by William Poe
Simon tried to explain how excited he was about his first day back at school, how much he enjoyed the art class, how Thad’s image had worked itself into his newest painting, but Thad kept interrupting, anxious to tell him news about their Hollywood friends.
“Scott is so unhappy,” Thad began. “I met him in Hollywood the other day. Jerry left him. Now he’s alone.”
“Is he still representing that group of gay producers?”
“I don’t know. Scott didn’t talk business, but he did take me by the law offices, and I met his boss.”
“You met Maury Fender?”
“Maury may have thought I was Scott’s boyfriend, the way he gave me the once-over.”
“Maury knows that Scott is gay, but it isn’t something they talk about. Maury lost the Unification Church as a client in large part because of me, once they found out how I was spending my time during Moon’s trial on tax evasion. Maury claimed he didn’t know anything about my life in Hollywood, but the church said his office had corrupted me.”
“Scott told me a little about that. Scott and Sandra can’t stand Maury, but you know, they’re not going to say anything to cause problems. They like their jobs.”
“Was Sandra there?”
“Yeah. She’s gorgeous. She said you guys used to call yourselves the three Ss—Simon, Scott, and Sandra. They miss those days.”
“So do I, in some ways, but I was confused and didn’t have a clue what I wanted out of life.”
Thad paused for a moment. “You won’t believe who’s living with Sandra.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Lyle.”
Simon nearly dropped the phone. “Lyle? You’re kidding me.”
“Scott said he is the guy who was living with you at the Tropicana Hotel when you went to New York to get married to Masako, right?”
“Ancient history.”
“Shying away from ancient history?” Thad laughed.
“Some history is just too painful to recall. I’m surprised Scott didn’t tell you about Lyle and me—and Masako—when you were staying at his house, back when.”
“Scott was either too high or too drunk to tell me anything.”
“I’ll fill you in sometime, but those final months before I left the church, and then when I was trying to make a go of it in Hollywood, were the worst period of my life. In my own way, I loved Masako, even if we were selected to be married by Sun Myung Moon. If I was going to be married, Masako was a perfect fit—funny, caring, sort of a tomboy cute. I thought after we started living together, I’d just get used to being with a woman. Then I picked up Lyle on the boulevard and fell in love with him. I knew it was stupid, that it wasn’t the same for Lyle, but I couldn’t hold back. I knew I had to get away from the church after I met him. That’s when I went back to Arkansas and severed ties. I left Lyle in Hollywood with some cash. I wanted to take him with me, but I knew that was impossible.”
“Scott told me that Lyle never went back to the streets.”
“Yeah, he stayed with Sandra after the money I left him ran out—that was around the time Lenny died. I went back to Hollywood, hoping to reconnect—or at least to see that he wasn’t in love with Sandra. But it turned out Sandra was simply giving him a place to stay. Lyle moved to Orange County and hooked up with a girl named Sandy, his high school sweetheart. Maybe things didn’t work out with Sandy the way Lyle hoped. Maybe he and Sandra really were in love, if he is at her house again.”
“Maybe Scott wanted to tell me, but Sandra kept giving him the eye.”
“Lyle always said he was into women, that sex with guys was only for the money. I shouldn’t say it to you, but he sure was a passionate boyfriend for someone not into men.”
“Sandra said to hug you for her the next time we’re together. Scott rolled his eyes at her like she was a softy. I can’t wait until we finish postproduction so I can be with you.”
“How long will you stay at the mansion?”
“A couple of weeks, maybe a month. Howard has another feature lined up, a joint venture with people from Europe. They’re coming over to plan the production.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“Just a minute, let me run into the other room and ask Howard.”
Thad seemed to be away from the phone for a very long time.
“Howie says it’s some guy named Emilio, and that he is in partnership with a couple, David and his wife, Irene. Howie is so high on coke, he wouldn’t stop talking about them. He thinks the deal will be worth a lot of money.”
Simon fell into dead silence.
“Simon? Are you still on the phone?”
When Simon tried to speak, the words barely rose above a murmur as he tried to deflect from his actual fear. “You’re around people doing coke?”
“We knew I’d be around it. I won’t lie to you. I think about using, especially when someone hands me a straw, but I just pass it on. I found a Cocaine Anonymous meeting in Chatsworth. Turns out a few people on Howie’s staff are trying to stay away from coke, so I’m not alone when I go there.”
Simon thought the less Thad knew about Emilio, David, Irene, and the deal he had made with them for the money Charlotte stole, the safer Thad might be. Thad knew about Charlotte’s taking a large sum of money, but Simon had never discussed the deal or the Spanish clients with him.
“I love you, Thad. Please come home if you can’t handle being around the coke. Please.”
“I love you too, Simon.”
Dreams of pursuit by dark forces caused Simon to toss and turn throughout the night as he clutched a photograph taken with Thad on a trip to Zuma Beach, a reminder of the good times they had shared alongside the turmoil of a cocaine-poisoned love affair.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Howard decided to shoot one more video and enticed Thad to remain awhile longer, offering him double the salary if he would—money that Simon and Thad could hardly afford to refuse. Still, premonitions of danger haunted Simon, and he hoped none of the partners would arrive before Thad returned to Sibley and he could explain the whole story. Until then, Simon felt that the less Thad knew, the better.
A shortened schedule for the video shoot and for postproduction meant that Thad had to stay in the sound room well into the night, sometimes approaching dawn, making it difficult to coordinate a time for Simon to call. One evening, too late for Connie to be calling but too early for Thad, the phone rang. The unexpected call was from Don, the owner of the Spotlight Bar. Simon instantly recognized the familiar drunken slur and the vague Southern drawl diluted by decades living in Los Angeles after leaving a professorship in jurisprudence at Ole Miss. “How’s it goin’, Simon?” Don greeted.
Simon’s first thought was about Don’s connections to Hollywood’s criminal element. When Simon was using, those connections had made him feel protected when he frequented the Spotlight and bought, and sometimes sold, cocaine—Don bribed the beat cops to ignore improprieties, which they did. And Simon often benefitted from Don’s secondary profession: procuring talent for the likes of pornographers such as Howard Price and William Higgins. When Don learned of Simon’s recovery from cocaine use, he praised Simon, but Simon detected a certain wryness of tone, as if Don would be watching for a relapse. Why is Don calling? Simon wondered now. Is Thad okay? Is there news about Howard Price’s Spanish clients—have they figured out that Thad is my boyfriend? Simon’s mind spiraled into an abyss, and then Thad came on the line.
“I figured you’d get a shock out of hearing Don’s voice,” Thad began. “I’m on the phone at the Spotlight. Twiggy says hello.” And under his breath, he added, “Don’t worry, I dialed the number myself.”
“What are you doing at the Spotlight?” Simon asked quietly. Was his number to be on everyone’s phone bill in Hollywood?
“Howard brought the crew into Hollywood to have dinner at the Brown Derby after we completed tonight’s work. The others are finishing dessert. I said I was going down the street to say hello to friends at a bar. How
ard knew right away that I meant the Spotlight. Turns out Don sometimes refers guys to him. Who knew that Don recruited porn stars?”
“It’s good to hear your voice, Thad. Tell Twiggy I said hello. Is he still his hefty self?”
“And as graceful as ever,” Thad said. “He’s at the other end of the bar…I don’t know how he moves so quickly and makes the drinks so fast. The other bartender has to squeeze against the bar to make room for Twiggy to pass.”
“The Spotlight wouldn’t be the same without Twiggy.”
Simon heard Don make a comment about the cost of Thad’s long-distance call. Don Smite shared the trait of stinginess with other successful businessmen.
“I better join the others back at the Derby,” Thad said. “Love you.”
The conversation did little to allay Simon’s fears.
Studying consumed Simon’s every moment by the time Thad returned to Sibley; midterm exams were only a few days away. Reference books in support of an essay required by Dr. Dupré’s seminar rested in stacks around the bedroom, each copiously tagged with yellow sticky notes.
“Gawd,” Thad inveighed, fresh from taking a shower, picking up a book with orange binding and reading the title, Death and Rebirth of the Seneca. He thought for a moment before throwing the volume back on the pile. “Rebirth? Please tell me you aren’t getting religious again.”
“If I have a religion, Thad, it involves worshipping at a very different altar.” To demonstrate, Simon rested his cheek against Thad’s thigh. Thad pushed him away and continued to dry off. “That’s a book by Professor Wallace. I’m using his ideas to structure my essay on Sun Myung Moon and the way his movement got started as part of the anti-Japanese resistance in Korea before World War II.”
Thad regretted putting Simon into professor mode and tried to entice him onto the bed, but Simon kept going.
“Japan was trying to obliterate Korean culture when Moon was growing up. He eventually combined the Pentecostalism of his parents with elements of shamanism and neo-Confucianism and started a new religion. That’s what happens in situations where someone seeks to revitalize a culture.”
Thad picked out a single word from Simon’s lecture. “I’ll revitalize you,” he said, placing his hands across Simon’s shoulders and lowering him to the floor. Thad unzipped his fly, and with a fleshly sword, proclaimed, “I dub thee Sir Simon the Revitalizer.”
“I missed you so much, Thad,” Simon said, laughing as he played along. “You bring me back to earth when I get lost in my head.”
“You’re my silly professor, and I love you. Those hunky sex gods I watch all day leave my mind when I go to sleep at night.” Thad backed Simon onto the bed. “Sometimes I imagine you are my pillow, and I hump it like a dog.”
“Not the image I was looking for,” Simon laughed, taking Thad into his embrace.
“No one has your heart.”
“You are the best thing that’s happened to me, Thad. I wish you would stay here with me in Sibley.”
“If temptation gets to be too much, I will, but damn, there’s a lot of money to be made—$200 an hour at this point.”
Simon almost forgot the reason he wanted Thad to remain in Sibley. “Seriously? How many hours do you work?”
“The clock starts when I get to the sound room. We put in four hours a day for a couple of weeks. Howard isn’t asking me for rent or anything, so I can save most of it. I think he just likes having a young guy around after all the stars leave when the shoot is over.”
“Does Howard want you? I mean, as more than a sound guy?”
Thad lifted his chin as if to say, Who wouldn’t want me? “Maybe. Part of the attraction is probably that he can’t have me.”
“Has Howard asked about me lately?”
“Only that one time, when he asked if you would be interested in his videos. His memory comes and goes. When I was leaving, he told one of the guys I work with that I was going ‘somewhere to visit someone’ but that I’d be back.”
“Your money’s going into the bank, right?”
“Yes, Dad,” Thad replied, making doe eyes at Simon.
“We may need it at some point, but for now, the deals I’m making with Wally’s videos have gotten me into school and covered Vivian’s utility bills. I even paid the property taxes.”
“Vivian looks weaker than when I left,” Thad noted. “I’m glad you’re able to help her.”
“Connie and Derek are tapped out with their own family to take care of. Vivian needs someone around all the time. She can manage moment by moment, but often I find the mail right where she has set it down. When I am home during the day, I watch soaps with her to keep her company.”
“I’m sure you love that,” Thad chuckled.
“Not my favorite pastime, but it’s for Vivian. She tries to read romance novels, but I’ll walk by and see that she’s been on the same page for an hour.”
“I should borrow Vivian’s tapes. I’m so far behind on Days of Our Lives I don’t think I’ll ever catch up.
“Meanwhile,” Simon suggested, “I’ll bet Ferdinand would like a patch of fresh grass.”
“You just want to see me out there acting like a farmhand or something. If you ever take a picture of me doing that, I swear, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Wouldn’t think of it, Thad.” Simon tried to remember where he had put his camera.
Thad rose early to prepare a gourmet breakfast, putting a grin on Vivian’s wan countenance as he buttered her toast, topping it with fresh honey purchased from a man on the edge of town who managed an apiary of fifty hives, cutting link sausages into slivers to make it easier to chew. The care Thad gave to Vivian touched Simon deeply. He’d rarely seen that side of Thad during their tumultuous days in Hollywood.
While savoring the butter-and-honey-soaked toast, Vivian’s eyes rolled as if something on the ceiling had caught her attention. Jerking motions caused her to tip the plate off the table as she tried to regain her balance.
“Are you all right?” Simon implored, knowing something terrible was under way, as did Cicero, who had been sitting patiently beside Vivian’s chair waiting for scraps but who now gently pawed her leg to express his concern.
Thad grasped Vivian’s arm as she turned toward him, her eyes white as marble, lurching from her chair as if propelled by an unseen force, Thad steadying her before she collapsed onto the floor.
Simon’s voice trembled as he said, “Let’s get Vivian to her room so she can stretch out on the bed.” Then, after taking a deep breath, “She’s having a stroke.”
Vivian’s hands were cold as Simon held his mother close, placing her gently on the bed and pulling the comforter around her neck. Simon had mentally rehearsed such an event many times, but now the preparation seemed for naught. Simon appealed to Thad. “Telephone Connie. Call the ambulance. The numbers are on the refrigerator.”
Thad, even less emotionally prepared than Simon, stumbled as he rushed to the kitchen, his voice quavering as he summoned the ambulance, nearly in tears as he spoke to Connie. Simon and Thad held Vivian’s hands as they waited for the paramedics.
Sibley’s volunteer squad of paramedics tended to Vivian as Thad and Simon watched from the door. Connie had not yet arrived when the assessment was complete. Simon called to see where she was.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Connie said. “Derek and the girls are sick with a cough and can’t come. I sure hope I don’t carry anything that Vivian could catch. I’ve only just got over whatever they’ve got.”
“Maybe you should stay home,” Simon offered. “I can telephone when we know something. You’re only a few minutes from the hospital.”
“That might be best.” Connie’s voice broadcast her despair, even as she tried to stay brave. “I want to be there, Simon. Vivian’s done so much better since you started making sure she takes her medicines and getting her to finish her meals. That’s one good thing about you being home.”
Simon didn’t ask what about
his being at home wasn’t a good thing.
“This is the first time I have been with Vivian when she’s had a stroke,” Simon noted. “It’s truly frightening.”
“Just like Vivian’s sisters,” Connie sighed. “They reach a certain age, and then it happens. Vivian dodged it longer than the others, though. I used to call every hour to check on her, but she told me if I kept it up, I’d be the one giving her a stroke.”
“Vivian’s tough. She had to be, the way Lenny treated her.”
“Lenny didn’t show his mean side when I was at home.”
Simon knew that wasn’t true, but it was the way Connie chose to remember growing up. Vivian had endured verbal abuse from Lenny as far back as anyone could remember, well before Connie and Derek married. But Lenny wasn’t the current issue—Vivian needed everyone’s attention.
Thad stood beside Simon in the waiting room as a man and two nurses approached from the intensive care unit. The man scrutinized Simon and Thad as if looking for clues to their relationship. Simon’s swarthy looks spoke of genetics different from Thad’s Nordic heritage, the olive skin and dark hair of the Powell family casting doubt on the purity of an Anglo-Saxon heritage Lenny had touted as a source of pride.
“Mrs. Powell suffered a stroke, as I am sure you are aware,” the man explained. Only when Simon read Dr. Small on the nametag did he realize the man was a physician and not an intern. Dr. Small continued, “Fortunately, we’ve been able to manage trauma to the brain.”
Manage was a frightening term in this context. “Is she conscious? Can we see her?”
Dr. Small looked at Simon, then at Thad, then back to Simon. “Family members only.”
“You go, Simon,” Thad offered. “I’ll telephone Connie from the waiting room.”
“Connie must be worried sick.” Simon resisted the urge to kiss Thad, worried about distracting the young doctor, or the nurses that accompanied him, from the duty to care for Vivian.
“She’s in room 105, down this hall.” The older of two nurses pointed down a corridor as the other nurse ferried a cart full of charts to the admissions desk.