Cutie was probably looking at the videotape now—and calling the police.
The next time I saw Tony he was sitting on the hood of the Mercedes outside my apartment. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I was hungry as hell. The kids were asleep under the blanket in the back of the car. We had missed each other in Harrisburg and proceeded on our respective ways. I changed clothes during a pit stop in Pennsylvania. Fortunately, no one was in the lot when I pulled in so I was able to slip out of the dress and wash the makeup off my face.
“I’m dying for a beer,” Tony said, as I lit up a cigarette.
“Maybe if we work on it, we can both rid ourselves of our respective vices.” I looked at my watch.
It was getting too late to go to Han’s for a meal, so I suggested Tony go park the car in a garage on Forty-Fourth Street and I’d dig out a can of soup—or something that was at least nutritious from my small store of canned food.
I reached into the car and tugged on John’s shoulder. “Time to get up, sleepyhead.”
John’s eyes fluttered open and then closed. Ruthie didn’t stir.
I looked at Tony. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say? Something cute like ‘Time to get up, sleepyhead?’”
Tony laughed. “You need some brushing up on your parenting skills.”
“Never had any.” I opened the back door of the sedan and lifted Ruthie out of the seat. John sprang awake protectively and started to swing at my arms, but stopped when he saw it was me.
“Don’t worry, champ,” I said. “You’re at your new home.” I put Ruthie under my left arm like a bag of potatoes and lifted my right arm like a model on The Price Is Right. “All this can be yours.” Ruthie was unimpressed, but John’s eyes widened when he stepped out on the street and looked north and east toward New York’s towering skyscrapers. Tony got the luggage out of the trunk.
“Wow,” John said.
I opened the door to my apartment. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
The kids had been composed in their home in Virginia, but they must have thought my apartment was a playground. I’d never seen a brother and sister so happy. Then, I remembered the whips and leather accessories I’d attached to my bedroom wall. I had collected a few here and there over the year; it reminded me of my apartment in Boston that had been emptied by the police during their investigation of the Combat Zone murders. The nice warm smell of cowhide brought an earthy charm to lonely, cold New York City. And although I really hadn’t had much use for the objects on the wall, I figured one day I would have to emerge from my monastic cavern.
The kids ran to my semi-reassembled collection of phonograph records piled on the floor. They pulled out a few albums and then ran to my bookcase. John stuck his head in my bedroom and said, “Wow.” That seemed to be his word of the day.
“You have whips on the walls,” he said. “Do you have a horse? Dad used to take us riding.”
“Why don’t you have a seat on the couch and read a book,” Tony said before I could say something smart. He glanced at the volumes on the shelves and then looked at me. “On second thought—don’t you have a television?”
“Not me. Give me a good book any day.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going to park the Mercedes in a garage farther away—too obvious on the street with the Virginia plates. What about Vicky?”
“Vicky’ll be all right on the street until eight tomorrow morning. We’ll have to move her then. But we’ll talk about that later.” I was thinking of a good time to bring up Ophelia. The Virginia plates on Vicky didn’t work in our favor either. A killer who knew where I lived would make the connection that the kids were with me. Another reason to pass the kids to Ophelia.
“Okay, you two, what do you want to eat?” I asked after Tony left.
I opened my small kitchen cabinets and looked inside. There were a few cans of soup, a couple of tins of tuna fish, and some ramen noodles. Nothing too appetizing. I hadn’t realized how much I depended on Han’s for meals.
John shook his head like he wasn’t hungry and Ruthie asked, “What have you got?”
When I told her she shook her head, too.
“We ate at McDonald’s about sunset,” John said. “It was fun. I liked the Big Mac.”
“You’ve never eaten there before?”
“No,” Ruthie said. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us.”
I was beginning to put together the big picture. Pious mom and dad, who both hit the sauce pretty hard, among other questionable habits, kept the kiddies pure and wholesome, apparently so they would have a clear path to heaven. New York was going to be an eye-opening experience for them.
“Well, amuse yourselves while I make some soup. I’d take you to the restaurant where I work, but it’s too late. Great Chinese food.”
“Wow, I’d love Chinese food,” John said.
“Let me guess, you’ve never had it.”
They both nodded.
The only books with pictures I had were a couple of old encyclopedia yearbooks I’d found on the street. I gave them to the kids while I made the soup. I was finishing up when Tony knocked on the door.
“My god,” he said. “It’s twenty dollars a night to park the car. Highway robbery.” He held up a blue receipt ticket.
“That’s one of the cheaper spots,” I said. “But, don’t worry, I’m loaded. Remember? At least for the moment.”
“Oh, yeah.” He looked at the kids sprawled out on the couch. “What do we do now? Play poker?”
“You’re the one with the parenting skills.”
“It’s just that your apartment is so . . . cozy.”
I clapped my hands and Ruthie and John looked at me like trained dogs. “Since you don’t want to eat, it’s time for bed. Ruthie, you’re going to sleep on the couch. John, you’re going to bunk on the floor—we’ll pull the cushions off the chairs to make it comfortable. We’re all going to pretend we’re camping. But let’s pretend we’re in the mountains instead of New York and we have to watch out for lions and tigers and bears. Tony and I will be in there with the door open in case you get scared.”
John huffed and threw his book down on the couch. “There aren’t any lions and tigers and bears in New York.”
“Depends on what you’re looking for,” I said. Tony scowled. “And, besides, there are wild animals in New York City right in Central Park.”
“Really?” John asked.
“Really. And if you’re good and obey your uncle Cody like you should, you might get to see them.”
The kids put away the books and started to get ready for bed.
“One at a time in the bathroom,” I said. “Ruthie, you first.”
In a half hour, everyone was ready to turn in. The kids were nestled under the blankets. I grabbed an old bedspread I had in my closet and stretched it over the chairs. It made a nifty tent for John, and was exactly the effect I was after. It didn’t take long before they were both asleep.
Tony and I finished off the soup and crawled into bed, both of us tired from the long drive. He lay next to me, his arms crossed over his chest like a corpse. I was in my bathrobe. I had given him a pair of sweatpants to get into, although the leg bands stopped about two inches above his ankles. I thought he looked cute, particularly in the way the fabric bunched around his package.
“You’re not so bad with the kids,” he said. “Nice job.”
“Maybe I do have it in me,” I said. “I’ve never thought of being a dad—my experience with my parents wasn’t so good.” I turned on my side and stroked his arm. “Not many people have asked about my family—not even Stephen Cross. Once, a long time ago, a man in New York City cared enough . . . do you want to know?”
It looked to me like Tony nodded, but his head might have been lolling on the verge of sleep.
“You might as well know now instead of later.”
He turned his head toward me.
“My parents kicked me out of the house ten days after I turned fifteen. My dad wa
s, to put it bluntly, a drunk. He claimed he was disabled, and he was, but it was hard drinking that led to his health problems. We went from fairly good times in Westchester to living in a trailer outside of Danbury.
“He was angry at me and at my mother and spent most of his time coping with a depression made worse by the alcohol. He couldn’t make a living anymore. He was a washed-up insurance salesman. My mother had to hold the house together, so she pretty much accepted his rage. When I told them I was gay, he exploded. He kicked me out of the house with nothing but the clothes on my back. My mother stood by. Her spirit had been crushed by our miserable lives.”
Tony patted my arm. “Horrible. My family was so different.”
“I don’t tell many people this because the truth isn’t pretty. I have enough baggage to deal with without getting sad or disgusted looks from so-called friends. That’s why I turned to drugs and other diversions. I was wound tight. No one wanted to listen and, frankly, I didn’t want to tell.”
Tony edged closer to me. “Go on.”
“On day eleven after my fifteenth birthday, I was in Times Square. I’d hitchhiked all night and slept under a bridge for a couple of hours. That morning, I hustled in a porn theater on Forty-Second Street. Oddly enough, he was a businessman from Westchester. At the Pussycat Theater. I got twenty bucks for fifteen minutes’ work. Not bad for a starving kid.
“I ate a steak for lunch and the rest is hustler history.”
Tony stared at me. “How did you do it?” He lowered his gaze. I knew he regretted the question.
“Come again?”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. I meant how did you survive?”
I turned on my back and settled into the pillow. Note to landlord: the ceiling needs painting. “Believe it or not, there were men and women living in the city who were in worse shape. Bums, beggars, and winos huddled in doorways or subway exits, without a dime to their names and no roof over their heads. I counted myself lucky. At least I could make a living.”
“But hustlers wear out,” Tony said.
“I know all too well. The charms of the street don’t last long. Sex strangled me, but kept me alive. I worked as long as I could until I found other ways to make money. Drugs. Dealing to friends and strangers. Odd jobs.”
Tony propped himself up on his elbow. “How did you dig yourself out of it?”
“Something clicked in my head one day. It wasn’t like I suddenly regretted everything I’d done. I wanted to do something different; I guess make more of my life. It was the oddest sensation—feeling like I might have more to live for than being a washed-up, drugged-out hustler.
“The miracle didn’t happen overnight. I hung around Times Square for a while until I got the flu and ended up at a home for wayward boys on the Lower East Side. An ex-Catholic priest took me in and became my mentor and friend. He was the one who introduced me to the great writers and dramatists.”
The books I’d left behind in Boston when I’d been forced to run appeared in my mind’s eye. Volumes of Shakespeare, Marlowe, Tennessee Williams, and William Inge. Of all the belongings I lost in Boston, my books meant the most to me. Many times I had teared up thinking about that loss.
“For two years, I wrote, studied, and learned all I could until money ran out for the home and it closed.” Anxiety pierced my chest. “I fell off the wagon. Pretty soon, I was back on the street.”
Tony yawned.
“Am I boring you?”
“Not at all. I’m just tired from the drive.”
“Well, I’ll change the subject. History is depressing. I’ve got something to show you that’ll perk you up.” I pulled the Ralston’s logbook from under my pillow. I had placed it there when Tony was in the bathroom.
His eyes widened. “You hot shit. How did you get this? Like I need to ask.”
“I used my feminine wiles.”
“But why?”
“A fortune-teller in Boston once told me I had the gift of prophecy. I can’t say she was exactly on target, but I do trust my gut. I think this book is important and I think we may have overlooked something.”
As he leafed through the pages, I said, “And one other thing.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not the gay question again.”
“No, I think we confirmed the answer to that. I want the kids to spend their time here with a dear friend of mine.”
Tony looked puzzled. “Say again?”
“This apartment is too dangerous. If you can find me, a killer can find me, too. And, as you know, someone who didn’t want me involved in this in the first place already knows where I work. I think it’s safer for the kids to stay with Ophelia.”
“Okay.”
Tony handed the book to me and started to turn over, but stopped short when I said, “He’s a former drag prostitute and heroin addict—and he has AIDS.”
He lurched up on both elbows. “Are you crazy? Carol will have a fit. She’d never allow her children to be with—”
I stared at him and his face turned crimson under the velvety brown.
“With what? A drag queen? A gay transvestite? A hustler? An ex-addict? A leper?”
Tony sighed and slumped against his pillow. “Cody, I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I know everybody has a history, but . . . ”
My body was growing frosty under my robe. The temperature in the room had dropped to an icy level. “I disagree. It’s a great idea and there’s no finer person in New York City than Ophelia Cox.”
“Ophelia Cox?” He shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right? Maybe we’d better talk about this in the morning.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I assure you I’m not kidding.”
I got out of bed and switched off the overhead light. I crawled back in and Tony and I turned away from each other. An iceberg that could sink the QE2 was between us.
Another long night lay ahead.
The kids ate bagels and cream cheese and drank orange juice I’d purchased at the Korean deli at the end of the block. I’d moved Vicky into the garage as everyone was getting ready and stopped by the deli on the way home. Tony and I sat on the couch eating cereal and arguing quietly. He was convinced the whole idea of sending Ruthie and John to stay with Ophelia was a huge mistake. I was getting irritated with him and during a couple of points in our discussion I had to hold myself back. His arguments seemed ignorant and off base, particularly for a gay man who should know better, but then he didn’t know Ophelia like I did. I had been avoiding telling Tony everything about Ophelia because I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but I knew in my gut that sending the kids there was the right thing to do, not the least of which would be for their safety.
I told him Ophelia was no longer doing drag, turning tricks, or injecting heroin. I reiterated a fact he knew, but some people still couldn’t wrap their heads around. AIDS could not be spread by kissing or casual contact. I was sure Robert would love the kids. It would take his mind off his medical troubles. And if he had to work at Club Leo, Tony or I could babysit at the apartment until he got home. I wasn’t sure how long Ruthie and John would be with us, but I had a feeling their stay might drag on until Carol decided to move away from Virginia or take another extended vacation.
After breakfast, Tony picked up the phone and called his sister. She and Carol were getting ready to leave for the funeral home. She told Tony that she was fine, but whispered that Carol was a mess. She then put Carol on the phone and the kids told her excitedly about their night camping out in the wilds of New York City. John seemed happy and content once the phone call had ended, but Ruthie sobbed a little when she hung up. John and Tony tried to comfort her without much luck. I picked up a photo book of the city and pointed out the places we might visit. She was fine by the time we finished looking at the pictures.
“Okay, where do you want Uncle Tony to take you today?” I asked.
He shot me a look that would turn frosting sour. “Uncle Tony? Don’t we have some work we need to do?
”
“What work? In case you didn’t notice there are no leads we have to chase. Taking care of our children is our most important task.”
Tony smirked. “What idea is cooking in that little brain of yours?”
“I’m going to call the good friend we’ve talked about ad nauseam and see if he will agree to my little plan—I need to check in on him anyway. And, I have to go to Han’s and see when Norm wants me back at my delicious job. It might be this afternoon.”
“Aren’t you rich?”
“Yes, but material wealth is transitory. It’s a pity, isn’t it? It’s emotional riches that I crave.” I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “And what happens if Carol decides she wants the money back? She might claim that Rodney wasn’t in his right mind. I wouldn’t rule out a big lawsuit. And then where would I be? Up to my Playtex Living Gloves in dirty dishwater.”
“You’re not giving up on this Ophelia thing are you?”
“No.”
“I want to see the wild animals in Central Park,” John said.
I turned to him. He had cream cheese spread over his upper lip like a white mustache.
“There you go,” I said. “It’s settled. Off to see the animals.” I opened my wallet and handed Tony forty bucks. “Buy them popcorn and lunch.” I lifted the roach motels I’d placed under the kitchen sink and found an extra set of keys I’d buried there. I handed them to Tony.
He took them like he was handling radioactive isotopes. “Thanks so much, Uncle Des.”
I patted him on the back. “Keep a close eye on the kids. Carol and Uncle Des are depending on you—and don’t lose those keys. They’re the only extra set I have.”
We got the kids ready and off for the park. I had no idea being a father could be so much work.
The day was cool, but not cold. Tony holstered his gun under his jacket. I followed them down to Times Square, enough distance to make sure they weren’t being tailed and then headed back to the apartment. I called Ophelia hoping to get an answer, but the machine kicked on. I looked at my watch. It was about ten thirty. Ophelia probably wasn’t up yet.
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