Steve knew she was scared; what she wanted to hear was that she’d be fine. “Does it mean I made myself sick by not taking the drugs?”
“No, for God’s sake, that isn’t what it means. You just found out you had the goddamned virus, remember? Get your sweater on and let’s get out of here,” Steve said, trying to keep it together for her sake. He thought of all the times she seemed irrational and now wondered if it wasn’t AIDS eating her brain. He put his arm around her shoulder and pushed her out of the door in front of him. “Let’s get something to eat before we go home. I saw a burger joint around the corner.”
“I’m not hungry. I want to go home,” Marie whined.
“What did the doctor just say? You have to eat or it will hurt the baby.” He knew he was pushing, that he might even upset her saying it, but he didn’t care. She had to eat or risk her health further. It didn’t sound like she would be going back to work, either. He would talk to Pam about selling her apartment and then research getting her on disability. She’d worked for the past twenty-five years; there had to be something available for Marie. She’d earned it.
The smell of frying onions greeted them when they turned the corner. “Oh, that does smell good. Okay, I’ll have something,” she said.
“After we eat, I’ll get you home and then I have to go to work,” he said. “Will you be okay?” He decided to involve her family in every aspect of Marie’s life from now on; he wasn’t shouldering this responsibility alone, no matter what. He’d call Pam as soon as he had Marie situated.
After lunch, they returned to Steve’s apartment and once Marie was settled in what was now her recliner with a bottle of water and TV remote, he left for work. Calling Pam on the way to the subway, he told her without holding back. He needed her help; Marie was very ill and unable to work. He explained his plan for getting her on disability if he could, but his biggest worry was leaving her alone all day.
But Pam heard only that Marie’s brain was infected with AIDS, a progressive condition that was going to get worse if she didn’t toe the line, and that the baby would be in danger if Marie didn’t begin to comply. Her brain was infected with AIDS. It was rotting in her skull.
“Her mother is just five miles uptown. She needs to come down here and help out her daughter,” Steve said.
Pam was sitting at the kitchen counter with her head in her hands. Steve was right; Nelda had gotten away with murder in regards to Marie and now she was going to have to step up to the plate and lend a hand. “Okay Steve, I’ll call my mother. Thank you again for taking care of Marie today. Good-bye.” She hung up without waiting for his reply. She started to cry. Marie could die. Having thought she’d dealt with the guilt over Marie already, it reared its head again. Marie had AIDS because she’d slept with Jack. And Jack had been able to abuse her as a teenager because Pam looked the other way. She owed her sister something. As much as she wanted to turn her back, the right thing to do was to help out in some way. But she couldn’t take care of Marie herself. Having her at the beach for just two days, being aware that Marie needed help with activities of daily living, made Pam feel like she had a conjoined twin who needed to be bathed and dressed, fed and toileted. She couldn’t do it permanently.
Pam moved to the sliders leading out to the veranda, and although it was cold and dreary, winter on its way, she grabbed a coat and went outside to sit. Her life wasn’t complicated enough already. Now a pregnant, ill Marie had to be dealt with. Marie’s confession last summer that she had conceived Jack’s babies twice, once while she was in college and once shortly before he started dating Sandra, came to mind. He forced her to have abortions both times. How was it that someone could relinquish her identity to the extent that she could be talked into such a sad and permanent thing when she didn’t want it? Pam closed her eyes for a moment, the surf hitting the sand with enough force that she could feel the freezing salt spray on her face, mingling with the tears that she allowed to fall. She had turned her back, ignoring signs, just like her mother had done. When an anorexic Marie was hospitalized for six months, her mother said someone, a therapist or a social worker, had suggested that their father may have abused Marie. When they came to the conclusion it was untrue, did anyone ever think that the next man in her life, someone she spent every waking minute with on the weekends, may have been at fault? The anorexia reached a serious state when she was sixteen; she admitted last summer that Jack started abusing her when she was fifteen. It took a year for the tragic consequences to unfold. She’d said Nelda took care of her when she had the second abortion. Did their mother know why she needed care? It was another example of someone’s remarkable ability to stick her head in the sand.
Pam snickered out loud when she thought of poor, loser Steve. He’d really walked into a hornets’ nest. I bet he’s kicking himself now for having stalked Marie. He’d been transferred to her office and pursued her in spite of her begging him to leave her alone. It serves him right.
Before the call, the week had stretched out before Pam, empty yet full of possibility. Now, she’d have to go into the city to deal with whatever was happening with Marie and at Columbus Avenue. She couldn’t go on allowing Nelda and Bernice to live in that moldering old place. She decided the wisest thing to do was to contact Peter Romney, Jack’s former business partner, and ask him to help her market the property to a commercial developer. It would cause hard feelings in the community if they sold it to be divided, but Pam didn’t care. It wasn’t up to her to preserve the neighborhood. Once she had made the decision to sell, she couldn’t get it done quickly enough. Peter would help her list Marie’s apartment, too.
Pam was getting too cold to stay out any longer. She went back into the house, intermittently crying. Worry over her sister had to be the cause of the apprehension she couldn’t shake. As she pulled the glass sliders closed, she noticed the waves. The wild surf was beating the sand away from the tide line, eroding the beach. In autumns past it was a sign that a destructive winter was coming. Pam would get a local handyman to erect snow fencing across the front of their beach area to help keep the snow from blowing against the house. She would make the call today. She felt an urgency to tie up loose ends; get the house ready for winter, call the lawyer about her will, make sure her children would be okay if she were to die. She was also waiting to get some kind of proposal from Sandra about the business. In a few days the children, Brent and Lisa, would be home for Thanksgiving. It was a mystery how that would play out. Would they pressure her into more information about the source of the AIDS she’d acquired, or would they choose to ignore the entire situation? So far, they’d inquired after her well-being and said nothing more. She would have to approach them about their interest in their father’s business; hopefully, that crucial issue would take them through the holiday. Slowly introducing Dave to her dilemmas gave her some relief, and he often had some helpful ideas.
“I don’t have kids, but my brother and I inherited the store when we were about your kids’ ages. I’d present them with the idea of taking over from Sandra,” he suggested. “Young people are fearless. Who’s the other guy? Your husband’s partner? He should love that,” Dave chuckled.
Pam wasn’t sure what to think. “Neither of my kids has ever worked. I guess that isn’t such a good thing, but at the time it seemed right. They were always too busy. I certainly don’t want it,” she said, referring to the business. Pam thought of her selfish, protected life. Work? She’d probably starve first. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Besides, it’s making me nervous talking about it.”
Dave looked at her with concern, noting a pattern that had emerged over the weeks they’d been seeing each other. Pam didn’t like confronting anything that might cause dissension. He could see her getting nervous as they talked, wringing her hands, and barely able to sit still, jumping up to pour more coffee or straighten up imaginary clutter. She was making a gallant attempt to overcome it by forcing herself to talk, but the physical signs were still there. He though
t, but didn’t say out loud, that if those pampered kids of hers didn’t want the business, he would take it. He had worked at the family store from the time he could talk. Wasn’t it odd that Jack Smith hadn’t involved his own children in the business? He didn’t feel like it was a topic he could bring up to her, and it was a done deal now, with the man dead and gone. Each of the revelations Pam made regarding her life shed new light on the elusive Jack Smith. In all the years that Pam had shopped at his store, Jack had never accompanied her. Dave was curious about him, but Pam was tight with information, almost loyal in her refusal to get into details too deeply. It was obvious that her husband was a jerk. She got AIDS from him, wasn’t that enough? Dave left her house that day knowing little more about the issue, and was willing to let it be for now.
Pam wandered around the house, being proactive by making lists and setting up appointments, trying to squelch her apprehension. Steve’s calling her about the apartment had set the gears moving. Why in God’s name did she need so many properties? The rent she received from Jack’s apartment on Madison and Bill and Anne’s house in the Village, was substantial; the latter was rented to a grad student. She didn’t have to do anything about either place for now. But the housing thing kept popping up, first with the mansion and now with Marie’s apartment. If she sold it, that would mean Marie had better stay in a relationship with Steve because she would have no place else to go. From the looks of things, she wouldn’t be living alone ever again.
That settled it. Pam called Peter Romney and gave him power of attorney to sell the two properties.
16
Ashton made do with the young man he’d picked up at the bar until Jack missed him enough to come around again. Paul was a great kid. He came back to Ashton’s apartment every night after work. A low-level accountant in a big firm uptown, he lived in New Jersey, an hour’s commute away. Ashton’s place was only a few blocks from his job. He loved Ashton’s swanky place with its view of Roosevelt Island and its proximity to restaurants and shopping. And Ashton seemed happy to have him there, relinquishing the cooking and cleaning to Paul. The sex was sweet and sane. They played house for almost a week, and then on Friday, out of the blue, Jack showed up at lunchtime. Ashton was getting ready to leave for an appointment when the he heard a knock on the door. He’d given Paul a key, so it wouldn’t be him. His heart skipped a beat as he went to the door and looked through the peephole. There he was, Adonis; perfectly groomed, sticking his tongue out, and crossing his eyes.
“So you don’t call me anymore?” he asked as he walked past Ashton.
Ashton closed the door and placed the chain, just in case Paul decided to show up for lunch, too. Jack was loosening his tie as he sat down in one of the uncomfortable armchairs positioned by the window. Ashton noticed that Jack had lost weight. Probably from a week of debauchery.
“You leave me hanging all week? Boy, that’s not a very nice way to treat someone who you are supposed to love.” As usual, Jack fidgeted while he talked, running his hands through his hair, pulling on his earlobe, lining up his tie with the buttons on his shirt.
The antics usually drove Ashton crazy, but this afternoon he could only watch, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. “Why didn’t you call me?” Ashton asked. “Too busy with Blondie?”
Jack looked confused for a second, and then recognition crossed his face.
“Oh. Right. I had almost forgotten. You were stalking me. You know better. Pam needed me midweek; both kids are sick. A virus or something. She needed to run out for food and her mother couldn’t get over,” Jack explained.
Ashton did know better. Jack often got lonely for his family and would go to Babylon on Wednesday after work and spend the night, returning to the city with the rest of the commuters the next morning. He wondered why Jack couldn’t admit it. Years later, he finally would. “I missed my wife, so I went home last night,” he’d say. Ashton was glad that Jack had that much normalcy.
“So, did you miss me?” Jack asked.
Ashton saw the subtle change in Jack’s face. He was ready to get down to business. “No actually, I didn’t. Paul Friend was here all week,” Ashton confessed. He looked to see if Jack would react, and all he did was smile.
“How was it?” Jack was an ardent voyeur. He knew Ashton wouldn’t tell him details, no matter how much he begged. “Are we a better team?” he asked.
Ashton shook his head no and laughed. “I’m not telling you, so don’t pry. Besides, you were only in Babylon Wednesday,” Ashton challenged. “What’d you do the rest of the week? The question is did you miss me?”
Jack got up and walked toward him, smiling. “Why don’t I show you?” He reached for Ashton’s fly and unzipped with one hand, pushing him into a chair with the other. It was while they were in this posture, Ashton moaning with pleasure and about ready to ejaculate, when the door opened and banged against the chain.
“Hey! What’s going on? Open up!” Paul yelled. The men separated and Jack went into the bathroom, leaving Ashton to pull himself together, bitching, and get the door.
“Just a minute,” Ashton yelled. He was trying to keep himself from laughing out loud. He went to the door and pushed it closed so he could take the chain off. “I didn’t expect you.”
“That’s obvious. I had some extra time so I thought I’d come home. Why’d you have the chain up?” Paul asked. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Jack Smith sauntered out of the bathroom, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. Ashton was mortified. It was clear that some hanky-panky had been going on.
“Oh. Well, shit,” Paul said and then to Jack, “I should have known. Don’t you have a wife and some kids who need you?”
Ignoring him, Jack said, “I’ll leave you two alone now. I’m heading out.” And to Ashton, “Call you later?” He reached over to kiss him, whispering, “You gave him a key?” Smiling, he left the apartment.
Paul was shaking with anger. “Does he come here every afternoon?”
“It’s none of your business, Paul. You were very rude,” Ashton admonished. “This is my apartment and I didn’t expect you today. You should have called.”
But Paul looked at him with surprise. “You are kidding, right? We have been together for a week! What was it to you? Play time? Didn’t it mean anything?” Paul’s voice was getting shrill, and he started sputtering and crying. “I thought we had something special! You said you loved me!”
Ashton was worried he would start screaming, so he tried to be gentle with him. “Would you like some water? Here, have a seat,” Ashton said, leading him over to the chair he’d just vacated. The smell of sex lingered in the air and Ashton was hoping it would go unnoticed. He left to go to the kitchen and when he came back, Paul was standing by the door with his overnight bag in his hand, disgust on his face. He must have recognized the odor. Oops.
“I’m leaving. Go fuck yourself, Ashton.” With that, he turned and left the apartment.
Ashton went after him to the elevator. “My key, please,” he said. Paul reached into his pocket, got the key, and threw it at him.
“Suck my dick!” he yelled. Ashton picked the key up off the floor and rushed toward his apartment door. Fortunately, the elevator came quickly and was empty. Ashton watched from the safety of his apartment through the peephole as Paul got on the elevator, crying his heart out. Ashton felt badly because Paul was a really nice guy and they were good together, but not as good as Jack. No one would ever measure up to Jack. Paul would be the last man Ashton picked up and brought home for a while. He’d have one-night stands and finally, stopped even that much interaction. It just wasn’t worth the risk of angering Jack.
17
Sandra spent the rest of the weekend aiming to see the good in Tom. They had fun on Sunday; Tom took her to his father John’s cottage on the water in Bayside. His stepmother, Gwen, was a charming woman, twenty years John’s senior. She and Sandra hit it off from the start. The two couples went to a fl
ea market and then lunch; it would be the first of many outings together. Gwen was interested in Sandra, curious about the woman who had corralled her particular stepson when so many others had tried and failed. Sandra had expected an interrogation but Gwen gave an exposé.
“I don’t know what you did, but I can see Tom is head over heels. Well, that’s not true, I can see by looking at you why he would be attracted. He’s almost fanatical about women, did you know that? John told me that he’s never had a serious girlfriend because no one could ever measure up to his expectations,” Gwen said, shaking her head. “How can that be in this day and age of permissiveness?”
Sandra blanched; what would Gwen think if she knew the truth about their introduction and the subsequent experiences the couple already shared? She felt sick. Here, she’d judged him for being provincial when he was forward enough in this thinking to embrace her in all of her perversity. Why would a guy who was “almost fanatical” even give me a second look?
“Well, I’m glad he would give me a second look,” Sandra said. Unless Tom thought it was necessary, her HIV-positive status wouldn’t be revealed at this family gathering. “He’s really a wonderful guy!” Embarrassed at how weak it sounded, Sandra hoped the fact that she was living with him already was enough indication of her feelings for Tom.
Prayers for the Dying: Pam of Babylon Book #4 Page 10