After the Fall

by Brad Graber

  “Well, we actually live in New York City, not Michigan,” Barney started to correct Lil.

  Lil clasped her palms together. “New York. How thrilling. Now that’s a place with a lot of hustle and bustle. So you went to Michigan from New York and now you’re in Phoenix.”

  “Actually, we went to Michigan via Toledo, Ohio.”

  Lil turned and looked at Harry. “A journey of a lifetime,” she said with dead seriousness. “That’s a lot of travel for young people.”

  Barney smiled. “We were fine. We’re very capable.”

  “I’m sure,” Lil cooed.

  “Lil,” Harry interrupted, reaching for Lil’s elbow, “how about we let Barney get some rest?”

  “Oh, of course,” Lil said, backing out of the room. “I’m sorry. But it was lovely meeting you. I hope we get a chance to talk again,” Lil continued as Harry pulled her along.

  “You’re a pistol,” Harry said as they headed back to the kitchen. “What was that all about?”

  Lil looked surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Harry challenged her. “What were you doing exploring?”

  Lil offered an indignant expression. “Why, Harry Aldon . . . you really are an ass.”

  Harry took a breath. “Lil, that might be true, and God knows I have my flaws, but what makes you think you have the right to show up at ten at night with your sad little bottle of red and then go searching through my house?”

  Lil’s combative demeanor faded. “Harry, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I like you more than I know. Maybe,” and her eyes locked on his, “I’m insecure about us.”

  Harry’s eyes bulged. “Lil, there is no ‘us,’” he said, palms high in the air. “There never was.” He leaned against the kitchen counter.

  “Now, Harry,” Lil pressed, “you know that isn’t true. We have something very special. I get that you’re a writer. You keep all your feelings bottled up.”

  She tilted her head as she spoke, and Harry wondered if that was her way of filtering out reality. Smiling, cajoling, and flattering.

  “You never even told me about Edward. What was I to think?” she pouted.

  Ah, Harry thought. There it is. There’s the reason for all this nonsense. She’s jealous.

  “Lil, I don’t owe you any explanations. In fact,” he said scratching his head, “weren’t you the one who said we’re not in a relationship.”

  “And what does that have to do with Edward?” she asked, seemingly surprised by the turn in the conversation.

  “You’re jealous of Edward,” Harry announced with certainty.

  “Edward?” Lil backed up. “Why would I be jealous of Edward? What are you talking about? Isn’t he your editor?

  Harry paled. “Yes.”

  “Then what the hell are you talking about?” she said in a sharp tone that he’d not heard before. “I was angry that you didn’t introduce me when he came to visit. He might have enjoyed meeting me. But you keep blocking me out of your life.”

  “Lil, I have company,” Harry said impatiently as he escorted her to the door. “This conversation will have to wait for tomorrow,” he said as he ushered her out, wine bottle and all.

  ◆

  Harry shook his head as he slipped into bed, Beetle resting contentedly at his side. There was a world of misunderstanding and confusion between him and Lil. Why, he wondered, had he ever allowed her into his bed? He’d done her a terrible disservice. Neither she nor Edward would ever truly own him. Those days were over. He was too old for this relationship thing. If there was one thing Harry was certain of, relationships were too confusing and messy. Not his style. He’d so much preferred being alone. Quietly working out the lives of his characters on paper. Away from the raw emotions and energy that seemed to surround real people and their desires and wants.

  You’re not immune, Harry.

  The voice was Richard’s.

  You don’t need to be alone. You should be with someone.

  Harry sat up in the dark. He hadn’t anticipated the voice. He turned on the light on the side table and pulled out a crossword puzzle from the drawer. Beetle nuzzled ever closer, releasing a yawn as he dropped his head back onto the covers.

  You don’t have many years left. Do you want those years to be spent alone?

  Harry looked up. “I’m not alone,” he said softly, “I have Beetle.”

  He glanced down at the sleeping dog.

  Make a choice, Harry. Choose Lil or Edward. But choose someone.

  “Why?” Harry said. “Why do I have to?”

  Then you’ve chosen loneliness. You’ve chosen yourself.

  ◆

  The next morning at breakfast, sitting with Barney and Harry, a bowl of half-eaten oatmeal in front of her, Rikki blurted out, “So you two were gay together.”

  Harry choked on his coffee as Barney let out a howl.

  “Did you tell her?” Harry asked Barney as coffee ran down the corner of his mouth. He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  Barney shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Evelyn had said you guys were friends. As for you two being together—that wasn’t so clear. All that code talk. But then, she figured it out. I just told her that she was right.”

  Harry used his tongue to dislodge a seed from a rear molar, a byproduct of the toasted sesame seed bagel that sat before him. “So, now you know.”

  “Oh, my God,” Rikki said leaning forward. “That’s big news. How did my mother deal with it?”

  Harry exhaled. “Now, that’s an odd question. Don’t you think you should be asking how your Uncle Richard dealt with it? After all, your mother had her own life. Richard’s being gay had very little to do with her. What should it matter?”

  Rikki sat back in her chair. “So, I’m asking the wrong question?” she said in a small voice.

  “Yeah, I’d say,” Harry lectured. “You know, you don’t just wake up, jump out of bed, and leap for joy that you’re gay. There’s this painful period of adjustment.”

  “But why?” Rikki asked.

  “Does it have to be?” Barney wanted to know.

  Harry was beside himself. “Don’t you two know anything?” he said, exasperated. “Being gay is being different. No one wants to be different.”

  “But it’s everywhere,” Barney pointed out. “Rosie O’Donnell, Ellen DeGeneres, and even Mr. Sulu from Star Trek. And Will & Grace. Come on!”

  Harry nodded.

  “And we have a teacher at school—Mr. Rosenfeld. He’s gay,” added Barney.

  “Well, we don’t actually know that for a fact,” Rikki pointed out. “He’s never told us.”

  Barney arched his brow. “He’s gay!”

  “Yes, I think he is,” Rikki agreed.

  Harry shifted his gaze from Rikki to Barney and back. “Well, okay. Maybe today it’s more acceptable. Granted. But back then, not so much. It was a big deal. A true act of courage to be who you were. To live your life out and proud.”

  Barney scratched his head. “Now it’s just kind of cool.”

  Rikki agreed. “I don’t think it defines you as a human being.”

  Harry dropped his face in his hands. “I can see this just might be harder than I thought.”

  ◆

  “Rock Hudson had just died,” Harry explained. “It was a big deal. If Rock Hudson could be gay, well . . .”

  “Who’s that?” Barney asked.

  Harry shook his head. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” Rikki added.

  “Oh, my God.” Harry placed his hands on top of his head. “Seriously? You don’t know who Rock Hudson was?”

  Both kids offered blank stares.

  “He was a major Hollywood movie star. Giant. Magnificent Obsession. Pillow Talk.”

  Still no response.

  “McMillan and Wife? Dynasty?”

  Blank stares.

  Harry continued. “It was the 1980s.”

  “We’re only fifteen,” R
ikki finally said. “How are we supposed to know that?”

  “Don’t they teach you anything in school about AIDS?”

  Rikki laughed. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” Harry stammered. “There’s a whole history of how Reagan ignored the epidemic. Of a brilliant and brave group of men and women who fought the system and came together to make a death sentence into a chronic illness. And there’s an entire generation that’s been wiped out from the disease.”

  Rikki chimed in, “Like Uncle Richard.”

  “Yes,” Harry said.

  “A lot of others died?” Barney asked.

  “Okay,” Harry said. “I think we need to do a little education here. If you want to know about your family, we’re going to have to get you two educated.”

  ◆

  Together, Harry and Rita had sat in the fourth floor waiting lounge at Beth Israel Medical Center in Manhattan. Rita stared into the distance as Harry waited for her to speak. Richard was back in the hospital and Harry thought it was time that Rita knew the score. In the four years since he and Richard had lived together, Rita hadn’t been part of their lives. A call twice a year, usually made by Richard, seemed to be the limit of the relationship.

  Harry shifted awkwardly in his chair. The entire experience with Richard had been a roller-coaster ride. From the moment they’d connected, Harry’s world had been turned upside down. He’d always been a solitary soul, but Richard loved people. And so they went clubbing and to parties . . . lots of parties. Harry had never met anyone quite like Richard. Someone who was so comfortable in his own skin. “Don’t let the bastards get you down,” he’d tell Harry. “Love yourself.”

  Harry found value in those words. He discovered his own courage as he watched his lover negotiate the world with confidence and energy. Where Harry had been afraid, Richard was fearless. Dinner together at a romantic restaurant on a Saturday night had once been unbearable for Harry. Surely everyone will know. But Richard didn’t care. He saw no reason to cower or hide, going so far as to kiss Harry on the lips in public one night. “There,” he said glancing about. “No one cares. Stop being such a homophobe.”

  And now, with Richard’s illness raging, Harry’s world centered on Beth Israel.

  Rita broke her silence. “He deserves this,” she said emphatically. “If he chose to be gay, then he deserves to die.”

  Harry was stunned. “That’s outrageous.”

  “Well, that’s how I feel,” Rita said stoically.

  Harry could feel his blood pressure rise. “Then you can’t see him,” he calmly said.

  Rita shifted in her chair to face Harry. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’ll do exactly as I please.”

  Harry stood. “Let’s go.” He signaled for her to stand up. “Time to leave.”

  Rita’s mouth hung open.

  “Come on, now,” he said, pulling her up by the arm. “You’re leaving.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!” Rita snapped.

  “Oh, yes you are,” Harry said as he forcefully pulled her along the hallway and to the elevator. “You’re leaving, right now.”

  ◆

  “Tell me about Rita. What did she do?”

  Harry didn’t know if he should say anything about Rita, but Rikki pressed.

  Harry bit his lower lip. He didn’t want to go through it all again. It had been so many years. What good could come of it now? Rita was who she was—and who she’d always been. Why share such awful stories? And then a thought flashed in Harry’s mind. Maybe it was more than the family could handle? Maybe Rita simply wasn’t strong enough. Like a thunderbolt, Harry’s entire view shifted. He’d spent years vested in a vision of Richard’s family as selfish in the face of tragedy, never considering that they were actually incompetent.

  Rikki waited.

  Barney sat back and locked eyes with Harry.

  The young, serious faces before him yearned for the details about Rita.

  As Harry gazed into their innocent eyes, he realized that the story of Richard’s death had become a private construct that had defined his life. He’d embedded the tragedy and allowed it to shape his future. It was an intense moment of clarity. And as he held that fleeting truth in his grasp, he understood that this was his chance to heal. His moment to grow from pain. Something that he hadn’t allowed himself to do. It was as if he’d waited for Rikki and Barney to be born and grow up, to come and find him, so that he might come to terms with the life events that had traumatized him so many years earlier.

  He weighed his words as if spiritually imbued with a power not of his own mind but of a higher energy. “Rita proved,” he began, “to be who she always was. Only more so. In the face of Richard’s diagnosis, she was unavailable. And now that I look back on it,” and Harry took a deep breath and sighed, “instead of being angry at her, I am grateful that she wasn’t there. She made the right choice for Richard and me. Not having to deal with her was the greatest gift she could have offered.”

  Two puzzled faces stared back at him.

  “I can’t explain it any more but to say, when someone doesn’t have the capacity to be helpful, best that they stay away.”

  A tear escaped Rikki’s eye. “And your own family?” Rikki asked.

  “I never told them.”

  “That’s terrible,” Barney said.

  “What did Uncle Richard say?”

  Harry arched his brows. “We didn’t talk about it.”

  “Ever?” Barney asked, frowning.

  Harry tilted his head. He thought for a moment. “No. We never did.”

  “He must have known how Rita was,” Rikki concluded.

  Harry looked at her, aware that Rikki was speaking a truth he’d just finally considered. “Yes, of course. Why would he be surprised? He knew who she was. He knew what to expect of them.”

  “Them?” Barney asked. “I thought we were just talking about Rita.”

  Harry’s face paled. He’d say no more.

  ◆

  Harry had tried one last time. As he dialed Elle’s number, he searched for something new to say. Something that might be more persuasive. “Elle, he wants to see you. It would mean so much,” Harry pressed. “Please say you’ll come.”

  “I’m sorry, Harry. I want to, but I can’t.”

  “But Elle . . .”

  The resistance on the other end was palpable. “I can’t, Harry. Please stop calling and asking me to. I’m happy to speak to him by phone. I’m just not going to risk getting sick.”

  “Elle, I’m not sick. And we’ve been intimate,” Harry declared.

  “But you might be,” Elle answered. “I just can’t take that chance.”

  Harry sighed. It was hopeless. “So, you’re going to allow your brother to die without seeing him. How can you do that?”

  “Harry, don’t make me out to be an evil person. I’m not. I love Richard. I’ve called him every day since he’s been in the hospital. But there’s nothing more I can do for him now. He’s got you, Harry.” Her voice was clear and determined. “He has you. You’re there. And I know how much he loves you. He doesn’t really need anyone else.”

  Harry closed his eyes. “Elle, that simply isn’t true.”

  “Oh, Harry. I do want to be there. But I just can’t risk it. I’m pregnant. I have a new life to protect. You can’t expect me to come.”

  Harry nodded, the anger building inside with such a fury that he wondered how he could stop from exploding. “I do expect you to be here. That’s exactly what I expect,” he said sharply. “You can’t catch it from breathing the air in his room.”

  “Oh, Harry, please stop asking me.”

  But Harry persisted. “Elle, don’t do this. It’s unforgiveable.”

  “I know, Harry,” she whispered. “I know.”

  Harry clenched a fist. “Elle, I think it’s a damn shame that you’ve shown yourself to be so selfish,” he snarled, as he hung up the phone with a resounding bang.

  14


  Harry poured a shot glass of whiskey and took a swig. The sharp heat of the liquor on his throat cleared his mind and cut though the confusion of the last few hours. He stepped out onto the patio, Beetle on his heels.

  It was a bright, moonlit night. He waited and listened, but there was no inner voice. Only the sound of crickets and a dog barking somewhere off in the distance.

  Beetle whined. Harry lifted the terrier into his arms and awkwardly settled into a lounge chair. He glanced up and admired the clear night sky. Beetle, sitting on Harry’s lap, was on full alert.

  Harry stroked Beetle’s back until the animal settled in and relaxed. There was a new pain in his left hand. An ache in his thumb. He rubbed the sore digit, noticing for the first time that he had old-man hands. The skin, once taut, now seemed loose. What had been strong and powerful had somehow changed. When did this happen? Why had he not noticed it before?

  Afraid to live and yet growing older every day, he thought, resigned to the reality of his circumstances. As if by keeping myself apart from the world, I could avoid the pain of being alive.

  How sad it now all seemed. His living alone in Phoenix. His refusal to commit to either Edward or Lil. He remembered Richard’s words: By not making a decision, you’ve made a decision. He grasped the irony. He’d avoided emotional entanglements, protected himself, and yet, on the patio with Beetle sitting contentedly on his lap, he was still afraid.

  The day after Richard had died, he’d promised himself to become active in the AIDS movement. He’d been angry then. Frustrated that a virus could disrupt a life and take away the man he loved. It had all seemed so unfair. I wanted to reach out, Harry remembered. After he was gone, I wanted to.

  But the reality of grief had interceded. An awful depression had set in, so dark and murky, it frightened him. And so he couldn’t. Not after all the months of caring for Richard. He’d been worn down physically and emotionally and was simply unable to cope with anything to do with illness or death.

  An owl hooted in the distance, the call so lonely and sad that it brought Harry to tears.

  I’ve done nothing with my life. I should have . . . He closed his eyes and wondered if perhaps the real truth was that he simply wasn’t strong. Richard had all the strength. He was brave. He’d have stood up for what was right. Had the situation been reversed, he’d have been fighting for a cure.