Chapter 5 #2
But Bailey Anderson was, in a word, adorable.
He reminded me of the actor Christopher Atkins, back in his Blue Lagoon days with Brooke Shields—a mop of nearly platinum curly hair that covered the tops of his ears and brushed his shirt collar.
Even from where I stood, his blue eyes stood out—as pale and icy as a December sky.
The youthful appearance was belied by those eyes, though.
I noticed the crow’s feet and the laugh lines.
He was slight, probably only around five-eight.
I’d put him at one-forty or one-fifty in weight.
He wore a red and white checked shirt and dark jeans. I couldn’t see his feet.
I approached. “Bailey?” I wanted to be sure.
“Guilty.” He half stood and leaned forward to shake my hand. “Sit down. Sit down. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered the classic ‘cheezborger’ with ‘cheeps’ and Pepsi for us both.”
I chuckled and sat. “I can’t imagine having anything else.” I eyed him and decided intuitively that this was a man with whom I could feel at ease. He radiated a calmness, a comfort in his own skin that I found appealing.
“Of course, if you want anything else, I’m more than happy to get it for you. Just say the word. The grilled cheese isn’t half bad. Oh, and I actually love the salami sandwich.”
I waved the offer away. “This is fine.” I repeated my earlier thought, using different words. “Wouldn’t it be sacrilege to order anything else?”
Why does this feel like a first date?
Bailey nodded and smiled. “Is Pepsi okay? If you want something stronger, they have their own brand of IPA now.”
I shook my head. “Sell outs. What would Belushi think?”
“I think he’d have six. With a few lines of coke. Poor guy.”
That brought our cheery conversation down a notch.
I opened my bag of Vitners and popped a chip into my mouth, chewed, and reminded him, “I’m here.
How do you want to do this? I don’t have the luxury of a long lunch hour.
” I glanced at my phone, which I’d set on the table. “I got about forty minutes.”
“And…go?” He laughed and then bit into his burger.
A bit of grease dribbled down his chin and I had to stop myself from reaching across the table and wiping it off.
He took care of it with a paper napkin. “Okay. You’re right.
This isn’t two pals having lunch.” He leaned over to take out his own phone from a voluminous black leather backpack on the seat next to him.
He fiddled with the screen for a minute. “Okay if I record?”
I froze. I hadn’t considered our conversation might be recorded. I got a little chill, a vague sense of foreboding.
What if Josh finds out? Will he see it as me turning against him?
I stared at Bailey’s phone as though it were a snake, even veered back a little from it. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
“I haven’t begun recording yet. I want you to know that you can trust me.
I won’t share your name or even anything you say without your permission.
I’ll be upfront—I wish I wasn’t that ethical, but I am.
So you can relax and rest assured I won’t use anything you don’t want me to.
This can just be background, worst case. You have my word.”
I blurted, “Why should I believe you? I don’t know you from Adam.” In a world where a journalist’s word had become as valuable as the greasy napkin on the table in front of us, I wasn’t really put at ease by his promise.
“You’re absolutely right. You have no reason to trust me.
And I can’t prove anything to you.” He tapped the phone.
“I could not use this and just take notes, if that’d make you feel better.
But this helps me get things right. I wouldn’t want to misquote you, if it ever even came to that.
” He took a sip of Pepsi. “Look. Go with your gut.”
“And just trust you?” A big part of me wanted to do just that. It felt right. In those blue eyes, I saw honesty and empathy. I’ve always been big on trusting my intuition—and I’ve rarely seen it proven wrong.
“Or not. You know, we can have a couple burgers, talk about the weather, the Cubs chances, and the temperature of the water in Lake Michigan in August and then go our separate ways. Not what I hoped for, but, believe it or not, I’m not pushy.”
In the end, my gut told me to talk and, more important, to listen.
Bailey knew things, I believed, that I wanted to know.
And vice versa. It could be a fair exchange.
My gut, though, went with his appearance.
Again, there was something about him that put me at ease.
I wanted to kick off my shoes and swap the Pepsi for a beer.
As good looking as I found him, he was far from perfect—he had a gap in his front teeth, a constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks.
A tiny scar glowed pink just above his left eyebrow.
He wasn’t, instinct told me, a threat.
I sighed. “Okay. Go ahead and record.” I ate another chip and said. “You said you wouldn’t use anything I said if I didn’t want you to. I can make that decision after we talk, right?”
“Of course. You can make that decision at any point and you have my word I’ll honor it.” He smiled. “I mean it. But thanks for agreeing to let me record.” He tapped the phone screen a couple of times and slid it closer.
“Tell me about your boyfriend. How long have you known Joshua Kade?”
“Only a few weeks—maybe six, seven? We met, as one does these days, online. We messaged back and forth for a couple of weeks and he seemed charming, smart, and I felt like I knew him.
“And then, we had a real-life meeting. Just a casual evening hanging out at his apartment up by Loyola. A couple beers, a little Oscar Peterson on his Bluetooth speaker.” I shrugged and grinned. “And it was a sort of love-at-first-sight type thing.”
I paused. Was it really? I mean, I liked Josh—a lot.
But I wasn’t sure if that like had become love—not yet.
I mean, love seemed to be in the realm of possibility.
The Cubs could win the World Series, too.
Anything could happen. “The truth is he’s the best thing to happen to me in a long while.
” I laughed and shook my head. “That’s not saying much, though.
Before him, I may have the Guinness World Record for the longest line of losers, going back to my twenties. ”
“How old are you now?”
“Don’t you know? Wasn’t that part of your research?”
“You got me. You’re thirty-seven. And I just turned forty-five, back around Christmas.”
You’re older than I thought. That mop of blond hair is deceptive, so is the slight frame.
“So go on, long line of losers? I can relate.” He grinned and winked. Say you’re gay without saying you’re gay.
“Yeah, but my dating history isn’t what you’re after, I’m sure.
Let’s just say I never felt that magic spark with any of my previous relationships.
One or two came close, but always withered.
I met some really nice guys, ones I had a lot in common with—handsome, sexy, funny.
Ticked all the boxes…and yet, and yet… I was beginning to think I would never find love.
In my darkest hours, I thought maybe I simply wasn’t capable of love, the kind most people chase after. ”
I sighed and went on. “I don’t know why I’m getting so personal with you. You’re not my damn therapist.”
“No, no, it’s good background. It helps me to understand why you’re involved with him.”
That seemed like an odd thing to say and I almost let it put me on the defensive. But I let it go under the guise of reading too much into things. “What else did you want to know? As I said, we haven’t been together that long.”
“Are you? Together? Or just dating?”
I pondered. I guess we were together, although we’d never discussed it. We saw each other three or four times a week, often staying over at one or the other’s place. But neither of us had spoken words to the effect of exclusivity. I told him that.
“Why not?”
“As I said, early days.” I looked down at my phone. I had about five more minutes before I needed to head back to work. Otherwise, Bailey Anderson would make me late for the second time today. “Not sure what else I can tell you.”
“Did you know, going into seeing him, about Josh’s history? The murder?”
“No. No, of course not. I’m not sure if it ever would have come up if your podcast hadn’t aired.
It’s been ten years, after all.” I wondered then what my reaction would have been if I had known when I first saw him online or even after our first date.
Would I have bolted? I’d like to think I wouldn’t have.
But a guy who once had a cloud of suspicion around him regarding the murder of his own boyfriend?
Yeah, I might have turned tail and ran. I couldn’t blame myself.
“I know how long it’s been. Yet that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
I cocked my head, eyebrows furrowed. “Hurt? That’s an odd way to put it. Aren’t you taking this a bit too personally? I get wanting to see justice. But hurt?”
Bailey stared at me for a long moment. I read conflict cross his warm, homey features.
At last, he said, “Look, before, I told you I wouldn’t betray your trust. And I won’t.
I won’t make anything public you don’t want out there.
I expect the same in return.” He paused again, breathed in and out.
“Bailey Anderson is the name I use for this podcast.”
“Okay.” A jolt was coming.
“My real name is Karl Baker.”
I shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything to me,” I said, even though alarms were clanging in the back of my mind. The name did sound familiar, but I couldn’t quite reach why.
“Karl Baker,” he repeated. He looked to me for some recognition of the name, I suppose.
When I didn’t give him any, he leaned a little forward and went on, “Baker?” He drew in a deep breath, looked down at the table, and then back up at me.
He raised his eyebrows in question. “I was Reggie Baker’s older brother.
” His eyes shimmered. He pressed his hands to them for a moment, then peered back at me.
My jaw dropped. The world tilted on its access, just a little bit.