Hesitation is not characteristic of Jared’s speech. And I suddenly realized what I’d heard in his voice—fear.
Jared
and
fear
were two words I would never put together on my own.
“Life really sucks sometimes,” I said. “But you’re okay?”
“What do you mean, am I okay?” he asked, a little sharply, and I realized how he had misinterpreted my question.
“I mean, you’re handling his death okay?”
“Ah. Yeah. Sorry. I misunderstood.” He sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that dying at thirty-one…and he’s not the only one.”
I quickly changed the subject, thanking him for the kid’s tool set he and Jake had given Joshua for his birthday.
“He loves it,” I said. “Now if we can just keep him from trying to saw the legs off the chairs, we’ll be okay.”
We both laughed, and the tension seemed to ease.
After another few minutes of general chitchat, I turned the phone over to Joshua for a quick personal thank-you and then to Jonathan. The conversation ended with promises to get together soon.
Though I didn’t say anything to Jonathan, the conversation had bothered me. I knew that while Jared and Jake were devoted to one another they had a totally open relationship and often engaged in three-ways and group sex. From the tone of Jared’s voice, I got the distinct impression they may have known Mike in more ways than one, in which case Jared’s comment they had seen him shortly before he found out he was infected was truly chilling. I hoped I was just reading my own paranoia into all this, but I couldn’t escape the fact that Jared was obviously worried.
When Jake returned my call the next night, he was his usual upbeat self and gave no indication of sharing Jared’s unspoken concern, which made me feel a little better. Then, once again, daily existence moved in like a snowstorm, effectively covering over any crevices of worry.
Most of my recent jobs had been of the legwork variety. I had a number of lawyer clients, including the city’s top gay lawyer, Glen O’Banyon, who would have me run around verifying alibis, checking facts, or tracking down information or witnesses on pending cases. Hardly the stuff of mystery novels, but the money was just as green.
The Wednesday following Jake’s call, I went directly from home to the Hall of Records for some research for one of my clients. I got to the office at around ten thirty and had just opened the door when the phone rang. I hurried across the room to answer it.
“Hardesty Investigations.”
“Hi, Dick, it’s Jared.”
Jared? What’s Jared doing calling me on a Wednesday morning at work? I had no idea why he was calling, but I instinctively knew it couldn’t be good.
“Hi, Jared! This is a surprise. Aren’t you teaching today?”
“No, I don’t have any Wednesday classes. I thought I’d come into town and maybe have lunch with you, if you’re available.”
Actually, there were several things I had scheduled for the day, but they could wait.
“Sure,” I said. “When and where?”
“How about the Carnival around noon? I’ve got a couple errands to run first.”
“Noon it is,” I said. “See you there.”
I hung up and stood by my desk, looking out the window. I couldn’t remember the last time Jared had called me at work. And what would bring him down from Carrington during the week? It was only an hour’s drive, true, but…
And if he was coming down, wouldn’t he have tried to have lunch with Jake? He’d said Jake was busy with a couple construction projects, so maybe he couldn’t make it. But then, why…?
I stopped myself right there. No point running off on tangents. I’d find out at lunch. But I didn’t like it.
*
The Carnival always did a good lunch business. It was a little off the beaten path, but not that far off, and it had a parking lot. I got there about quarter-till and there was already a fairly good crowd. I asked the waiter to save us a table on the patio and went to the bar to order a Bloody Mary. I don’t usually drink during a workday, but something told me I might need it.
What in the hell are you getting so worked up over?
a mind-voice—the one in charge of logic—demanded.
A friend called you for lunch. Period. No big deal.
The bartender brought my drink, and I fished a bill out of my wallet to pay for it. I glanced at my watch and saw it was still only eight minutes until noon. Assuming Jared would be on time, which he usually was, I sat there idly pushing an ice cube around the inner edge of the glass with the celery stalk, occasionally removing the stalk to tap the liquid off and take a large crunch out of it. I became so absorbed in pushing the shrinking ice cube around that the hand on my shoulder made me jump.
“Easy, boy, easy!” Jared said with a smile, which I returned. I set my drink aside to get up and exchange a hug. At over six feet and with the build of a linebacker, he was as spectacular as the first day I’d met him, when he was delivering beer to Bob’s bar—a long story I won’t go into at the moment.
The waiter came over to ask if we were ready for our table. Jared gave his drink order to the bartender and asked to have it brought to the table, and I picked up my drink as we followed the waiter out into the patio.
“Well,” I said when we were seated, “this was a pleasant surprise. We just don’t see enough of one another.”
He grinned. “Well, we might if you hadn’t gone monogamous on me.” Then his grin faded, and he added, “which may not have been such a bad idea.”
Before I met Jonathan, Jared and I had gotten together regularly for a little no-holds-barred horizontal recreation, which was made all the more enjoyable by the fact neither of us had any romantic designs on the other. I’d had the same type of relationship with both Tim and Phil, as well. Though I’d never mentioned it to Jonathan, I know he knew; and bless him, he never let on, or let it cloud his own friendship with them.
Jeezus, you were a slut!
one of my mind-voices said.
Luckily, a couple others came to my defense.
Bullshit! You were just a healthy, red-blooded American boy. Sex was fun. It still is. You’ve just limited the number of players.
The waiter brought Jared’s drink and asked if we’d like some more time to look at the menu. We said yes, and he left.
We sat in silence for a moment. I knew Jared wanted to say something and decided I’d give him time to do it.
“I’m worried,” he said finally, not looking directly at me.
“I know,” I said. “Mike.”
He nodded. “Mike. And he’s the third one I know of to die from the Male Call crowd in the last four months. A couple others have just dropped out of sight, and I’ve heard of a couple others who are sick.”
The Male Call was the city’s most popular leather bar, and one of Jared and Jake’s hangouts whenever what Jared called their “leather mood” struck them.
“They closed the back room,” he said, referring to a poorly lit walled-off rear section of the bar where anything and everything could and did go on. “Sort of like locking the barn door after the horses got out. Business has really dropped off. Guys are scared. I’m scared.”
“Did you have sex with Mike?” I asked, though I really didn’t have to.
He nodded again. “Just before he found out,” he said.
I couldn’t help myself; I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Isn’t there some sort of test you can take? Do you know anything about it?” I asked.
He sighed. “There isn’t any test. Jake’s brother Stan is an immunologist at Mercy Memorial, and he just returned from a year with the CDC, so he’s right there on the edge of things. He mentioned they’re working on a way to test for it, but…Mercy’s treating more AIDS patients than most people know. They’ve set aside a special floor for them. Some nurses refuse to work on it. Some doctors, too, if you can believe it. The hospital keeps it all real quiet.”
He said nothing for another moment then continued, “But even if there was a test, Jake says he wouldn’t take it. ‘If I don’t have it, there isn’t any reason to,’ he says. ‘And if I did have it, it’d be too late to do anything about it.’ I have to admit he has a point.”
The waiter came to take our order, though I was not the least bit hungry. I waited until he left before I said, “Neither one of you has had any…physical problems…have you?”
He shook his head. “No. We’re both healthy as a horse. It’s just the idea of the thing. You don’t know how lucky you are that you and Jonathan have the arrangement you have.”
I knew.
“Well,” I said, “I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about as long as you’re careful.”
“We are,” he said. “Now. We even use a rubber with each other. But that’s just been since Mike. Again, horses and the barn door.”
“Jake’s right in that there really isn’t any point to worrying about it. You can’t go back and change the past. All you can do is be careful from here on out.”
“Believe me, we will be,” he said. He looked me directly in the eye and held it. “Thanks, Dick,” he said.
“For what?” I asked.
“For being here for me. I’m not the kind of guy to go around crying on other people’s shoulders, but I had to talk about it and I knew I could talk to you.”
“I appreciate that, Jared,” I said. “And you know I’m here any time you need me.”
He nodded again as the waiter brought our food.
Chapter 2
I really don’t like to keep things from Jonathan, and when he called to say he would be about an hour late getting home
,
I
felt guilty for not mentioning my having had lunch with Jared. I rationalized that it was more a way of respecting Jared’s confidence than in keeping something from Jonathan.
I’d picked up Joshua after day care, which he insisted on calling “school.” We had talked about putting him in a public school kindergarten when the new school year started in September but decided his current day care offered a learning experience equivalent to what he would get in a public school. Plus, taking him out of day care would create even more logistical problems considering our work schedules. We knew we’d have to face those problems when time for first grade arrived, but until then…
Okay, I know I’m telling you more about raising a kid than you probably need or care to know, but it just underscores how much of my life was now involved in things I never would have dreamed of even two years earlier.
Since Jonathan was going to be late, I decided I’d fix dinner, so Joshua and I stopped at the store on the way home. I made the mistake of asking him what he’d like, as if I didn’t already know, and on cue he replied, “Macaroni and hot dogs!” Maybe I’d asked him because I knew what he’d say, and macaroni and hot dogs don’t exactly require a degree in gourmet cooking.
There was a message on our machine from Phil and Tim; and figuring that since I’d pretty much mastered the art of boiling water, I could put off starting dinner until just before Jonathan was due home, so I gave them a call right away.
Phil answered.
“Hi, handsome,” I said. “Is your lover home?”
“No. Why don’t you come on over? I’m horny as all hell, and I don’t get nearly enough attention lately. I’d been hoping you’d call and I’m dying to see you… Who is this, by the way?”
We both laughed.
“I see you’ve been taking prick-teasing lessons from Tim again,” I said.
“Never know when they might come in handy,” he replied, followed by a sharp, “Ouch! It’s Dick, okay?”
I heard Tim in the background saying, “I knew that. You just deserve a good punch every now and then on general principles.”
“Boys! Boys!” I said. “Play nice!”
“I am playing nice!” Joshua said, looking up from his coloring book.
“I know you are, Joshua,” I said. “I was talking to Uncle Phil and Uncle Tim.” I paused to shake my head before returning to the phone. “Well, now that everyone is thoroughly confused,” I said, “I was just returning your call.”
“Yeah, we were wondering if you guys might want to come over for dinner tomorrow night. Tim’s got an urge to make lasagna and you know he always makes enough to feed the Bulgarian army.”
“Does Bulgaria have an army?” I asked.
“Not since his last lasagna,” Phil replied, followed by another loud, “Ouch! Quit beating on me, you little twerp, or I’ll whip your ass!”
I heard Tim’s voice again, “Promises, promises!”
I laughed. “I’ll have to check with Jonathan—he should be home shortly—but let’s count on it, and if he’s got something else planned for us, I’ll call you back. Otherwise, what time?”
There was another muffled exchange between Tim and Phil, then, “Seven? That be too late for Joshua?”
“Seven’s fine,” I said. “He’s used to going to sleep at your place anyway, and once he’s out, he’s out, though he’s getting pretty heavy to throw over my shoulder. But we’ll manage.”
“Great. We’ll see you then.”
We hung up, and I went to the kitchen to fill two pans with water and turn on the stove.
“Come on, Joshua, let’s set the table,” I called.
We’d been using a set of Melmac dishes so if they were dropped, they wouldn’t break. But Joshua was getting pretty adept at holding on to things and seemed to actually enjoy helping us around the house.
Have I mentioned he’s a pretty good kid?