by Brad Graber
Barney tilted his head in a gesture of apology. “Sorry.”
“How could you not know he was gay?” Harry asked as he looked over at Rikki.
“Is that something that would make a mother disown her son?” Rikki asked, as she absorbed the news. “It doesn’t seem like a big deal.”
“Back in 1977 it was a very big deal,” Harry assured her. “A big fucking deal.”
◆
“Why did you have to tell her?” Elle asked her brother as they sat together at Serendipity in Manhattan, a specialty dessert restaurant, in front of two frozen hot chocolates. “Did she really need to know?” Elle plunged a straw into the center of the chocolaty frost.
Richard’s voice was defensive. “Hey, it’s who I am. I’m not lying. She’ll just have to get over it.”
Elle doubted Rita would ever get over it. It wasn’t in her nature. Holding grudges, being angry—that was the mother Elle knew. “Don’t you see that she’s going to dig in her heels and make life impossible?”
“For whom?” Richard asked between sips of his drink.
“For you . . . for me. For everyone,” Elle answered.
Richard tilted his head as he examined his sister’s expression of panic. “Really? That’s what this is about? How she’s going to be treating you?”
Elle lifted her chin in defiance. “We’re a family. What happens to you, happens to me. Remember that.”
Richard laughed. “Elle, we’re both too old for these games,” he said, using a long spoon to lift the whipped cream from the top of his drink. The spoon disappeared into his mouth as she waited for him. He licked his lips. “Let’s face it. She never liked me. You were always her favorite. I was just an annoyance. It was bound to come to this.”
Elle refused to accept his explanation. “There had to be another way.”
Richard curled his lips and then his cheeks rose, creating a sardonic smile. It was Richard’s signature expression. A signal that there was no point in arguing with him. “Did you ever notice that everything that happens in our family is about her? Your success . . . is her success. Your looks came from her. When I ask questions or require anything . . . I’m bothering her. It’s really insane, Elle. She can drain the life right out of you.”
Elle knew only too well. “So, how did you leave it with her?”
“The way we’ve always left everything. Badly.”
“So what will you do now?”
“Nothing,” Richard said, his eyes focused on Elle.
“Please, Richard. Promise me you’ll call and tell her you were only joking. You’re not gay. Tell her anything, but call.”
Richard weighed her suggestion as two young girls, giggling, squeezed into the adjacent table, nearly knocking over the water glasses.
“I can’t,” he answered. “I can’t, Elle. Not even for you.”
◆
Rikki listened intently as Harry explained about his early life.
“It was so different back in the early 1970s,” Harry began. “The American Psychiatric Association hadn’t yet declassified homosexuality as a mental illness. That didn’t happen until 1973. It was a terrible stigma. Making connections with other men was impossible unless you were willing to risk being caught in a very public place. Parks, back rooms, adult movie houses, baths. It was this parallel world created by need. And sometimes, very scary. You were a pariah.”
Rikki couldn’t quite imagine an alternative world where men hid about the edges. But the way Harry spoke, lowering his voice in secrecy, she was intrigued. “It sounds so exciting,” she said as she looked over at Barney, who was scratching Beetle under the chin.
Harry’s voice quickly changed. “Exciting?”
“Yes, with all that sneaking around. And having to pretend to be someone else. I’ve always wanted to be someone else,” she said.
“No,” Harry waved his hands. “You don’t understand. You couldn’t be yourself. Those who could pass—passed. The rest . . . Well, there were few choices for them but to keep their heads down and say nothing.”
Rikki leaned forward, ignoring his explanation. “So, he had never been with a woman?”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
Barney glanced over at Rikki, offering an expression that Rikki interrupted as meaning that she might have crossed a line.
Harry ran a hand through his curls. “That’s a little personal.”
Rikki didn’t miss a beat. “But isn’t that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, I guess so,” Harry muttered. “But he had a life.”
“But aren’t you trying to tell me that his life was ruined because he was gay? And that’s why he lost touch with his family?”
“Well, not exactly,” Harry sighed. “His life wasn’t ruined. He had this inner strength. A real confidence. A genuine need to be himself. He didn’t believe he’d done anything wrong. And then, later on . . .”
“But my uncle is dead. He died before I was born. And you”—Rikki looked about at the darkened house—“seem to live here all alone. It must be a lonely existence.”
Harry gasped. “Well, not exactly lonely.”
“But you don’t have any family. You’ve never married or had any kids? And you’re living here by yourself. Right?”
Harry covered his mouth. “Wow,” he said in a low voice, unsure how his explanation had gotten so off-track.
“That’s terrible,” she said, looking at Barney, whose eyes had closed. She struggled to conceal a yawn.
Barney opened his eyes. “I’m beat.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry answered, seemingly taken aback. “But I thought you wanted to hear this.”
“We do. But when are you going to get to the part about her uncle?” Barney asked, looking over at Rikki, who also looked exhausted.
“Oh no, it’s my fault,” Rikki said, stopping Barney. “I want to hear everything, but,” she said blinking, “I can barely keep my eyes open.”
◆
“So how did he die?” Barney asked Harry, as he stretched his arms overhead and Rikki slid down, eyes closed, head resting against the back of the sofa.
Harry was transported back to the hospital room with its dingy yellow lighting, institutional smell, and cold tile floors.
Richard had yet to be placed on the ventilator. His frightened eyes searched for an escape from the terrible struggle to breathe. The memory was frozen in Harry’s mind. “I’m sorry,” the young doctor had said upon introducing himself to Richard. He ignored Harry. “The test results are conclusive. You’re HIV positive, which explains the pneumocystis.”
Harry refocused. “How does anyone die?” he finally answered, eluding the question.
Barney rolled his eyes. “Either you tell us too much or nothing at all. We’re here to learn the truth. What’s your deal?”
Harry laughed to cover his sudden discomfort at Barney’s keen observation. Smart kid, he thought, calling me out on my shit. Harry rubbed his face. “The truth is,” he said, struggling to get out the rest of the sentence, “I wasn’t there when he actually died,” again sidestepping the real answer.
Barney’s eyes explored Harry’s face as if searching for the information that Harry didn’t want to share. “How old was he?”
“Thirty-three,” Harry answered. “Only thirty-three.”
“That doesn’t seem so very young,” Barney said.
“That’s because you’re fifteen going on sixteen,” Harry assured him. “When you get to be thirty-three, you’ll see how young that is.”
“Did he know he was going to die?”
Harry felt a horrid depression settling in. It was as if he was disappearing . . . slowly dissolving into the furniture. “It was AIDS,” he finally admitted. “Full-blown AIDS.”
Harry massaged a numb face with his hand. Was his blood still flowing? Was his heart still beating? This is why he didn’t want to remember. Why he refused to write anything about that time in his life. It had all become too real again. Too painful.
Hearing Richard’s voice in his head had saved him from the abyss. He’d kept Richard alive. The best part of Richard. Not the sickness. Not the dying. But the loving voice of a man who had adored him. It had been Harry’s means of survival.
“Rikki doesn’t know anything about this,” Barney said as Rikki gently snored next to him.
“I know,” Harry answered. “Do you think she’ll care?”
Barney didn’t respond and, for the moment, Harry sensed judgment in Barney’s manner. About what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it had nothing to do with Richard and AIDS. Perhaps it was a discomfort with all things gay. Or maybe it was something else.
“Do you think she cares that her uncle was gay?” Harry asked.
“Oh, no,” Barney answered. “We know there are gay people in the world.”
“Then it’s the AIDS?”
Barney offered a suspicious look. “Why would she care about that?”
Harry shook his head. “So, then what is it? What’s the problem?”
Barney sat up. “You two were together, weren’t you?”
“I thought you already knew that,” Harry said nonchalantly. “Wasn’t that immediately clear?”
“No. Why would it be?” Barney answered.
Harry smiled. What a generation. I’m still hiding, and they don’t care. “Yes, we were partners.”
“Dude,” Barney said slicing the air with a wave of his palm,” you’ve got to stop using that term partners. It sounds like you were in business together.”
“Right.” Harry smiled, acknowledging the confusion. “I suppose it does.”
Barney squinted. “If you two were together, how is it that you never got sick? How can that be possible?”
Harry exhaled. “I don’t know. I’ve asked myself the same thing over the years. But I never did get infected. Call it luck—call it natural immunity. I don’t know the answer. No one does.”
◆
Harry held the telephone receiver to his ear with one hand and wiped the sleep away from his eyes with the other. “Mr. Aldon?” the voice had asked.
“Yes,” Harry groggily answered. “Who is this?”
“This is Covington Hospital calling.”
Harry shot straight up in bed, his heart racing as he glanced over at the alarm clock and noticed the time. Did he oversleep? He was supposed to be taking Richard home. He’d promised to be there by 8:00 a.m. It had all been planned. Harry had even arranged for a home care nurse to start that very afternoon.
“I’m afraid we have some bad news. Mr. Goldenbaum passed away this morning at five-thirty.”
Harry heard the words, but the meaning eluded him.
“Mr. Aldon, did you hear me?” the voice said.
Harry blinked twice. “Did you just tell me Richard Goldenbaum died?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry to have to tell you.”
When did you say he died?”
“Early this morning.”
“But how?” he had asked, as if he was completely unaware of Richard’s precarious health.
“Heart, Mr. Aldon. He suffered a massive heart attack.”
◆
Barney waved a hand wildly. “Boy, you really go in and out . . . don’t you?”
Harry forced a smile, though he was reeling as if he’d just received the phone call about Richard’s death. Thinking about the past had always seemed a waste of time. All that sorrow. He didn’t want to go back. It had been the worst time of his life.
Barney offered a dimpled smile. “So, what about Rikki? Does she look like him at all?”
Harry studied her sleeping face. “She has some of his facial expressions,” Harry acknowledged.
“Was he a nice guy?”
“I thought so,” Harry answered, again eluding the specifics.
Barney leaned forward. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” he warned Harry. “She didn’t come all this way to hear platitudes. She wants to know who he was. How he lived. The relationship he had with her mother and grandmother. She may seem like she has her shit together,” Barney added in a whisper, “but she’s fragile. You need to help her.”
“And you?” Harry asked, impressed by the forthrightness of the young man before him. “What’s your story? How did you and Rikki meet?”
Barney glared at Harry. “Oh, no. This isn’t about me. We’re here to help her. She’s the focus. So let’s keep it real. I have nothing to do with this.”
Harry wondered how that could be true. “You came all this way just for Rikki?”
“I don’t have a family. Maybe this is my way of helping someone else figure it all out.”
Yes, Harry thought. A remarkable kid.
13
Rita’s voice boomed. “Are you enjoying Toledo?”
Rikki pulled the receiver away from her ear. “Yes,” she lied. “How are you?”
“Not so well,” Rita announced. “It’s snowing and I’m staying in. Did I ever tell you I have terrible arthritis in my left thumb?”
Rikki rolled her eyes. “A million times.” How Rita’s thumb seemed connected to the snow eluded Rikki.
“Well, it’s worse than ever. And it’s been very lonely here without you. I miss you. But I know being with your friend Barbra is important. I remember what it was like to be your age.”
Rikki found it difficult to imagine Rita being any other age than old.
“So, tell me about Barbra’s family,” Rita asked. “Who else is there?”
Rikki ran her finger over the counter, collecting a crumb. Harry needs to clean the house, she thought as she examined her finger under the bright overhead lights. Thank God she was on the phone. Lying caused her to blush. “You know. Her uncle and aunt. Some cousins,” she said, hoping to keep it short and sweet. The less said, the better.
“And what are their names?”
Rikki felt her heart thump. “What?” She pretended as if she hadn’t heard the question as her mind raced.
“Their names. What are their names?”
Rikki stalled. “That’s a strange question, Rita. So, tell me more about your thumb. Are you going to the doctor to have that looked at?”
But Rita didn’t seem to be buying the ploy. “Let me speak to Barbra’s aunt. I’d like to thank her.”
Rikki looked about. “She’s not here.”
“Okay. Then her uncle.”
“He went with her.”
“All right, then. How about Barbra? Let me speak to her.”
Rikki’s face was on fire. “She also went with them.”
Rita sounded incredulous. “And left you all alone?”
Rikki reached for an excuse. “Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s nice to spend time alone.”
The jig was up.
“Rikki . . . I know you’re not in Toledo.”
Rikki rubbed her forehead. “No, I’m not.”
In a stern voice, Rita asked the next question. “Then, why are you lying to me?”
“Because you’re lying to me,” Rikki defended herself.
“Rikki, I’ve never lied to you.”
“Yes, you have,” Rikki shouted into the receiver, highly upset. “You’ve been lying to me all along. What happened to my mother? And why is it that I never knew I had an Uncle Richard?”
“I’m not here to answer your questions,” Rita scolded. “Your job is to do as I say.”
“Well, Rita,” Rikki boldly announced, “that isn’t really working for me.” And she hung up.
◆
Angered by the phone call, Rikki clenched her fists as Rita’s words echoed in her ears. I’m not here to answer your questions. Rita had been stonewalling all along. Deliberately avoiding telling Rikki anything about the family.
But why? Rikki wondered. Had Rikki herself done something wrong? Was she responsible in some way for her mother’s death?
A cold dread gripped her heart. She had to understand. Why was Rita being so secretive? Why was Rita unwilling to share anything with her?
◆
Beetle rushed the door as soon as the bell rang. It was past eleven o’clock and the kids had retired, Rikki to the guest room and Barney to a blow-up mattress in Harry’s office. Harry tried to suppress his irritation as he opened the door.
He leaned against the jamb. “It’s late,” he said.
Lil was holding a bottle of red. “I was feeling a little lonely and thought maybe we could talk.”
“Lil, how many times have I said that you need to call first?”
Lil pursed her lips as she gave Harry a seductive glance. “Harry, it’s just as easy for me to walk over. If you don’t want me to visit, just tell me so. I can handle the truth.”
Harry shrugged and opened the door. “Maybe just one drink. And that’s it. I have some guests staying with me—and I don’t want them disturbed.”
“I didn’t see a car out front,” Lil said as she glanced about, as if she expected to see the reported guests sitting in the living room.
“Come this way.” Harry waved to her as he headed to the kitchen, switching on the light.
Two empty pizza boxes sat on the counter. “Oh, Harry,” Lil pressed, lifting the boxes up, “you better dump these in the trash unless you want ants. Now go on,” she nudged him as he lifted the boxes and left the room.
When Harry returned, Lil was nowhere in sight. Heading down the hallway, he came up to his office. The door was open, and Lil was sitting in his desk chair talking with Barney, who was sitting up on the blow-up mattress. “Look who I met,” Lil said, spotting Harry.
Harry rolled his eyes.
“Barney was just telling me how they flew here from Michigan today. Harry, I had no idea you had friends in Michigan,” Lil said, disarmingly. “Michigan is such a lovely place. Did you know that I attended the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor? Great school. And the cutest little town you’ve ever seen.”
“Lil, why don’t you leave the kid alone? Let him get some sleep.”
“Why, of course,” she said, standing up. “I’m sorry. Did I bother you?” She directed the question to Barney, who rubbed his eyes and merely smiled.