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Whistling in the Dark
Tamara Allen
Lethe Press
Maple Shade, NJ
Copyright ©2009 by Tamara Allen. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the author’s creation or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Published as a trade paperback original by Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Ave,
Maple Shade, NJ 08052
ISBN 1-59021-049-2 / 978-1-59021-049-9
Cover art by Lorraine Brevig
Book Design by Toby Johnson
_________________________________________________________
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Allen, Tamara.
Whistling in the dark / Tamara Allen.
p. cm.
ISBN 1-59021-049-2 (alk. paper)
1. Gay men--Fiction. 2. Pianists--Fiction. 3. World War, 1914-1918--Veterans--Fiction. 4. New York (N.Y.)--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3601.L4365W47 2009
813’.6--dc22
2008051308
To Eric, Nick, and Robyn
for their love and support
My grandmother, Hallye
for her inspiration
And my great-grandfather, Harry
I wish I could have heard you play.
- One -
Fifty cents secured the last private room at the 41st Street hotel, but the musty sheets and the brazen frolic of mice under the bed left Sutton thinking he should have saved the change and slept on the sidewalk. Awakened in the wee hours by a pounding at the door, he was convinced of it. Rising, he felt his way to the door and cracked it open, to be blinded by police lanterns. The frightening thought that his family had sent police after him woke him fully and he shielded his eyes as much to hide his face as block the light. “What is it? What do you want?”
Behind the light, an irritated voice muttered, “It ain’t him. Too young.” Another offered an officious apology as a gloved hand grabbed the doorknob and shut out the intrusion, leaving Sutton in the dark, listening to a noisy retreat.
They were looking for a lawbreaker. And that wasn’t him. Not yet, anyway. Deciding he’d had enough sleep, he dressed and left the hotel, amid the crash and squabble of policemen still searching door by door. He headed east, away from glum apartments as worn down as he felt, away from the odors of fish and sewage and coal fires, toward the distant lights that promised shops and restaurants and possibly jobs. ............

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