was no John Pruitt, he was most definitely what is conventionally known as handsome.

I ran through the men I’d slept with. Even if I don’t recognize them at first sight, if I look a bit more closely, or hear them speak, I always remember them. But he was not on the list. He must have come to the club one night, seen me, and returned to meet me. But why hadn’t I noticed him? He had the sort of face that would have caught my eye.

I leaned slightly over the bar and greeted Şükrü. He reached down to get my waiting Virgin Mary. Putting his face close to mine, he said quietly so no one else would hear:

“He’s been waiting for you ever since we opened. He hasn’t looked at anyone else. Vuslat was all over him, but he didn’t respond. He rejected Aylin too. He’s been asking about you all night.”

I turned around and glanced at the man in the suit. In one hand he held a soda with lemon, in the other a cell phone. He smiled at me shyly.

Considering how long he had been waiting to see me, he could have been a bit more forward. I wanted to be seduced. With that bashful smile, he seemed to have been cast in the role of Gary Cooper.

While it’s true that Gary Cooper seduced Audrey Hepburn with that smile in
Love in the Afternoon,
I am no Audrey Hepburn, and he was no Gary Cooper. I wanted more. And men his age don’t even know who Gary Cooper was.

I flashed him a look of acknowledgment, but intended to proceed into the main room. After all, there was apparently another gentleman waiting for me. The suit was standing directly in my path. It would be difficult to get by unless he stood aside. I raised my eyes and looked directly into his.

“Excuse me please.”

“Can we sit down and chat for a moment?” he asked.

“This really isn’t the place for conversation.”

A look of concern flickered across his face. It wouldn’t do to frighten me off right at the start.

“I wouldn’t mind talking to you later, perhaps, but there are some people I need to see now,” I told him.

“We’ve got to talk. I’ve been waiting for you all night.”

That was better. But certainly not enough for me. I had to see who else was looking for me. Competition is always fun. And we’d long since been spoiled for choice, from game shows and universities, to television channels and the products lining market shelves . . . The same principle applied to men.

“No, please . . .” he insisted. The look I gave him was unmistakable in its meaning. He stepped aside. Behind me, I heard:

“I expect you to come back.”

I felt his eyes on me. Kissing the girls I encountered along the way, I was lost in the crowd.

The dance floor was full. Some of the young men were showing off the steps they had practiced at home. Even though no one paid much attention, they doggedly continued their little show throughout the night. They’d started the trend of stripping on summer nights. Off would come sweat-soaked T-shirts, revealing what were mostly rather puny bodies. Every so often, a fine muscular specimen would join their ranks, and he would be approvingly admired by us all. The rugged ones who were able to dance as well were immediately offered steep discounts. In fact, some of the girls would even go off for free.

One of those, by the name of Yavuz, was on the floor. The boy was fine. He didn’t have puffed-up gym muscles. His strapping body had a rippling stomach, ridged like a tray of baklava. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his whole frame. His skin was flawless and bronze. It gleamed with sweat, making him even more irresistible. It was the kind of body that begs to be caressed. Fully aware of the effect he was having on the crowd, Yavuz danced alone, not even bothering to look around. His jeans hung loosely around his narrow hips, a trail of hair leading from his navel to disappear in his crotch. Occasionally there would be a glimpse of the waistband of his boxer shorts. Some of the girls are left weak-kneed by the sight of boxers, others turn to jelly over white socks. “Ay, what a sparkling-clean boy,” they cry. And if a pair of white briefs turn out to be spotless they talk of nothing else for days.

I sensed the presence of Gary Cooper just behind me. I fought the urge to turn around. I talked to the girls right next to me.

I looked across the dance floor at the tables on the other side of the room. Customers who are middle-aged and older don’t dance. They just watch. In the tradition of the old-style dance halls, they watch the girls and make their selection for the night. They order bowls of nuts and plates of fruit, spending a tidy sum, as least as far as they’re concerned. In other words, they’re the club heavies. I suddenly noticed Hüseyin sitting among them. Our eyes met. He grinned. I ignored him. Fixing my eyes on the same general area where he was sitting, I stared blankly, as though into space. He waved. Sitting at his table was one of our girls, Müjde. She’d adopted the name back when Müjde Ar was all the rage. Her long, dark hair had since been dyed red. She had a weight problem and was forever dieting. For the love of God, have you ever heard of a fat transvestite? Well, Müjde most definitely was. Of course, she’d claim that she was merely “well rounded.”

So Hüseyin was here at the club. Instead of being at his post at the taxi stand, he was here! I was filled with an indefinable sensation that was not unlike rage. Never before had anyone from the taxi stand, or even the neighborhood, come to the club. Now he was here as a customer. There was really no reason for me to object, but I didn’t like it one bit. I could understand his having come here for me. But after all the attentions paid to me, here he was sitting next to porky Müjde. It was unforgivable. No one who admired me could possibly like her as well. It was such an insult. The ill-mannered thug!

If it was Hüseyin who was the other man that had been asking after me, he’d blown it! No, that would be impossible. Cüneyt knew Hüseyin. He’d have told me his name at the door. Hüseyin had often dropped me off at the club, and Cüneyt sees him all the time. They’ve even exchanged greetings. Which meant that, somewhere in the crowd, I had another admirer.

I undid my scarf and let it float freely around my neck. If he was trying to spite me by sitting with Müjde, I’d give him a run for his money. And with someone far superior to her. There was no time to waste. Unless I acted immediately, it would have no impact. My other fan could wait. I had to make a choice between Yavuz and Gary Cooper.

It was unlikely Yavuz would respond. He’d approached me when he first started coming to the club. However, unlike the other girls, I wasn’t about to offer my services for free to customers. Were I to meet someone outside, there was no problem. I’d do it for my own pleasure. That was different. But I was the boss here and I didn’t want to set a bad example. It was a simple question of principles.

Gary Cooper was standing right behind me. I could turn, take him by the arm and gracefully sway my way across the dance floor to a table. He was tall, handsome, and the only young man in a suit. He would certainly catch everyone’s attention. What’s more, I couldn’t be bothered meeting someone new. After all, he was ready and waiting.

I decided to go for him. As I anticipated, he was right behind me.

“Would you like to dance?” I asked.

He hesitated. I don’t relish rejection. Particularly in my own club.

“I’d rather we sit at a table,” he said.

He took my arm, intending to lead me around the dance floor. I’d wanted to walk right across it, so everyone would see us.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Süleyman.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

I dragged him to the dance floor. He seemed tense. I told myself that if it was really his first time at the club, and he wanted me, his attitude was only normal. With slow graceful steps, Süleyman’s arm around me, I passed across the dance floor. His white shirt was phosphorescent, just like my dress. It glowed. I was certain Hüseyin was watching us. I didn’t look in his direction, focusing all my attention on Süleyman as we settled at a table in the most secluded corner.

The corner tables are not very popular because it’s difficult to see the dance floor or to be seen. For that reason, they’re relatively quiet, generally used only for bargaining, inspection of the goods, or necking. Since the dance floor was full, we were able to find seats.

Süleyman pulled my chair back for me. I was impressed—most men have completely forgotten their manners. They don’t even open car doors. I blame the feminists and lesbians.

Süleyman sat down across from me. My suspicions were aroused.
Ayol,
this sort of thing is best done sitting side by side. As he slid into his seat he unbuttoned his jacket and hitched his trouser cuffs up slightly. He sat ramrod-straight. He was not exactly forthcoming and certainly not at all talkative. I got no more than an intense stare. Following his lead, I sat up straight, not leaning back into my chair. If it kept up like this, anyone watching us would think we were conducting a serious business meeting, or that someone had arrived from the tax office. I glanced over toward Hüseyin. He seemed to be taking great interest in Müjde. He sensed my gaze and looked over at me. Our eyes met. I took a long sip of my drink and fastened my eyes flirtatiously on Süleyman.

“Is this the first time I’ve seen you here?” I began.

“Yes.”

I waited for more. I wanted him to tell me where he’d seen me, what it was about me that had attracted him. Nothing. We just sat, staring at each other in silence. But there was nothing in his eyes that answered my questions. I have such a weakness for the strong, silent type.

“You’re not very talkative.”

“So?”

“I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this before, but you bear a striking resemblance to Gary Cooper,” I said. Just in case he had no idea who I was referring to, I threw in, “The old film star.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s what my grandmother always said.”

Not even his mother, his grandmother!

“My grandfather looked like him too,” he added.

Once again, that delightfully bashful expression spread across his face. Either it was really his first time or he was a practiced ladies’ man. He played the role of self-conscious lover to perfection.

“So what would you like to do?” I asked.

Without answering, he raised his hand and scratched his forehead. He smiled. His teeth were even and gleaming.

“I’d like to leave, to take you somewhere.”

He was clearly embarrassed by having said so much. Despite the darkness, I could tell that he’d blushed. He avoided my eyes. I found his second smile even more charming than the first.

He was fast. But I’m no easy morsel. At the very least, I expect a bit more seduction and passion when I’m invited to leave the club.

“But it’s still early. I’ve only just arrived.”

“I’ve been waiting for you for two hours.”

He did have a point. And he waited only for me, not the other girls.

“It’s just getting lively here. I don’t want to leave now,” I said.

“But I do,” he insisted.

At long last, the hand, which had seemed strangely homeless, landed on my knee. It was motionless.

He hadn’t said “please.” An oversight I found more attractive than irksome.

There was something strangely compelling about the way he had waited for me for two hours, his determination to take me somewhere, and his unflappable coolness. There was none of that messy pawing. He wasn’t at all vulgar. As the glossies would put it, this seemed like the start of a beautiful friendship.

I am nothing if not coy. It’s my way. Knowing that Hüseyin was watching only encouraged me.

“If you really want me, you’ll have to be patient and wait. I came here to have a good time.”

“I’ll bring you back,” he offered.

“But where are we going?”

“Home,” he said.

BOOK: The Kiss Murder

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