Hunger Point

by Jillian Medoff

  What a grand entrance, I think to myself. I know I should have left him hours ago, but he begged me to go home with him, promising he’d sleep on the couch. “I know my friends are dogs,” he’d said, quite proudly, when we left the bar, “but I’ll make it up to you. Please, Frannie?” I looked at my dad’s car. It was a long drive back to Lindsey and I had nothing to do the next day but watch my parents ignore each other. “Okay,” I agreed, letting him take my hand and propel me home. “I’ll stay.”

  I sit on the toilet, wondering if I did the right thing. I consider calling Abby, but lose the thought as I run the faucet and rummage through Bryan’s cabinets. I find a pink Daisy razor. A clue to Leslie. There are a lot of pills, physician’s samples, nothing good. Suntan lotion. Rogaine. Underneath the sink I find a few loose tampons. She really exists. Disappointed, I stick them in my backpack.

  In the glare of the light, I look old. Mascara is caked underneath my eyes and my cheeks are blotchy and tearstained. My hair is nappy. I make faces at myself. I hate you, you are so ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. I spray some of Bryan’s deodorant into my armpits and think about the ice melting on my lips. Before I leave, I spray another squirt between my legs.

  Bryan puts on a jazz station. A breeze blows softly into the room. I look around. If I wasn’t so utterly uncomfortable right now, I’d probably be having a pretty good time. I sit on the edge of the couch next to him. “You met Richard in medical school?” I ask.

  “Yeah, he’s got it rough. He’s in hemoc. I almost went into it, but it’s incredibly draining. In psychiatry, your patients may be lunatics, but some have a chance. He treats AIDS and cancer; all his patients die.”

  “AIDS is scary.” I turn over a pillow in my lap.

  Bryan strokes my arm. “Ever been tested?”

  I shake my head. “I know I should. I really haven’t slept with that many guys.”

  “You should still get tested.”

  Even though he’s right, I feel uneasy, as if he’s telling me I’m inadequate, unclean. “How often do you get tested?”

  “All the time. I have to. I moonlight at a clinic. One needle stick and my life is fucking over. Anyway, Richard’s a hematologist. He tests me.”

  “You let Richard draw your blood?”

  “We draw each other’s blood all the time and”—he smiles as if remembering something pleasant—“women that we know. He sends it to the lab. It’s free.” A fire engine squeals by. “God, that’s loud,” he says, and gets up to shut the window. “I’m happy you’re here, Frannie. Sorry tonight got so fucked up.”

  I reach for something to say. I feel the heat of anxiety. Sweating, I tug at my collar. Bryan is still talking, but I can’t hear him. I can’t focus. I shake my head. I notice that part of the wall is chipped. The plaster is white, bright white. White hot. My mind gets fuzzy. Hot, so hot. I pull my hair into a ponytail. In the background, I hear the radio: this evening, playing New York’s favorite jazz, cool and easy. It’s hot, too hot. I’m burning up. Happy you’re here. Kiss me. “It’s hot,” I mutter. “Do you mind this evening playing New York’s favorite jazz, cool and easy.” Startled, I glance up. I said that. I did. Not the radio.

  At the window, Bryan turns around. “Did you say something?”

  Worried about everything now, I take a deep breath. It happened. I’m splintering. It’s my brain, she said. It’s eating me alive. “No,” I say aloud, testing my voice. “I’m fine.” I lean back, trembling. “You have a girlfriend, don’t you?”

  With his back to me, Bryan stares out the window and nods. “Richard told you?”

  “Sort of.”

  He sits down next to me. We don’t talk for a few seconds, and I tilt my head back and forth, waiting for more anxiety, but it doesn’t come.

  “I don’t want to mislead you,” Bryan is saying. “Leslie—my girlfriend—took a fellowship in another city.”

  “She’s a doctor, too?” I groan. “So you miss her?”

  For a second he looks very lonely. “I want to close that chapter. I don’t know if I’m ready for another relationship, Frannie, but I like you, I do. I just can’t make any promises.” He looks so sad that I want to cradle him in my arms, make it right, bring Leslie back.

  “You don’t have to make any promises, Bryan.”

  “I know. I just want to be upfront about everything. I’m not the kind of guy who would just lead you on. But,” he says, leaning forward, “you really are beautiful. And you have such an unbelievable mouth. I have to taste you.” He kisses me, openmouthed. At first I hold back. I hear what he says, I really do: there’s no promises, there’s no promises, none, no promises, but I want him so much, God, it feels so good to have someone touch me, and hold me, and if I leave now, I’ll be okay, I can do it. I can leave. I can say no. I tingle with desire and his mouth is so warm and when he rubs his wet wet fingers all over my lips, I lean forward and suck his tongue, and I’m flooded, absolutely flooded with warmth and relief and hot rich desire that fills my mouth like creamy soup, and I sigh and let him roll on top of me and the voices, all those voices, fade away.

  “I want to be inside you,” Bryan is saying. “Oh God, Frannie. I want to be inside you so badly.” He runs his hands up, under my bodysuit.

  “I think we should wait, Bryan,” I hear myself say, but I’m moving with him and we’ve got a rhythm and I don’t stop. “You’re not over Leslie yet. Let’s wait, okay?” My head pounds. I force myself to sit up.

  “I just need some time, that’s all, just time.” He licks his finger, trails it down the length of my stomach, and reaches into my underwear. I want to feel him touching me, I do, but I can’t stop seeing a woman in a white lab coat, wrapped in his arms, sobbing in the fog of a train station.

  I push him off. “This isn’t right,” I say.

  “I know.” He clears his throat. “You should get tested.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I look at him. “Okay, I’ll get tested. Then we can start over. From the beginning.”

  “No, I’m talking about now. I can test you now.”

  “Now? Here? With what?”

  “I have all the stuff. It won’t hurt and I’ll have the results in a week, maybe sooner. It’s free. I’ll take it to the lab at the clinic.”

  “It’s not something I want to do right now.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug self-consciously. Every time I think about AIDS, I replay all the sexual adventures I can remember, get petrified about the ones that I can’t, and palpitate with anxiety, imagining myself alone in a hospice, ashen and shriveled with night sweats and diarrhea. “All right, maybe. Maybe.” I’m really really tired. Maybe if I do it, he’ll know that I trust him. Maybe he likes free-spirited girls. Maybe they let him do it. Maybe he’ll forget about Leslie. The maybes run together and I close my eyes. “All right,” I tell him. “Maybe.”

  “If you really don’t want to do it, we don’t have to,” he says solemnly. “You shouldn’t do anything you’re not ready for. I’m serious, Frannie. I wouldn’t just say that. But I know you’ll feel so good when it’s over.” He gets up from the couch, tugs on his pants, and walks into the bathroom.

  I sit on the bed in my bra. Bryan holds a small package and a tube. “You have beautiful skin,” he says softly, tracing the curve of my chin. I shiver. He kneels beside me, and rips open the package with his teeth. “Really beautiful.” I panic when I see the needle.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I say quickly, turning away. “I really don’t.”

  “It’s your choice. A lot of people get nervous, though, Frannie.” He tucks the sheet around me and strokes my bare arm. “Frannie, I’m a doctor. Let me do this for you. I want to do this for you.”

  I feel his fingers and allow myself to go limp. I look away. “Okay,” I say very quietly. “But do it fast.”

  I don’t want to watch, but can’t help myself. He swabs my arm, then slowly runs his fingers up and down. “You’re a phlebotomist’s nightmare,” he
says. “You have no veins.” I hold out my other arm. “No, I’m a magician. I’ll find one.”

  He bends over me and I stare at the top of his head. The jazz music plays softly in the background and I am lulled. We both breathe deeply and I lose myself in the moment. Tenderly, he cradles my arm and stares into my eyes. “I promise I won’t hurt you, Frannie.” He smiles kindly and brushes my hair away from my face. Then he bends over me. The room spins and I stare at his balding scalp. “Make a fist,” he says. I can’t watch, but I do as I’m told. Then slowly, very slowly, as slowly as I could ever imagine, he pricks my skin and slides the needle into my vein. The needle stings a little, and there’s some pressure, but it’s not so bad. I open my eyes. Bryan’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing deeply, groaning with pleasure, as he draws my blood from my body. He smiles and his eyes flutter open. They’re glazed, as if he’s lost somewhere warm. He reaches up and strokes my cheek with his thumb and we both watch as my dark red blood, so dark it’s almost black, fills the tube. He holds my arm where the needle sticks out, caressing me as if he’s touching the most intimate part of my body. His fingers are long and thin, and I focus on each clear rounded nail as heat spreads through me. I can’t believe that so much blood can come out of me but he’s so loving and so gentle that I don’t want it to end. He hovers over me so I lean forward, tingling, overwhelmed with feeling, wanting him to kiss me, but at that moment, at the moment when I think how nice it would feel to have his wet warm mouth pressed softly against mine, he pulls out the needle, swabs my arm, and applies a Band-Aid.

  “Good girl.” He pats my shoulder, puts the rubber stopper on the tube, writes Smith, Fran in black Magic Marker, and tosses it into the pocket of his lab coat. Then he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. I put my bodysuit on, get under the covers, and wait.

  “You did good. Don’t you feel better?” He gets into bed, kisses my cheek, and snaps off the light. Then he rolls over and curls up, his arms wrapped around a pillow. I lie on my back, wishing he’d grab me and hold me or at least say something. I wait a few seconds and the seconds become minutes. Just as I’m about to speak, I hear his heavy breathing. Unable to stop myself, I keep seeing the needle, rusted and bent, being slipped into my arm. As I feel my dirty blood flow through me, I reach to wake Bryan but slump back, petrified. In the darkness, I whisper rhymes to soothe myself, and in my head, where nothing’s safe, I ride the radio music like a dream.

  “It was great, wasn’t it?” Abby sits on the edge of my bed. I nod, but tears well in my eyes and I look away. “Well tell me. Did you kiss at least?” I nod. “And?”

  “And nothing. Look, Abby. I don’t want to talk about it. He was kind of a jerk to me.” I spent the day in bed, hung over and hating myself.

  She picks up the navy bodysuit. “I can’t believe you had this! I’ve been looking all over for it.” She holds it up. “How was he a jerk?”

  “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.” I hear my mother and grandfather outside my door. “She’s so pissed. I completely forgot I was supposed to take my grandfather to the doctor. They waited forever and my father had to take my mother’s car so she missed some stupid open house and he missed some meeting. Like who has a meeting on Saturday? Anyway, neither of them are speaking to me.”

  “They’ll get over it.” Abby rummages through my closet. “So this guy didn’t even take you for brunch? Jesus, he is a jerk.” She holds up one of my favorite dresses. “Can I have this?” I nod. “Well at least you didn’t fuck him.” She peers at me. “You did, didn’t you? That’s why you feel so bad? Frannie, listen.” She sits on my bed. “We talked about this. It was what it was. He was a Rat Boy. Don’t romanticize him.”

  “I didn’t fuck him, Abby, for Christ’s sake! And he’s not a Rat Boy, okay? God, I hate that expression.”

  “Bite my head off, why don’t you?” She picks up the phone. She always comes over and calls her other friends as if my friendship isn’t enough. Annoyed, I ask her who she’s calling. “I’m just checking my machine.” For some reason, this bothers me more.

  My mother taps on the door. “Frannie? Grandpa wants to say hello.”

  “We’re kind of busy, Mom,” I call out.

  “It will just take a second.”

  She opens the door and they walk in. My grandfather inches toward my bed and sits down next to me. “Hi, Grandpa,” I say and immediately turn to my mother. “I’m really sorry again, Mom, about this morning. I should have been here.”

  “Tell your father, not me.” She reaches out. “Come, Daddy. Let’s have supper.”

  “Frannie, you coming, too?” he asks. “We’re having meat loaf. I love meat loaf. Especially with lots of onions. You like meat loaf, too, don’t you?” I nod, thinking of Bryan and how nice it would have been if he had called me. “Frannie,” my grandfather says, “I have to ask you one thing and it’s very, very important. Come here.” He crooks a finger at me.

  I want to scream at him to shut up. “What, Grandpa?” I ask sharply.

  “I want you to tell me all about this new boyfriend. Mommy says he’s a doctor!”

  I jerk back, glance at Abby and my mother, and then at my grandfather who is reaching out for me. I stare into his milky eyes and my chest constricts. And then without warning, I burst into tears.

  12

  My mother’s tranquilizers sit in a bag next to the phone. Lately, she’s been saying that she doesn’t need them anymore; that she only refills the prescription to have some on reserve. I want to rip the bag open and scarf a few down, but I promised myself I’d stay out of her stash. I know she watches me closely to make sure I’m not taking her shit without asking. And God knows, I wouldn’t want to give her the satisfaction of catching me in the act.

  Days go by, but Bryan never calls, not even to tell me the results of my test. I beg Abby to come over and call him for me. “What am I going to say?” she whines.

  “Tell him you’re with the phone company and you’re checking the line. I just want to know if he’s home.”

  “Frannie, he’ll know it’s you.”

  “But it won’t be me. It’ll be you.” After pleading with her, she finally calls, but gets flustered when she hears his voice and hangs up. Ten seconds later, my phone rings back. “Hello?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Did you just call me?” It’s Bryan. I’m so freaked out he’s on the line, I don’t even disguise my voice. “Who’s this?” I ask.

  “Who’s this?” he retorts.

  “It’s Frannie. Why are you calling me?”

  “I have Caller ID. It’s a miracle of modern communications.”

  Some fucking miracle. I motion for Abby to listen in. We huddle over the receiver. “I was calling to find out my test results,” I tell him. “I thought I got the wrong number.” Abby snickers and I smack her with the phone.

  “I got your results back.” Bryan pauses. “I was going to call you.”

  “Why?” Wide-eyed, I glance at Abby. She doesn’t move, but I know what she’s thinking. My results came back positive. My body is riddled with disease. I am going to die.

  “You’re negative.” Abby and I exhale at the same time. I start to say something, but Bryan cuts me off. “Frannie, I have another call. Congratulations on your test. I know it’s good news. Send my best to Shelly.”

  “Sure. Well, bye I guess.” My voice is hollow and small. Abby grabs the phone. “BYE, YOU VAMPIRE, YOU LOST BOY! YOU…YOU RAT BOY!” she yells and slams it down. Then she puts her arms around me. I don’t have anything in common with Bryan. He’s rude, arrogant, balding, and self-centered. But I bend my head anyway, and let myself cry for a long time over a guy I didn’t even like.

  The next day I stop by St. Mary’s to pick up Shelly. She’s having a trial overnight, and I’m helping her pack up some things to take home.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Pia sobs, rushing to hug Shelly.

  “I’m just going home for one night. I’m not leaving for go
od until Tuesday. And you’ll be fine without me. We can talk every day if you want.”

  “You promise?” When Shelly nods, Pia relaxes. She turns to me. “Oh hi, Frannie,” she says. “How’s your new job?”

  “What new job?”

  “I thought you got that advertising job.” I stiffen and mumble that it didn’t come through. “Oh. Sorry,” Pia says. “You’ll find something. People always get jobs.”

  I glance at Shelly. At first, it annoys me that she didn’t tell Pia about the rejection, but then it occurs to me that she probably never talks about me. It reminds me, once again, that she has a whole other life that doesn’t include me. Abruptly, I stand. “Is that it, Shelly? We really gotta go.”

  She nods. “I can’t believe I’m leaving. It feels really weird.”

  “Yeah, well, we have a lot to do, so can we get this show on the road?”

  “Why are you so pissed off?”

  “I’m not, but you wanted to stop off at Lonny’s, and we don’t have that much time.”

  As we walk out, Keisha hands her a package. “I know we’re going to have a formal goodbye in a few days,” she says shyly, “but I couldn’t help myself. I had to give you this.” Shelly rips open the package. In a frame is a picture of all the girls standing, waving, and holding a sign that says WE LOVE YOU, SHELLY!

  “Wasn’t that so nice?” Shelly asks on the way to Lonny’s office. “I can’t believe they did this.”

  I sit in silence, stewing about my lack of friends. I haven’t had any real friends since college. I certainly can’t count on Abby anymore. She started seeing some guy from her office. She claims he’s the one. She cancels plans all the time to be with him and talks about him nonstop. It makes me so sick, I refuse to meet the guy. And since I won’t hang out with him, she won’t hang out with me. So much for through thick and through thin.