Don't You Forget About Me: Pam of Babylon Book #2

by Suzanne Jenkins

Andy met her in the lobby, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was happy to see him. She was still a little guarded; after all, he had seen her at her worst. She would take that up with Sandra, too, although Sandra would be getting bad news soon enough. Pam thought of all the possible relations, people who were joined together by the commonality of Jack Smith’s DNA, his HIV virus. Before she put these thoughts out of her head, she screamed silently, Fuck you, Jack! She put her biggest fake smile on.

  “Hi, Ja—Andy!” She almost slipped. “Thank you so much for helping me out!” He hugged her, and she gave in a little. Let him think I’m stiff from being sick. “What would I have done without you? Taken a cab? Oh my!” She giggled a fake Pam giggle. They walked to the curb, where he had left his patrol car. “Do I have to sit in the back?”

  “Not today! Right here in the front next to me. I’ll even turn the lights and the siren on, if you would like.”

  She slid into the car, surprised at how awful she still felt. Was this the story of her life? She had a terrible disease. It was a brand, almost. To the world, My husband was a reprobate.

  “Do you want to get a bite to eat first?” He was looking at her.

  Is he crazy? “No, thank you. I’m not feeling well enough to go out yet.” She looked straight ahead.

  “Of course! What am I thinking? Sorry. Home it is!” He sped out of the hospital parking lot onto the road that led to the beach.

  Pam was counting, One, two, three, four, five…Hold on, girl, she thought. You’re almost there. They didn’t speak the rest of the way. Pulling up to the front of her house, she gave out a sigh of relief. Home! Thank God! Under no circumstances was he coming in.

  “Please don’t get out; I really need to be alone. Thank you so much for coming to get me! I will be forever grateful.” She then turned to look at him. “Please.”

  Andy looked at her and said nothing. He could sense this was it; it was the end of their relationship. Their friendship probably wouldn’t grow into anything else as he had hoped. “Okay, Pam. But if you need me, or if you need anything from me, please know I am waiting to do it for you. Tell me you understand that.”

  She nodded yes and got out, trying not to struggle. A week away from the gym had taken its toll. She closed the door and looked down through the window, waving a little good-bye. He waved back at her, but didn’t take off until she was inside.

  So that was that. Pam felt liberated walking up to her front door. She wasn’t ready to be in a relationship, AIDS or no AIDS. She wanted to be alone, to process her life and what had been revealed to her. Up to this point, nothing really had been done to her short of lies and betrayal. Now, the virus that was attacking her body, that was real. It was something horrible that was tangible. Jack had given this to her. Where did it come from originally? Oh God, what a horrible thought. She thought of Harold or Bernice. She wasn’t about to suggest to Bernice to get tested for HIV. So she would never know. She bent over to pick a weed growing out of the gravel sidewalk. She would call the gardener today; he had been slacking off since Jack died.

  Out of nowhere the thought came, How is Jack’s business? A meeting with Sandra and Peter might be due as well. They certainly were not including her in the loop. She unlocked the door to her house and didn’t turn around one last time to wave good-bye to Andy. She could hear the car slowly pull away from the curb. He should have known better than to ask a woman whose husband had died two weeks prior to go for coffee. It wasn’t her fault. She felt released from guilt over Andy.

  Her house smelled musty, closed in. It was Wednesday. Had the cleaning ladies come on Tuesday? She didn’t think so. Or was that why I had gotten up to unlock the door? And then fainted? Could I have been there on the floor all night? Her answering machine message light was beeping away, evidence of many missed calls and messages left. She thought, perhaps, she shouldn’t be home alone today, but having her family there, Sandra, her mother, it would just be too overwhelming. She would shower and do her hair and makeup, get out of this dirty sweat suit.

  Immediately afterward, she felt better than she had in weeks. She remembered the doctor and nurses reminding her to drink plenty of fluids. She went into her kitchen pantry and found six-packs of Gatorade and put one of them in the refrigerator. What is my routine, anyway? She knew she had one, a meager one, but it was almost a liturgy. It would be the way she would continue to live her life, boring and self-absorbed, alone.

  Chapter 25

  Marie was frantic, having tried to call her sister at the hospital only to find out she had been discharged already. To whom and to what? An empty house? She was going to finish what she had to do here at work, and then she would get her car and go back to Babylon. The new members of the staff where experienced self-starters and were capable of working without her breathing down their necks. Pam shouldn’t be home alone. She tried calling again and still no answer. She debated calling Sandra but decided against it. What could that snake tell me? That my sister is sick? No fucking kidding! When Sandra called her after calling the ambulance, Sandra was so condescending that Marie thought she might be blaming her for Pam being unconscious.

  “Did you notice anything unusual when you talked to Pam?” Sandra asked. “I find it difficult to believe that she sounded normal.”

  Marie ignored her and asked for details.

  “I don’t know anything,” Sandra replied. “I found her out cold on the hallway floor and then called 9-1-1. I just hope we got her help in time.”

  Sandra’s comments resonated in Marie’s head; she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. This time, she would go to her sister whether she needed her or not.

  ~ ~ ~

  While Pam was settling in at home, Sandra was headed to her obstetrician’s office to have a second blood test. HIV. It was such a loaded acronym that hearing it yesterday and repeating it through the night and over and over in her head had made her ill. Well past morning sickness now for at least a month, she awoke retching first thing that morning. She had never been so frightened in her entire life. The doctor said it meant nothing. The test was probably a false positive, and they would solve the mystery by taking more blood that morning, and by the afternoon have an answer for her. No one had asked her yet if she had unprotected sex, if she shared needles, or if she had a high-risk lifestyle. What did that mean?

  Working like a demon day after day, barely having a social life, and then a weekly meeting with the man of her dreams, who just happened to be married and it would appear was also a child abuser, whoremonger, or worse? For a split second, she thought she might know what Pam had been going through for the past weeks—the betrayal, the total lack of respect, the horror that had been Jack. As the cab pulled up to her stop, she thought of Marie and Pam.

  She got out of the cab and threw some money down for the tip and the fare. The cab sped off. She stood on the curb, petrified to take that next step, to walk through the door and face her doctor. Traffic was horrible, cars whizzing by, cabs narrowly missing pedestrians; she was risking her life standing there. Go do it. She got up on the sidewalk and went to the door of the office.

  She was the only patient in the waiting room, but the receptionist refused to make eye contact with her and was short and curt. She pointed to a seat and told her to sit down; the nurse would be with her in a minute.

  The door to a back room opened, and a smiling nurse said, “Follow me.” It took less than two minutes to draw the blood.

  “The doctor will have the results after lunch, and if there is anything to hear, she’ll call you. I doubt it, though.” She patted Sandra on the back.

  Sandra had to control the urge to swing around and throw the offending hand off her body. Why do you doubt it? she wanted to ask. Don’t I look like someone who might have HIV? Sandra could feel the irrational outburst forming in the back of her throat and, unable to make eye contact, simply said, “Thank you,” and left the room quickly.

  She decided to go across town back home; she wasn’t going
to work today. In spite of rush hour, she got a cab right away. It was already hot, and the cab smelled like body odor. Tears were near the surface, and she fought them and took control of her body. She would not decompensate in the back of a stinking cab. The streets of the East Side of Manhattan flew by as the driver broke every traffic rule. Sandra reached behind her and found her seat belt. The Pakistani man looked at her in his rearview mirror when he heard the click and gave the gas pedal an extra push.

  Sandra screamed at him, “My boyfriend is a cop, and I’ll call him right now if you don’t slow this damn cab down!”

  “I’m not driving fast,” he argued.

  “SLOW DOWN!” she yodeled. And she got her phone out with a sweeping gesture, sitting forward and slamming it up against the glass partition, but not touching the filthy thing with her hands. “And I am warning all my friends to stay away from your filthy cab! HELP!” she screamed.

  The driver slowed down.

  She told him to stop in front of the grocery store on Broadway; under no condition would she allow him to see where she lived. She threw money down on the backseat and slammed the door. She held her phone up so he could see it. “I’ve got your number!” she yelled.

  “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed,” a woman whispered as they passed by.

  “I wish I had the courage to tell a cabbie off,” her companion replied.

  Sandra went into the store and got a few things to get her through the rest of the week. She couldn’t stop eating even if she wanted to. She had to go on living because of the baby. The four-block walk home was grueling, the heat, the worry. It’s probably for nothing kept going through her mind. But was it? Jack could have easily given her something, knowing his history.

  After she reached her apartment and let herself in, she finally exploded, throwing her purse across the sitting area. She was so angry at Jack. “Now I can waste a day waiting for the doctor to call me. Thanks!” she yelled at the ceiling. “Thanks, Jack! You asshole!” The still, small voice said to Sandra, He can’t hear you. “Well then, thank you, God! This is just what I needed!”

  She went into her bedroom to change from work clothes into her spandex. She would get a jump start on her housekeeping for the weekend. I sure as hell am not going to the beach. NO WAY! And then she thought of Pam. Gentle, sweet, forgiving Pam. She immediately calmed down. Maybe she better give her a call, make sure she was okay.

  She got her cell phone out of her purse and keyed in the hospital number. The operator told her Pam had been discharged. Well, that’s good! Dialing Pam’s house number, she thought, She must not be too ill if she was sent home already.

  “Hello?” was the timid whisper of a greeting.

  Sandra’s heart sank. “Pam? It’s Sandra. How are you?”

  Pam wanted to tell Sandra the truth, but over the phone? Maybe not. “I’m better! Thank you for asking,” Pam said and remembered how she ended up in the hospital. “By the way, thank you for what you did for me yesterday. What would have happened to me if you hadn’t come?”

  You would have probably been fine, just sore from lying on the floor, Sandra thought. She said, “You’re welcome,” instead.

  “So what do you think about this weekend?” Pam asked.

  Sandra thought she might be able to tolerate a day there, forgetting her earlier declaration, but not more if Marie was coming; Marie was getting on her nerves lately. “I think I can come. Will Marie be there? The three of us haven’t been together in quite a while!” she added, hoping the statement hid the real reason she was asking.

  “I’m going to ask her today. So we’ll talk later?” Making small talk was exhausting her. Not exploding with facts about AIDS, warning Sandra, apologizing to her, she’d decided she wanted to tell both Marie and Sandra together. She had to tell her family, her mother, and children. But she was not telling Andy. They hadn’t exchanged any bodily fluids that she could remember, limiting their kissing to closed-mouth pecks. She’d check with Dr. Toms. Suddenly overcome with fear and worry, Pam didn’t want to talk on the phone anymore. “I’m so tired! So good-bye for now.”

  “Oh, I forgot already that you’re ill! Yes, we’ll talk later. Good-bye, Pam,” Sandra said and hung up.

  She stood at the dining table and looked out her window. There weren’t many birds lately; they must be finding plenty to eat in the park. She stared at the empty birdfeeder. Was Pam dismissive with her? Was there something underlying that Sandra was missing? She thought that Pam was too good to be true and one day, the real Pam, the human Pam, would burst out, spewing hatred and unforgiveness all over the place. Sandra caught herself in what was becoming a more frequent inner dialogue, one in which she blamed Pam for her predicament. If Pam had been a better wife, Jack wouldn’t have looked outside of his marriage for companionship. If Pam hadn’t been so kind, she could vent her anger at Jack against her. And then came the about-face; schizophrenically, Sandra covered her face with her hands and started crying. It was no one’s fault. The affair just happened. She was to blame if anyone was, because she’d slept with a married man. Finally, her inner voice said, GIVE IT A REST.

  She got busy cleaning up, trying not to look at the phone. But when she ran the vacuum, she picked up the receiver and carried it in her pocket. At one, she stopped for lunch. She was making a sandwich when the phone rang. Her heart started pounding against the wall of her chest. The caller ID said it was the doctor. She reluctantly answered it, pressing the talk button.

  “The results of your last test are in, Sandra. It was positive for HIV.” She didn’t say anything else for a moment. “There is a doctor—Dr. Mathur—who specializes in treating HIV and AIDS patients who are pregnant. Can you see him tomorrow? Taking antiretroviral drugs will help keep you and the baby safe.”

  “I can see him. I hardly know what to say. Should I start screaming now or after we hang up?”

  “Sandra, I promise you it isn’t as lethal as it sounds anymore, if you take care of yourself. You are healthy and young, and that is a great start. See Dr. Mathur as soon as possible, okay? He’ll give you the latest information. I would like to continue to be your primary, though. We will see you weekly if you are agreeable to it.”

  Sandra choked back tears. She had been fully prepared to be judged. “I’ll call him as soon as we hang up.”

  “Good-bye, then, Sandra. I’ll see you next week, okay? Call the office after two when the receptionist gets back from lunch and make an appointment. We’ll work through this together.”

  They said good-bye.

  Sandra sat at her dining table and put her head down and cried. She was so alone. Thank God her parents were dead. She would never be able to tell her sister, who didn’t know about the baby, either.

  Tom. He had kissed her full on an open mouth. She would have to tell him. Lowering her head to the table again, she wept for the embarrassment of it, for the futility of the relationship she thought they might have had. She had just given it a death sentence with the diagnosis of HIV. Fucking Jack! But it was her fault as well. She was reaping the fruit of sleeping with a married man. Boy, did he ever not fit the mold! Jack, HIV positive!

  And then she thought of Pam and Marie again. Certainly, she got the virus from Jack. She’d had a negative HIV/AIDS test after her last “real” boyfriend. Testing was something all of her friends in New York did. So it had to be Jack. That meant that both his wife and her sister had been exposed. She didn’t know enough yet about the virus and its incubation. They may have built up immunity to him after all these years. Is that even possible? In spite of her Pam-bashing thoughts just minutes earlier, now she wanted to talk to Pam. She needed to talk to Pam. There was no one else.

  Chapter 26

  Marie and Pam finally caught up with each other. Pam had to talk to Marie about getting tested for HIV/AIDS right away. Pam knew it had come from Jack because Marie had been a virgin and had claimed never to have been with anyone else. Somehow, she would find the courage to tell her si
ster the awful news. It was yet another affront to her life and what she had mistakenly believed it to be. Her husband had had sex with her own sister and possibly infected her with HIV. What could be worse?

  “Do you think you can come by before this weekend?” Pam asked. “We need to talk.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Marie asked in return. “After work either today or tomorrow is all we have.”

  “What about Friday night? And then you can stay if you want,” Pam replied, leaving out the part about Sandra possibly being there on Saturday.

  “I was supposed to have dinner with Arthur on Friday night. I haven’t seen him all summer because he has a new boyfriend.” Marie thought there was a good chance her friend would cancel on her; it had already happened twice in August alone. “You tell me,” she told Pam. “You’re the ill one.”

  Pam had never begged for anything in her life, and this was starting to feel like a beg.

  “Are you okay? I mean, I know you’re sick, but it’s not more than ‘sick,’ is it? You’re starting to scare me,” Marie asked.

  “Well, come tonight, then,” Pam replied. “I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

  Marie’s heart missed a beat.

  Then Pam added in explanation, “More news about our beloved Jack.”

  Okay, I can handle that. Marie thought. What could be worse than what we already know? They hung up.

  Pam was relieved that step one of the big reveal was going to be over in a few hours. She sat at the kitchen counter, looking out the big windows that opened out to the vast dunes and beach grasses and then down to the water. No matter what happened in this house, that vista never changed. It was the one and only constant in her life. The momentary fear that she might not be able to afford to stay there after Jack died taught her that she would have to stay no matter what. The beach, not the house as she had once thought, was her lifeline. It was the stabilizing force in a sea of drama over which she had no control. The things that scared her a few months ago were resolved; she no longer felt like the sand would suck her in, that the undertow would take the house out of her reach. Those manifestations may have been a response to stress.