Goldenboy

by Michael Nava

  “Don’t die,” I said, and the words sounded childlike even to my own ears.

  “I won’t just yet,” he replied. “But when I do I want it to be my life for Jim’s. That would balance the accounts.”

  “But it’s entirely different,” I said.

  “It’s the same disease,” he insisted. “Bigotry. It doesn’t matter whether it shows itself in letting people die of AIDS or making it so difficult for them to come out that it’s easier to murder.”

  “Then you do think he did it.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Not that it makes any difference to me.”

  “It will to a jury.”

  “You’ll have to persuade them,” he said, “that Jim was justified.”

  “Self-defense?”

  Larry said, “There might be a problem there. Jim’s P.D. told me Jim doesn’t remember anything about what happened.”

  “Doesn’t remember?” I echoed.

  “She called it retrograde amnesia.”

  The waiter came and took Larry’s salad plate. He cast a baleful glance at my plate from which I had eaten nothing and said, “Sir, shall I leave your salad?”

  “Yes, please.”

  We were served dinner. Looking at Larry I reflected how quickly we had retreated into talk of Jim Pears’s case as if the subject of Larry’s illness had never been raised.

  “I want to talk some more about you,” I said.

  Larry compressed his lips into a frown. “I’ve told you all there is to know.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “Henry, I’ve turned myself inside out examining my feelings. It was painful enough the first time without repeating the exercise for you.”

  “Sorry.” I addressed myself to the food on my plate, some sort of chicken glistening with gravy. A wave of nausea rose from my stomach to my throat.

  Larry was saying, “But I won’t go quietly. Depend on that.”

  We got through dinner. Afterwards, we went upstairs to the bar. Sitting at the window seat with glasses of mineral water we watched men passing on the street below us in front of what had been the Jaguar Bookstore.

  Abruptly, Larry said, “I wondered at first how I could have been infected. It really puzzled me because I thought AIDS was only transmitted during tawdry little episodes in the back rooms of places like that.” He gestured toward the Jaguar. “All my tawdry little episodes were twenty years in the past, and then there was Ned.” Ned was his lover who had died four years ago.

  “Were you monogamous with Ned?”

  He smiled grimly. “I was monogamous, yes.”

  “But not Ned.”

  “You don’t get this from doorknobs, Henry.” He frowned.

  “Do you think he knew?”

  “He killed himself didn’t he?” Larry snapped. “At least now I know why,” he added, quietly.

  “Who have you told?”

  “You.”

  “That’s all?”

  He nodded. “My clients are movie stars. Having a gay lawyer is considered amusing in that set but a leper is a different matter.”

  “But — your appearance.”

  “You haven’t seen me in, what? A year? And even you were willing to accept the way I look as the result of overwork. It’s not really noticeable from day to day.”

  “But you must have been in the hospital?”

  “With the flu,” he said. “A virulent, obscure Asian flu with complications brought on by fatigue.”

  “People believed that?”

  “People are remarkably incurious and besides... “ He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. I knew he was going to say that people preferred not to think about AIDS, much less believe that someone they knew had it. I was struggling with my own disbelief and, at some deeper level, my terror.

  “How long can you keep it a secret?”

  “Henry, you’re talking to a man who was in the closet for almost thirty-five years. I know from secrets.” He yawned. “I’d like to go for a walk down by the water, then we have to talk some more about Jim Pears.”

  It had stopped raining by the time we reached Fisherman’s

  Wharf but that loud, normally crowded, arcade of tourist traps and overpriced fish restaurants was deserted anyway. We walked around aimlessly, jostling against each other on the narrow walks, stopping to comment on some particularly egregious monstrosity in the shop front windows. We walked to the edge of the pier where the fishing boats were berthed, creaking in the water like old beds. A rift in the clouds above the Golden Gate revealed a black sky and three faint stars. Larry looked at them and then at me.

  “Do you wish on stars, Henry?” he asked.

  “Not since I was a kid.”

  “I do,” Larry replied. “Wish on stars. Pray. Plead. It doesn’t do any good.” We stood there for a few more minutes until he complained of the cold.

  I drove us to Washington Square and we found an espresso bar. Tony Bennett played on the jukebox. We each ordered a caffè latte. Larry brought out a bulky folder from his briefcase and put it on the table between us.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “My file on Jim Pears. You’re taking the case, aren’t you?” I hesitated. “Yes. I’ll fly down on Monday morning. Will I have a chance to talk to Jim before the hearing?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask his P.D. A woman named Sharon Hart.” He paused and sipped his coffee. “She’s not a bad lawyer but something’s not working out between her and Jim.” “It happens. I’m always running up against the expectations of my clients. You learn to be tactful.”

  Larry wasn’t listening. He was looking at his reflection in the window. When he looked back at me, he asked, “Do I seem hysterical to you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I do to myself sometimes.” He rattled his cup. “I’m so angry, Henry. When I wake up in the morning I think I’ll explode from rage.”

  He tightened his jaw and clamped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you expect that?” I asked, awkwardly.

  He lowered his hand, revealing a faintly hostile smile. “You’ve been reading too much Kubler-Ross,” he said. “There are only two stages to dying, Henry. Being alive and being dead. We treat death like a bad smell. I’m supposed to excuse myself and leave the room.”

  His eyes were bright. It was the only time I had ever seen Larry even approach tears and it was frightening.

  “Why should you care what other people think? You never have before.”

  “Well, that’s not true,” he snapped. “I was the original closet queen, remember?” He expelled a noisy breath, then sipped from his coffee. “I don’t know why I’m taking it out on you.”

  “Because I’m here?”

  He shook his head. “Because I love you.” He tried to smile but his face wouldn’t cooperate. “I’ll miss you.”

  He lowered his face toward the table and I watched the tears slide down his cheeks and splatter on the table top. I reached for his hand and held it. After a moment or two it was over. He looked up, drew a dazzlingly white handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face.

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s the witching hour. You’d better get me back to the airport.”

  I pulled up in front of the terminal and helped Larry gather his things. He put his hand on the door handle.

  “Wait,” I said.

  He looked over at me. I leaned across the seat and kissed him.

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  “I know.”

  A moment later he was gone.

  3

  It was nearly one when I pulled into the carport and parked in my allotted space. It was raining again and a heavy wind rattled the treetops filling my quiet street with creaks and wheezes. I grabbed the bulky folder Larry had given me and made a run for my apartment, stopping only to collect my mail and a soggy edition of the evening paper.

  Inside I was greeted by silence. The only unusual thing about this was that I noticed
it at all. I put the folder on my desk, added the paper to the stack in the kitchen and leafed through the bills and solicitations that comprised my mail. I turned on a burner and poured water into the tea kettle, set it on the flame, opened a bag of Chips Ahoy and ate a few. When the water was boiling I poured it into a blue mug with “Henry” emblazoned on it — the gift of a client — and added a bag of Earl Grey tea. Then there was that silence again. It seemed to flow out of the electrical outlets and drip from the tap.

  Only the silence was not quite silent enough. It was filled with my loneliness. I had lived alone long enough and I did not want to die this way. These days, death no longer seemed like such a distant prospect to me. I sipped my tea. I thought of my empty bed. I opened the folder and found the transcripts of Jim Pears’s preliminary hearing.

  *****

  The purpose of a preliminary hearing is to see whether the prosecutor can establish probable cause to bring the defendant to trial — to “hold him to answer,” in the arcane language of the law. For the defense, however, the prelim is an opportunity to preview the prosecution’s evidence so as to prepare to refute it at trial. Consequently, the prosecutor puts on as little evidence as possible to show probable cause, holding what he can in reserve.

  The transcripts of Jim’s prelim consisted of two slender volumes. The events leading up to Brian Fox’s death were narrated by two witnesses who had also worked at the restaurant. The first was a waiter named Josh Mandel. I set my cup down and began reading:

  Frank Pisano, D.A.: At some point prior to Brian Fox’s death, did you have a conversation with Brian about Jim Pears?

  Mrs. Sharon Hart, P.D.: Objection, calls for hearsay.

  Pisano: This statement is admissible under section 1350 of the Evidence Code. We filed some papers —

  The Court: I have them here.

  Pisano: Yes, Your Honor. Uh, we expect Mr. Mandel will testify that he was told by Brian Fox that he — Brian — saw Jim Pears engaging in sex with a man. That’s relevant to the issues here and Brian Fox is certainly unavailable, thanks to Mr. Pears.

  The Court: Mrs. Hart?

  Hart: There’re a lot of conditions here that have to be satisfied before 1350 applies. Like — for example, the statement has to have been written down or tape-recorded.

  The Court: Where is that? Oh, all right, I see it. What about that, Mr. Pisano?

  Pisano: It also says it’s okay if the statement is made under circumstances that indicate its trustworthiness. That’s an alternative to a taped or written statement.

  Hart: No it’s not. That’s in addition to.

  The Court: Well, I tend to agree with the prosecutor on that. I’m going to let the statement in.

  Hart: Defense objects.

  The Court: Understood. The objection’s overruled.

  Pisano: Do you remember the question, Josh?

  Josh Mandel: Yeah. Brian told me he had proof that Jim was gay.

  Pisano: Do you mean homosexual?

  Hart: Objection, leading.

  The Court. We’re wasting time. Overruled. Answer.

  Mandel: Yes.

  Pisano: Did he tell you what this proof was?

  Mandel: Yes.

  Pisano: What was it?

  Mandel: He said he saw Jim having sex with some guy in a car out in the restaurant parking lot.

  Pisano: How long before Brian was killed did you have this conversation with him?

  Mandel: A couple of weeks.

  Pisano: Now, did you ever overhear a conversation between Brian and Jim Pears regarding this incident in the parking lot?

  Mandel: Well, I think. Yeah. They were talking about it.

  Pisano: What was said?

  Hart: Objection, hearsay.

  Pisano: This is an admission, Your Honor.

  The Court: Let’s hear it. Answer the question, Mr. Mandel.

  Mandel: Brian was asking Jim how would he like his mother to know that he was— (Inaudible.)

  Pisano: You’ll have to speak up, Josh.

  Mandel: A cocksucker. I’m sorry, Your Honor, but that’s what he said.

  The Court: I’ve heard worse things in this court, Mr. Mandel. Next question, counsel.

  Pisano: Okay. Did Jim Pears say anything in response?

  Mandel: Yeah.

  Pisano: What?

  Mandel: He said something like, ‘I’ll kill you before that happens.’

  Pisano: And how soon before Brian’s murder did this conversation take place?

  Mandel: It was two days.

  (Cross-examination by Mrs. Hart)

  Hart: Now you say that Brian Fox told you he saw Jim having sex with a man that night, is that right?

  Mandel: Yes.

  Hart: This was in a private car in the parking lot at night?

  Mandel: Yeah, I guess.

  Hart: Did Brian explain how he happened to be there?

  Mandel: Not to me.

  Hart: Well, isn’t it true that Brian Fox followed Jim and then snuck up on him?

  Pisano: The People will stipulate that Brian was not asked to join in on the festivities.

  The Court: Why don’t we let the witness answer, Mr. Pisano?

  Mandel: I don’t know.

  Hart: Now, Mr. Mandel, what words did Brian use to describe what he had seen?

  Mandel: I don’t remember, exactly.

  Hart: Well, did he say he’d seen Jim having sex or making love?

  Mandel: No. It was more like he saw him getting a blow job.

  Hart: Okay. Did you ever hear Brian Fox call Jim a faggot?

  Pisano: Objection, irrelevant.

  The Court: Overruled. Answer the question.

  Mandel: Yes.

  Hart: More than once?

  Mandel: Yes.

  Hart: Did you ever hear Brian Fox call Jim a queer?

  Mandel: Yes.

  Hart: More than once?

  Mandel: Yes.

  Hart: How many times did you hear Brian Fox call Jim either a faggot or a queer?

  Mandel: I don’t remember.

  Hart: Isn’t it true that you don’t remember because that was how Brian normally referred to Jim?

  Mandel: He called him that a lot.

  Hart: Around other people?

  Mandel: Yes.

  Hart: Now, Mr. Mandel, isn’t it true that, in addition to being a waiter at the Yellowtail, you are also a manager?

  Mandel: Manager-trainee.

  Hart: And isn’t part of your job to supervise the busboys on the shifts that you manage?

  Mandel: Yes.

  Hart: And did you ever manage a shift where Brian and Jim were working?

  Mandel: Yeah.

  Hart: And during one of those shifts did you hear Brian call Jim a queer or a faggot?

  Mandel: I’m not sure. Maybe.

  Hart: But you never stopped Brian, did you?

  Mandel: I don’t remember.

  Hart: In fact, isn’t it true that you also called Jim a faggot once?

  Mandel: I don’t remember.

  Hart: Isn’t it true that you told Jim to start acting like a man?

  Mandel: That was just because he was letting Brian get to him.

  Hart: Then shouldn’t you have talked to Brian?

  Mandel: Yeah. (Inaudible) I’m sorry, Jim.

  Hart: I have nothing further, Your Honor.

  (Examination by Mr. Pisano of Andrea Lew, a cocktail waitress at the Yellowtail.)

  Pisano: Who was working at the Yellowtail between eleven- thirty p.m. and midnight on the night Brian was killed?

  Lew: It was just me and Frank — that’s the bartender — and Jim was the busboy.

  Pisano: Besides the bar was any other part of the restaurant open?

  Lew: No, the kitchen closes at ten.

  Pisano: How many people were in the bar at that time?

  Lew: Not many. It was Monday, you know. Slow night. Maybe a dozen.

  Pisano: Between eleven-thirty and midnight did you see anyone enter the bar?
r />   Lew: Just Brian.

  Pisano: Now, would you have noticed if anyone else had come in?

  Lew: Well, yeah, because you have to cross in front of the bar to get to the dining rooms or the kitchen.

  Pisano: Was Jim Pears in the bar when Brian came in?

  Lew: Yes.

  Pisano: Did he see Brian?

  Mrs. Hart: Objection, calls for speculation.

  The Court: Sustained.

  Pisano: Okay. Was Brian working that night?

  Lew: No, just Jim.

  Pisano: Do you know what he was doing there?

  Lew: (Shakes head.)

  Pisano: You’re going to have to answer yes or no for the reporter.

  Lew: No.

  Pisano: Did you see Brian leave the bar at some point? Lew: No, but he was gone.

  Pisano: Did you see Jim Pears leave the bar?

  Lew: Yes.

  Pisano: When was this?

  Lew: Maybe around midnight.

  Pisano: Where did he go?

  Lew: Back toward the kitchen.

  Pisano: Did you also go back to the kitchen at some point? Lew: Yes.

  Pisano: Why?

  Lew: There’s a movie theater next door and around midnight the last show gets out. Some people came in for a drink and Frank needed some more ice so he told me to have Jim bring him up some.

  Pisano: Where is the ice kept?

  Lew: In the walk-in — that’s the refrigerator — in the kitchen.

  Pisano: About what time was it when you went back into the kitchen?

  Lew: A quarter after twelve.

  Pisano: Did you see Jim back there?

  Lew: No.

  Pisano: What did you do?

  Lew: It’s hard ... I...

  Pisano: One step at a time, Ms. Lew, and we’ll get through this. He wasn’t in the kitchen. Then what?

  Lew: I looked in the locker room. I looked outside, out the back door, but he wasn’t there.

  Pisano: Was the back door unlocked?

  Lew: Yeah.

  Pisano: Okay. He wasn’t in the kitchen, the locker room, or outside. Then what did you do?

  Lew: I looked in the walk-in. He wasn’t there. That left, the only place was the cellar. That’s where I went.

  Pisano: I want you to describe the cellar, Ms. Lew.

  Lew: There’s a big room where the wine’s kept. Then there’s two little rooms, one for the manager’s office. The other one is where we keep the hard liquor.