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growing into a vast accumulation of incredible wealth. He was what people used to call “the idle rich,” not really doing anything more than managing his money and his investments. He often sank money into Broadway musical productions and had what seemed to be the magic touch; every show he financed ran for years and won shelfloads of Tony Awards. He was an outspoken advocate for gay rights and was always giving money to gay causes with both hands. Every summer he hosted a huge costume ball fund-raiser for the Gay Men’s Health Crisis at his home in the Hamptons that raised hundreds of thousands of dollars.
    His marriage to model Timothy Burke in Massachusetts several years earlier was one of the most famous same-sex marriages in the country. Timothy Burke was breathtakingly handsome, with a chiseled body that adorned the cover of designer underwear boxes, billboards, and advertisements in every major publication in the world. Timothy eventually launched his own enormously successful line of designer underwear and swimwear—and had his own cologne as well.
    I had a bottle of it in my medicine cabinet at that very moment.
    Timothy’s death had been the biggest news story in New York the summer I came to the city—you couldn’t escape it. He’d gone for a swim from the beach at their home in the Hamptons one afternoon, and never came back. His body washed ashore near Montauk a few days later.
    I stood politely as he kissed Valerie on the cheek and she introduced us to each other. He smiled at me and shook my hand.
    He was much handsomer than he looked in photographs. He was in either his late thirties or early forties. His shoulders were broad, his skin tanned, his waist narrow, and his legs strong and muscular. There was some gray in his jet-black hair, and his open shirt showed some gray in the thick hair in the center of his well-muscled chest. There was a dimple in his chin and stubble on his cheeks. He rubbed his big hands over them ruefully after he asked our waiter for coffee. “Had I known I was going to run into you, Valerie, I would have shaved before going for my morning walk.”
    â€œWhat brings you to South Beach, Carlo?” Valerie asked, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from warning him not to answer. I knew that look and tone.
    Apparently, so did Carlo Romaniello. He waved his hand and smiled slightly. “The same as you, Valerie—sun, sand, sea, rest and relaxation—we don’t need another reason, do we?” He took a deep breath and patted his chest with both hands.
    â€œBut surely you can get that at Spindrift?” She turned to me and said, like she was speaking to a child, “Spindrift is his lovely home out in the Hamptons. It’s magnificent.”
    A shadow crossed his face briefly at the mention of the house.
    My cheeks turned red with embarrassment at her tactlessness .
    But the shadow was gone and he smiled back at her, replying simply, “Yes, I do have some business to take care of here. But nothing I can talk about, on the record or off.” His voice was smooth, charming. He smiled and thanked the waiter who set a cup of coffee down in front of him. He took a drink, and turned his attention to me. “And do you only speak when spoken to?”
    â€œI…I, um—”
    Valerie sighed in exasperation as I felt my cheeks get redder. “His father was my adviser in college—I hired him as a favor.” She glared at me. “A favor I regret most days.”
    His eyes narrowed for a moment, glittering dangerously, and he glanced at his watch. “Oh—I must be going.” He rose and kissed Valerie’s hand. “As always, a delight to see you, Valerie.”
    â€œPerhaps we could have dinner later?”
    â€œI’m afraid I have plans.” He smiled at me. “A pleasure to meet you.”
    I nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
    â€œHow about lunch tomorrow?” Valerie stood, a