Caregiver

by Rick R. Reed

  At no time, not even for a moment, did Adam appear sorry for himself or to want sympathy. In fact, Dan thought he could very likely end up wearing a Mai Tai if he deigned to offer a bit of compassion. So he asked a stupid question. “Do you know who infected you?” He regretted it as soon as the query emerged from his mouth, thinking he was insensitive and rude. What did it matter, anyway?

  “Who knows?” Adam asked the air. “As I may have mentioned, I was a bit of a slut back in the day. You might say I was a rooster who crowed, „Any cockll do. And I was also a girl who thought a drink or two would do nobody any harm. So I never asked God, why me? Its more like I ask Him, what the Hell took you so long?” Adam laughed, but there was something in his eyes that was not laughing.

  Dan shook his head.

  Adam continued, “I mean, honey, up in Chicago, Id had more dicks than a convention of Richards!” Adam laughed and groped in an end table drawer, bringing out a pack of Marlboro Ultra-Lights. “Thank God, Im able to smoke again. The damn pneumonia made me quit for two weeks.” He lit up. “You want one?” He held the package out to Dan, who leaned back and away from it.

  “No thanks. I dont smoke.”

  Adam flung the pack on the coffee table. “I should have figured.”

  Dan debated whether he should say anything, but he thought Adam would have wondered why he didnt ask, so he did. “So, the smoking. Isnt that especially bad for you? I mean, not to sound stupid and all, but with getting pneumonia and stuff, Id kind of think youd want to quit.” Dan toyed with a loose thread on the arm of the T-shirt, staring down at the floor. He looked up at Adam, whose cigarette dangled from his lips.

  Adam drew on the cigarette, then directed an elegant stream of blue-gray smoke into the air above their heads. “Sweetie. Youve had training. You watch the news.” He cocked his head. “Didnt you pick up on the fact that AIDS kills?” Adam leaned forward and put his hand on Dans knee.

  Dan didnt say anything. He didnt know what to say.

  “I like to smoke.” Adam shrugged and took another drag. “So sue me. Im pretty damn sure Im not gonna die from smoking, so why on earth would I deny myself, in my final days, this one little pleasure?”

  “Why indeed?” Dan smiled and nodded. He got it.

  “SO ILLpick you up this Saturday. Well go to the beach.” Dan

  stood on somewhat unsteady legs near Adams front door. He prayed hed have the presence of mind to make the drive home safely, back to Mark and their little apartment near the airport.

  “Sounds good, sugar. Ill pack a thermos of Mai Tais for us. You think your beloved will want to come with us?”

  Dan somehow knew his unemployed, heavy-drinking, and charming “beloved” would have nothing planned. And a day at the beach, with cocktails, would be pretty close to his idea of heaven. “I have a good feeling that Mark would love to join us. And I know hell want to meet you.”

  Adam thought for a moment and said, “Dont worry. Ill dress like a guy. I just did this to see how youd react. A little test. Believe me, honey, flip-flops, T-shirts, and shorts are a hell of a lot more comfortable than panty hose and heels.”

  The two men laughed, then stopped as they heard a car pulling up in the driveway.

  Adams eyebrows went up. “That must be Sullivan.” He looked pointedly at Dan. “The boyfriend whose clothes youre wearing.”

  Dan glanced quickly through the frosted glass of the front door and saw a tall silhouette coming up the front walk. “Should I take these off?” he whispered, without quite knowing why he was whispering. After all, the man was still outside.

  Adam waved the idea away. “Just bring them back on Saturday. Im sure hes not gonna mind.”

  A thought popped up in Dans mind; he wondered if Sullivan also had AIDS and, if he didnt, how did that work for the couple? He would have to ask Adam about it, but not right now.

  Sullivan came in, and for the second time that day Dans heart hiccupped when a door opened. Adams boyfriend stood, framed by the doorway and the late afternoon light, which was now almost as dark as twilight. The typical Florida afternoon thunderstorm had rolled in while Dan and Adam had talked. The sky behind Sullivans head was purple/gray and smudged with dark, almost black clouds gathering near the horizon. Thunder rumbled.

  The moment would freeze in Dans memory for a long time. The two mens eyes met: Dans brown and Sullivans a pale gray that had an almost pearlescent quality and nearly matched the sky outside. The longest lashes Dan had never seen on a man framed those same eyes. Sullivan had smooth, creamy skin that accentuated the black stubble on the angular planes of his jaws and the rosy color above the stubble. He stood somewhere around six-foot-three or so, Dan guessed. His hair was black, curly, and long in the back. Lanky in a Chicago Bulls T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of black athletic shorts, his presence was imposing. His big feet were encased in a pair of black Converse high-tops.

  Adam shattered the moment with a vicious poke to Dans ribs, making Dan jump. “Hes mine, sugar.”

  Dan laughed and the spell broke. He felt heat rise up in his face and extended his hand. “Dan Calzolaio.” Dan felt like his grin, embarrassed, probably came out looking something very close to the smile of a chimp.

  Sullivans grip was firm and he squeezed hard enough to almost hurt Dan. “Sullivan OConnor.” He nodded to Adam. “Im his, as he said.”

  “Got it.” Dan grinned. “Well, I was just on my way out.”

  Dan rushed away from the house just as the first, heavy raindrops began to fall. He felt shaken to the core, for many reasons.

  Chapter Two

  SULLIVAN crossed the living room, gathered up the glasses and cocktail napkins, and took them into the kitchen, where he rinsed the glasses in the sink and put them into the dishwasher. He returned to the living room, grabbed the ashtray, and emptied it into the wastebasket in the kitchen, after checking to make sure none of the butts smoldered.

  While Sullivan was busy cleaning up, Adam sat on the couch, legs crossed, swinging one leg back and forth. He smiled at Sullivan, who sat down next to him once he was finished and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

  “Finally,” Adam said.

  “Hey, just tidying up a bit after your little party. You know me, Mr. Clean.” Adam grabbed Sullivans grizzled face and turned it toward him. “Yes, I do know you.” He pulled Sullivan close and gave him a real kiss, his tongue darting into Sullivans mouth. A little breathless, Adam sat back and said, “Thats more like it.”

  Sullivan laughed. “So did you and your new friend have a good time? He looked like a nice guy.”

  Adam snorted. “How could you tell? You only met him for a minute.” Adam kicked off his heels; one landed on the floor by the coffee table and the other slammed into the wall. “And he seemed quite taken with you.” Adam gave his lover a meaningful stare. “I know that look.”

  Sullivan chuckled. “Well, I dont know about that. Even if he was, you know I only have eyes for you, sweetie.”

  “Oh, please! You know how much I hate that sickening sweet love talk. You want to be really sweet? Use your mouth to give me head.” Adam bumped his shoulder into Sullivans, grinning.

  Sullivan shook his head. “You think you can fool me. I know you better than that. Youre not the tough broad you want to make yourself out to be, Miss Barbara Stanwyck.” Sullivan scooted away just a bit from Adam and concentrated on straightening the coffee table. “So you never answered me. Did you like the guy?”

  “He was okay, I guess. A little straight for my taste, if you know what I mean. I mean, he is gay, said he had a boyfriend and all, but kind of square, as my mom would say.”

  “Is that why you wore that?” Sullivan pointed to Adams ensemble, which would have looked at home on a 1960s secretary.

  “Yeah,” Adam replied, looking pleased with himself. “I wanted to see how hed react.” He smoothed the bottom half of the dress. “You know you can never go wrong with a little black dress.”

  “I guess he passed the
test, then?”

  Adam snorted. “Not exactly! You should have seen the look on his face when I opened the door. Flabbergasted!” Adam sang out the last word. “But he relaxed after a few minutes or so, or at least pretended like he wasnt taken aback by a five-foot, eight-inch man in kitten heels, pearls, and black nylons.”

  “Well, good for him. You liked him, right?”

  Adam grabbed Sullivans chin. “Why does that matter so much to you?” He let go. “Yeah, he was fine. I mean, its a little weird having this brand-new friend who volunteered for the position, out of charity. But I guess once you get past that, he was somebody I could see having a laugh and a drink with, although not a smoke. Good Lord, no.”

  “Not a smoker?” Sullivan toyed with Adams pack on the coffee table, spinning it around.

  “Not at all. He didnt realize it, but I saw him crinkle his nose when I lit up.”

  “Well, maybe he has the right idea, honey. You know its not good, especially with the pneumonia….”

  “And I told him what Ill tell you again: I am going to die. I am not going to expire from lung cancer or emphysema at age 70. I am going to die from AIDS at probably age twenty-seven, maybe twentyeight, if Im lucky. So get the hell off my back about one of the few vices I have left to enjoy.” Adam cut his gaze to Sullivan. “I certainly dont get to enjoy sex much anymore.”

  Sullivan looked away. Hot tears sprang to his eyes. He was trying only to have a simple conversation with Adam about his new AIDS buddy. He hadnt expected things to turn so ugly so quickly. But these days, mercurial was Adams middle name. He blew out a sigh and tried to rein in his urge to cry. He sucked in a few sniffling breaths. Tears he liked to save up for when he was alone. He stood up and walked to the window, where the rain poured down in sheets, illuminated every few minutes by a flash of lightning. Adams comment about sex was a low blow, but it was on target.

  Sullivan couldnt recall the last time the two of them had had sex—not real sex, where there was passion and mindless fucking and sucking involved, as it was in their early days together, which now seemed so long ago. Although, it had only been a couple of years since the pair had met at the bathhouse on Halsted in Chicago. But those times now seemed almost as if they had happened to another couple altogether.

  Now, if they did anything sexual at all, they masturbated together, watching porn, with Sullivan trying not to recoil when Adam kissed him deeply or attempted to take things to a more intimate level. The idea of having real, full-on sex with his boyfriend was scary, when he thought that the act could be a death sentence. Sullivan couldnt help it; once the sex/death connection had been made it was, well, it was hard to get it up.

  He knew it wasnt fair. He knew it most likely wasnt even rational. There was such a thing as condoms, after all. Adams doctor had told him that they could have satisfying, penetrative sex as long as they took the necessary precautions; many couples like them did.

  So, they could be careful. And then there was the fact that they had had all kinds of sex, some of it not so safe, in their early days, when most likely Adam was unwittingly infected, just as infected as he was today. How had Sullivan managed to stay negative? Dont look a gift horse in the mouth, his mother would have told him.

  But so far all of Sullivans many HIV tests had come up negative. And God help him, he wanted them to stay that way. He had seen what the disease was doing to his lover and he didnt want to wake up one morning to find a little purple lesion on his skin or develop a dry, hacking cough that wouldnt go away. Hell, even now, if he woke up in the middle of the night sweating, he worried it was the night sweats that heralded HIV infection.

  Besides, he wasnt being selfish in wanting to stay healthy. That was for Adams sake as much as his own. Sullivan turned and looked at the man he loved so much, sitting on the couch, smoking, with the remote in his hand, flipping through TV channels and seemingly unaware of the turmoil going on in Sullivans head, only a few feet away.

  He loved the crazy guy with the sharp tongue, the propensity to wear drag and to shock people, loved him with all his heart. Sullivan wanted to stay healthy to take care of Adam. He gnawed his lower lip to keep the tears at bay as he thought that Adam would surely get worse… and that he would need someone strong and able to care for him.

  Enough of thoughts like this! Sullivan turned back to looking out at the rain, which was slowing, as it always did—quickly. Soon enough, the late afternoon sun would be out and the asphalt would be steaming. In the summer, it happened every day.

  “So, you want I should fix us some supper? How does grilled cheese and tomato soup sound?” Sullivan thought comfort food might tempt Adam.

  Adam didnt take his gaze away from the TV; he had settled on MTV, where Sinead OConnor, in tight close-up, was singing plaintively how “Nothing Compares to You.”

  “I think Ill just have a liquid dinner tonight. Theres still a pitcher of Mai Tais in the fridge.”

  “Oh, Adam. You know you can do better than that. At least try an Ensure.”

  “Oh, Sullivan. Dont mother me.”

  Sullivan went into the kitchen, where he pulled out a can of Campbells soup from the pantry and a loaf of bread, margarine, and a pack of Kraft American slices from the refrigerator. Even if he didnt touch a bite of it, Adam was going to have a dinner in front of him tonight. Sullivan wasnt about to let him go without that option.

  Chapter Three

  WHEN Dan pulled into the apartment complex parking lot, he was relieved. Not only had he navigated the roads home loosened up— perhaps dangerously so—with several Mai Tais, he had driven in a relentless downpour typical of Florida summer. Someone, he supposed, had watched over him. Now, he sat in the car for several minutes to slow his accelerated pulse and to let the warm, moist breeze wash over him.

  It was late afternoon and his parking spot afforded him a gaze of the complex he and Mark had shared since they moved down to Florida. It was so different from what the two of them had left behind in Chicago. Their Windy City home, a graystone two-flat, sat on a crowded street on the north side of the city, close to the “friendly confines” of Wrigley Field, and always, always, within earshot of the rumbling el train. The streets below their second-story unit were always crowded with pedestrians, upped to almost standing-room only on game days, and taxis, cars, and buses all jockeying for position on the street while perfuming the air with exhaust fumes.

  Compared to that, the newly washed view before Dan was almost serene, pastoral, even if the complex was new, cookie-cutter, and close enough to the Tampa airport that they often found themselves looking up at low-flying planes, either taking off or coming in for a landing. But right now, the beige stucco buildings, with their red tile roofs, patios, and balconies, looked like home, even if he and Mark had only lived there a couple of months. The coarse grass, so different from what one found in the Midwest, was an almost neon shade of green. The little lake in front of their unit was home to ducks he had never seen up north—black-and-white-plumed with red around the eyes, a species Dan had learned was called Muscovy. The little lake in front of their apartment was also home to herons and cormorants, which dove for fish and stayed underwater for surprising amounts of time. The lake was lined with palm trees, loquat trees, and hibiscus bursting with color.

  It all seemed so exotic to a boy who had grown up in the Midwest.

  As Dan sat in the car, the heat was beginning to get to him. He got out, pulling his skin away from the hot vinyl. It didnt feel much cooler outside, but at least there was a small breeze. The air felt like a sponge.

  The ride had sobered him up. He hoped that he would not come home to find Mark had spent the afternoon much the same as Dan had—drinking. They had left Chicago to escape Marks partying ways, which went far beyond simple drinking.

  But Dan didnt want to think about all of that right now. He hoped Mark would be in a good mood, that maybe he had been inspired to make dinner, that he would be alone and not sitting in front of the TV, eyes glazed, as he watc
hed repeats of vintage TV shows like Welcome Back, Kotter. Mark was better than that.

  Dan started up the walk. As he neared the ground-floor apartment he shared with his boyfriend, he could hear music blasting on the stereo. It was Dee-Lite, singing “Groove is in the Heart.” Dan wondered if Mark had bought the cassette.

  He put his key in the lock, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

  Mark smiled at him from over the breakfast bar of their kitchen. Dan smelled peppers, onions, and garlic and heard the trio sizzling in a pan. “Hey, honey!” Mark called over the music, shouting loud even though their apartment was all of about 600 square feet. “Im making you a good eye-talian boys supper to remind you of your mama. Sausage and peppers, linguine with garlic and olive oil, and a nice dandelion greens salad.”

  Dan wanted to clutch his heart; he wanted to cry. The meal was one his Sicilian mother would have made, back in Summitville, Pennsylvania. It was the kind of food Dan had grown up on, and he was touched that Mark was making it for him. Food forged such a connection to emotion for Dan, bringing alive memories of his ItalianAmerican family back in western Pennsylvania. Food was always how his mama and her sisters showed love—they may have never spoken the words “I love you” out loud, but they demonstrated it by making you eat.

  Dan laughed, moved across the living room, and turned the stereo down. Now that he felt he could be heard, he said, “Aw, sweetie, thank you so much. How did you know Id need a meal like this today?”