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

by Suzanne Jenkins

  Lately, she spent many nights out on the veranda, falling asleep and waking up there in the morning. It was stupid of her because vagrants and social misfits were known to canvass the beach at night, looking for loot left behind by day-trippers, sleeping on the sand, or looking for an unlocked garage to steal from or get out of the weather. Her neighbors had barking dogs, thank God, and they were roused by the passing of a fly. She would be safe as long as they lived next door.

  The ringing phone disturbed her revelry at the window. She picked it up and saw Sandra’s number. She must have decided when she would come.

  “Hi again,” Pam said. “So will you come this weekend?” She was trying to get her old enthusiasm back for company in spite of the reason for the gathering. “The weather is supposed to be gorgeous again.” And then she heard it—a soft moan, sniffling. Sandra was crying. “What is it, Sandra? Are you okay?” Pam stood up with the phone and started pacing.

  “No, Pam, I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay again. And I’m afraid you and Marie won’t be, either.” And then she was crying in earnest—wailing was a better word—and snorting.

  “Sandra, what is it?” She had already forgotten about her own diagnosis. “Please tell me!”

  “I’m HIV positive! The doctor just called me not five minutes ago. I was going to wait to tell you, because of you being sick now and everything, but I’m so worried about the baby! I have to start taking all of these drugs and going to a different doctor. Jack gave it to me, too! So that means you and Marie have to be tested.” She launched into a new wailing. Possibly for the first time since Pam knew her, Sandra sounded like the twenty-something woman she was.

  Pam stopped pacing and walked into her bedroom, pulling the covers back and getting into bed again. She waited until Sandra’s crying seemed to be calming down somewhat; she wasn’t crying out loud, anyway. “Sandra, are you there?” Pam asked. “Answer me, dear.”

  Sandra mumbled into the phone that she was. “I found out last night I have AIDS,” Pam admitted. “I wanted to tell you in person. It didn’t occur to me that they test for it in pregnancy now. What I am sick with right now is just the flu. The doctor thinks I may have converted this summer because of all the stress with Jack dying. They can tell by the virus load and some other things.”

  “You have AIDS?” Sandra asked, incredulous. “Not just HIV?” How could this be happening?

  “AIDS.” Pam fell back against the pillows again. She was exhausted. “I still have to warn my sister. She’s coming here tonight.” Oh God. “She’ll need to be tested right away. Sandra, I have to hang up now. I’m completely wiped out. I’m sorry this happened to you. It’s the worst. It was Jack’s fault, entirely his fault. Please accept my apologies. But I have to rest. I hope you’ll visit this weekend.” She didn’t wait for a response from Sandra. “Good-bye, my friend.” And then she was gone.

  Sandra looked out her window again. There was a momma cardinal on the ledge of the feeder, looking in at Sandra. She was very still, as to not scare the little bird away. Time was moving on. Two people in the world had received devastating news, news that would connect them in yet another macabre way. They had gotten an everlasting gift from the same man. Yet a baby would be born in less than four months who would bear the worst burden of all—the possibility that he or she might also be sick through no fault of his own but his mother’s sin, and that he might be orphaned at a young age.

  In spite of the tragedy, people were still making reservations to dine out tonight. Someone was preparing for their wedding this weekend. The minister at the Methodist church on the corner was writing his sermon for Sunday service. The cab driver she had yelled at that very morning was getting ready to go home to his family for dinner. About eighteen million people in New York City were coming or going, working or sleeping, fighting or loving, being born or dying. Life was going on. It wasn’t affected by Sandra’s melodrama. It was of her own making. Ego, pride, loneliness, all of the things that made up why she slept with a married man she didn’t know very well after all. A beautiful face in a smoldering, putrid body, riddled with a virus he had picked up from who knew what, maybe from his own father.

  When she had first discovered she was pregnant, she had praised a god she didn’t worship. How had her situation changed? She was still pregnant. The huge unknown was a possibility for prayer, to put her faith in something that she had relied on in the past only in the direst times. So without wasting another minute, she slid off the chair onto her knees. She blubbered once and caught herself. She leaned over the seat of the chair and grasped her hands together.

  “Dear God, please help me,” she said out loud. “Please don’t let this hurt my baby.” The tears came swiftly and violently then. She yelled out to a god she didn’t know and wasn’t sure existed, but she was desperate. “Please, God, please!” And then quietly, with head bowed and jaw clenched, she growled, “Punish him, Lord. Punish Jack.”

  Chapter 27

  Work was crazy busy all afternoon, and by the time Marie was able to leave, it was in the middle of rush hour. She had to go to the garage at her apartment building and get the car first before she could leave for Pam’s house. The possibility that she would end up staying the night loomed, so she ran into her apartment and threw clothes into an overnight bag. Traffic in town had started to die down by the time she pulled onto Thirty-Fourth Street, headed toward Long Island. For some reason, she started to count the number of times she had made this trip over the years. Not adding when she took the train or driven with her brother-in-law, it might have been close to a thousand trips, most loaded with happy anticipation. Even now, knowing that she may be getting more crappy news about Jack, she was excited about going. She wanted to confirm that her sister was safe, and it would be good to see the ocean midweek.

  She remembered when Jack was alive. During one of their many rendezvous for lunch at the hot dog vendor, he would say to her, “I think I’m going to go home tonight. I miss my girl.” Marie had never told Pam; she didn’t want her to know all the times that she and Jack had lunch together. It was several times a week until he started to fuck Sandra. Maybe she would tell her sister the story tonight. He had missed his wife. He had loved her in his own way. He expected nothing from her because she was all that he thought he needed outside of his sexual escapades with Marie. When Pam refused him, not wanting to come into the city, he never, ever said a negative word about it. “It was just Pam,” he said. He would do whatever it took to make her happy, even if it meant not living with her throughout the week. Of course, it backfired. He was incapable of being faithful to her. Sex was just something that you did to relieve yourself from an urge that wouldn’t go away. If he saw something on TV that aroused him, he had to take care of it soon after. The weekends were filled with sex for him, both his wife and his sister-in-law, if necessary. What Marie knew of him was miniscule, the tip of the iceberg.

  Marie was aware that he had a sexual addiction of the extreme kind. He was a compulsive masturbator. He admitted to jacking-off in the toilet stall of the train on the way home on Friday night, never worrying about getting caught, about having his reputation destroyed. It was habit, jacking-off in the shower. He probably did it at work in his private bathroom as well. She remembered the many times he came to her bed when they were still in the apartment on the Upper West Side, the chances he took getting caught molesting her, she just a young girl. The urge was greater than the fear. Who knew why? He had something wrong in his brain, some wires crossed. Of course, she didn’t know about his own terror, his father torturing him. She was obsessing over the thought. Did Pam know? Did she know he was masturbating? Maybe she thought it was normal. Marie couldn’t know just yet how trivial masturbating was; if only that was all Jack was doing.

  After the molestation began, he would come to Marie’s room at night, after they had already had sex once or twice or three times that weekend, and he would ask her to use her hand. She was mesmerized watching him, his facial ex
pressions. She became addicted to the power she had over him. He didn’t ask her for oral sex until she was older, out of high school. “It’s not appropriate,” he told her when she asked to do it to him. All the girls at school were doing it. You didn’t even have to be dating a guy to do it for him. Jack was appalled. “Never, ever let a boy make you do that! Promise me!” He’d take her by her shoulders and shake her gently. “You are too good for that, too lovely and too pure. Besides, I would kill whoever made you do that, and you wouldn’t want me to go to jail, now would you?” He would take her in his arms then and hold her, murmuring over and over, “Never ever, never ever.” It didn’t occur to him that what he was making her do was much worse, the long-lasting effects devastating.

  “Poor Jack,” she whispered. The memory of the first time she gave him oral sex floated through her mind like gossamer, elusive and delicate. She loved doing it to him and the effect it had on him. He actually cried. He would moan out loud, writhing in ecstasy. Soon Marie thought that might be all that she had to do for the rest of her life, give blow jobs. She imagined getting paid for it. But then, wasn’t that what a prostitute did? Oh well, it was a good idea while it lasted. He would ask for it whenever they were together in the city, often coming to her apartment nightly just for that. Now she realized that, of course, it meant nothing to him outside of the physical sensation. He was saving money, getting her to do it rather than a whore. He cared nothing for her. He used her. These thoughts occupied her mind until she got into Babylon and arrived in front of Pam’s house without killing herself in a car wreck. She would make it an act of her will to be loving to her sister and only say loving things. She would definitely tell Pam tonight that Jack loved her. Loved her as much as he was capable of loving.

  Pam was still looking out the window when her sister pulled up. It was after eight. She was exhausted, but had thought to get something for Marie to eat. She could only imagine what her day at work had been like and then to be summoned to the beach in the middle of the week. Opening the front door for her, she waited as Marie got her suitcase out of the passenger side of the car and walked up the path to the house. They embraced, Pam reluctant to let go.

  She took Marie by the hand. “Come have a little dinner. I ordered in from Romeo’s.”

  “Yum! Let me change into my sweatpants, okay? How do you feel? You look better, that’s for sure!” She walked toward her room, Pam following.

  “Can you believe that Andy saw me looking like that? I don’t mind telling you I was a little annoyed that he was even called.”

  It was a rare thing for Pam to criticize Sandra to her. Marie resisted commenting. Maybe Pam just needed to vent.

  “I sort of told him I can’t see him anymore.”

  “Oh, Pammy, you liked him! You deserve to have someone in your life.” She didn’t add who isn’t a jerk.

  “Oh well, as Jack used to say, ‘it is what it is.’ Get changed, and I’ll fix you a plate. Chicken parmesan. I might have a bite myself.”

  Marie changed into her sweats, and the two women got their food and went out on the veranda. Pam had candles lit and wine poured for her sister. Pam shouldn’t drink anymore. She didn’t feel well enough to that night, but knew the day might come where she would miss it, that having a glass of wine would be all she desired.

  “No wine for you?” Marie noticed right away.

  “No.” There was plenty of time for explanations later. Pam wanted her sister to eat. “Can you believe the weather we’ve had? It’s been perfect here at the beach every day.”

  “I miss it here. It’s so hot and miserable in town; my air conditioner was on the fritz on Monday. I thought I would suffocate, and of course, the windows don’t open up on the high floors. This breeze feels great.”

  They ate in silence. Marie was tired, and Pam was about ready to keel over.

  “Honey, I have something to tell you.” Pam made the decision that she had to tell her sister the truth and had to do it right then. But the second it was out of her mouth, she lost her nerve, petrified, couldn’t find the words. How do you tell your baby sister that she might have AIDS?

  Marie was looking at her, waiting. “What is it, Pam? Please tell me.” She put her fork down and reached over, grasping Pam’s arm. “You can tell me anything, you know that. You have told me anything.”

  Pam looked down, resigned. Her entire body language spoke of defeat. “I have AIDS.” There. It was out. The words hung in the air, alive, dangerous. She had said it out loud for the second time that day. AIDS.

  “What do you mean?” Marie was clearly confused, in shock. I know what she just said, but it isn’t registering. Pam can’t have AIDS. Whores and drug addicts get AIDS. Poor people. The immoral. All the unfortunate generalities trailed through Marie’s mind, and none of them fit Pam. Her beautiful, healthy sister, perfect in mind and body, obsessed with fitness and nutrition, and loyal! She would never have had an affair! “It’s a mistake,” she stated. “There is no way! Who could you have gotten AIDS from, anyway? You don’t shoot up; you never cheated on Jack. There is no way.” She repeated it again and again, No way, no way.

  Pam didn’t expect this reaction. She thought Marie would rail against Jack, throw things, and possibly go berserk in rage against him. But she wasn’t even thinking of him! “Marie, listen to me! Jack gave it to me. You could have it, too. Sandra has it; she found out today. Jack gave Sandra HIV. You have to get tested, Marie. You have to pull yourself together so you can get a test tomorrow. Do you understand what I am saying? It was Jack.”

  Marie was in shock, her face bright red, mouth hanging open like a crazy person. “But Jack loved you, Pam. He wouldn’t give you AIDS! I know he loved you. He told me many, many times!”

  Pam couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Marie must be losing it. Pam started laughing. She was screaming laughing, with her mouth wide open and no sound coming out. “Jack didn’t love me. It was impossible, Marie. He was incapable of love. You have to pull yourself together,” she repeated. “You have to go tomorrow so you can get tested. You might just have HIV, not AIDS. They think I have AIDS now because of the shock of the past months. It’s new, the AIDS is new. It is much better to have HIV if you have to have this. Do you hear me? But you have to get treatment. I’m sorry, Marie!” Pam started crying. “I’m so, so sorry. This is my fault as much as Jack’s. I drove him to you. I neglected to see it. I ignored the signs. It’s my fault. I can’t live with myself if I don’t face this right now. I have to face my responsibility in the horror of it.” She blew her nose on her napkin.

  “I have to tell my kids. I have to tell my kids that their beloved father, the man they worshiped, gave their mother AIDS. They will figure it out for themselves that he was the worst kind of monster, because they aren’t dumb, those two children of mine. When they find out you have it, they will figure it out; you can be sure of it. The baby and Sandra, you and me.” She bowed her head and, in anguish, sobbed. Her heart was broken now. She had heartache before, sadness beyond anything she could have ever imagined, but now she knew her heart was damaged beyond repair.

  “I had to give Andy the boot, more for his safety than anything else, but also because I am so damaged. I doubt if I am capable of love anymore. I can’t even imagine it. The thought of sharing my life makes me sick.”

  Marie listened to her sister ramble on and on, knowing that what she was saying was important, even meaningful, but it really was worthless now. Jack had betrayed her with Sandra. He had a cruel streak, that was for sure. But this? To knowingly give another human being HIV, with the entire stigma? What a motherfucker! She was glad he was dead so she wouldn’t have to kill him. She thought she might be capable of it right this minute. She imagined shooting him with a gun in the head. She saw the bullet tearing through his forehead, slamming him backward and pieces of skull with gray hair attached to it flying all over. Or grabbing a huge knife, like the one Bill used on her mother, and stabbing him repeatedly in the chest. She could i
magine the resistance of the tip of the blade, going through his clothes, skin, bones, and then plunging into him right up to the hilt. She saw the paper, the headlines: “LI Man Stabbed by Sister-in-law Forty-two Times. The arrest and then the trial, with her sitting at a table in front of the courtroom, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with a black barrette. Andy Andrews would be there as the detective on the scene. He would testify on her behalf. Your Honor, he gave her AIDS.

  “Marie! Oh God, Marie, wake up, honey, wake up! Marie!” Pam was yelling at her, slapping her face, hard. “I should have killed Jack before he did this to you!”

  “Stop hitting me! I’m awake!” She opened her eyes to find her sister kneeling over her, hysterically crying like she had never seen Pam cry before. “I’m okay, Pam!” She struggled to sit up and grabbed her sister. “I’m okay. Pull yourself together, sis. For God’s sake, this isn’t good for you to be so upset.”

  They sat on the floor together, holding each other, and Marie finally let loose and began to cry, too. They cried for Brent and Lisa, for Sandra and her baby, and for each other, but mostly they cried for Jack, because he was already dead.

  Chapter 28

  Tom Adams finished his shift at seven and decided to take the subway up to Sandra’s. It was easier for him to ride the train than drive. Traffic would be horrible in the morning if he stayed the night. He knew he was pushing things with her. They had only known each other for four days. The connection between them was instantaneous, and she had felt it, too. How two people find each other at a certain time of life, regardless of the circumstances, was a miracle. Although he was raised Episcopalian, he started going to the Catholic Church around the corner from his building. The liturgy, the mystical, magical part of what the Catholics believed appealed to him after the brutal way he spent his life, tracking down thieves and murders, putting rapists and cheats behind bars. He believed that the timing was perfect, that Sandra had appeared in his life at the moment that God wanted her to be there. And it was up to him to accept it as a wonderful gift. Whether she was pregnant or not made no difference. He would adopt the baby if she would allow it.