Caregiver

Copyright

Published by Dreamspinner Press 382 NE 191st Street #88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author‟s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Caregiver Copyright © 2011 by Rick R. Reed Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ ISBN: 978-1-61372-208-4 Printed in the United States of America First Edition October 2011 eBook edition available eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-209-1

For Jim, who left an indelible mark on my heart. I hope you have found rest….

Caregiver Prologue

FROM Dan Shoemaker‟s Gmail Adele O‟Dair to me

show details 2:49 PM (1 hour ago)

Hi Dan, Sorry for the delay in getting back to you on the CAREGIVER manuscript. Dan, I think this is a wonderful, innovative, and heartfelt piece of writing. But. Memoirs, which were all the rage just a couple of years ago, are becoming a bit passé these days and, to be blunt, I really don‟t think I can find a suitable market for it. As your agent, I feel it‟s my responsibility to tell you when something works and when it doesn‟t. CAREGIVER was really touching (even a crusty old Brooklyn broad like me teared up at a few of the scenes), but you‟re about art and I‟m about business and I just don‟t think, from a business standpoint, the time for this is now. Of course, by walking away from this, I am giving you my tacit permission to shop it around yourself (just don‟t go to another agent behind my back, okay? Otherwise, I‟ll have to come out there and kill you). Now, send me some more of that romance you were starting to write. That, I can sell! Best, A

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Rick R. Reed “What the fuck?” Dan whispered to himself, staring at the passionless prose facing him on his monitor screen. He had spent the last year and a half pouring his heart, his mind, his soul, and sometimes even his sweat into the manuscript. The story was solid. It made you laugh. It made you cry. It made you think. There was timeliness and social relevance to it. It resonated. It had “sand,” as his old college creative writing teacher would have said. What did that bitch Adele know anyway? He contemplated just hitting reply and summarily firing her ass. He could probably do better on his own. After all, what had she done for him, other than sell a popular line of romance mystery novels that had landed him here, in a house on a bluff above Seattle‟s Lake Union, with views of not only the water but the Cascade Mountains as well, when the sun deigned to show itself? Yeah, what had she done for him other than ensuring he was set for life, even if he never wrote another word? What had that bitch done for him other than help to spawn a legion of fans that eagerly awaited his next book… as long as it wasn‟t Caregiver? Not much. Dan rolled his eyes. He got up from his glass-topped desk and peered from his second-floor office out at the perfect June day spread out before him. The sun shone brightly. A few cumulus clouds floated high up, just enough to break up the monotonous, crystal-clear blue expanse of sky. The Cascades, in the distance, looked slate-colored, still topped with white snow. On Lake Union, a seaplane landed and sailboats lazily cruised the calm waters. Just another day in paradise, here in the Pacific Northwest. A day that had no deference for Dan‟s mood, which was lousy. Adele had been the first person he had allowed to read Caregiver. The book had been too personal, too close to his heart to let anyone else see it, including the able-bodied gentleman who shared hearth and home with him and who was, right now, downstairs, sunning himself on their deck. Now he certainly would have had an interest in the story, but the time wasn‟t right for sharing it with him. 2

Caregiver And she had called it a memoir! When had he said it was a memoir? He plopped back down at his desk, brought up his correspondence folder, and looked at the submission package he had sent her the week before. And there it was, right in the first line of his note: a novel. Not a memoir. So what if the story was set in Tampa, where he had lived? And big deal if the main character shared the same name, the humble yet forthright Dan, with him! And who would care that Dan had actually been thirty years old at the start of 1991, a new transplant to Florida from Chicago, and had joined the Tampa AIDS Alliance Buddy Program as a way to meet people and make some friends? All those attributes were the same as his protagonist‟s, but that didn‟t mean that main character was Dan Shoemaker. The book was a novel, a story, a romance, just as Adele wanted. Literary agents! They were business people. What did they know— really—about literature? He clicked through his documents folder and found Caregiver. He brought it up on the screen and began to read. It was just fiction. So why, with the very first line, was his vision blurred by tears and his swallowing blocked by a lump the size of an orange in his throat?

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Rick R. Reed Chapter One

THE sun glinted off Dan Calzolaio‟s windshield as he made his way west along Route 60 toward his two o‟clock appointment with Adam Schmidt, the guy he‟d been assigned through the Tampa AIDS Alliance Buddy program. Dan‟s pulse raced and his adrenaline was high with a combination of nerves and anticipation. The sun was merciless and Dan questioned why he had set up his first appointment at midday. It was July, for crying out loud. The Ford Escort rumbled along, its air conditioning long dead, making Dan sweat as he breathed in the warm air rushing in his rolled-down windows. On the radio, R.E.M. sang their new song, “Shiny Happy People” and the rhythm was sinuous and entrancing enough to make him—almost—forget the heat and the whine of his engine as it strained against the heat. He sang along with R.E.M. to calm his nerves. For the three Saturdays before, he‟d gone through the AIDS Buddy training program at the Tampa AIDS Alliance headquarters on North Dale Mabry highway, getting a crash course in the disease he was passionate and compassionate about and that he secretly feared (didn‟t all gay men? After all, a positive diagnosis was akin to a death sentence). AIDS was a killer, there was no doubt about that, and the man he was about to meet, this Adam Schmidt, recently relocated down here from Chicago (just like Dan!), suffered from a checklist of symptoms they had discussed in Dan‟s training. He had early stages of Kaposi‟s Sarcoma and had weathered two bouts of pneumocystis carinii, the pneumonia that was all the rage with AIDS victims these 4

Caregiver days. And, as the thin little file Dan had on the seat beside him said, Adam was depressed. Severely depressed. Really? Who wouldn‟t be? Dan wondered. The guy, only twenty-six, was dying. What must that be like? Dan pressed the gas pedal down farther and imagined himself getting his own AIDS diagnosis. What would he do? He knew: he‟d come to just this stretch of highway, with its two lanes and long straightaways, rev the car up to 90, and then, when he saw a semi headed his way, he‟d jerk the wheel to the left and— boom!—it would be all over. No pneumonia, no long hospital stays, no wasting away to a skeletal wraith, covered in lesions, as he had seen in pictures. Dan shook his head. Thoughts like these would put him in the perfect mood to meet the depressed Mr. Schmidt. The two could have a good cry together and then Mr. Schmidt would call up the AIDS Alliance and ask to be assigned another buddy. He would say that he had enough on his plate without some clinging Gloomy Gus hanging around and making him miserable, thank you very much. And Dan couldn‟t blame him. He had learned in training to be upbeat and positive. They had told him to be a good listener and try to determine what his buddy needed—whether it was a shoulder to cry on, someone to take him on an outing to the beach, a cook, a confidant, a personal shopper. The job description for AIDS buddy was short and simple—just be there for your buddy and do whatever you can to help him (or her) out. But above all, Tampa AIDS Alliance buddies were expected to be cheerful. “Cheerful, right,” Dan whispered, wiping sweat away from his forehead with his hand and then rubbing his palm on the thigh of his denim cut-offs. Was he dressed too provocatively? He had worn only a gray tank and the shorts, which even he had to admit were cut a bit too high. Jesus, what was he trying to do here, anyway?

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Rick R. Reed He had not donned the clothes to look seductive or trashy, but to beat the heat, which today hovered around 95, with the humidity probably in the same range. Dan‟s dark brown hair, wavy, curled at the nape of his neck and clung to his forehead, pasted there by sweat. Still, he was surprised Mark had let him out of the house showing this much skin. His man had a jealous streak a mile wide. Dan‟s thoughts came to a rude halt when he saw the turnoff for the Brandon subdivision where Adam Schmidt lived. His Escort also came nearly to a screeching stop as he slowed too fast to try and make the right-hand turn. Tires squealing and throwing up a cloud of dust, Dan took the turn too quickly and too wide, heart pounding and grateful there were no other cars in the intersection. He barked out a short laugh that had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with nerves bordering on hysteria. Now don‟t piss yourself, boy! In no time, he pulled up in front of the small, pink stucco home on Hibiscus Street and put the Escort in park. He sat in the car for a moment, slowing his breathing, as he listened to the engine tick down and then grow silent. Other than its bright pink color and its sago palm in the front yard, the house looked pretty much like every other home on the block. Pure Florida west coast suburban—single story, screened-in backyard that may or may not contain a pool, a broad front window with either blinds shut tight against the sun or jalousies pulled the same way. The neighborhood was silent and the hum of air conditioning units gave testimony to the fact that everyone was hiding out inside, trying to stay cool in refrigerated air. Either that or they were hidden away in their privacy-fence-enclosed backyards, doing the same heat-beating routine in a pool filled with sparkling, turquoise water. Dan had come to know Florida neighborhoods pretty well in his three months as a resident of the state. And this neighborhood, shame on him, was not one where he would have placed an AIDS victim. Dan shrugged, mentally berating himself for his prejudice, but this ‟hood simply seemed too Florida

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Caregiver Donna Reed for a young gay man dying of AIDS. When he first started the program, he would have imagined his buddy living in a squalid apartment on Armenia, near 2606, the leather bar he had heard about up there. Thoughts like these were just what he had been cautioned about in his training. People with AIDS, or PWAs, could be any size, shape, or color; they could come from any walk of life. They could be gay (and in all probability, were), but they could also be straight, as Michelle, one of the women he went through training with, had discovered. Her buddy was a single mother of four who had dabbled with IV drugs. Dan wondered how that was going. “Enough speculation, enough random thinking,” Dan whispered to himself. You‟re just delaying the inevitable. You wanted to do this. Now get out of the car and march on up to the front door. Adam is waiting for you, and you‟re ten minutes late already. He‟s probably looking out the window at you right now, from between slatted blinds, wondering what kind of nutcase he‟s let into his life. Enough! Go! And so Dan hopped from his vehicle. He started up the walk, not knowing what to expect, but imagining someone very weak, emaciated, whose skin was marred by KS lesions. No matter how bad he looks, Dan, you will be cheerful and friendly. You will not let the effect his appearance has on you internally show externally. Got that? Dan rang the doorbell. When the door swung open, Dan‟s grin disappeared and his mouth dropped open, yet nothing came out. He cocked his head. His eyebrows furrowed. “Well, don‟t just stand there,” a seductive, Bette Davis voice intoned. “Get in here. I am not about to pay to air condition the great outdoors, especially not when the great outdoors happen to be located on the Gulf Coast.” Dan still didn‟t know what to say as he followed the feminine figure inside the little stucco house. Mentally scratching his head and desperately wanting to act as 7

Rick R. Reed though he was in on the joke, Dan stood near the doorway and took in what he supposed to be Adam Schmidt, since it didn‟t appear anyone else was home. Adam wore the classic little black dress, a string of pearls, black leather kitten heels and sheer black nylons. His nails were painted a shocking red, a shade the gayest side of Dan was absolutely positive would have been called “Jungle Red.” Adam‟s wispy blond hair had obviously been blown dry and sprayed into place. His angular features had been enhanced with a good concealer, a little blush, mascara, pale green eye shadow, and slash of red across his thin lips that perfectly matched his nails. Adam put a hand on one hip and gave Dan the once-over. “Since you appear to be speechless, I‟m going to assume you‟re Dan something-or-other, something Italian. You‟re going to be my new best friend, my buddy, right? But not my fuck buddy—God forbid!” Adam may have had AIDS, but it had no effect on his ability to weight his words with sarcasm. Dan smiled and forced himself to move into the room. “Sorry. I, um, the cat had my tongue.” He stuck out a hand, feeling like an idiot. “Yes, I‟m Dan Calzolaio. And I‟m looking forward to getting to know you better, Adam.” Had a single human being ever sounded more nerdish, more square? Dan felt his face going hot, despite the wintry chill from the air conditioning. He regretted once more his nearly naked ensemble. He looked down at the goose bumps rising up on his forearms. “Isn‟t that sweet?” Adam turned toward the living room, which continued the surreal theme that had begun as soon as Adam opened the door. It was done all in shades of pink and vibrant green, with overstuffed rattan furniture that appeared as though it had been swiped from the set of The Golden Girls. “Come on and have a seat, Dan. I made us a batch of Mai Tais. You like Mai Tais, hon?” “Oh yes. Love ‟em.” Dan tried to recall when he had actually had one of the tropical drinks and drew a blank. He hurried to grab a seat on the couch, hugging himself to keep warm. Adam observed him with an impish grin. “Cold? I‟ll be right 8

Caregiver back.” Dan expected Adam to go into the kitchen to get their cocktails (Mai Tais at noon?), but Adam headed down a hallway. Dan could hear drawers being opened and shut. Adam returned and flung a pair of sweatpants and a longsleeved T-shirt at Dan. “Put some clothes on, sugar. As fine as all that tan flesh is to look at, it pains me to see you so chilly. Why, I can even see you‟ve got your headlights on!” Adam giggled and Dan looked down at his chest, where Adam‟s gaze was directed. His nipples poked through the thin cotton fabric of his tank like two pencil erasers. He hurried to put the sweats and T-shirt on over his clothes. “Whose are these?” he wondered. “My boyfriend‟s. You and he are about the same size.” Adam disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tray upon which were two tall glasses, each garnished with a Maraschino cherry, pineapple wedge, and a lime peel. Adam paused before Dan. “I know. I know. It‟s kind of early for cocktails, but when time is short, you reprioritize. And I think the time is always right for a Mai Tai. Don‟t you?” Dan was surprised at Adam‟s casual mention of time being short, but snagged a drink from the tray and sipped. “This is delicious.” Adam set the tray down on the coffee table, picked up his own cocktail, and sat in the chair opposite Dan. “Oh, I make a mean Mai Tai, along with a whole bar full of other drinks. It‟s one of my many charms.” Adam sipped, his blue-eyed gaze meeting Dan‟s over the top of his glass. “So what prompted you to do the Sister of Mercy thing and keep me company in my death throes?” Dan nearly choked. But Adam smiled serenely at him, and there was something, at that moment, Dan noticed about the man across from him. In spite of the drag, the bravado, the sense of poise, Dan could see that Adam was scared. Instinctively, he picked up on the fact that all of Adam‟s mannerisms and his outrageousness was a carefully orchestrated screen to hide his terror. No, Dan wasn‟t psychic. He simply knew people… and maybe that‟s what drew him to do the “Sister of Mercy” thing. “Ah, good 9

Rick R. Reed question,” Dan replied, relaxing a bit, feeling the alcohol (he wasn‟t much of a drinker) and warmth from his new ensemble. He leaned back into the cushions and spread his legs out. “I thought it would be a good way to meet dying folks.” Adam‟s carefully tweezed eyebrows went up. “You know, get in their good graces, so I could get in the will. Easy money, my new friend, easy money.” Silence hung in the room for a moment and Dan feared he‟d gone too far. Then Adam guffawed—no, he exploded with laughter. He pointed at Dan. “I suspect you and I are going to get along just fine.” The two men began to talk and the afternoon light rose and fell as they shared who they were with each other. They each described in-common memories of Chicago, wondering if they knew the same people. They had both hung out at Sidetracks and Roscoe‟s (Adam also admitted he had been a regular at the Unicorn, the Halsted Street bathhouse, and Dan held back his own such admission, although he could have easily described the layout of both the first and second floor). During the course of their conversation, Adam forced three more Mai Tais on Dan, made him laugh more than once, and Adam finally let down his guard enough to tell Dan about contracting AIDS and what it had meant to him. “I remember when I first got a clue. There was a little bruisy-looking thing on my ankle, so tiny.” He reached down and touched his ankle. “I thought it was a blood blister. I had gone hiking the weekend before at Starved Rock. Turns out it was my first KS spot.” Adam‟s gaze had gone faraway as he remembered, and Dan wondered if he was sad. But Adam laughed. “Hey, it really came as no surprise.” He shook his head. “Me and my tomcat ways. As my Mama used to tell us, „Those who stick their hands in the fire must expect to get burned‟.” 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 10

Caregiver 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 cock‟ll 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? It‟s 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, I‟d 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, I‟m 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 don‟t 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 didn‟t ask, so he did. “So, the smoking. Isn‟t that especially bad for you? I mean, not to sound stupid and all, but with getting pneumonia and stuff, I‟d kind of think you‟d 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. You‟ve had training. You watch the news.” He cocked his head. “Didn‟t you pick up on the fact that AIDS kills?” Adam leaned forward and put his hand on Dan‟s knee. Dan didn‟t say anything. He didn‟t know what to say. “I like to smoke.” Adam shrugged and took another drag. “So sue me. I‟m pretty damn sure I‟m not gonna die from smoking, so why on earth would I deny myself, in my final days, this one little pleasure?” 11

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

“SO I‟LL pick you up this Saturday. We‟ll go to the beach.” Dan stood on somewhat unsteady legs near Adam‟s front door. He prayed he‟d have the presence of mind to make the drive home safely, back to Mark and their little apartment near the airport. “Sounds good, sugar. I‟ll 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 he‟ll want to meet you.” Adam thought for a moment and said, “Don‟t worry. I‟ll dress like a guy. I just did this to see how you‟d 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. Adam‟s eyebrows went up. “That must be Sullivan.” He looked pointedly at Dan. “The boyfriend whose clothes you‟re 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. I‟m sure he‟s not gonna mind.” A thought popped up in Dan‟s mind; he wondered if Sullivan also had AIDS and, if he didn‟t, 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 Dan‟s heart hiccupped when a door opened. Adam‟s boyfriend stood, framed by the doorway and the late afternoon light, which was now almost as 12

Caregiver dark as twilight. The typical Florida afternoon thunderstorm had rolled in while Dan and Adam had talked. The sky behind Sullivan‟s head was purple/gray and smudged with dark, almost black clouds gathering near the horizon. Thunder rumbled. The moment would freeze in Dan‟s memory for a long time. The two men‟s eyes met: Dan‟s brown and Sullivan‟s 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 Dan‟s ribs, making Dan jump. “He‟s 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. Sullivan‟s grip was firm and he squeezed hard enough to almost hurt Dan. “Sullivan O‟Connor.” He nodded to Adam. “I‟m 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.

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Rick R. Reed 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 Sullivan‟s 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 Sullivan‟s mouth. A little breathless, Adam sat back and said, “That‟s 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.”

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Caregiver Sullivan chuckled. “Well, I don‟t 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 Sullivan‟s, grinning. Sullivan shook his head. “You think you can fool me. I know you better than that. You‟re 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 Adam‟s ensemble, which would have looked at home on a 1960s secretary. “Yeah,” Adam replied, looking pleased with himself. “I wanted to see how he‟d 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 wasn‟t 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 Sullivan‟s chin. “Why does that matter so much to you?” He let go. “Yeah, he was fine. I mean, it‟s 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 Adam‟s pack on the coffee table, spinning it around. “Not at all. He didn‟t realize it, but I saw him crinkle his nose 15

Rick R. Reed when I lit up.” “Well, maybe he has the right idea, honey. You know it‟s not good, especially with the pneumonia….” “And I told him what I‟ll 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 I‟m 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 don‟t 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 hadn‟t expected things to turn so ugly so quickly. But these days, mercurial was Adam‟s 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. Adam‟s comment about sex was a low blow, but it was on target. Sullivan couldn‟t 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 couldn‟t help it; once the sex/death connection had been made it was, well, it was hard to get it up. He knew it wasn‟t fair. He knew it most likely wasn‟t even rational. There was such a thing as condoms, after all. Adam‟s doctor had told him that they could have satisfying, penetrative sex as long 16

Caregiver 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? Don‟t look a gift horse in the mouth, his mother would have told him. But so far all of Sullivan‟s 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 didn‟t want to wake up one morning to find a little purple lesion on his skin or develop a dry, hacking cough that wouldn‟t 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 wasn‟t being selfish in wanting to stay healthy. That was for Adam‟s 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 Sullivan‟s 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 didn‟t take his gaze away from the TV; he had settled on MTV, where Sinead O‟Connor, in tight close-up, was singing plaintively how “Nothing Compares to You.” 17

Rick R. Reed “I think I‟ll just have a liquid dinner tonight. There‟s 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. Don‟t mother me.” Sullivan went into the kitchen, where he pulled out a can of Campbell‟s soup from the pantry and a loaf of bread, margarine, and a pack of Kraft American slices from the refrigerator. Even if he didn‟t touch a bite of it, Adam was going to have a dinner in front of him tonight. Sullivan wasn‟t about to let him go without that option.

18

Caregiver 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 19

Rick R. Reed 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 didn‟t 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 Mark‟s partying ways, which went far beyond simple drinking. But Dan didn‟t 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 watched 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. “I‟m making you a good eye-talian boy‟s supper to remind you of your mama. Sausage and peppers, linguine with garlic and olive oil, and a nice dandelion greens salad.” 20

Caregiver 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 I‟d need a meal like this today?” Mark shrugged and Dan drank him in as he crossed the room to hug him. Mark was his ideal man, physically speaking, with a mop of dirty-blond hair the Florida sun had streaked golden, wide brown eyes, full lips, and the stocky, strong body of a Wisconsin farm boy, covered everywhere in golden down. Dan took Mark in his arms and kissed him, deeply, passionately, and for a long time, all the while thinking that being in his arms was truly coming home. He tried to ignore the smell of alcohol that rolled off Mark like an acrid wave, or the odor of cigarette smoke that clung to his clothes, even though he had sworn he‟d quit. He shouldn‟t bring up the smells, Dan thought, not when Mark had tried so hard to make other smells, much more tantalizing ones, take center stage in their little home. He pulled away from Mark at last, a little breathless, his dick hard and throbbing, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions that included joy, lust, and suspicion. Now was not the time for suspicion, so Dan simply said, “This all looks great.” He moved to the stove and looked down at the mélange of sausage and peppers sizzling, the steam above them perfumed with fennel and garlic. “You‟re too nice to me.” “Ah, it‟s nothin‟. Grab a beer and tell me about this new AIDS buddy of yours.” “This new buddy of mine makes a mean Mai Tai.” Dan rooted 21

Rick R. Reed around in the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Diet Coke. “And I think I‟m toasty enough for one day.” He cracked open the can and poured the brown liquid into an ice-filled glass. He frowned as Mark took a break behind him to reach into the fridge and grab a can of Bud Lite. Don‟t say anything. Don‟t say a word. You know how easily you could spoil the mood. “Sounds like my kind of guy.” Mark cracked open the beer, took a swig, and returned to flipping sausage and stirring peppers and onions. “So I take it your buddy—what‟s his name again?—isn‟t too sick, if he‟s partying and mixing up tropical cocktails.” “Oh, I don‟t know. He did tell me he‟d just gotten over a bout of pneumonia. And he has KS.” Dan sipped his soda. “And he‟d be a little too thin for my mother‟s liking. So I don‟t know how sick he really is. It‟s hard to say. But things don‟t look all that good.” Dan looked wistfully out their sliding glass doors as a heron took flight off the bank of the lake. “We‟ve been lucky. You and I haven‟t known that many people with AIDS. I don‟t really know what to expect.” “Isn‟t that what you‟re training was for? So you‟d know?” Dan sat down at the little dining room table they had pushed into an alcove off the kitchen. “Yeah… I mean, I learned a lot about the virus and what can happen. But man, it‟s a brave new world out there. This disease has only been around for a few years. I think everyone‟s on a steep learning curve.” “Is he getting treatment?” “He‟s on AZT, although he says it makes him sick, so he‟s not always religious about taking it. And he does have a doctor, but that‟s rough because it‟s through public health, since he doesn‟t have insurance.” Dan rolled his eyes. “That doctor probably, sadly, unfortunately, has a waiting list with hundreds on it.” Dan told Mark all about his meeting that day with Adam as Mark served up dinner and, together, they ate. Dan noticed Mark didn‟t eat much, just moved the food around on his plate and drank a lot of beer, but reminded himself, again, not to say anything because they were having such a nice evening. Dan told him about what Adam had worn. “My jaw just about hit the front porch floor when he 22

Caregiver opened the door!” Mark laughed. “It sounds like they assigned a real character to you. Maybe you‟ll write about him.” Dan shrugged. “I don‟t know. I‟m kind of too close to the subject, and besides, I‟m working on that mystery. I‟m pretty sure once I get it done, I‟ll be able to find a publisher.” “That‟s good,” Mark belched and began clearing away the supper dishes. “We can use the money.” Dan kept quiet. Since they had moved down to Florida from Chicago, neither man had been able to secure employment, and the money (Dan‟s mostly) they had saved was running out. Fortunately, Dan had an interview the next week with a company that did underwriting reports for large life insurance policies, and his writing abilities, he thought, would give him a good shot at the job. He didn‟t know what Mark was looking for… or waiting for. He had learned early on not to ask him about his job hunt. That is, if he didn‟t want to spend the next several days enduring stony silences and pouting. He supposed Mark would eventually find something too. After all, he couldn‟t expect Dan to take care of both of them, could he? Dan didn‟t want to think about the answer to that question. Instead, he shifted gears and wandered out to the kitchen, where he wrapped his arms around Mark from behind and rubbed up against Mark‟s ample ass. Dan kissed the nape of his neck and bit Mark‟s earlobe. As he did so, the blood flowed quickly into his dick and he pressed his erection against the crack of Mark‟s ass, which he could feel easily through the cotton athletic shorts he wore. “Mmm,” he breathed into Mark‟s ear. “I‟d love to get a little deeper into that crevice.” Mark laughed and pushed him away. “I‟m trying to clean up here!” Dan moved right back into position. “The dishes can wait. But I‟m not sure I can.” He yanked down Mark‟s shorts, knowing by feel he wasn‟t wearing any underwear. He dropped to his knees and pulled Mark‟s cheeks apart, gazing with a kind of dizzy rapture at a clean, 23

Rick R. Reed puckered hole crowned with gold fuzz. Dan sucked in a breath at the beauty of what he beheld. Then he buried his face in Mark‟s ass, driving his tongue up into that tight, little pucker. Mark whimpered. The plate in his hand crashed to the floor, shattering, as he gripped the counter, bending over slightly to give Dan better access. “Christ,” Mark whimpered. “That feels so fuckin‟ good.” He rotated his ass slightly, pushing back against Dan‟s face and driving tongue. Dan reached up between his lover‟s legs, playing with the furcovered swinging sac between his thighs and then reaching up to grasp his dick. Dan was disappointed to find Mark‟s cock only halfhard at best. Still, he tried not to let it bother him, since a full erection on Mark really wasn‟t necessary for what Dan had planned and suddenly so desperately wanted. They stayed like that for several minutes. Dan fingered and tongued Mark‟s hole while Mark‟s knees shook and he sighed, whispering filthy encouragement. Mark kicked his shorts free of his ankles at some point and Dan struggled out of his own shorts clumsily, not wanting to disengage his tongue from Mark‟s sweet hole. “Oh, honey,” Mark panted, “I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me hard. I want it so bad!” Dan could see, from his vantage point, Mark frantically pumping his own dick, yet it wasn‟t getting any harder. Dan‟s lust and his own ability at that moment to bury his head in the sand (not to mention his lover‟s ass) allowed him to ignore the implications. Finally, Dan stood, turned Mark around, and marched him into the bedroom. He flung him face-down on the bed and, using only spit as lube, entered him in one savage thrust. Mark‟s joy at feeling Dan inside him was apparent with his yelp and then groan of pleasure. He was more than ready. Mark bucked back against him, propelling Dan‟s dick deeper inside. “Fuck it, baby. Pound it hard. Give me all you got,” he whimpered into the sheet. And Dan did. Mark never did get hard, nor did he come. As Dan pulled out 24

Caregiver and wiped his own dick on a towel next to the bed, he told himself he could ponder why not later.

25

Rick R. Reed Chapter Four

THE sunlight streamed in through the window that Saturday morning, illuminating Dan and Mark‟s naked bodies, intertwined. Dan opened his eyes first, groggy with sleep, squinting against the powerful light pouring in through mini-blind slats, and wondering if he had slept later than usual. He turned onto one side, bringing up a sharp, close-up view of Mark‟s handsome face in repose. In spite of the golden stubble on his cheeks and the muscular pecs rising and falling as he breathed, he looked childlike as he lay there sleeping, vulnerable, and Dan‟s heart swelled with love. Gently, so as not to wake him, Dan let his fingers lightly stroke Mark‟s cheek, delighting in the contrast between his satiny, tanned skin and rough stubble. Mark smacked his lips and let out a snort, and Dan moved his hand away. He knew that just a little pressure would open Mark‟s dark brown eyes and they would be gazing into Dan‟s own brown ones. He also knew that the gaze could be followed by a cheery “good morning” and a term of endearment or a grumpy “why the fuck did you wake me up?” All bets were off with Mark‟s moods. Dan wasn‟t ready for either. He wasn‟t ready to talk yet, good or bad. He liked this quiet moment and the ability to just lie here, listening to Mark breathe, watching his slack features that looked so innocent, almost guileless. You can‟t hurt me now. I can take care of you. The thoughts popped into his head, almost unbidden. Outside, the coos of mourning doves mingled with the quacking of a duck. Sometimes, Dan felt like they had moved to the country, even though 26

Caregiver they were right in the midst of the city of Tampa. His peace evaporated, bit by bit, as he gazed at Mark‟s face and remembered what had brought them down here from Chicago. Simply put, the pair had fled. Life had become untenable and even dangerous in Chicago, and both of them agreed that packing their meager belongings up and heading south to sunshine was a good idea. A fresh start—where they knew no one and no one knew them. They could begin anew. Dan fled nothing except the good friends he had made over the nine years he had spent in Chicago since graduating with a communications degree from Marquette University in Madison, Wisconsin. Dan fled nothing except a fairly decent job as a publicist for a thriving theater company on the north side of the city. And he had left nothing behind but a love for Lake Michigan in all its different moods and a city that never lacked in opportunities, whether they were cultural, environmental, or culinary. It was Mark who had needed to leave. It was Mark who was leaving behind a job as a car salesman he had once done well at; it was Mark who was leaving behind friendships he had destroyed through betrayal, and the inspiration of mistrust. Mark fled addiction. At first, Dan had done the cocaine with him. It was fun on the weekends, an escape. They would mix up a batch of cocktails— margaritas or screwdrivers usually—and Mark would procure a tiny bag of white powder for the two of them. They would drink, listen to music, and snort lines. At eleven or so, wired and feeling blissful, they would head out to Halsted Street and hit the clubs to dance, never tiring, even when it started heading toward 5 a.m. and the last calls would go out. They would walk or cab home, watching as the light filtered from black to gray to pinkish-violet as the sun rose over Lake Michigan, and would sleep the following Saturday or Sunday away. It seemed relatively harmless. Until it wasn‟t. It seemed harmless until Mark started wanting to do it every 27

Rick R. Reed weekend. There wasn‟t much of a noticeable impact until Dan couldn‟t sleep on Sunday nights because Mark was still up, doing lines and dirty chatting on local phone-sex lines while he watched porn. Dan was sure Mark had assumed he was asleep and knew nothing of his secret, late-night partying. Dan had never felt more alone as he lay in bed hoping and waiting for Mark to join him, staring at the ceiling while the minutes passed glacially, like hours. And then the Mondays started, when Mark felt too sick and crashed too hard after the weekend to go to work. Tuesday would arrive, and Dan would catch Mark doing a line or two in the bathroom before his morning shower. Mark would flash him his killer smile and sheepishly say, “Maintenance bumps. That‟s all. Not to worry, hon.” Dan remembered coming home from work early one time, with the beginnings of a bad cold, and finding Mark naked on the bed, playing with a limp dick as he watched porn and smoked cigarettes. Their bedroom TV broadcast a VHS tape of a Joe Gage porno. Was it LA Tool and Die? Mark lost his job and promised he‟d quit the coke. Yet, he didn‟t. And when Dan came home one night toward the end, when he had been working an opening at the theater, to find Mark in bed with his dealer, that had been it. Dan had ordered him out. “I‟ll give you one day to get your things packed,” Dan had said, lower lip quivering and not knowing himself if he really meant it. Mark had begged. He had cried. He had pleaded. He had sworn he and his dealer, Sam, had done nothing but lie naked next to one another, watching porn and stroking. “Neither of us could even get hard, for Christ‟s sake!” Mark had shouted, as though the fact of their impotence would lessen his betrayal. It didn‟t. But when Mark whispered how much he needed him and that he didn‟t quite know how he could bear life without Dan in it, it was hard not to cave. So Dan took him back. Two days after their tearful reunion, Mark proposed the idea of moving to Tampa. “It‟s gorgeous down there on the Gulf coast,” he had said. “You‟ll love it.” And then he 28

Caregiver had started to cry. “I want to quit, sweetheart, I really do. But I need to get away from here. I need to get away from people who are just a phone call away, who will swing by and deliver coke within an hour of my calling them. I need to get away from that temptation. I need a fresh start. Do you get it?” Dan had bought into the idea and the logic of Mark being freed from his addiction burden if he only lived somewhere else, a place where he would have no drug contacts. He swore he would not develop new contacts; that part would be easy. The darker parts of Dan‟s mind knew Mark could find cocaine in Florida (my God, wasn‟t Miami, just across Alligator Alley, the cocaine capital of the US?), but he shushed himself, telling himself he needed to have faith in his lover. After all, Mark wanted to change. So they had left it all behind. Dan had cried as he watched the remarkable skyline disappear, as they headed south and away from Chicago. At first things seemed good. But Dan wondered sometimes if Mark hadn‟t found some new connections. Things he didn‟t want to acknowledge were cropping up—strange phone calls, mostly, and Mark‟s own behavior, like the other night when he didn‟t eat the dinner Dan had made and couldn‟t get it up for lovemaking. That was not like Mark… or at least not like Mark sans cocaine. Don‟t think that way. It‟s not fair to him. He‟s trying. He‟s really trying. Maybe he just had too much beer the other night—that would explain both the not eating and the lack of erection. He‟s a good man and he‟s your husband… in your heart. Stick with him. Remember, he needs you. Dan‟s thoughts seemed like a pep talk, yet he tried to make himself believe. Suddenly, he noticed Mark lying awake and staring at him, much as Dan had done only moments ago. Dan had been so lost in memory and reverie, he hadn‟t noticed Mark awakening. “Penny for your thoughts,” Mark whispered, nestling into the crook of Dan‟s armpit and laying his head on Dan‟s chest. “Just thinking about the day ahead. We‟re going to the beach 29

Rick R. Reed with Adam, remember?” “Oh yeah,” Mark said, betraying no emotion, so that Dan couldn‟t be sure if Mark dreaded the outing or anticipated it. Mark toyed with the hair on Dan‟s chest. It was comfortable like this, lying here while the sun warmed their naked bodies, yet the air conditioning kept them from getting too hot. Dan loved the two of them nestled this way together in the morning, the day filled with promise, their dicks sleepy, yet half-hard. Would they make love? “Would you mind if I just stayed home?” Mark asked. It sounded to Dan as if he was trying—way too hard—to sound casual and offhand. Dan tensed and felt his good mood evaporate like steam on the pavement after a Tampa thunderstorm. “Why wouldn‟t you want to go? I was looking forward to you meeting Adam. I know he wants to meet you.” Dan wasn‟t sure if this part was true, but he hoped it would bolster his case. “We‟ll have a great time. I thought we‟d head over to Ft. De Soto.” Ft. De Soto had quickly become Dan‟s favorite beach since moving down to Florida. It was in a state park so, unlike so many other beaches, its backdrop was not a line of high-rise hotels but simply mangroves, palm trees, and dunes with sea oats. The beach was all pristine, white sand, sugar-like, a sharp contrast to the aqua Gulf waters beyond the shore. Dan hoped the place would not be that busy, and he had looked forward to the three of them getting acquainted while the sun beat down on them. He could practically taste the salt of the water and feel its stinging breeze on his sunreddened face. Why would Mark want to miss that? He wished he could say he had no idea. But he had a good idea, and wished he wasn‟t so paranoid. There was no arguing with the fear that popped into his mind—that Mark wanted the day to himself to get high. Of course, Dan could never say that to his man. Mark would shut down, which was much worse than if Mark had just yelled at him and denied his accusations. Mark had a way of making silence feel like a backhand to the face, one that leaves your nose or lip bleeding. His silence stung. “Why, hon?” Dan felt cautious, as if he was toeing the edge of 30

Caregiver an icy slope, but he asked, anyway. “I mean, it‟s not like you have anything to do here today.” Oh shit; I shouldn‟t have said that. Mark‟s body stiffened and he rolled away from Dan, so he lay on his side, facing the wall. Fuck. Now I‟ve gone and done it. Why did I have to mention him not having anything to do? Dan reached out a placating hand. “Sweetheart, I‟m sorry. I didn‟t mean you didn‟t have anything to do. Didn‟t mean that at all. I just didn‟t want you to miss out on a glorious day at the beach.” Dan inched closer to Mark. “Adam promised to make a thermos of Mai Tais.” “Figures you would try to tempt me with that.” Mark got up from the bed and Dan lay there, stunned, face burning, as he listened to Mark shower. Dan didn‟t move as he heard Mark pour a bowl of cereal, the spoon clinking against the bowl, and then the sound of him rinsing the bowl in the kitchen sink. Dan stared at a hairline crack in the ceiling as Mark opened the sliding glass doors to the patio. Dan supposed Mark was out there watering the herbs (basil, flat leaf parsley, and chives) he had planted and throwing breadcrumbs to the ducks. How could someone so nurturing be so cruel, all at the same time? With a sigh, Dan rose from bed and headed into the bathroom.

“ARE you sure you won‟t come?” Dan was at the door, beach bag in hand, wearing his board shorts, tank top, and flip-flops. In a silence that felt like an oppressive third presence in the little apartment, Dan had packed Adam and himself a lunch of cheese wedges, crackers, apples, and oranges. Mark stared at the TV screen. Canned laughter erupted from an old rerun of I Love Lucy. Mark didn‟t look at Dan as he said, “I‟m fine here. Have a good time.” Dan shook his head, debating whether he should try a little harder to convince Mark to come. In the end, though, he knew such 31

Rick R. Reed attempts would be futile, and even if he did succeed, Mark would simply ruin the whole day with glowering silence. It wouldn‟t be the first time. Dan sighed and closed the door behind him without a word or a kiss good-bye. He knew that Mark would be fine without either. He sucked in a deep breath and eyed the crystal-blue sky, the sunshine, and the palm trees swaying in the breeze, which this morning, was not in the least humid. At least one thing—the weather—was going right today.

32

Caregiver Chapter Five

MARK watched from the peephole as Dan reversed his Escort and headed out of the parking lot. For good measure, he glanced at the clock, noted the time, and sat staring at the TV, timing out a full fifteen minutes, just to ensure that if Dan did forget something and had to come back, he wouldn‟t be caught in a compromising position. Safe from what? Mark wondered. I should be safe—or free—to do whatever I want in my own house, right? I‟m a grown man. I shouldn‟t have to worry about some other guy‟s disapproval of how I choose to run my own life. Yet, there was a part of Mark that was grateful for the disapproval, for Dan‟s paranoia. At least it showed someone cared. There were so few people who cared. Mark thought briefly of the single mother who had raised him, Sharon, and how she seldom had enough time for him, too busy with men and booze to tend to him. “Honey, you‟ll be fine here tonight. You‟ve got the TV and your stuffed monkey to keep you company. There‟s M&Ms in the kitchen if you get hungry. I‟m gonna lock the door behind me so you‟ll be safe, okay? You watch the clock and when the big hand is on the twelve and the little one is on the nine, you go to bed.” The conversation, variations of which were repeated many times during Mark‟s formative years, came back to him now, unbidden and stinging. Apple doesn‟t fall far from the tree, a voice from out of nowhere taunted. Shut up, Mark‟s conscious mind replied. After fifteen minutes, Mark shut the TV off, went into the 33

Rick R. Reed kitchen freezer, slid aside a bag of peas and carrots, and withdrew his pack of Camel Lights. Returning to the living room, he shut off the air and opened the sliding glass door as far as it would go. With a shaking hand and pounding heart, he lit up and exhaled a stream of blue-gray smoke through the screen. He immediately felt calmer. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for a man he had met in one of the AOL men-for-men chat rooms. Their meeting was fortuitous, because Mark was hankering for some coke something fierce that day and the guy sold it. A small part of Mark was sad to have made the connection. It meant his dreams of staying clean were wiped out with a minute-long instant message exchange. He never had been much good at resisting temptation. He knew himself well enough to know that. Brian was the guy‟s name. He was a forty-something troll who lived down in Ybor City, and when Mark had first chatted with him, Mark knew Brian thought the two were going to hook up. And Mark might have been okay with the idea if it meant scoring some free drugs. Then he saw Brian and realized the pic he had sent him had to be at least fifteen years old. Much more weight and much less hair later, Brian was not exactly a sight for sore eyes. So Mark could bless himself for staying faithful to Dan, if only in practice rather than spirit. He didn‟t ponder over what Dan would think of him doing coke. He knew. So when Mark had arrived at Brian‟s smelly and cramped Ybor City digs, he had said he was in a hurry and could he just buy half of an eight ball. Brian had been disappointed, Mark could tell, but he could also tell that the guy was a businessman and he wasn‟t about to turn away a new client. They had made the exchange, and as money and cocaine changed hands, Mark felt a powerful rush, almost as though he had already done his first line or two. He could feel himself nearly trembling with need and knew he would be able to get no farther than his car before he would have to get some of the white substance up his nose. Ingesting it would be a massive relief, a direct hit of endorphins, and his finest orgasm all rolled into one. He couldn‟t, 34

Caregiver couldn‟t, couldn‟t wait. All of his worries about how he would explain the sixty-dollar hit to their shared checking account, his sure-to-be sleeplessness in the coming night, and any other telltale signs had vanished with the sight of that little yellow plastic baggie, half-filled with rocks and powder. “Can I sniff?” he had asked, and without waiting for an answer, had pulled apart the Ziploc seal and inhaled. A sharp, pungent tang greeted him and told him that he wasn‟t being taken. This wasn‟t some stepped-on, cut shit. It was good stuff. He couldn‟t, couldn‟t, couldn‟t wait. Now, as Mark picked up the cordless phone, reminding himself to delete the call from memory, he wondered how he would stand the wait. It was a good thing Brian was willing to deliver. He only hoped he‟d be up for a trip over to the west side this early in the day. Mark considered that he would do almost anything to entice him. He punched in Brian‟s number. He had committed it to memory and knew that, even if he tried, he would never be able to forget these seven digits. It was both a blessing and a curse. Once the connection was made, a mechanical woman‟s voice prompted him to enter his number if he wanted to be called back. “Of course I want to be called back, you stupid bitch.” Mark punched in the seven digits of his own number, sweating and praying that Brian had his pager with him and on. He wouldn‟t know how to explain it to Dan if the call came later, when he was home. Wrong number? He disconnected and stood to pace, watching the clock. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. He sat down at the computer in their bedroom, to play Solitaire and to distract himself from watching the clock. After exactly thirty-seven minutes had passed, the cordless rang. Mark snatched it up, breathing a sigh of relief when he noticed the caller ID read “Private.” “It‟s Mark.” “Hey pumpkin, how‟s it goin‟?” Brian‟s nasal, southerntwanged voice came through the phone, all cheeriness and light. Mark wanted to scream to just cut to the chase, but somehow he managed to 35

Rick R. Reed calm himself. “Good. Beautiful day. And I was just thinking how you could help make it even more beautiful.” “Moi?” Brian laughed. Mark couldn‟t stand it. “I was hoping you could help me out.” Brian sighed. “What do you need?” “Can you do a quarter?” “Can you come down here and pick it up?” Shit. “No, man, sorry. I don‟t have wheels today.” He lied; he had his own car, a Mustang left over from his days as a hotshot salesman at a Ford Mercury dealership on Western Avenue in Chicago. But he didn‟t want to be bothered with making the trip, not when he was pretty sure Brian could be coerced into making a delivery. Ybor City was a good fifteen or twenty minutes away, more if there was traffic on I-4. “I can‟t drive all the way out there for $30, man, you should know that.” Mark sighed. He was this close. But how would he explain another $60 hit to their account? He didn‟t know, but fuck it, he would worry about it later. “How ‟bout a half then?” “I don‟t know.” “Come on, man.” “What‟s in it for me?” Mark would not sleep with this guy. He just couldn‟t, wouldn‟t do it. Not even for coke. He had not sunk that low. “Can I at least get a kiss?” Mark blew out an impatient sigh and then attempted to sound calm, cheerful even, as he said, “Sure, a kiss and $60. How soon can you be here?”

MARK was bored with the porn on TV. He had watched El Paso Trucking and was now into Rectum Wreckers and it simply wasn‟t doing anything for him. He glanced down at the clock on the VCR 36

Caregiver and thought he had at least another couple of hours before there was even a chance of Dan coming home. He had already worked his way through almost the entire Baggie of coke. There had been so much when he started! And now it was almost all gone. It left Mark feeling sad at the loss, almost as if a good friend, one whose company he enjoyed immensely, had dropped by and was now leaving. The coke also left him feeling euphoric, jittery, and restless all at once. He‟d realize he was grinding his teeth, then stop himself, only to start up again. He had smoked almost a whole pack of cigarettes and knew he‟d never get the smell out of the apartment before Dan returned, even with the windows wide open and two fans blowing. Dan would just have to deal with it. But the restlessness nagged at him, like a second presence in the room. It urged him to get off the couch and do something. He couldn‟t just sit there, stroking a limp dick and watching other men have all the fun. It was getting tiresome. And he could not sit still. When Brian had dropped off his delivery, he had mentioned something about checking out the action on the Courtney Campbell Causeway. “There‟s a little beach area on the Tampa side,” he had said. “Guys cruise there all the time and the mangroves allow plenty of privacy, if you know what I mean, sweet cheeks.” Did he dare go down there? It would probably only take him about ten minutes to get to the causeway from the apartment and it might be fun, if only to watch some live porn for a change. Mark grinned, imagining an orgy in the shades of the mangrove trees, while the sun filtered down through the leaves on tanned and muscular bodies engaged in sweaty couplings of every sort. Sort of Boys in the Sand… live! But Dan would cross over that same causeway at some point on his way home. What if he saw Mark‟s car parked by the side of the road? Oh, what were the odds of that? A siren‟s voice in his head soothed. Besides, yours is not the only red Mustang in Tampa, for 37

Rick R. Reed God‟s sake. Come on, just go and have a look, see if it‟s as cruisy as Brian says it is…. In his current state of mind, Mark didn‟t require much convincing. He hopped from the couch, grabbed some paper towels out of the kitchen and quickly cleaned from the coffee table any stray evidence of his partying. Any crumbs that were big enough to see, he rubbed into his gums. He positioned the floor fan backwards in front of the screen of the sliding glass doors, hoping it would act as a powerful exhaust, sucking all the cigarette smoke right out of the apartment. Yeah, right. Good luck with that. You really think it‟ll suck smoke out of fabric and upholstery? Oh shut the fuck up! He hurried into the bedroom, where he donned an old Chicago Bears T-shirt, Levis cutoffs, and his high-top Reeboks. He glanced in the mirror and decided that, other than a sweaty face and pupils so big they almost made his eyes appear one continuous shade of brown bordering on black, he looked okay. I‟m not going to do anything, anyway, he promised himself. I‟m just going to have a little look-see. He hoped he saw a lot. Now make sure you‟re back within an hour or two, you want to make sure you‟re here before Dan gets home. Mark hurried out the door, checking he had his wallet, keys, and smokes with him. He debated whether to take the coke with him, but in the end, decided against it. If he got pulled over for speeding or something, he wouldn‟t want to have drugs on him. That was half his rationale for not going down to Ybor City to pick up the stuff himself. What a nightmare! Quickly, and almost trembling with pent-up energy, he spilled out the small remains of the little Baggie onto the coffee table, chopped the coke into two fat lines, and snorted them up with the cut-in-half straw he had been using. “Ah!” He was about to throw the straw and Baggie into the trash, then thought they would be better disposed of as he headed down the road, out the car window, doing sixty. No traces. Mark wiggled his tongue inside the little Baggie to get any bit of 38

Caregiver coke left and headed out for his beach adventure.

THE causeway was a bore. The only signs of life Mark saw were the horseshoe crabs, scurrying around in the shallow water of Tampa Bay. There had been a couple of guys on beach towels sunning themselves, but nothing else. One of them, hidden by some sea oats, was naked, but he looked like the love child of Howie Mandel and Chuck Barris… with a potbelly. Mark had traipsed through the copses of mangrove trees and saw that the trails just back from the shoreline were well-traveled and obviously used for fun purposes at some point (he stopped counting after seeing six used condoms), but there was no one there back there today. Maybe it was busier at night? Who knew? But his buzz was beginning to wear off and he felt frustrated and disappointed as he marched across the hot sand back to his car. But—wait a minute—there was a really, really cute guy standing just ahead of him, staring out at the water. Mark slowed his pace to drink him in. He wore a pair of cargo shorts, a crisp, white Tshirt, and running shoes. He had a trim, athletic build and his calves were a study in tanned musculature. He had light brown curly hair, a moustache, and wore aviator-style sunglasses. And could it be? Yes! He had turned to watch as Mark neared him. His handsome face broke into a smile as Mark drew up to him. “Hey,” he said, in a deep voice that immediately wiped out all of Mark‟s disappointment, and brought back his high—and his horniness—in a single breath. “Hey,” Mark replied, slowing. Mark looked the guy up and down, as the guy did the same to him. Both men wore knowing grins. Almost as one, both turned out to look at the still water of Tampa Bay, as it reflected the relentless afternoon sun. On the horizon, low, puffy clouds gathered, warming up for their afternoon light and sound show. But right now, the heat of the sun and the admiring glance of this handsome stranger made Mark feel hot on many levels. 39

Rick R. Reed The guy spoke. “You know what would be nice?” “What?” “If that water was actually cool.” He laughed. “It‟s like fuckin‟ bathwater, so it does no good to even think about getting in it. You‟d only come out hotter and wetter than you were before you went in.” “And what would you wear in the water, anyway?” The guy gave Mark a pointed look. “Why wear anything?” Mark smiled. “Why indeed?” The guy took off his sunglasses and Mark was thrilled to see he had the most beautiful eyes. Thick lashes framed unusually striking irises, which, here in the sun, almost seemed turquoise. “So what brings you out here today?” the guy asked him. Mark shrugged. “Oh, you know, just checkin‟ things out. Seein‟ who‟s out here.” The man nodded knowingly. “Yeah, it‟s pretty dead. You come to the causeway a lot?” Mark didn‟t know why, but he didn‟t want to admit that this was his first time. He also wanted to use his next conversational gambit to check further and see if the guy was here for the same reason he was. Admittedly, he was already pretty certain he was, since the looks he had given him were obviously cruisy, the same mating dance of the eyes gay men had used for generations. “I get down here once in a while, yeah. But you‟re right, it‟s really dead today.” “I‟ve heard it gets busier in the early evening, when it‟s just starting to get dark. Maybe we‟re just here too early today.” “Too early for what?” Mark thought he might as well be bold. The guy playfully pushed him. “You know! Don‟t play innocent with me.” They both laughed and Mark said, “I guess you‟re right. Innocent is pretty hard for me to do these days. So what brings you out here?” “Oh you know. Same as you.” Mark nodded. They could stand here all day making inane chatter, or he could move things to the next level. As nonchalantly as 40

Caregiver he could, he asked, “You wanna walk back into the mangroves?” He shrugged. “Get out of the sun.” “I‟m Keith.” “Mark.” He started moving toward the cool shade of the trees behind them and was happy to see Keith following. Even though coke played wicked havoc with his erections, right now he was experiencing no such problems. Mark figured it was the potent cocktail of this guy‟s gorgeous hunkiness combined with the summer sun and salt-tinged air, and the remnants of his high. The prospect of some risky, outdoor sex didn‟t hurt either, Mark figured. Keith called out from behind him as they stepped into the shade. “So what do you like, Mark?” Ah, the classic question that preceded so many gay sexual encounters. He knew he was on firm footing now, and his racing heart pounded a little faster. He slowed and looked over his shoulder. “I like it all,” he said a little hoarsely, not wanting to rule out anything this hunk preferred, but he was already imagining himself bent over, shorts around his ankles, as this guy nailed him from behind. He wondered how big his dick would be, and his breath quickened at the thought of it. They stopped at a little clearing in the mangroves. There was a used rubber hanging from a branch, and discarded Kleenex, napkins, and paper towels littered the ground, along with a few crushed beer cans. The men faced one another and, for just a moment, Mark had an irrational stab of fear. Must be paranoia from the coke, he told himself, but it wouldn‟t hurt to ask the question that was on his mind. He grinned sheepishly, he knew, as he blurted out, “So Keith, you‟re not a cop, are you?” Keith gave him one of those killer, sexy grins Mark already loved. “Now, Mark, why would you ask that?” “Never mind. Just wanted to be sure.” Mark had heard somewhere that police officers had to admit they were so employed if asked directly, and he figured Keith‟s response was pretty close to a denial—close enough for him, anyway. “So, you never told me what you like,” Mark said. 41

Rick R. Reed “I like to watch.” The sentence hung in the air as the two stood silently, facing one another for several moments, the atmosphere suddenly charged with possibility. Mark was all at once grateful that the causeway beach was so empty. He glanced around to ensure it remained so, and then peeled off his shirt. The sun beat down through the trees on his chest, making it glisten and arousing him further. Keith licked his lips and stared, and then a light smile flitted across his face. Mark knew Keith was wordlessly—and very eloquently— urging him on. Mark seductively bit his lower lip, never removing his gaze from Keith‟s rapt eyes as he popped the top button on his Levi cutoffs, then another, then another, until finally he pulled out his cock, grateful that the coke had not dissuaded it from being rock-hard—not in the least. He looked down at the thick shaft, proud of its veins standing out in relief, the bulbous purple head, the drop of pre-come poised at the slit. Without lifting his gaze, he worked up a big glob of spit, opened his mouth, and let it drop to his dick head. With the lube, he began stroking himself up and down, anticipating the feel of this hot man‟s lips on his shaft. He looked up to see what kind of reaction he was getting. And froze. A jolt of electricity passed through him. There was a moment when he almost wanted to laugh. This could not be real. Keith stood facing him still, quite calmly. His grin now looked taunting. He had not removed any of his own clothes. No, all he had done, Mark guessed, in those nauseating few seconds when Mark wasn‟t looking, was to reach into a pocket of his shorts to pull out his badge, which he held out so Mark could see. “I thought you said you weren‟t a cop.” “I never said that, Mark. Not exactly. Sorry.” He smiled more broadly, and Mark wanted to puke. “I am a cop and you‟re under arrest.”

42

Caregiver Mark‟s erection deflated in about three seconds as he scrambled to pull up and refasten his jeans. He groped in the sand for his T-shirt and awkwardly yanked it on, his trembling fingers making it difficult for him to find the hole where his head should go. He started to beg. “Please, man. I lied before. I‟ve never been down here. And if you could just let me go, I promise you, I‟ll never come back.” Mark fought to hold back tears, thinking of Dan. This would ruin them! “Please, man. You gotta understand, this would wreck my whole life. Please, can‟t you just see your way clear to letting me go?” Keith put away the badge. “My car‟s parked over there.” He nodded toward the causeway. Mark wondered what would happen if he just made a break for it, if he simply ran. Did the guy have a gun? “I can cuff you and lead you out of here and it will be humiliating for you. Or you can come quietly with me to my car.” He paused. “And yes, Mark, I do have a gun,” he said, as if reading his mind. “You seem like a nice guy and I don‟t want to embarrass you. Do you want to come along with me and not make a fuss?” Mark stared at the ground. “Sure.” They started off, Keith explaining what would happen next, how if he had no warrants, he would write him a citation and he would be free to go, pending a court date. But it all started sounding like buzzing in his ears. They walked up the beach. A few more guys had arrived and they gave knowing and flirtatious leers to the two hunks leaving the beach together. All Mark wanted to do was throw up.

43

Rick R. Reed Chapter Six

FT. DE SOTO beach never failed to take Dan‟s breath away. It was so beautiful, it almost didn‟t seem real. The sugar-white sand, the endless aqua water gently rolling, the sand dunes—they all conspired to create a kind of tropical magic. And it wasn‟t simply the view that had an effect; the combination of all of the above was also like a balm on the soul—calming. Today, the beach was nearly empty. At one end, a family had spread out, the mother on a beach chair under an umbrella, reading a novel, while the dad frolicked in the water with his two kids—a little towheaded boy who made him think of what Mark must have looked like as a child, and a little girl, younger, who had her mother‟s curly, red hair. Along the shoreline two middle-aged women waded, in loose-fitting linen tops, shorts, and floppy sun hats, each carrying mesh bags in which they collected seashells. The sun was brilliant and the air smelled fresh, with just a slight sting of salt to it as the warm breeze buffeted Dan‟s face. The roar of the waves was a soothing aural backdrop. Dan scanned the white sand for the perfect spot to unfurl the old blanket he had brought and to set up their day camp. Down near the water was a spot that looked perfect—flat and not close at all to the few people who were there. They could play the boom box Adam had brought and not disturb anyone, plus they could talk freely. Dan had already forgotten—pretty much—about Mark, relaxed by the waves, the sun, and the sand. Adam followed him and the two men, for now, didn‟t speak. When he had picked Adam up at his 44

Caregiver house in Brandon, he was ashamed to admit to himself that he was relieved that the guy looked pretty close to normal. He didn‟t know quite what he had expected, but he was glad to see there were no feather boas, spike heels, or hot pants in evidence. No, today, Adam looked kind of waifish, with his poker-straight blond hair, pale skin, and thin frame, younger than his years. Anyone seeing him from a distance might have assumed he was a teenage boy, off on an outing with his young uncle. This morning, he wore a pair of orange swim trunks, baggy on his frame, patterned with brown sea turtles. A simple white T-shirt, baseball cap, sunglasses, and sandals completed his ensemble. Compared to the other day, he looked completely, well, normal. When Adam had opened the door, Dan was surprised. He hadn‟t expected this vision of masculine regularity. Maybe he wasn‟t anticipating drag, but he did believe he might find something outrageous. He was as disappointed as he was relieved. “What?” Adam said, one hand on his hip. “You were expecting maybe a one-piece Catalina swimsuit and black pumps to show off my legs? Maybe a sash with Miss AIDS 1991 on it?” “Sorry. Are you ready to go?” “Good God, yes! I haven‟t been out of this house in forever. You don‟t know just how ready I am for this little adventure.” Dan peered behind him into the house that appeared darker, he was sure, due to his sun-blinded eyes. “Is Sullivan home?” “He‟s at work. Not a lady of leisure like us. Do you wanna come in while I grab my stuff?” “I can just wait here.” Dan sat on a bench on the small front porch. Fortunately, the day had turned out to be a superior one: sunny, with rare low humidity and the morning‟s temperature only in the low eighties. Adam had returned after only a few minutes, holding a beach bag in one hand and a boom box in the other. His eyes were hidden behind purple-lensed oval sunglasses. “I thought your guy was coming too. What‟s his name again?”

45

Rick R. Reed “Mark.” Dan had grown solemn, remembering how Mark had abandoned their plans for the day that morning. It gave him a little twinge, a tiny, nauseous poke to the gut, and he wondered briefly if his lover was behaving himself. “No, he couldn‟t make it.” Dan unlocked the passenger door of the car and opened it, taking Adam‟s bag from him and tossing it in the backseat. “Oh, did he have to work?” Dan snorted at the thought. “No, he was just being a pill. He hasn‟t found a job yet.” “So why didn‟t he come?” Adam slid into the car and looked up at Dan. “It‟s a perfect beach day.” “You‟d have to ask him. I guess he just wasn‟t in the mood to be social.” Or if he was, Dan thought darkly, it was not with Dan. Dan crossed in front of the car and slid behind the steering wheel. “All set?” “Yeah.” Sheepishly, Adam reached into his pocket and brought out a cassette. “You have a player?” “Right there in the dash.” Dan started the car. “What is it?” “Don‟t laugh. It‟s such a cliché. But I love her.” Dan glanced down at the cassette case. It was Barbra Streisand, One Voice. “You big queen,” Dan scoffed, rolling down the window. “Put it in.” “That‟s what he said,” Adam snorted and inserted the cassette. Barbra‟s crystalline voice accompanied them all the way to the beach.

AND now here they were. Adam stood aside while Dan opened the blanket and tucked its edges into the sand so it would lie flat and not blow away in the breeze. Adam handed him the boom box and several cassettes he had brought: more Barbra, of course, but also some C&C Music Factory and Black Box. “I also made us a pitcher of margaritas.” Adam handed Dan a

46

Caregiver vintage plaid Thermos jug. “No Mai Tais?” “Variety is the spice, honey.” Adam sighed and looked around him. “Besides, a day like this makes it easy to pretend we‟re on the Yucatan peninsula, right? And for that, we need tequila.” Dan settled onto the blanket and took off his shirt, which drew a wolf whistle from Adam. “Good God, kid, look at those pecs. I‟m surprised your lover let you out the door, knowing you‟d be shirtless in public.” Dan felt heat rise to his face. He didn‟t know what to say. “Good thing we came here instead of Passe a Grille,” Adam said, referring to the south end of that particular beach, which was famous (or infamous) as a gay gathering place. “I am not sure at all how long I‟d have been able to hang onto you. The boys would be lining up to ply you with drinks at the Lighted Tree.” “What‟s the Lighted Tree?” “Honey, you don‟t know? How long have you lived here again?” “Only a few months.” “And you‟re gay, right?” Dan snickered, digging his toes in the edge of the sand. “Yeah.” “Well, Passe a Grille and the Lighted Tree are the gay hot spots on Sundays and pretty much other days as well… at least on this side of the bay. “The „tree‟ is an open-air bar favored by the girls, but plenty of gay guys go there too. It has a little guest house where I once trysted with one of the maintenance men.” Adam looked faraway, and Dan wondered about Sullivan. He assumed that the pair of them were like him and Mark, only here in Florida for a few months… and he assumed together. I guess I‟m just old-fashioned. “What did Sullivan think about that?” Adam eyed him, lighting a cigarette and then searching in his bag for two plastic cups. He poured margaritas for them. “Sorry I didn‟t bring a lime.” He handed a cup to Dan. “Or rim the edges of 47

Rick R. Reed the glass with salt. I usually like to rim.” He snorted. “Getting back to your question, though—Sullivan‟s motto is „what I don‟t know won‟t hurt me‟.” Dan sipped. “So you guys have sort of an agreement?” Dan had yet to understand gay men and their open relationships. He was a oneman kind of guy himself and couldn‟t really stomach the thought of simply allowing Mark to be with other men, even if it meant some unspoken agreement where each of them looked the other way. “Agreements are sometimes made by actions, dear boy.” “Okay….” Dan didn‟t quite understand. “When one is not getting what one needs at home, one must sometimes look elsewhere for satisfaction.” A dim bulb flickered to tawdry light above Dan‟s head. “I get it.” “I can see you‟re appalled.” Adam placed a comforting hand on Dan‟s forearm. “I kind of wish Sullivan and I were together as a monogamous couple myself, but ever since I started getting sick— really sick—you know, where it was obvious….” He pointed to a purple lesion on his flat stomach, and Dan also noticed Adam‟s protruding ribs. “When Sullivan started noticing that and having to visit me in the hospital as I lingered dramatically, flirting with death, he kind of pulled away from me in the bedroom.” Adam smiled brightly, but even behind the purple shades, Dan thought he could just about see tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “I understand. I don‟t hold it against him, much as I wish he‟d hold it against me once in a while.” Adam snorted. “I mean, lesions and a dry cough, fatigue, trouble breathing, wasting, diarrhea, night sweats—it ain‟t exactly a recipe for sexiness, sugar.” Dan had a sudden urge to wrap his arms around Adam. How awful it must be—to be betrayed by one‟s own body and kindly disregarded by one‟s lover. How lonely he must feel. Dan actually started to lean toward Adam, situating his cup so it wouldn‟t spill, when his friend ground his cigarette into the sand, covering it, and placing his own cup in a little indentation in the sand. His voice choking only slightly, he stood and cried out, “Last one in is a rotten 48

Caregiver fag!” He sprinted toward the surf, not slowing as he came to the water, running, running, until he dove into a big swell of aquamarine water, which swallowed him up. Dan followed slowly.

THE pair rested on the blanket, lying back, eyes closed. Dan‟s skin stung from the salt and the sun and he thought it would be a good idea to put on some of the sunscreen he had packed, but he was just too worn out from body surfing and three margaritas to be bothered. If he burned, he burned. Tomorrow, it would turn brown. Such was his Sicilian heritage. But he worried about Adam, who was fair and blond and would look like a boiled shrimp if he didn‟t take care of him. So, in spite of how good it felt to just lie on the blanket, the warm breeze buffeting him, the sun beating down in glorious warmth, and Barbra serenading him, ironically, with “Happy Days are Here Again,” he forced himself to rise up on his elbows to dig around in his bag for the No-Ad sunscreen. Adam lay on his belly and Dan thought he might have fallen asleep. He squirted a healthy dollop of white cream into his hand and began massaging it into Adam‟s back and shoulders. “Mm-mm,” Adam breathed. “I‟m hoping this massage comes with a happy ending.” Dan slapped his ass. “I‟m a happily married man!” Adam lifted his head up to squint at him. “I don‟t see no husband around here, sugar.” Dan slowed in the circles he was making with the cream on Adam‟s already reddening skin. “That‟s true.” Dan finished up and put some lotion on his own self for good measure. The two lay back once more, quiet. After several minutes, Adam asked, “So really, why isn‟t Mark here?” Dan didn‟t say anything for a few moments, thinking first, as he 49

Rick R. Reed always did, of simply smoothing things over with easy excuses. He was tired. Or, He just doesn‟t like the beach that much. That was really Dan‟s way, to simply bury the issue. And anyway, he thought, I‟m here to be a pal to this guy, to help him out, not to burden him with my problems. Before he had a chance to say anything, though, Adam, as if he had read Dan‟s mind, said, “You know, if we‟re gonna be friends, it goes both ways. You can talk to me.” Adam rolled toward him. “You don‟t have to worry about sparing me. In spite of how I look, I‟m actually a tough guy.” It was like a dam bursting, and a rush of freedom washed over Dan. “Really?” he asked, tentative. “Sure. Problems with your honey?” Adam scooted closer. “Tell Mama all about it. It may surprise you to learn that I am an excellent listener.” Adam leaned back again, covering his eyes with one arm. Dan wondered if he knew removing his gaze from him would make it easier for Dan to talk. “And honey, I know from man troubles. I wrote the fuckin‟ book on that topic!” “Something‟s wrong,” Dan started. “Okay. I figured as much. Not so much from the fact that Mark isn‟t here, but from the way you look when I ask about him.” “How do I look?” “Like you‟re scared.” The three words hung in the air, simple, yet they caused a jolt to course through Dan with their simple truth. “What are you scared of, Dan?” Without looking at Adam, without even cutting his filtered gaze from the clouds in the sky above him, Dan poured it all out—Mark‟s drug addiction and how it had driven them down here to Florida for a fresh start. “Only I‟m crazy scared that the fresh start is already going stale.” Dan voiced his fears that Mark had relapsed, relaying to Adam the telltale signs of drug use that were cropping up more frequently. “It also bugs me that he doesn‟t seem to be doing anything to find work. I mean, we came down here with a little saved, but that‟s 50

Caregiver running out fast.” Adam laughed and got up on one elbow, indicating the beach and the gulf before them with a wave of his hand. “And, as we can all see, you‟re working so very hard. Fingers to the bone, my dear. Fingers to the bone!” He laughed. “That‟s not fair. I have been looking. Every week, I comb through the classifieds and send out resumes. I‟m registered with a couple agencies. And I have an interview next week that I suspect might end up with me being back among the ranks of the gainfully employed.” “And that will just make you even more resentful of him. I mean, if he‟s home getting high and sunning himself by the pool, it‟s just going to get you really riled. Am I right?” Dan hadn‟t even thought that far ahead, but Adam had a point. Dan sighed, realizing how much he hated conflict and everything going on in his house was rising to an angry, red, and complicated head. Sooner or later, he would have to deal with it. The thought turned his stomach. They were quiet for a while. Both watched as a deeply tanned young man walked by, all muscles, in nothing but a thong. “So why don‟t you kick his ass to the curb? I mean, if you really think he‟s sneaking around and doing drugs behind your back. That‟s a betrayal. It goes against everything you told me the two of you moved down here for.” Dan knew Adam probably would do just what he was suggesting. Adam may have been dying from AIDS, but Dan knew already the man was stronger than he. “Oh, I don‟t know.” Dan sat up, moving to the edge of the blanket and sifting sand though his fingers as he looked out at the water. “He needs me. How could I kick him out when he doesn‟t have a way to even support himself?” He glanced back at Adam, who was listening intently to him. “You don‟t know what he‟s been through growing up—he was pretty much abused by his mom, who left him alone while she drank and whored her way around the small town they lived in. It sounded awful.” “And who died and appointed you his protector? I assume Mark 51

Rick R. Reed is a grown man and not some little twelve-year-old you robbed from the cradle?” “No, he‟s quite grown up.” Adam sat up, scooting closer to his new friend. He spoke softly. “Then you need to think about what‟s going on. You need to consider what‟s stopping you from confronting him about your suspicions. And maybe you might want to ask yourself why you are allowing yourself to be treated in a less-than-respectful way.” Dan knew. It wasn‟t hard to figure out. He had his parents to thank for the part of his personality that would allow him to be used as a doormat. But he didn‟t want to dredge up those memories right now. They had been having such a nice day! Why spoil it? He lay back on the blanket once more. “Ah. I‟m sure I‟ll do something soon. I just need to work on taking care of getting a job first.” He turned his head away from Adam and said, “And I really don‟t know about Mark. I could just be paranoid—he might not be using at all. And maybe he is looking for a job.” Adam laughed. “Okay, sweetheart. We‟ll just call you the Queen of Denial.” He reached over and touched Dan‟s hand. “I‟m here for you.” “Thanks.” Dan closed his eyes and tried to let the sun seep into his pores, hoping the warm rays would be a palliative. But all he felt was lost.

52

Caregiver Chapter Seven

DAN arrived home from the beach feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As he made his way up the walk to their apartment, he knew that the simple act of unburdening himself with Adam had done him good. Maybe this buddy thing would turn out to be a boon for both of them. He and Adam had made plans for that coming Friday, to go to dinner at Jimmy Mac‟s, one of Adam‟s favorite restaurants. He hoped that, on Friday, Mark would join them. As he fitted his key into the lock of their front door, Dan was actually eager to see Mark. His mood shifted the moment he opened the door. The apartment was dark, the blinds drawn against the afternoon sun. Mark had the kind of music he hated blaring from the stereo. Was it Metallica this time? The place reeked of cigarette smoke and the coffee table was littered with ash and empty beer bottles. Dan‟s heart sank. He stood for a moment in the dark, smelly apartment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Mark was on the couch, head back, feet up on the coffee table. Dan wasn‟t sure he had even heard him come in. Part of Dan simply wanted to take a few silent steps back, quietly open the door, and head back outside. Maybe if he went away and came back, he would return to a different Mark, a different world. The lights would be on. Vivaldi would be playing on their stereo. Mark would be in the kitchen, grilling grouper for dinner. But before he could seriously consider putting this fantasy into 53

Rick R. Reed action, he noticed Mark glaring at him. “Are you going to come in? Or are you just going to stand there with your thumb up your ass?” “Have you been smoking?” Dan blurted out. It was a dumb question; the answer was obvious in the air. Besides, it hadn‟t even been what he wanted to say; he didn‟t know why he said it. “Yeah. Fell off the wagon.” He leaned forward and pulled a pack of Camel Lights out of the drawer in the coffee table and lit one. “Now that you know, I guess I don‟t have to pretend I don‟t smoke.” He chuckled, blowing a plume of gray into the already polluted air. He belched. Dan wanted to ask if he was deliberately trying to rile him. Instead, he busied himself putting away the beach stuff. He called from the hall, “Would you mind turning that down, just a bit? I can‟t hear myself think.” Mark snapped off the stereo. The silence that rose up seemed somehow louder than the heavy metal music that had preceded it. That was Mark‟s way: passive-aggressive. The turning off of the music was just as bad as if he had turned it up even louder. Dan sighed, stuffing the beach blanket into the linen closet. Something was definitely wrong. There was a tension hanging in the air as thick as the cigarette smoke, an unspoken trauma or hurt that made the hairs on the back of Dan‟s neck rise as much as fear would; his stomach hurt. Again, he was seized with an urge to simply run from the apartment. He went into the bedroom and began pulling open drawers to put away his swimming trunks, the No-Ad lotion, and his sunglasses. As he was doing these simple tasks, his heart pounded harder. He knew a confrontation was on its way, whether he liked it or not. He would have to talk to Mark about what was going on. And then he saw the piece of yellow paper sticking up out of one of Mark‟s drawers, like a beacon, drawing his eye. No. Don‟t snoop. You‟re not that kind of person. No matter what 54

Caregiver that piece of paper is—speeding ticket, receipt, whatever—it‟s Mark‟s business. You can ask him about it. You can talk to him about keeping secrets. But you shouldn‟t look. Even as he was thinking these thoughts, he was moving toward the bedroom door and closing it. He paused before the dresser he and Mark shared, waiting, breathless, to open it. The little slip of paper, for some inexplicable reason, filled him with dread, like the head of a snake sticking out of the drawer. Oh for God‟s sake! If it was something truly terrible, don‟t you think he would have hidden it better? It‟s probably just a speeding ticket. Go ahead—take a look. Dan glanced toward the door once more, quickly opened the dresser drawer, and took out the piece of paper. His hands began to shake as he read. He had to check several times to ensure that it was truly Mark‟s name at the top of the court summons. But his name was there, along with a description of him, right down to the little gold stud he wore in his left ear and the sun tattoo on his right shoulder. It was a summons to appear in court. From what Dan could glean from the harsh, cold, and simple words written on the form, Dan had been caught “exposing his genitals for purposes of sexual solicitation.” Dan hastily stuffed the paper back in the drawer and put a fist to his mouth. He felt his heart pounding in his ears. For several minutes, he stood there, taking quick, shallow breaths, fearing that he was about to throw up. What are you going to do now? You have to talk to him about this. Talk to him? I don‟t even know him! Dan sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. I can‟t. I‟d have to tell him I‟d been snooping. What would I say anyway? Dan lay back, staring up at the ceiling, jerking when he heard Mark start the music up again, even louder than before.

55

Rick R. Reed It doesn‟t matter. It doesn‟t matter that you snooped. You don‟t need to know what to say. You just need to tell him that you need to know what happened. You need to know why. You need to know just what the hell is going on. Dan rolled on his side, drawing his legs up to his chest. Please don‟t make me. I can just pretend I never saw it. Even Dan knew he couldn‟t pretend. Without thinking any further, he got up, took a deep breath, went to the drawer, and removed the summons. Without thinking, and feeling kind of numb, he marched into the living room and placed the piece of paper on Mark‟s chest. He turned away and stared out the window. The sun was beginning to set. A cormorant dove for a fish in the lake out front. Two boys were doing cannonballs in the pool across the way. Dan waited, face burning. This was how he had to deal with the issue now in front of them. What would Mark say? Finally, after a long time, long enough for Dan to wonder if Mark was going to say anything, his lover spoke. “This is bullshit.” Dan turned to Mark, who had sat up on the couch. How would Dan describe the look on his face? There was really only one answer to that question—he appeared terrified. That expression of terror confirmed every fear causing Dan‟s heart to pound harder. “Please no,” he wanted to say, “Just lie to me.” “Bullshit? In what way?” Dan asked, mouth dry. Mark laughed, but Dan could see no reason to join him. “I took a walk on the beach over at the Courtney Campbell Causeway. Just a walk on the beach. That was it. Because it was such a nice day.” Dan wanted to say something along the lines of—if it was such a nice day and you wanted to walk on the beach, why on earth didn‟t you come with me this morning as I left for the beach? But he didn‟t. Dan didn‟t speak. Tentatively, he moved toward Mark and perched on one arm of the couch, waiting for him to continue. “So 56

Caregiver you took a walk?” “Yeah. I took a walk and I had to take a piss, so I ducked into some trees and took care of business. How did I know there‟d be an undercover cop watching me?” Mark laughed again, looking at Dan, expecting him, Dan supposed, to join in, to sympathize with the whole absurdity of the situation. But Dan still wasn‟t finding any humor in the situation. And he was having trouble finding much credibility too. Would a cop really arrest a guy for taking a piss in some bushes? Dan supposed it was possible—if the cop had a stick up his ass, if he was having a bad day, if he had some kind of self-righteous complex. It was possible. But not likely. “Really?” Dan asked, still a little breathless. “He arrested you for just taking a piss?” Mark laughed again, and the high-pitched giggle was becoming annoying. The fear had not vanished from Dan‟s lover‟s face, even if the so-called truth had now come out. Then Mark yanked the laughter and the sheepish grin off the table, since it was pretty apparent to both of them that they weren‟t working. “Fuck you.” “What?” “Fuck you if you don‟t believe me.” “I didn‟t say—” “You didn‟t have to. Your face said it for you,” he hissed, then angrily snatched up his cigarettes and lit one. He blew the smoke toward Dan. “You know, you‟d think the man I loved, the one I moved halfway across the country to be with, would trust me.” Mark consulted the air. “I don‟t know. I just don‟t know about you sometimes.” Dan wasn‟t buying this self-defensive ploy either. His emotions, which only moments ago had been a riot of feelings, making his pulse race and making him sick to his stomach, had rapidly cooled, replaced by a strange numbness. Dan shook his head and allowed the words in 57

Rick R. Reed his head to come out of his mouth, even if he was very afraid to say them, even if he knew that releasing them would be akin to opening a Pandora‟s box. “I don‟t know if I buy that, Mark.” Mark glared at him. Dan tried to summon up some spit and swallow. It was no easy job. “Why don‟t you tell me what really happened?” Dan slid onto the couch, still at the opposite end from Mark. “Start with why you didn‟t want to come to the beach with me… take it from there. And don‟t bullshit me. You at least owe me that much.” He glanced over at Mark, who stared at him, slack-jawed. Now it was Dan‟s turn to laugh, bitterly, and only for a second. He had surprised Mark, who, he was sure, had never expected Dan to call him on his lies. “Are you using again, Mark? Is that why you‟re smoking again? Is that why you wanted to stay home on a perfectly gorgeous day? Is that why you couldn‟t get it up the other night? Is that horniness that can‟t be filled what drove you to the beach? Drove you to do something stupid?” Dan didn‟t dare look at Mark right away. He himself could not believe the questions that had just issued forth from his own mouth. He didn‟t think he‟d have the backbone to ask them, but here he was. The questions had been building in his subconscious for days, maybe weeks, perhaps even longer. Maybe Adam was helping him release his fears a little… somehow. For a long time, the two men sat in silence. Then Mark did something that did cause Dan to look in his direction. Mark was crying. Dan couldn‟t believe it when he heard the sniffling. He looked over to see Mark staring at him, tears pouring down his face, snot on his upper lip that he rubbed away with his palm. Mark sucked in a great quivering breath and said, “I need help.” Dan wanted to reach out to him, but something made him stay in his place, something told him to just keep quiet. “You‟re right,” Mark said softly. “I found a connection down 58

Caregiver here and yeah, I have gotten high a few times.” Dan felt something akin to an electric surge pass through him. Still, he said nothing. “I know I‟m terrible. I was just chatting online—completely innocent—when I ran across this guy in Ybor City who deals coke.” That laugh again! Dan wanted to slap Mark‟s face. “You know me and Oscar Wilde, „I can resist anything but temptation‟.” He snickered once more. If he expected Dan to join in the hilarity, he was mistaken. “This isn‟t funny, Mark.” Mark sniffled again. “I know. I know.” Mark sighed. “I just feel so stupid.” “What happened at the beach?” Mark didn‟t say anything for a long time and Dan felt prickles of heat run up and down his spine. Part of him prayed Mark would never speak again. “Don‟t hate me. It was a big mistake. I got some coke this morning and it was the drug acting. Not me.” He reached out and touched Dan‟s arm. Dan jerked away. To the wall, Dan said, “Just tell me.” Mark said, “I was just beating off, you know. I thought I was by myself and then this hunk came along….” Dan put up a hand. “Stop. I don‟t want to hear anymore.” “But you don‟t understand. It was entrapment, pure and simple.” Dan didn‟t know what to say to that. “He was gorgeous. You would have done the same thing.” Dan raised his eyebrows. “Don‟t even try. Since we‟ve been together, I have never even come close to cheating on you.” “It wasn‟t cheating! Nothing happened!” “Nothing happened because the dude arrested you. What did he do, whip out his badge when you whipped out your dick?” Dan laughed bitterly. They were silent for a long time. “Do you have any of the coke left?” Dan asked, surprising himself. “I could use a little oblivion right now.”

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Rick R. Reed Whether or not he would act on it if Mark did offer him some of the drug was a moot point, which Dan instinctively knew. Mark said, “It‟s all gone.” “And how much of our money has gone out the window for that shit?” Mark started to cry again. Dan wondered if there was something wrong with him. Like that song he loved in A Chorus Line, Dan felt nothing. He was the nurturer, the one who took care of people—his mother, Mark, now Adam. Why wasn‟t the sympathy kicking in? Why wasn‟t he leaning over to wrap his arms around his weeping boyfriend? Why wasn‟t he stroking Mark‟s back and whispering soothing, comforting words in his ear? Didn‟t Mark simply need help? Wasn‟t he an addict? And weren‟t addicts simply victims of a disease? How could Dan not help him? Yet—he couldn‟t deny it—the crying disgusted him. The weakness caused a small flame of rage to ignite and burn slowly within him. Mark sobbed and Dan continued to stare straight ahead, wondering at his own curious lack of emotion. Maybe his sympathy had been dulled by this scene having been played out, time and again, when they lived in Chicago, when Mark would fall off the wagon yet another time, whether it was with coke or a drinking binge, and trusting, loving Dan would always forgive him. Trusting, loving Dan always bought into the line about Mark‟s past—the single mother who left him alone many nights, starting when he was as young as eight years old. Trusting, loving Dan believed the platitudes about the drugs being a disease, a balm for Mark‟s wounded soul. He believed it when Mark said, too many times to count, that this eight-ball, drink, line, whatever, would be his very last. He would promise, and even though Dan had seen the promise made and broken before, he would believe it once more. Hope can often be a hard flame to extinguish, especially when it‟s connected to one you love. But he couldn‟t believe Mark‟s promises this time. Dan wondered if the well had simply run dry. No matter how far he 60

Caregiver reached down, maybe there were no more reserves left. That scared him. “It started because of my mom. She was a user too. Not coke, but alcohol, Southern Comfort and men were her drugs of choice.” The words coming from Mark‟s mouth sounded rehearsed. They should; he had uttered them so many times in the past. Dan stared at Mark as he poured out his heart and it was like the words simply bounced off him; he didn‟t hear them, he certainly didn‟t absorb them. When Mark finished his sob story of childhood abuse and neglect, Dan did move over on the couch and stroked Mark‟s back. Mark looked at him from behind the hands he had placed over his crying face, giving Dan a tentative smile. But what Dan was about to say, Mark was not expecting, of that much Dan was sure. This time, for the first time, Mark‟s sad circumstances and inability to resist the allure of drugs had failed to elicit the usual sympathy from Dan. Dan drew in a deep breath, uncertain if he really would have the nerve to utter the words that were forming in his mind. He had to say them. Oddly enough, an image of Adam popped into his head. Adam was on the beach, leaning toward him. “Go on. Put your big boy pants on and do what‟s right.” Dan felt a lump form in his throat and his own tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but he spoke with a calm resolution. “Mark. I love you.” “Oh honey, I love you too.” Mark tried to pull Dan into his arms. Dan supposed Mark was thinking he was once again forgiven. Dan pushed him away and moved back down to the opposite end of the couch. The room had grown dark and the darkness made it easier for Dan to continue. “I love you, but I can‟t be with you anymore. I can‟t let you treat me this way. I can‟t let you treat yourself that way. But I know, now, that no one can help you but you.” Dan stood up, suddenly terrified. Was he doing the right thing? 61

Rick R. Reed Could he just throw away life as he knew it? The question had already been answered. That life had been over for quite some time; it was only today‟s crisis that was causing him—at long last—to recognize it. “What does that mean?” Mark had stopped crying, had reverted now to simply sounding scared. “It means you need to—” Dan drew in a big breath, reaching down deep inside himself for courage. Again, in his mind‟s eye, he saw Adam, who urged him, “Go on. Say it.” “It means you need to pack your things. It means I won‟t live with you anymore. It means you need to solve your own problems, once and for all. I love you—but I don‟t even know if that you—the one I loved—is even here anymore.” “That‟s bullshit.” “So, I want you to get out. Get some help.” Mark began to weep again. “Where will I go? I don‟t even have family to turn to. I don‟t have any friends here yet. I came down here because of you….” “Oh no! I won‟t let you say that. We came down here so you could get away from the drugs.” Dan gave Mark a wry smile. “Look at how well that‟s worked out.” “But I don‟t even have a job. How will I survive?” “You‟re a grown man, sweetheart. A man with an education and experience. You‟ll figure it out. And in case you haven‟t noticed, I don‟t have a job either.” “Just give me a week,” Mark spoke rapidly. “Give me a week to prove to you that I‟ll get clean. If I slip any time during that week, or any time after that even, then you can kick my sorry ass to the curb. Okay?” Mark‟s smile, appeasing, almost melted Dan‟s heart. Almost. “No. I want you out by tomorrow. You can sleep on the couch tonight.” 62

Caregiver Dan went into the bedroom and, with shaking hands, softly closed the door. “Fucker! I hate you!” Something crashed against the door, glass shattered. Dan lay down on the bed and curled into a ball. Would sleep ever come?

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Rick R. Reed Chapter Eight

GRAY light filtered in between the mini-blind slats, dingy. Thunder rumbled and Dan heard the rhythmic patter of rain against the glass. Dan opened his eyes to a dim room, surprised he had slept. The events of the night before filtered in and he recalled, with pain, the things he had said to Mark. Last night had been a life-changer. How could he have fallen asleep? With all that had occurred? He should have spent the night tossing and turning, restless, and emotionally traumatized. Yet, he had slumbered, and, it seemed, deeply. He remembered no dreams. The apartment, aside from the sound of the downpour outside, was quiet. He wondered if Mark still slept on the couch. It would be an awkward morning, and Dan didn‟t know if he could abide another round of begging from his boyfriend, wasn‟t sure he still had the fortitude as Nancy Reagan had once proclaimed, to just say no. Dan sat up in bed and thought the best course of action would be to get up, dress quickly, and get out of here for the day. Perhaps he could head over to Brandon and see Adam again. He knew Adam would be interested in what he had done, knew that he had a friend waiting for him. And if Adam wasn‟t around, or the timing wasn‟t convenient, there were other ways Dan could spend the day. He could take in a movie, go to the zoo. If the rain stopped, miles of shoreline awaited him. Hell, he could even head up to Busch Gardens and ride roller coasters all day, just to take his mind off his new and single life. Whatever he did, he knew it would be best to clear out and let 64

Caregiver Mark pack up his things alone. The silence between them that Dan knew would permeate the little apartment would be almost unbearable. Dan rummaged around in the closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, his Nikes. He threw swimming trunks into a beach bag just in case the weather turned. Summoning up some courage, he opened the bedroom door, telling himself to just be strong and to leave within five minutes no matter what Mark said, no matter what argument he attempted. Maybe he would be lucky and he could slip out without waking Mark. How early was it, anyway? He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only a little after nine. He walked quietly into the living room, expecting to see Mark‟s form covering the couch. Dan remembered him coming into the bedroom in the middle of the night and had assumed he was getting bedding. Dan had been half asleep and the memory was a blur. Now the couch was empty. In fact, one glance around the little apartment told Dan the whole place was empty. During the night, Mark must have cleaned. The coffee table was devoid of everything save for a TV Guide and a glass candy dish that had belonged to Dan‟s grandmother. The couch was pristine, the throw pillows plumped and arranged just so. Dan looked to the kitchen, where the counters were bare, the stainless steel sink gleamed, and the few dishes that had been recently used sat in the drainer. The vertical blinds to their sliding glass door were open to the gray rainy day. Lightning flashed. Dan hurried back into the bedroom, examined the closet more closely and saw what he had missed when he had gotten together his own clothes for the day—all of Mark‟s clothes were gone, along with the duffel bag on rollers he used for traveling. He had done all of this while Dan slept. God, I must have been exhausted, Dan thought, and then realized it made sense. Emotional trauma can take a lot out of a person. Sleep can sometimes be a

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Rick R. Reed necessary physical respite. Dan was amazed that Mark had cleaned their whole place, packed his things, and moved out, all before he even realized it. He sat on the edge of the bed, a little stunned, and realized he was almost disappointed Mark wasn‟t there. As much as he‟d dreaded having to face him this morning, it simply seemed odd not to have him there. There was no closure. Where had Mark gone? Dan got up and walked to the front door, went outside, barefoot, into the rain. He looked up and down the complex parking lot, but Mark‟s Mustang was gone. Soaking wet, he returned slowly to the apartment, feeling a vague emptiness and an urge to cry. Isn‟t this what you wanted? Isn‟t it easier this way? He made a quiet exit, no fuss, no scenes, no tears or recriminations. Wasn‟t that thoughtful of him? Dan went into the bathroom, stripped out of his wet clothes, and toweled himself off. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not eaten anything for a good twenty-four hours. Yet the thought of food, at the moment, was nauseating. Dan returned to the living room and plopped down on the couch, with only a towel around his waist, and stared out at the rain, which poured so hard it almost obscured the glass of the sliding doors. Where was Mark? Was he safe? Had he left calmly? Or did he leave feeling hurt and rejected, his belief confirmed once again that someone didn‟t want him? Stop thinking that way. There‟s some psychological lingo for what you were doing with Mark—you were enabling him and you know it. You can‟t worry about him. The fact that he took his clothes and his car with him shows he‟s not doing anything rash, doesn‟t it? Maybe he went back to Chicago. Wherever he went, he‟s no longer your concern. Dan shook his head. He was not able to think that way. He 66

Caregiver wasn‟t that callous. He loved Mark, still loved him, and it was natural to worry that he was all right. The fact that Mark had betrayed him, sneaked around behind his back, and in the process gotten himself arrested, curiously did not change the fact that Dan loved him. He got up and paced. It was in the act of pacing that he saw the little blue envelope on top of their computer desk in the dining room. It lay beneath a seed packet of Forget-Me-Nots. Oh Mark, you‟re so obvious. In spite of himself, Dan laughed and snatched up the envelope. He took it into the living room, sat down, and opened it. He took a breath before beginning to read. Dear Dan, I have spent a sleepless night… for many reasons. Yes, coke will do that to you. But I have also been sleepless because I have been thinking about you, about me, about us. In the wee small hours of the morning, as the old song goes, I realized, Dan, you were right. I have no one to blame for the mess I find myself in but myself. And I have no reason to expect you to stick around and clean up after me, time and time again. If I‟m going to get better, I have to do it myself. So, that‟s what I‟m going to try to do. I don‟t know how. I don‟t know where. I really don‟t know who to turn to, but I‟ll figure it out. It‟s all on me. I see now that that‟s the way it has to be. By now, you probably realized I packed up some of my clothes, cleaned out my toiletries from the bathroom, and attempted to leave you with a clean apartment. It was my way of clearing my head, but also of clearing a new space for you. I cried the whole time I did it. I say that not because I want to play on your sympathy or because I want you to feel sorry for me, but because there‟s a tiny part of me that hopes that, if I can get myself clean, that you‟ll take me back. It‟s the carrot I‟m dangling in front of myself. 67

Rick R. Reed Dan stopped reading, pausing to brush the tears off his cheeks and to get up and grab some toilet paper to blow his nose. He returned to the couch, too upset to analyze how he felt about what Mark expressed in the letter, which he had to admit, was quite eloquent for someone who had been high on coke all day and awake all night. He continued reading. Don‟t worry. I am the first to admit that I‟m big on denial and afraid of conflict. You and I are the same that way. But I don‟t have any illusions about you taking me back, not after the way I‟ve royally fucked things up… one too many times. But a guy can hope, can‟t he? Anyway, now comes the hard part of the letter to write… and the part that I am certain will probably ensure you‟ll never want to see or hear from me again. Dan lowered the paper, staring out at the damp day, noticing the sun beginning to break through the clouds, and how it caused steam to rise from the walkway fronting their apartment. He didn‟t know if he wanted to continue reading. Then don‟t. There‟s no law that says you can‟t just get up and throw this letter in the trash. Spare yourself. Or if you‟re worried that you might weaken and pull it out of the trash later, there‟s nothing to stop you from putting it in the sink and lighting it with a match and watching as it goes from stationery to ash. No, I have to see it through. He forced himself to focus on Mark‟s handwriting once more. I have used coke many times behind your back. That much, you probably figured out. But the thing you might not know is that during those binges, I sometimes got so high that I sought sexual release in the arms of strangers. Dan felt a jolt, like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. 68

Caregiver

I was never with anyone I knew. I never had what you might call an affair. But I did go to the baths when we were in Chicago. I did get and give blow jobs in the parks along the lakefront there. It was all anonymous. Meaningless. None of it meant a thing, or changed the fact that I loved you so much, Dan. Yet I was heading down that same road here in Tampa, which is how I ended up on the wrong side of the law yesterday. All I can say in my defense is that when you‟re high on coke, you become someone else. Someone selfish; someone who doesn‟t give a damn about anything but pleasure. Again—it doesn‟t mean I didn‟t love you. I do. I always will. Dan shook his head, wanting to fling the letter, like a snake that had bitten him, to the floor. But he soldiered on. I‟m not telling you this to hurt you. God, no. But—oh God I hate to say this—but because I‟m afraid. Dan closed his eyes, knowing what was coming and wondering why he hadn‟t already thought of it. I‟m afraid that I might have picked something up along the way. God forbid it was HIV, but there are other things out there that you should probably get checked for. I wasn‟t always safe. Coke throws caution out the window, right along with inhibitions. So get yourself tested. I haven‟t had any symptoms of anything, but I thought to myself, if I really loved you, I needed to share this with you. So that‟s what I‟m doing. Dan stared out at the day as it continued to brighten. We didn‟t play safe. I stupidly thought we were monogamous.

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Rick R. Reed Dan thought of all the times he had fucked Mark, and only at the very start of their relationship, two years ago, were condoms involved. There were even the rare, drunken times when they switched roles, and Dan shuddered, a now-ghastly image of Mark rising up in his head: Mark above him, eyes scrunched up in ecstasy as he shot his seed deep inside Dan. Oh Good God, please no…. Now that I have probably thoroughly ruined everything, I will say good-bye. I still have the insane hope that one day we‟ll be able to put this darkness behind us, but the sane part of me knows that‟s probably not going to happen. I love you, Dan. I always will. And I regret and am deeply sorry for hurting you. If I could take back what I‟ve done, I would. Dan set the letter down on the coffee table. He felt a curious mixture of emotions. Numbness was foremost, an almost deadness of emotion. Yet underneath that shield, which was probably preventing him from doing something that would alarm the neighbors—like screaming, or crying, or laughing hysterically—there were other feelings. Dread. Rage. Icy fingers of chill and nausea waited to accost him. My God, what if I‟m infected? What if it‟s already too late? He flashed on a long stretch of Florida two-lane highway and imagined himself pulling the wheel sharply to the left into the path of an approaching semi. Don‟t be stupid. You‟ll get yourself tested and then you can decide how to deal with it. Everything is probably okay. A sickening dread in his gut told him otherwise. He would have to go on Monday, find the health department and get himself tested—for everything: herpes, the clap, syphilis, chlamydia, HIV. There was some small and very bitter reassurance in the fact that all but two of those maladies could be cured. And only one was fatal. 70

Caregiver Things were looking good! Dan sat for a long time in the quiet apartment, simply staring out at the day as it heated up and became beautiful, the clouds clearing, the sun throwing down a relentless, overly cheerful swath of bright. After a while, he thought he needed to talk to someone about all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. There was really only one person who would understand, and Dan would be damned if he‟d let some silly notion of reversing their roles stop him from calling and pouring out his heart. He needed comfort. Succor. He needed Adam. Dan went to the desk and found the number, picked up the cordless, and punched in the numbers. As he listened to the ringing, he hoped he didn‟t get their stupid answering machine again. He wasn‟t in the mood for the message, which had some Katherine Hepburn impersonator going on about leaving a message for the “sake of anthropology” or something. He wasn‟t in the mood for much of anything other than confiding in Adam, even getting some of his sarcasm as a balm on his wounded soul. It might be good to even laugh at this horrible and horror-filled situation. Only one person could make him laugh right now. But the phone on the other end just rang and rang. Not only was there no answer, there was no answering machine. “Come on, pick up,” Dan whispered, pacing. He must have let the phone ring twenty times before he disconnected. He continued to call throughout the day, in between bouts of tears, what was supposed to be an oblivion-inducing dip in the pool, throwing out Mark‟s collection of heavy metal cassettes (spite), and simply feeling sorry for himself. But no one ever answered. Not even the machine. Dan wondered why. As day faded into dusk, he collapsed in front of the TV with a 71

Rick R. Reed beer, hoping that, tomorrow, he would have better luck reaching Adam. What the fuck was going on anyway?

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Caregiver Chapter Nine

SECOND verse, same as the first. Dan had begun trying to call Adam early in the morning. At first, he would let an hour or so pass before trying again. Then, a half hour, then fifteen minutes. When he was calling his buddy‟s house in Brandon every ten minutes and still coming up with only endless, unanswered ringing, Dan realized he needed to do something else. The image he had of the phone ringing in an empty house frightened him, and although it wasn‟t a pleasant reaction, it did succeed in taking his mind off his own troubles for a while. What was going on? Why hadn‟t Adam, or even Sullivan, answered the phone now for a second day? Dan‟s first call had been early in the morning, early enough that Sullivan and Adam should have both been at home. And why no answering machine? Something about all of this just didn‟t smell right.

FIRST thing Monday morning, Dan sat down at his desk, stomach churning, and located the phone number for the Tampa AIDS Alliance. He made the call, hoping to talk to Duncan Boechler, the director of the Buddy Program. Maybe he would know something. Plus, part of their training had been to notify the TAA if there was something amiss. This, Dan thought, was “something amiss.” 73

Rick R. Reed “Tampa AIDS Alliance. This is Denise, how may I help you?” Dan explained who he was and his association with the organization and asked if he could speak to Duncan. “He‟s not here right now. He‟ll be coming in for his volunteer shift this afternoon, though. Would you like to leave a message?” Dan debated mentally whether it would be better to simply leave a message or wait to talk to Duncan live. In the end, he said, “Yeah. Would you just tell him my buddy, Adam Schmidt, doesn‟t seem to be around? I know I‟m probably just being paranoid, but usually someone at his house answers the phone when I call. If not, I at least get a machine. But it‟s been nothing for two days.” “I‟ll be sure he gets the message.” Dan hung up and felt too agitated to sit still. He ate a half-black banana from a bowl on the counter just to put something in his stomach and threw on some board shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops, and headed out. As he drove to Brandon, he thought how, within the last fortyeight hours, everyone in his life that meant anything to him was gone. He was in a strange state, with no boyfriend, no buddy, and no friends. He had some acquaintances—Duncan was one—but he realized, with alarm, there was no one to really call here in Tampa with whom he could share his turmoil. He drove too fast, he knew, and arrived in front of the little stucco house that Adam and Sullivan shared in record time. He got out of the car quickly and marched up to the front door, hoping all of this was nothing and that either Sullivan or Adam, or both, would open the door and all of this would have been due to a simple misunderstanding. The answering machine got unplugged or something…. Dan rang the doorbell. Waited. Rang again. Knocked. Waited. Pounded. “Adam? Sullivan? Anyone?” he called out. None of this felt right. Worried, he made a circuit around the house, peering in windows at empty rooms. He crept into the fenced backyard and called in through the screened-in back porch, but of course, no one answered. 74

Caregiver Where was Adam? Had he gotten sick again? What hospital would he have been taken to? Dan was chagrined to realize he didn‟t even know that critical piece of information. He got back in the car and thought Duncan would know… at least know which hospital Adam would be taken to so Dan could call and check to see if he was there. And he thought he needed to hurry home, just in case Duncan was trying to call him right now. Back he went… avoiding accidents, traffic cops, and angry blasts of horns, as he took the roadways at eighty miles per hour when he could. The phone was ringing as he hurried up the walk to the front door. He imagined racing to the ringing cordless and getting to it just as the ringing stopped. Fumbling and cursing as he pulled his keys from his pocket, he succeeded in opening the door and got to the phone while the machine was going. It was weird and kind of a shock to hear Mark‟s voice coming out of the machine as he said, “Dan and Mark aren‟t in. But if you leave a message—”. Dan snatched up the phone, breathless. It wasn‟t Duncan. It wasn‟t Mark. Nor was it Adam or Sullivan. It was Teri Lane, from the offices of Reports, Inc. the place where Dan realized he had an interview scheduled for tomorrow, reminding him of his appointment the next day. It took all of Dan‟s inner strength to sound calm and to be polite to Teri, yet he assured her he was looking forward to the interview, meeting everyone, and finding out more about the job, which was classified as an “insurance inspector.” Dan had no idea what he‟d be doing. He said good-bye and went into the kitchen to get something to eat. The phone rang again. This time it was Duncan. They exchanged preliminary hellos and how-are-yous, and then Dan dispensed with the chitchat and came right to the point. “I‟m worried about Adam.”

75

Rick R. Reed There was a pause on the line that seemed to go on a lot longer than it probably did, and then Duncan said, “I have some bad news.”

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Caregiver Chapter Ten

“WHAT is it?” Dan didn‟t want sugarcoating. If he didn‟t hear right now what was going on—even if meant Adam had died or something horrible like that—he thought he would scream. What Duncan told him was not at all what he expected. “Well, the good news is that Adam is not sick. He‟s not in the hospital.” “Okay….” “But the bad news is he is in an institution.” Dan swallowed hard. He wasn‟t surprised. What with his depression and fear over his life ending at such a young age, it wasn‟t surprising that Adam might end up in a mental health facility. “Okay, so he‟s in what? A sanitarium? A mental ward?” “No. It‟s nothing like that.” Duncan paused again and Dan wondered what on earth could it be. “Dan, he‟s in the Hillsborough County Jail.” “What?” “He‟s in jail.” Duncan blew out a sigh. “There‟s no easy way to say this. But from what I can gather, Adam went kind of berserk over the weekend and assaulted his roommate. I‟ve heard he may have tried to strangle him.” “There has to be some misunderstanding. The guy I know wouldn‟t hurt a fly. It just isn‟t in him.” “I know. I know. Believe it or not, this isn‟t the first time I‟ve heard this story. Someone in the program does something completely out of character. I suppose it‟s understandable, since the people we 77

Rick R. Reed work with are dealing with a ton of stress.” Duncan paused. “There‟s not much hope for them, you know?” Dan wanted to cry, but he managed to hold himself together. “What happens next?” “It‟s up to you. You‟re still Adam‟s buddy and you could reach out to him. If he‟s as gentle as you say, something awful must have happened to make him do what he did. I certainly don‟t have the whole story. Maybe you should talk to him.” “But he‟s in jail.” “Right. And from what a caseworker told me, he will be for quite some time. I don‟t think he‟ll be getting released later today or tomorrow, nothing like that.” “Is Sullivan pressing charges?” “I don‟t know that. You should talk to your buddy,” Duncan said quietly. Dan had never known anyone, not in his whole life, who had been in prison. He had no idea how to even go about going to see someone in jail or where, in fact, the jail even was. “Do you know what I need to do?” “I think you have to call the jail and get on an approved visitor‟s list. It will help, maybe, that you‟re with this program. But I think it‟s ultimately up to him. If he doesn‟t want to see you, you won‟t get on the list.” “Um. Okay. I‟ll keep you posted. Thanks, Duncan.” Dan hung up, feeling like he was in the middle of some surreal dream. Of all the things he thought might have been wrong at the house in Brandon, this situation was certainly not one of them. Adam had hurt someone else? His lover? Or, as Duncan had referred to him, his roommate? Why? Dan hadn‟t really spent all that much time with Adam, he knew, but Dan trusted his instincts when it came to people; he always had. Dan believed that you could pretty much size a person up within a few minutes of meeting him or her. He thought that there was something almost instinctive in human relations, where it was possible to know if there was a connection 78

Caregiver right away, before you even had any logic upon which to base it. Something had not gotten through his filters or Adam was a damn good actor, if he had actually tried to strangle Sullivan. Wow. While I was having my own problems at home, Sullivan and Adam were having theirs. What could have happened? Dan recalled Sullivan in his mind‟s eye—his lanky frame, his curly dark hair, and hazel eyes—there was an innate gentleness about him. Dan‟s heart went out to the man. He couldn‟t imagine what it must have been like for him to have been strangled by the man he loved. Dan realized he knew very little about the couple‟s relationship. He had spent a lot of his time with Adam—he thought now with shame—talking about his own issues with Mark and his own problems. It made him reconsider how well he was cut out for the position of buddy, if he was using the volunteer work to find a sympathetic ear for his own travails. Well, there is a way you can redeem yourself. You need to call the jail. Get on the visitor‟s list and go talk to Adam. It‟s the only way to understand what‟s going on. Even though he had just heard that his buddy was in prison for assault, and even though he had just heard that assault was an attempted strangulation—which Dan thought could be classified as something as serious as attempted murder—he still could not believe his new friend would do such a thing. Not if he was in his right mind. And therein lay the possible answer to the dilemma of just what kind of person Adam Schmidt was. For the first time, Dan wished Mark was around, just so he‟d have a sounding board, just so he‟d have someone to help him track down the number of the jail and to coach him into making a call he was afraid to make. He felt utterly and completely alone. Thoughts of Mark brought on other thoughts—namely, the fact that he needed to make another call, to the health department, so he could get STD and HIV testing lined up. Wouldn‟t that just be too rich, if right after he finally got around to volunteering for an AIDS

79

Rick R. Reed organization, he turned up positive himself? Turmoil. Life had gone from somewhat problematic and tepid to a roiling cauldron of trouble, all in such a short space of time! And it‟s not going to get any less tumultuous if you don‟t start dealing with it. The time to do that, my friend, is now. Get over there to the desk, grab the Yellow Pages, and get on the phone. Dan located the Yellow Pages at the top of their linen closet and found both of the numbers he needed under Hillsborough County Services. Figuring the easier call to make would be to the health department and its STD clinic, he made that one first and was told he could come in any time during the regular business hours for testing; he didn‟t need an appointment. I‟ll go day after tomorrow, Dan thought, putting it off, putting the worry and the fear aside for a couple of days. I don‟t need to be worrying about having HIV or something else when I have a job interview to go to, for Christ‟s sakes. He noted the address for the nearest clinic on a sheet of scrap paper and then stared for several minutes at the number for the Hillsborough County Jail. He felt like he was standing on a precipice. Big changes, he was certain, awaited him at the other end of the line. The call was just as routine and businesslike as the call to the STD clinic. The woman at the county jail took Dan‟s information, told him when visiting hours were, and that he should just show up during the small window when inmates were allowed visitors. “The inmate will have to get you on the list. Make sure you bring photo ID.” Dan wanted to ask what would happen if Adam didn‟t approve him, but the woman had already hung up. The next chance Dan would have to visit would be later that week. He pulled out a map of Tampa and located Orient Road and saw that it wouldn‟t be hard to get there. But what would it be like? Sometimes, distance was as much a matter of space as it was a state of mind. And what would Adam have to say for himself? Dan sighed and guessed dinner with Adam at Jimmy Mac‟s that 80

Caregiver Friday was off.

THURSDAY afternoon, Dan made his way to the outer edges of Tampa and Orient Road. The jail looked modern, beige against the blue sky and surrounded by palm trees. If not for the sign announcing Hillsborough County Orient Road Jail, Dan might have driven right by, thinking the place was an elementary school or some civic administration building. He parked the Escort and went inside, where he waited in a large room with other visitors, and then waited to be checked in, and finally he was allowed to see Adam. Behind the glass wall, Adam looked small and helpless. He wore the standard-issue orange jumpsuit. Instead of making him look hardened and mean, as one might expect of a prison jumpsuit, it only served to make Adam look more childlike, smaller. Behind him, Dan could see other inmates, some of whom stared at him with interest. It gave him a chill. Suddenly, it felt as if so much more than a thin wall of glass separated him from Adam. It was like the glass was a divider between two very different worlds, worlds that did not intermingle. Adam smiled at him, as though this were just another visit at his home. He didn‟t look particularly frightened. Resigned would be the better word. Dan sat down and picked up the phone, having no idea what he would say. He smiled at Adam through the glass. Fortunately, Adam was first to speak. “Wait a minute. I‟m the one who‟s supposed to look petrified.” Adam barked out a short laugh. “You look like you‟re seeing a ghost. I‟m not dead yet, pumpkin.” Dan tried to smile, but was sure it came out as more of a grimace. He still had no idea what he should say. Adam nodded back toward the inmates behind him. “They like you. They‟d like to get you in here with us.” Adam wagged his 81

Rick R. Reed eyebrows, laughed again, and Dan made a feeble attempt to join in, avoiding the lascivious gaze of a burly inmate behind Adam. Dan cast his eyes down at the scarred surface of the table, upon which the hand not holding the phone rested. “What‟s going on, Adam? What happened?” Adam didn‟t speak for a while, long enough to cause Dan to fear he would simply hang up the phone and walk away. Perhaps he had come right to the point too quickly, but he had been waiting and worrying for days and, in spite of his newfound affection for this man and his concern, Dan needed some answers. “I don‟t know.” “What?” “I said, I don‟t know. I don‟t remember much about Sunday.” Adam shrugged, his pale blue eyes boring into Dan‟s dark ones. “I know Sullivan and I fought. It was the same old shit, me wanting some dick and he refusing to give it, nothing all that out of the ordinary, except I was feeling majorly down.” Adam traced a figure on the glass, and then put his hand back down on the table. He shifted the phone to the other ear. “We had been drinking, or rather, I had been drinking. A few cocktails here, a few there, throughout the day.” Dan swallowed. “They say you assaulted him.” He screwed up his courage and added, “They say you tried to strangle him.” In a breathless voice, he asked, “That‟s not true, is it?” Adam smiled at him and, for the first time, Dan was chilled. “I don‟t know.” “What?” “I can‟t remember. I remember we were fighting, not physically, just bitchy jabs at each other, which was becoming more common for us since I joined Sullivan down here in Florida.” Dan cocked his head. He had assumed the pair had come down together. “And the next thing I knew I was in the back of a police car with my hands cuffed behind me. The neighbors were all out, watching me.” Adam‟s eyes grew shiny with tears. “I don‟t know where 82

Caregiver Sullivan was.” He sniffled and pressed a hand angrily to his eyes to quell the flow of tears. “I can‟t believe I‟d hurt him. I mean, honey, I am not the most innocent guy, but I have never been mean, certainly never violent. Goodness, I‟m not butch enough.” “You really can‟t remember?” Dan wondered if Adam was making this up, for fear they were somehow being watched, or worse, recorded. He hoped Adam would give him some sign that this was a kind of doublespeak, or that he at least wasn‟t at liberty to talk freely. In a jail, one seldom is, Dan thought. But Adam‟s face was blank and his expression was unreadable. “Honestly, it‟s a blank. There‟s an empty space in the day that I just can‟t seem to fill, no matter how hard I think about it.” He leaned closer to the glass partition separating them. “This has to be some kind of mistake. I wouldn‟t hurt Sullivan. Hell, I wouldn‟t hurt anyone. I‟m too big of a sissy for that.” He laughed again and Dan wished he‟d just quit it. None of this was in the least amusing. “Do you have a lawyer?” “I‟ll get a public defender once they sort things out.” “Sort what out?” Adam took on a faraway stare. “There‟s more to this story, but I do not want to go into it right now.” Adam sighed. “So what‟s new with you?” “Adam. Don‟t you think we should talk about this?” “I believe I asked you, my dear, what was new with you.” Adam glanced up at the clock over Dan‟s head. “We only have a few more minutes. And I do not want to spend them talking about me.” Dan realized he wasn‟t going to get any more from Adam, at least not today. He soldiered on. “I had a job interview and went to the STD Clinic today.” “In that order? Do tell!” Dan filled him in about his breakup with Mark. “The prick. How could he treat a nice guy like you like that? I‟m glad to hear you had the balls to kick his cheating, druggie ass to the curb.” 83

Rick R. Reed Dan couldn‟t help but smile. “But he at least was good enough to let me know I should get tested.” Dan shrugged. “So that‟s what I did. Gave a bunch of blood and had a wire Q-Tip stuck up my dick.” Dan winced at the memory and could swear that the afore-mentioned dick shriveled at the thought of the gonorrhea test. “When will you know?” “A couple weeks. Easy.” Dan clenched his teeth, wondering how he‟d get through those weeks, waiting to know if he was infected or not. “At least for the HIV part.” “Well, sugar, I hope everything turns out okay for you. I mean, I‟d hoped we‟d have things in common when they told me you were going to be my buddy. But AIDS was not one of them.” Even though he didn‟t feel convinced himself at all, Dan replied, “Ah, I‟m sure I‟m okay. I haven‟t had any symptoms. And as far as I know, neither did Mark.” “Right. You‟ll be fine.” Adam‟s words sounded as empty and as lacking in conviction as Dan felt. Dan had a feeling they both knew an absence of symptoms meant nothing; the virus, he had heard, could live silently for months, even years, in one‟s body before it rose up and started causing trouble. Dan changed the subject. “But on to the good news! I got a job.” He launched into telling Adam how he would be working part-time for Reports, Inc. doing over-the-phone underwriting interviews for people who had applied for large life insurance policies, then writing up the reports. It wasn‟t much money, and the introvert in Dan wasn‟t sure how he felt about calling people up and prying into the intimate details of their lives, but at least he would have some income and a way to take care of himself before the savings completely disappeared. In the meantime, he could continue to look for full-time employment. “Sounds glamorous as hell,” Adam said when Dan finished up his summary of his new job and its duties, which would begin the following Monday. “Although considering my current state, I have a lot of nerve poking fun at the gainfully employed.” Finally, they both laughed. 84

Caregiver Visiting hours were coming to a close, all too soon. It seemed like they were just beginning to relax with one another. Adam said, “Write to me, okay? Just address it care of the prison, Orient Road, blah, blah, blah. There‟s so little to do in here other than contemplate what a sucking hellhole my life has become, it would be nice to get a letter or two.” “And I‟ll come back. Next visiting time, I‟ll be right here.” “I know. I know you will. But just to ease the time between visits, I‟d love to get a letter… and I‟d love to write to you. I‟ll draw you pictures. I‟ll tell you funny stories.” “Oh, I didn‟t mean to say I wouldn‟t write. I will. I will. Every day.” The two stared at one another through the glass. Adam hung up the phone and pressed his palm to the glass. Dan did the same, so that their hands were against the other‟s, separated by the Plexiglas.

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Rick R. Reed Chapter Eleven

THE results of his syphilis, chlamydia, and gonorrhea tests were all, thankfully, negative, which made it easier for Dan to be optimistic that the HIV test would be the same. Yet it still nagged at him; things like his own lack of luck, and Murphy‟s Law, made him fear that the one test that would come back positive would be the HIV. He now had ten more days to wait until he got his results. By the following Saturday, Dan was surprised he still had not heard from Mark. He fully expected, all week long, to hear the sound of his key in the front-door lock and to see his contrite face before him. He played and replayed conversations in his head, with Mark returning, begging forgiveness, and how those talks would play out. In some versions, Dan even forgave him. But that outcome occurred less and less as more and more time passed. Dan was still wounded, still too bruised by the betrayal to think with any seriousness of forgiveness. Yet, the bed seemed awfully empty with only him in it. He missed the nights where they would do something as simple as lie on the couch together, arms and legs intertwined, watching Roseanne or some other inane sitcom. He longed for, sometimes, just the sound of someone else‟s voice in their home. Then he would realize that what he was longing for was someone else, someone to simply keep him company… and not Mark. Mark was an asshole; he had betrayed him and maybe, just maybe— God forbid—put his life in jeopardy. So much for thinking you were 86

Caregiver in a monogamous relationship and it was okay to do away with the rubbers! I won‟t make that mistake again! Oh God, please give me the chance. He thought about visiting the pound and getting a dog, or going out to the bars and getting laid. Both of those options required too much trouble in the end, and Dan wasn‟t sure if he was ready for the commitment even a one-night stand would require, let alone a pet. And the idea of sex, at this particular point in his life, simply didn‟t have the same appeal. Gee, I wonder why. Dan shook his head at the sarcasm he was just barely holding in check. But on this particular Saturday morning, with the prospect of work on Monday facing him, Dan realized he needed another person around. He wanted to talk to someone—and not just on the phone or in an AOL chat room. He needed the real live presence of someone, somehow. The day outside demanded it—sunny, glorious, with actually somewhat cooling Gulf breezes to buffer the sun‟s brilliant rays. There weren‟t many people Dan could think of to call. He wished Adam wasn‟t holed up in that prison! He could go see him, have a couple Mai Tais and listen to some Barbra. What the hell had happened with him, anyway? None of it made any sense. You could go see Sullivan. The thought popped into his head, almost unbidden, and it chilled him. Could he really drop by the house of the man Adam had allegedly tried to strangle? What kind of reception would he get? Did he need to prepare himself to have a door slammed in his face? Would there be guilt by association? You know what? I‟m not going to worry about it. It‟s a gorgeous day for a drive. Sullivan might not even be home. If he is and doesn‟t want to see me, so be it, I‟ll just turn around and drive over to Passe a Grille beach, see what boys are hanging out at the south end, get myself a beer at that Lighted Tree place Adam told me about. And if Sullivan does want to see me, maybe I‟ll get some understanding of just what the hell happened last Sunday. Dan threw together stuff for the beach and, in minutes, was on 87

Rick R. Reed the road and headed toward Brandon.

“WELL, this is a surprise.” Sullivan stood facing Dan, talking to him through the screen door. Dan glanced briefly down at his toes, which were curling over the edges of his flip-flops. He hoped he hadn‟t done the wrong thing. Sullivan seemed neither pleased nor displeased to see him. Through the screen and to Dan‟s sun-affected eyes, he was, in fact, little more than a dark shape through the screen. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I‟d drop by and see how you were doing.” “In the neighborhood?” Sullivan laughed and Dan noticed his voice had an edge of hoarseness to it. He wondered if the cause was the attempted strangulation. “Who the hell is just passing through Brandon, Florida?” He shook his head. “Far as I can tell, people only come to Brandon because they live here.” “Okay, I lied. I wanted to see you. Can I come in?” Dan had nothing to lose. The man could close the door in his face or he could let him in. Either way, Sullivan had the power to resolve the situation quickly, if not painlessly. And Dan very much wanted to get this awkward moment over with. “Of course.” Sullivan reached down and flipped the lock on the screen door and opened it so Dan could come inside. The beauty of the man once again struck Dan. There was something unusual about his looks, which were handsome enough, but there was another thing, an attribute he couldn‟t quite put his finger on, that made him stare into Sullivan‟s hazel eyes and notice the way his deep brown, almost black hair, glistened. Perhaps it was as simple as a sense of grace, a quiet confidence that rose up from within Sullivan. Stop it, Dan. This is not why you‟re here. Dan followed Sullivan into the living room, remembering for a moment doing the same thing with Adam, when he was clad in his 88

Caregiver 1960s matron ensemble. He snickered. Sullivan turned. “Something funny?” “No. I‟m sorry. I was just remembering when I came over here the first time and Adam greeted me at the door in drag. I was stunned.” Sullivan sat down on the couch. “Adam likes to stun people. Don‟t think you‟re special.” Dan sat down in a chair across from him. Sullivan wore a pair of thin, gray cotton shorts and Dan couldn‟t help but take in his wellmuscled legs, crowned with coarse, black hair, and—he thought shamefully—the outline of the man‟s cock through the thin fabric of his shorts. Stop it, Dan. This is not why you‟re here. “He‟s quite a character. I went to see him, you know, at the jail.” Sullivan nodded. He didn‟t say anything for a while. “Is that why you‟re here?” “What?” “Did he send you?” “No. No! Not at all. Coming here was my idea.” Dan felt a fluttering in his gut and a thin line of sweat break out at his hairline. What the hell was he doing, anyway? What purpose would this visit serve? If Adam had indeed assaulted Sullivan, might he not be dealing with a very resentful, even enraged, man? Dan blathered on, feeling more and more anxious. “I‟ve heard some weird things and I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay.” Sullivan cocked his head. “Why? You‟re Adam‟s buddy—right? We only met for a minute, why would you care about how I am?” Part of Dan simply wanted to get up and leave. This had been a big mistake. Had there been a graceful way to simply back out now, he might have done it. When confronted with a fight-or-flee situation, Dan had always chosen flee. “I guess because I care about Adam, already.” Dan racked his brain for the right words. “Even though I haven‟t known him a long 89

Rick R. Reed time, I think he‟s a bit of a lost soul, in spite of the fact he wants the world to see him as this tough, kind of free spirit.” Dan looked at Sullivan. “It makes me feel a bit protective of him.” “So you‟re here to protect him?” “No. I‟m here because I don‟t understand how a man who I got the impression was essentially decent and kind could have done what he said he did.” “Oh, he did.” Sullivan leaned forward and pointed to a faint necklace of bruises that looked exactly like the impressions fingers would have left, encircling his neck. “It‟s kind of rich that you‟re here visiting the guy Adam tried to strangle because you feel sorry for Adam.” Sullivan snorted. Without thinking, Dan reached out and touched Sullivan‟s neck, feeling his heat and the pulse of his blood. “Oh, I‟m so sorry.” They were quiet for a while, and then Dan persisted. “I still don‟t understand how this happened. The Adam I thought I knew wasn‟t someone who‟d hurt another person.” Dan shrugged. “I guess my instincts were off, huh? And maybe I shouldn‟t be so quick to trust them when I‟ve only known the guy for a week or two.” “Do you want something to drink?” Sullivan stood suddenly, reminding Dan again just how tall and imposing a figure he made. How in hell had Adam—a little sprite or imp—overpowered a big lug like this enough to get his hands around his neck? Dan still couldn‟t believe he knew all there was to know about this mystery. “Sure? Mai Tai?” Dan quipped. “Sorry, dude, I‟m a beer man. I‟ve got Michelob.” “Actually, that sounds really good.” Sullivan went into the kitchen and came back with two cold bottles. Even though it was still early in the day, the cool bottle felt good in Dan‟s hand, and the beer tasted better. He hadn‟t realized, until his first sip, how dry his mouth had become. Sullivan took a deep breath. “You really want to know what happened?” Dan set his beer down on the glass-topped coffee table. “Yeah.” 90

Caregiver Dan wasn‟t sure at all he did, though. He felt like he was venturing into strange and dangerous territory. Sullivan shook his head. “I don‟t know that there‟s some easy explanation and I‟m not sure I understand just what the hell happened myself.” He stared down at the floor and when he lifted his head again, his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “We were fighting.” Sullivan shook his head and his gaze went faraway as he remembered. “That, in and of itself, wasn‟t so unusual. Matter of fact, lately it was par for the course. Ever since he joined me down here in Florida, we haven‟t gotten along.” Dan hated to interrupt, but he had to ask. “Join you? I was under the impression the two of you moved down here together.” Sullivan smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes, where sadness and regret lurked. “No. Adam came down from Chicago after I begged him to come.” “I don‟t understand.” Sullivan blew out a sigh. “I broke up with him.” He held up a placating hand. “Before you think I‟m some kind of monster, dumping a guy with AIDS, let me explain.” He paused for a minute, thinking. “He made it impossible. There were times when I thought he didn‟t want my love, didn‟t need my care. Adam can be funny as hell, in a kind of biting, sarcastic way—and that‟s a lot of fun, until he turns that bite away from being humorous and uses it to wound.” He sighed. “Adam was drinking a lot the last few weeks we were together in Chicago. He would disappear for days at a time and I would be worried sick. I mean, he‟d had pneumonia more than once. He wasn‟t well. And then there was the drinking, and I‟m sure he went home with guys he met in the bars.” Sullivan drew in a deep breath and Dan had the sense he was willing himself not to cry. “I worried, too, that he‟d crashed a car or gotten mugged. He may be a perfect little bitch, tough as nails, but he‟s not strong. The image of him wandering around in some alley behind Halsted Street after the bars closed scared me, made me see all too easily how this guy I loved could be harmed, maybe even killed. “I gave him an ultimatum after his last three-day bender—„do it 91

Rick R. Reed again and you‟re on your own. I‟ll try my best to help you and love you, but what I won‟t do is sit back and watch you destroy yourself.‟ That seemed to shake him up. All the following week, things were good. Then the next weekend came, he found another KS lesion on his stomach, and bam—he was gone again. This time until Tuesday. When he came back, I had my bags packed.” Sullivan swallowed hard, eyes bright with unshed tears. He took a swig of beer. “You know what he said? He told me to get the fuck out. That I had never loved him, not really, anyway. He said he was better off without me. “That made me just mad enough that I went through with it and did it. I threw my stuff in my car and drove, without stopping, all the way down here. This house belongs to my parents and, lucky for me, it was empty, because they spend their summers up in the mountains, in North Carolina.” He took another sip of beer. “I found a job right away. Back in Chicago, I was a systems analyst for a steel company on the south side. It wasn‟t hard to find myself something similar and as mind-numbing right away. “So I was all set. A house—at least for the summer and early fall—and a job. “And then I got miserable. I started to miss my Adam something terrible and worried about him, scared that something awful would happen to him with no one up there to look after him. “I started to call him, just to check in. Make sure he was alive, make sure he was taking his AZT and seeing the doc. The calls, I realized, were just as much for me as they were for him. I couldn‟t sleep without him beside me, even if he had treated me like a shit. What does that say about me, huh?” Dan didn‟t have an answer, but on an instinctive level, he understood. “I don‟t think it says I‟m some kind of glutton for punishment, if that‟s what you‟re thinking. Or that I‟m some enabling sponge, hungry for the abuse I profess to hate.” Dan wasn‟t thinking that at all. But he didn‟t want to say anything, he wanted Sullivan to continue. He had a feeling these 92

Caregiver words had been building up in the man for a long, long time. “I love Adam. I still do, in spite of everything. See, I knew the Adam before AIDS came in and wrecked him. The virus did more than ruin his health. It crushed his spirit. That Adam could be a bitch too, but he was funny and kind. He‟d send roses to me at work in the middle of the week. He‟d pick me up on a Friday and have a getaway to Door County all planned as a surprise. He‟d make a date to meet me for lunch at Thai Star and would bring a bottle of good champagne. He could be the most incredible lover, imaginative, tender, and nasty as hell—all rolled into one. I loved it. “Then AIDS came along and everything changed. Not just his health, but his mind. I knew he was depressed and I just didn‟t know what to do. I urged him to see a counselor, but he wouldn‟t go. I tried to talk to him. I tried to cheer him up. “But after a while, it seemed his only friend was the bottle—and we drifted apart. “When I got down here, I realized that, for better or worse as they say, I couldn‟t live without him. Long story short, we talked a lot on the phone, we wrote, and eventually, I broke down and urged him to come down here. “At first, he didn‟t want to.” Sullivan shrugged. “He said I‟d hurt him too much and that he didn‟t think he could be the guy I wanted him to be. In a very kind, lucid way, he said I‟d be better off without him, that things were only going to get worse. It broke my heart when he said something along the lines of he didn‟t want me to be the guy who changed his diapers. “And he was firm about it. He would not come. I had just about given up on ever seeing him again when, one weekend, it all changed. He called and said he‟d had a change of heart and wanted to come down here after all. It was weird. He was evasive about changing his mind when I asked him about the sudden shift. Suddenly, it seemed like he couldn‟t get down here soon enough. “I was too happy that he was coming to look at that move seriously, to question it.” Sullivan looked at Dan, who sat, rapt, at the edge of the couch. 93

Rick R. Reed “He was down here and moved in within two days.” “What do you think made him change his mind?” Dan asked, looking at Sullivan and thinking that he understood—how could anyone let this beautiful and kind man slip through his fingers? “That‟s what I don‟t know. I do know something happened. Probably something bad. But I didn‟t dare ask him… not until last Sunday.” “You asked him.” Sullivan nodded and drained his beer. He got up and got another one. Dan heard the pop of the cap and the hiss of the beer as the pressure in the bottle released. He came back in and sat down. “Yeah. He didn‟t want to tell me anything, but I knew there was something he‟d been keeping back.” “I don‟t understand.” “I knew he was running from something or someone. The way everything happened, his evasiveness, all pointed a finger at it—that something up there in Chicago had gone wrong.” Sullivan sighed. “So we were fighting. And I pressed him on it. I didn‟t scream. I just asked him to be straight with me, to tell me the truth, because I knew there was more about his sudden change of heart about coming down here, about us, than met the eye. “But he wouldn‟t tell me anything. The more I pressed, the quieter he got. And then I noticed a shift, something weird happened. It was like Adam left. One minute we were talking—and yes, my friend, it was heated—and the next, he was coming at me, his hands around my neck. “I could have batted him away. I‟ve got about fifty pounds on him and, let‟s face it, I‟m in much better shape, a lot stronger. But I was afraid if I defended myself too hard, I might hurt him.” Sullivan laughed bitterly. “In the midst of him attacking me, I was looking out for his welfare! How pathetic is that?” Dan didn‟t think it was pathetic at all. Noble, maybe, caring certainly, but not pathetic. Before he had a chance to say so, Sullivan went on. 94

Caregiver “Well, I‟m not such a martyr that I was going to just lie back and let him kill me, so I did finally have to push him away. Hard. I called the cops when it looked like he might come at me again.” Sullivan stopped talking for a while. Dan watched him, imagining this awful night replaying in his mind. “You know the rest. The cops came. When Adam saw the lights outside the house, he knew it was over. And the weirdest thing? It was then it was like he came back into himself. Does that make sense?” “I‟m not sure. What do you mean?” “It was like it wasn‟t Adam attacking me. It was as though he went somewhere else. There was this weird intensity and distance about him that didn‟t compute, you know?” Dan thought about Adam telling him at the jail how he couldn‟t remember what had happened. Now, he believed him. “I think I do. He sort of… snapped?” Sullivan pointed at him. “That‟s it exactly!” Sullivan then said something that surprised Dan. “And that‟s why I‟m not going to press charges.” Dan sucked in a breath; this news surprised him. “Really? Can you do that?” “Yeah. Yeah, I can. I can just go down there today or tomorrow and retract my statement, tell them it was all a misunderstanding. They won‟t care. They‟ve got bigger fish to fry than worrying about two battling fags. Domestic abuse is a low priority, especially where our people are involved. Sad but true.” Dan shook his head. “Aren‟t you afraid he‟ll do it again?” “I‟m not really sure he will. As you said, I think he snapped. I don‟t think that was typical behavior for my boy. He can be bitchy and sharp-tongued, but he‟s not violent, in spite of what happened.” Dan let himself sink back into the upholstery of the couch, allowed himself to relax a bit. Throughout Sullivan‟s whole story, he had been perched at the edge of the couch, muscles tensed, heart rate up. He was glad to think that Adam might be out of that awful place soon. 95

Rick R. Reed “Why wait?” Sullivan looked over at him and grinned. “Why indeed?” Sullivan didn‟t say any more. He simply got up and disappeared into another part of the house. Dan heard water running, a toilet flush, and the sound of him gargling. His heart skipped a beat when Dan saw Sullivan rush, naked, between the bathroom and his bedroom. The flash was too quick to absorb anything more than what looked like miles and miles of tanned skin with muscles beneath. Dan shook his head, glad that his coming over here today and having Sullivan open up to him may have helped facilitate getting Adam out of jail. In what seemed like about five minutes or fewer, Sullivan stood before him, dressed respectably in a pair of khakis and a black polo shirt that strained at his biceps and chest, contrasting beautifully with his hazel eyes. “You look great,” Dan said softly. “Thanks.” He patted his back pocket, checking to make sure he had his wallet, Dan supposed. “There‟s no time like the present to get things started, right? I don‟t know if they‟ll release him to me right now, but I can at least get the wheels turning.” “You‟re really going right to the jail? Right now?” “Yeah.” Sullivan smiled and relief infused his handsome features. “What am I waiting for?” He looked down at Dan, as if to reassure him. “Don‟t worry. I‟m not a fool. I know we still have a lot of issues to work out. But I think with you in our lives, maybe Adam can start to turn things around.” Dan thought, but didn‟t want to say, that the last he‟d checked, AIDS was a pretty hard situation to “turn around.” Instead, he asked, “You want me to come with you?” “I appreciate that. But I think it‟s better if I go myself.” “I understand.” All at once, it seemed like there was no more to say, so Dan stood up. “I‟m glad I stopped by today and I hope everything goes well at the jail.” Dan felt awkward, unsure if he should offer a 96

Caregiver handshake, a hug, or nothing at all. But suddenly, Sullivan pulled him close, squeezing him to his chest. Dan smelled Dove soap and something muskier, perhaps the scent of Sullivan‟s own sweat, his essence. He felt heat rise to his cheeks in that close moment, ashamed that the nearness of Sullivan was causing him to get an erection. He pulled away. “You‟ll call me? Let me know what happens? Or have Adam call me?” Dan‟s gaze darted all around the room, anywhere but on Sullivan‟s face, embarrassed that he might have somehow detected the physical effect he had on him. “Sure.” Sullivan gave Dan‟s shoulder a squeeze. Just for something to say, Dan blurted, “We were supposed to go to Jimmy Mac‟s. Maybe we still can? The three of us?” And a very quiet little voice inside Dan asked if he wouldn‟t prefer it just be the two of them, Sullivan and him, and then Dan silenced the voice, ashamed. Here he was, single but a few days and already pining for another man‟s lover. Completely inappropriate. Dan pulled his keys out. “Well, I should head back home.” He started toward the door. “It‟s my last weekend of freedom. Maybe I‟ll head to the beach.” He knew it wasn‟t true; he‟d be going home to wait by the phone for news. His eyes met Sullivan‟s. “Good luck. I hope it all works out.” “It will.” Sullivan smiled, heading toward the door with Dan. “One way or the other, it will.”

97

Rick R. Reed Chapter Twelve

SULLIVAN sat on a dune, alone. He stared out at the gentle waves lapping at the pristine, sugar-like shore of Ft. De Soto Beach. His car was parked behind somewhere, pulled hurriedly off the road when he had been seized with angry, hopeless tears. He had driven around for hours after visiting the Hillsborough County Jail, feeling dejected and lost. He pulled at a strand of sea oats and dislodged it from the sand, flung it into the breeze. Maybe if I hadn‟t called the cops, none of this would have happened and Adam would still be with me. Maybe, if after I called them, I had calmed down and not pressed charges, he would still be with me. Maybe if I hadn‟t pressed him about what had happened in Chicago, he would still be with me. Sullivan got up, brushing the sand from the back of his khakis. He stooped over to roll them up to mid-calf and headed down to where the surf pounded the shore. For a long time, he simply walked along the beach, in the dying light, as the day wound down into dusk. He consciously made a decision not to think about what had happened that day, what he had heard, and what awful, uncertain fate now awaited Adam. He tried to just let the salty sea breeze buffet his face, stinging. He wanted to simply feel the warm rush of water nipping at his feet and ankles as the water restlessly moved to and fro. He longed for 98

Caregiver oblivion. It was hard, though, not to think about Adam, to wonder what would happen next. In his mind‟s eye, he saw him in the orange prison jumpsuit, being led out to some big bus with other inmates, his hands cuffed and maybe his feet shackled. He wished there was a way he could reach out and stop everything that had happened, longed to pull Adam away from the system, to bring him back home with him, where he belonged. It was what he had intended when he set out, late morning, that day, a time that now seemed so much longer ago than a mere few hours. He felt as helpless now as Adam must always feel, trapped in a body whose whims and caprices were completely out of his control. Now Adam was ensnared in a system that had him completely at its mercy, to boot. Sullivan felt so awful for his love, the man he had thought, up until such a short time ago, he would spend the rest of his life with. No one on earth could make Sullivan laugh as much as Adam could. That alone made him a keeper, but there was something else too: his ability to make Sullivan feel he was the most special man—no, the most special person in the entire world to him. No matter what happened to Sullivan, no matter how trivial, he could always rely on Adam to be excited, to be interested, to cheer him on in life‟s victories, and commiserate with him when things didn‟t go well. And Sullivan liked to think he offered the same to Adam. There was a hokey old Helen Reddy song he remembered from his childhood that he now thought described his relationship with Adam perfectly, “You and Me Against the World.” He could hear it now in his mind, maudlin and sentimental, but it caused tears to roll down his cheeks. He wasn‟t sure he‟d ever see Adam again. Not at a beach, not in his bed, not across a dinner table, not anywhere in the world—not free. Sullivan stripped out of his clothes, casting a wary glance around, but no one was looking. The beach was relatively free of sunbathers this late in the afternoon on a weekday. In his boxers, he 99

Rick R. Reed waded rapidly into the surf, and when he saw a big wave cresting and rolling toward him, he flung his arms above his head and dove into it. He stayed under a long time, thinking—not seriously—of just gulping in a big lungful of water, letting it fill his lungs. He could sink beneath the surface, disappear. All his problems would be gone. But he didn‟t do that. Couldn‟t. He rose back to the surface, gulping in air, another wave washing over his head and making him sputter. He couldn‟t let the oblivion of water and a sleep deeper than life release him. Adam needed him.

IT WAS late, after eleven, when Dan finally picked up the phone and dialed Sullivan‟s number. He had spent the whole afternoon and evening at home, waiting for Sullivan to call. He imagined hearing the relief in his voice as he told Dan how Adam was with him. “Yeah, they couldn‟t very well hold him if I wasn‟t pressing charges,” Sullivan would say, laughing. He would put Adam on the phone. The three would conspire to meet up at Baxter‟s, the bar on South Dale Mabry Highway that Adam favored, for celebratory drinks. They would be like a family. But the hours wound on and on, with no call from Sullivan. At first, Dan was annoyed, thinking Sullivan and Adam didn‟t think he was important enough to be let in on the news. But that state didn‟t last long, soon replaced by worry. Dan couldn‟t imagine what had happened. He hoped, even though it hurt, that Sullivan had simply forgotten to call him. He tried to make himself believe that old saw—no news was good news. Yet something deeper and instinctive nagged at him, whispering in the darkest recesses of his mind, that things had gone horribly awry. All was not well. And silence, perhaps to Sullivan‟s mind, was better than bad news. But now, as the hour grew late, and the apartment complex 100

Caregiver around him grew quieter and quieter, Dan could stand the suspense no longer. Good or bad, he had to know what happened. Sullivan picked up the phone on the fourth ring. “Sullivan?” “Yeah?” “It‟s Dan. How are you?” “Not so good.” “I figured… since you hadn‟t called.” There was silence on the line, and Dan was unsure if he had been right in placing this call. But he had to know what was going on. In a matter of just a few days, everything had changed so much, and now he was wondering if fate had caused another seismic shift. Dan asked, “Is everything okay? I thought you might call. Did you go to the jail?” “I went.” The line went quiet again. Part of Dan was telling himself that he should just let the guy go; it was obvious from his tone and demeanor that something was very wrong. It was also clear that he didn‟t want to talk right now. But Dan imagined a sleepless night ahead of him, trying to imagine what had happened. In the end, he rationalized that Sullivan, if he was in as much turmoil as his silence allowed, probably needed him too. Dan had an idea. “You want me to come over?” “Yeah. That would be nice.” Without another word, Sullivan hung up. Dan was surprised. “Hello?” He hung up too and went in search of his shoes and car keys. It was late, past eleven, so the roads to Brandon were relatively quiet and Dan got to the suburb within twenty minutes. He didn‟t allow himself to think as he drove because, if he did, he shuddered to imagine the scenarios that awaited him. The worst one would be that somehow Adam had died in jail, either by his own hand or through 101

Rick R. Reed the murderer known as AIDS. He had heard of people sometimes being felled by a bad case of pneumonia and things being over quickly. It happened. Just as bad was imagining him using a length of cloth to hang himself, or some covertly sharpened object to slit his wrists. He told himself none of those things had happened. He reasoned that if something awful had happened to Adam, Sullivan would have told him. Wouldn‟t he? What if he was too upset to utter the words? What if he just couldn‟t bring himself to say something as awful as the man he loved was dead? You are being melodramatic, Dan. Yes, people do die quickly from the virus, but that isn‟t what happened. You just saw Adam. He was fine. So, what then was wrong? Dan pulled up in the front of the one-story stucco house. He wouldn‟t have long to wait now. Sullivan opened the door just as he pulled the keys from the ignition. His tall body was framed in silhouette by the doorway. Dan couldn‟t keep the words inside as he hurried up the walk. “What‟s going on? What happened? Wouldn‟t they let you take Adam home?” Sullivan stepped back to admit him. Wordlessly, he returned to the living room, where some candles flickered on the coffee table. There was no sound: no music, no TV. There was a sense of something almost surreal about the moment. Sullivan sat down hard on the couch, staring ahead, and Dan assumed he expected him to join him. Dan sat at the opposite end of the couch. “Are you going to tell me?” “He‟s not coming home.” “What? You mean today or tomorrow?” Dan swallowed. “You did drop the charges, right?” 102

Caregiver “Oh yeah.” Sullivan laughed bitterly. “Turns out it wasn‟t so much my charges that were the problem. They were just the icing on the fucking cake.” “I don‟t know what you mean.” Sullivan blew out a heavy sigh. “Turns out it took a few days for Adam‟s past to catch up with him. Turns out my suspicions about why he was in such a hurry to join me down here were right.” He shook his head, slowly. “I should have known it wasn‟t that he just couldn‟t bear to be apart.” He snorted, and then frowned, looking like he was about to cry. Dan wanted to wrap his arms around him, but thought it better to simply be still, let him tell the story. It was still a huge mystery to Dan; he had no idea what the other man was talking about. Sullivan glanced over at him, quickly, then looked away. He spoke to the air. “Turns out our boy was on the lam. Turns out that when he was in Chicago without me, he really ran wild.” Sullivan shut his eyes. “It took them a few days to sort things out in the system, but Adam was on parole, for fucking grand theft auto.” “What?” None of this made sense. A strangler? A car thief? Dan pictured the willowy blond man in his little black dress and pearls, then again on the beach, singing along with Barbra. The image of a felon simply did not go with these other pictures. Sullivan threw up his hands. “I have no idea what happened, or why, or where, or when. They wouldn‟t give me any details. Who am I? Just the guy‟s boyfriend, which doesn‟t count for much in the state of Florida. “Apparently Adam stole a car and got caught. That‟s all we need to know.” “So did you see him?” “No! He‟s not there anymore.” “I don‟t understand.” “They took him away. He‟s too big time for the county jail.” Dan felt like he wanted to puke. “What? Did they send him back to Illinois?” 103

Rick R. Reed “Oh no, he‟s still in the great state of Florida.” Sullivan glanced over at Dan again. “But now he‟s in the state pen, up in Raiford.” Dan felt a jolt course through him as he pictured petite, blond Adam in the state prison. He couldn‟t believe this was happening. It had to be a mistake. A sick joke. Sullivan was lying—and both he and Adam would laugh when Adam emerged from the bedroom, delighted at how gullible their new friend was. Adam would shriek, “Gotcha!” Sullivan slid over so he was sitting right next to Dan. Dan felt the heat radiating off his body. “I know I owe you some kind of rational, complete story, or at least one that doesn‟t raise more questions than it answers, but this is all I got. I wish I had more.” And he covered his face with his hands, his body suddenly wracked by sobs. Dan gnawed at a hangnail, watching Sullivan out of the corner of his eye, uncertain about what he should do. Instinct told him to hold Sullivan, to tell him that, somehow, they would work things out, get this all sorted. Yet there was something holding him back. Impropriety, he supposed, kept his arms glued to his sides. Sullivan choked down a sob and looked over at him. “I could use a hug.” The sentence was so plaintive and simple that Dan‟s reservations took a quick powder, and he reached over and took Sullivan in his arms. For a while, all that happened was that Sullivan wept, almost soundlessly, into Dan‟s chest while Dan made slow circles on his back, in motions he hoped were both gentle and soothing. Dan forced himself to concentrate: this was a friend in turmoil, this was someone who needed comfort, succor, a balm to his wounded soul. Yet Dan could not stop the physical sensations that Sullivan‟s closeness caused. He could not deny the lazy way his cock was jerking to life at the feel of Sullivan‟s hard chest pressed against his own, the satin of his dark, curly hair as he patted it. Dan couldn‟t pretend there wasn‟t a rush of heat rising to his face, his neck, his chest. He scooted his ass back some to ensure their bodies did not touch below the waist. If Sullivan realized he was causing Dan to get 104

Caregiver hard at a moment like this, what would Adam‟s lover think of him? He‟d have every right to order Dan to hit the road, to get the hell out of their lives. What was the matter with him, anyway? A deep well of shame rose up in Dan, enough to cause his dick to wilt a bit. But not completely. In the midst of all these conflicting thoughts, Dan didn‟t notice that Sullivan had stopped crying and was staring up at him. Their gazes met in the gloom of the flickering candles and something passed between them, communicated only by their eyes. What was it? Dan wasn‟t sure, but he thought maybe the emotions they exchanged had a lot to do with understanding and a shared bond—a man they both loved, in their own ways, was in deep trouble and turmoil, in a place far beyond the reach of either of them. In that moment, and maybe for only a moment, they connected. Sullivan moved his face up and closer to Dan‟s. Dan inclined his own lips toward Sullivan, feeling pulled toward him like a magnet, even though a million tiny voices inside were telling him not to. The kiss was electric—a release and a commingling of pain, all at once. Each man‟s mouth ground against the other‟s, hungry, desperate. Dan‟s tongue found Sullivan‟s and dueled with it, savoring the sweet taste of his mouth. He pushed up against him, at last letting his hardened cock connect with Sullivan‟s body, glad in a savage way that Sullivan was just as aroused as he was. As quickly as the kiss began, it was over. Both men pulled away suddenly. Dan slid back down to the end of the couch, panting. Sullivan laughed. “That was wrong.” “So wrong,” Dan agreed, pulling at his crotch to straighten his twisted-up cock with trembling hands. And then they were on each other again, kissing, touching, running their fingers through each other‟s hair. Dan straddled Sullivan‟s lap, grinding his ass against Sullivan‟s cock, which felt like steel. He mashed his face hard against Sullivan‟s, savoring and wincing at the burn of his stubble on his cheeks, knowing it would leave a mark, if not, indeed, draw blood. 105

Rick R. Reed Dan pushed against Sullivan‟s chest and stood quickly, breathing heavily and staring down at him. There were two things he could say at this moment. One: “We need to go into the bedroom and finish this properly.” Or two: “I need to get out of here before something happens that both of us will regret.” The image of Adam sitting alone in a prison cell in some godforsaken state penitentiary made him voice the latter, no matter how much his body ached for him to say the former. “We can‟t do this. Not to Adam. Not ever. It isn‟t right.” “It isn‟t.” Sullivan gulped in air, eyeing Dan with equal parts want and embarrassment. He looked away. They stood like that while several moments ticked by, both knowing they were perched on a line separating right from wrong, want from respect, and lust from love—for Adam. Sullivan leaned forward at last, blowing out the candles on the coffee table. For just a moment, the room was plunged into darkness. Then Dan heard Sullivan rise up, and the click of a lamp being turned on. Soft, warm light filled the room, still so bright it hurt Dan‟s eyes for a minute. The light signaled the war of emotions was over. The side of decency and loyalty to Adam had won out. Dan watched as Sullivan wandered over to the kitchen. He could see him open the fridge and squat in front of it. He pulled out a bottle of beer. Only one. He popped it open, took a long swallow, then turned to Dan. “You should probably go home now.” Dan nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, and then realized he had no idea what. He closed his mouth and hurried out into the warm night, the air thick with humidity and regret. The body wants what the body wants… and the heart knows nothing about propriety, he thought as he started his car, pulling reluctantly away from the little stucco house. 106

Caregiver Chapter Thirteen

MONDAY brought Dan his first full workday at Reports, Inc. and, for that, he was very grateful. Meeting new people, finding out exactly what would be required of him, and at last getting on the phone and doing his first underwriting investigation and then writing it up helped keep his mind off Adam and his horrible, unbelievable troubles. It also kept his thoughts free of Sullivan. For the most part. When he got home, exhausted, all that was on his mind was heating up a frozen Tombstone pizza in the oven and vegging the night away in front of the TV. Murphy Brown and Designing Women were both on tonight and the sitcoms offered blessed, mindless—and funny—oblivion. Just what Dan needed. The letter waited for him in his mailbox, ready to jerk him back to reality. Other than bills and direct-mail solicitations, Dan didn‟t get much mail. Who did anymore? Occasionally there was an envelope for Mark, and this would make Dan stiffen for a moment, as if it heralded that his boyfriend had somehow returned, unbeknownst to him. But then reality set in, and Dan would realize he didn‟t even know where to forward Mark‟s letters. It was almost as if the man had never existed, or that he was a figment of his imagination. It was weird how there was nothing of him left in the tiny one-bedroom apartment, no trace, sentimental or otherwise. Dan might as well have always been a single guy, a Florida bachelor. 107

Rick R. Reed So why are you chasing after another guy‟s man? Why don‟t you take advantage of your singlehood, play the field, bring home a different guy every night? Dan shook his head, sorting through the mail until he did come to a handwritten envelope, for him, and bearing the return address of the Florida State Penitentiary—7819 NW 228th Street Raiford, Florida 32026. Adam had written. Maybe now Dan would get some kind of explanation. Maybe at last he would understand. He turned the simple, white envelope over and over in his hands, staring out at some kids playing in the complex pool, listening to their screams and their laughter. Their splashes and taunts. Getting a letter from someone in prison made Dan feel set apart from the rest of the world. As tempted as he was to tear the envelope open right here and right now, in the bright afternoon sunlight with a tennis court nearby and the sounds of a game in progress mingling with the roughhousing in the pool, he somehow sensed it wouldn‟t be right. He hurried home, where he had left the blinds drawn and the air conditioning set at seventy-two. It felt blessedly cool and dry in the apartment, and very dark after the bright sun outside. He set the envelope and the bill from Tampa Electric down on the breakfast bar and went into the bedroom to change. He slid out of his khakis and white Oxford shirt and rep stripe tie, kicked off the loafers, and threw the black socks in the hamper. He dressed in a pair of board shorts and a tank top and padded back into the living area barefoot. He eyed the envelope and decided he would get dinner going before opening it. In the kitchen, he set the oven to preheating, took out the cheese pizza, and rooted through the crisper drawer, finding some still-fresh romaine and a couple stalks of celery that would make a decent salad. He cracked open a beer. What are you waiting for, doofus? His eyes went back to the envelope, sitting innocently on the bar, waiting for his touch. Dan thought it was like a snake, biding its time until Dan‟s hand came 108

Caregiver near, and then it would bite him. You‟re being ridiculous. Which are you more afraid of, Dan? That the letter contains all the answers? Or that it contains none? He shook his head at his own indecision, snatched the letter off the counter, and went with it into the living room. He plopped down on the couch, picked up the remote, paused, then flung it back on the coffee table. Open it, dumb-ass. He tore the envelope open, took out the single piece of lined notebook paper inside, unfolded it, and began to read. Dear Dan, You are probably wondering, no doubt, just what the hell is going on. I don‟t blame you. Sometimes I don‟t think I know myself. Sometimes, I lie here on my bunk in this cell and try to convince myself that this is all a nightmare and I‟ll wake up with Sullivan— beautiful Sullivan—snoring softly beside me. Outside, I‟ll hear the familiar cooing of the mourning doves that perch on our backyard fence. You know, like it once was. Until it all turned to shit. I wish I had easy answers for you. I wish I could explain my behavior to you. I can‟t. All I do know is that this monster, this virus, has taken over more than just my body. It‟s taken over my soul and my mind. When I told you I don‟t remember strangling Sullivan, that was just the truth. I still don‟t remember it. Maybe it‟s my mind‟s way of protecting me from something that would hurt so bad it would kill me. I don‟t want to remember! I love that guy, you know? We had our problems, but if I saw myself hurting him like that, I think it would drive me over the edge, so I do think my own mind‟s protecting me by keeping that time a big old empty blank. I hope you‟ll look in on Sullivan, speaking of him. Make sure he‟s doing okay. He‟s a good guy, has a good heart, and doesn‟t deserve someone like me. Also, he worries too much. I hope you‟ll be the buddy you signed on for and help me make 109

Rick R. Reed sure my Sullivan is doing okay. Dan had to set the letter down for a moment, the guilt weighed so heavily on his heart. He didn‟t know if he could go on reading, not if the letter continued in this vein. He put it down on the coffee table and rose to put his pizza in the oven to bake, although he didn‟t feel nearly as hungry as he had when he came home. He came back to the couch, sighed, and took up the letter once more. I do remember, however, what really brought me to this place— stealing that car in Chicago. It‟s a tawdry story of too much alcohol, bad decision-making, and wanting to impress some guy that, in all honesty, I didn‟t give two shits about. Can I spare you the details, sugar? It‟s embarrassing. Snort! Me being embarrassed, sitting here with my gay ass in the state pen, grateful I‟m not getting raped because everybody knows the new dude is sick with “the AIDS.” Lucky me! They have already noticed the KS lesions and have given me a nickname: Spot. Isn‟t that the most precious thing you‟ve ever heard? Dan had to stop reading once more, his heart ached so badly. Oh Adam, I wish I could hold you. I wish I could keep away the bad. Dan continued reading. Yeah, they call me “Spot”, which is at least original. Otherwise, all I get is “cocksucker” and “faggot”, which aren‟t, my dear, highly original. At least “Spot” is something different, reminding one of a cuddly puppy. Only no one wants to cuddle the guy with AIDS. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I am untouchable. They brought a kid in last night, all of nineteen, and before long, I heard him getting 110

Caregiver raped. It wasn‟t sexy. It wasn‟t pretty. The kid cried all night in his cell. The worst abuse I get right now is just name-calling or when some genius asked me in the cafeteria if I knew what “gay” stood for. I was a big enough dumb-ass to grin and ask “What?” “Got AIDS yet?” And he wandered off to join his buddies, telling them his joke so they could all laugh. I couldn‟t care less. You‟re probably wondering what‟s going to happen to me. I don‟t know. I‟m in deep shit. Not only did I steal a car, I ran off, broke parole. I‟m supposed to get a public defender. Lord knows it‟s the best I can do. But I will not let this temporary setback get me down. Maybe Mom and Dad will wise up and forgive me and will send money for a real lawyer. Maybe I‟ll get out of here in a couple of weeks. Maybe Madonna will reclaim her virginity. No, honey, I don‟t know what‟s going to happen. Or how long it will take to extricate myself from this mess. Or if, given my situation, I ever will…. Sorry! Sorry! Don‟t mean to be a downer. You must write me soon and tell me all your news. You haven‟t taken your druggie creep boyfriend back, have you? You be strong, now. You can do better, you big stud. And I want to hear all about your new job. And please let me know how Sullivan is doing. I don‟t know when, if ever, he‟ll be in touch. And it breaks my little heart, you know the one, the organ that the AIDS is trying to get to cease and desist. Ta-ta for now, AIDS buddy o‟mine. You take good care. Someone has to. Love and kisses,

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Rick R. Reed Adam Dan set the letter down on the coffee table just as the timer went off for his pizza. He didn‟t know what to feel. A mix of emotions coursed through him, crashing into each other, warring and trying to come to some kind of détente. He was angry. Sad. Hopeful. This was all a misunderstanding. A judge couldn‟t keep a dying man in jail, could he? They‟d free him for medical reasons. Did they do that? His lawyer would get him off on a technicality. He would escape. The inmates would see him for the lovable, sarcastic bitch he was and would stop teasing him about having a virus that could kill him before he got released. Dan was depressed. He got up and pulled his pizza out of the oven, leaving it on a wooden cutting board on the kitchen counter to cool. The first thing I need to do is write back. I need to reassure him that someone out here cares about him. I should tell him that Sullivan is hurting for him and misses him. I should ask if he needs anything that I can send. I should see what the situation is for visitors. And I should go see Sullivan, share the letter with him. Dan cut the pizza into quarters and took half of it into the living room with him, with a beer. It was time for Murphy Brown and Designing Women.

THE next morning, before work, before he even showered, Dan sat down at his computer and wrote back to Adam. He had to. He had spent a restless night, rolling from his back to his side to his stomach, yet no position was comfortable enough to allow him to sleep. And when he did doze off for the odd half hour or fifteen minutes, he was immersed in vivid nightmares—being trapped in a dark hole from which he couldn‟t escape, or trying to help Adam extricate himself after he had hopelessly caught his own head between bars. He awoke bleary-eyed and exhausted. The only way, he thought, 112

Caregiver to put the day on some kind of reasonable course was to reach out to Adam.

Dear Adam, Or should I call you honey-pie? Pumpkin? Babs Lover? Whatever. I miss you a lot. And my heart hurts to think of you up there in that prison cell. It all still seems so unreal to me. I‟m not a praying kind of guy—long story—but if I was, know I‟d be praying for you. In any case, my thoughts are with you and will be with you, always, seeing you through this trial (and I don‟t mean whatever legal trial lies ahead for you). I have faith that you will get out again. You have to. You stood me up for Jimmy Mac‟s. And I want to spend a Sunday afternoon with you at Bedrocks on Treasure Island beach, watching the boys in their Speedos play volleyball. There, isn‟t that a nice image to hold close while we‟re apart? You asked about the job. It‟s okay. It‟s boring. I call people up, ask them a lot of questions about their finances, about their lifestyle, about their health—really nosy stuff. I argue with some of them, letting them know they have to share this information with me or they won‟t get approved for the life insurance policy they applied for. Then I write up a report. It‟s all very standard and proscribed. There‟s no room for creativity. And as I might have mentioned, I dream of one day being able to have the time to write the great American novel. Until that day comes, I‟ll pour my creativity out to you. Okay? The people in my office are nice, friendly. They have no idea I‟m gay. The receptionist makes eyes at me. Poor girl has no idea she‟s barking up the wrong tree. The money is okay. Enough to pay the rent and buy beers at Tracks. Not enough to get rich. 113

Rick R. Reed Honey, I want you to know that I did go see Sullivan and that he‟s thinking about you and hurting for you. He wants you out of there. He understands. And he loves you. I do too. Write soon. XXOO, Dan Dan sealed the envelope and walked outside with it. The morning was quiet; a heron pecked at something along the shoreline of the lake in front of his apartment. The morning sun felt crisp, clean. The humidity was low. For once, the pool was empty, and its turquoise waters looked serene, still. The tennis court was silent. A balmy breeze blew across his skin and Dan wondered why life had to be so complicated. He and Mark had moved down to Florida to avoid complications, to find a better life, a more peaceful one, but now it seemed like things were more confused and fucked up than they had been in Chicago, if that was possible. As he walked the circumference of the little lake that was at the center of his apartment complex, Dan thought about Chicago… and about Mark, about Adam. They both loved to party. They both did stupid things when they were drunk or high. They had all lived on the north side of the city, where most of the gays clustered. Wouldn‟t it just be the perfect little twist of fate if Mark and Adam had known each other? If say, Mark had gone out to a bar on a coke bender, and run into Adam, who had been over served? Wouldn‟t it just be funny as hell if the pair had met and gone home together, Mark cheating on him and Adam cheating on Sullivan? And wouldn‟t it be a real thigh-slapper, a holy living scream if 114

Caregiver Adam had infected Mark and Mark, in turn, infected him? Wouldn‟t that be rich? To come all the way down here to Florida from Illinois to become the AIDS buddy of the man from whom, indirectly, you got infected yourself? Wouldn‟t that just be a twist of fate that would be one of those things where people would say, “If you wrote that in a book, no one would believe it”? He and Adam could be brothers of a sort, with the very same virus coursing through their veins. Adam would be a kind of ghost of Christmas Future for Dan. Dan shook his head as he reached the mailbox on the other side of the lake. He double-checked the address on the envelope, made sure it had a stamp, and dropped it into the box. That would just be too weird. It couldn‟t happen. Still, Dan felt chilled as he walked back to the apartment, in spite of the rising temperature and the brilliant sun coming to glory above him. His HIV test results were still days away from coming in.

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Rick R. Reed Chapter Fourteen

THE ten or so days left until Dan would get his HIV test results back passed. Those days were a mix of routine boredom at his work (grateful for the distraction), combined with sleepless nights worrying about the results of his test and what would happen to Adam. Many nights, when Dan was able to manage getting to sleep, he would awaken from nightmares drenched in sweat and then immediately recall how night sweats were one of the signs of what they were calling seroconversion. Yes, Dan had been doing his reading on the subject, perhaps too much. He would awake most mornings certain he was infected. He would fall asleep each night telling himself that just couldn‟t be. He was a top, mostly, after all, and wasn‟t it the guys who bottomed who were getting “it”? Sure, Dan, if thinking that way makes you feel better, you go right ahead…. He had called Sullivan when he got home the day after Adam had sent his first letter, wanting to share the missive with him, thinking it would cheer Sullivan to know how his lover was doing, that he at least had retained some of his humor. But Sullivan had been cold. He seemed to be only tolerating Dan when he agreed to let him read the letter over the phone. And when Dan had finished, expecting to have some conversation about Adam, about how perhaps they should plan a visit north to Raiford to visit him, all Sullivan had said was, “Thanks for sharing that with me, Dan. I‟ve got to go.” And before Dan could utter another word, Sullivan had hung up 116

Caregiver the phone. How Dan wished they had not shared that kiss! Yet a part of him did not regret it one bit; that selfish part wanted only more. Repeated calls to Sullivan‟s house in Brandon so far had gone unanswered, and Dan grew tired of hearing the answering machine. Sullivan never called back after Dan left a couple of messages, so Dan had begun simply hanging up when the phone began its fourth ring. Adam‟s letters, coming at a rate of three to four a week, were the only bright spot in his lonely, anxious days. Adam wrote about the other inmates, making fun of them, telling Dan how romance was one of the favorite genres of books in the prison library. The irony of these big, mean bruisers curling up after a hard day with a Harlequin bodice-ripper tickled him to no end. Adam shared how hard it was for him, feeling so isolated. There was no one for him to really talk to there. In spite of his crimes, he had nothing in common with the other inmates. Adam‟s KS lesions had worsened even over the course of a couple of weeks, which inspired not pity or compassion from his fellow inmates, but more jeering. Dan ached for him. He asked Adam if he could come see him, saying he would come whenever would be good for him, even if it meant missing a day of work at his brand-new job, but Adam, so far, had said he‟d prefer Dan stayed in Tampa. “The trip is too far for that old beater you drive,” he would say. Or he‟d complain that he simply couldn‟t tear himself away from “Mahjong with the girls” long enough to receive “gentleman callers.” Dan suspected that Adam didn‟t want to see him because of the KS and the worsening lesions, but for now at least, he respected Adam‟s wishes. But he would not stop trying to get up there to see him. All of these thoughts ran through his head as he sat in the crowded waiting room of the Tampa Department of Public Health‟s STD Clinic, waiting for a counselor to call him in with his test results. Today was the day. 117

Rick R. Reed A guy about Dan‟s own age in T-shirt and jeans came out from behind a door and looked around the waiting room. He spotted Dan and came over to him. Dan recalled the dark-haired man had checked him in when he‟d arrived at the clinic. Dan thought he‟d said his name was Carlos. Carlos leaned down close to Dan and said softly, “The counselor will see you now.” Dan stood on unsteady legs, wondering why Carlos had bothered to make the trip into the waiting room just to tell him it was his turn to be seen. Calm down. They probably just do that to respect your privacy. It doesn‟t mean he was softening the blow of what‟s to come. Dan followed the man back to a warren of small exam rooms and offices. Carlos gestured to one of them. “You can go in and have a seat. Becky will be in to see you in just a minute.” Dan nodded, his stomach churning and a splash of acid rising to the back of his throat. This was the big moment. It could be lifedefining. Or death-defining, depending on how the results went. Dan sat after Carlos closed the door, glad there were no mirrors in the room because he was certain the glass would have thrown back the reflection of a man with a pasty white complexion, slick with sweat. Dan feared he would throw up. Becky came into the room. She reminded him of his mother— slightly overweight, with permed, dark brown hair, and oversized glasses. She looked about fifty, and there was a kind aspect to her demeanor that made Dan paradoxically at ease and on guard. She looked down at his file and then up at him, smiling. What would she say? How would she put it? Dan felt himself grow faint. “Dan. I‟m sorry, but your test came back positive for HIV antibodies.” Dan felt as though he would drop to the floor. He had expected this, knew it was coming, yet it was no easier to bear. His life was over. When would he start getting sick? When would the first ailment 118

Caregiver make its deadly appearance? Which infection would it be? How long would it take before AIDS extinguished his light? He searched for words to put in his mouth, but it seemed as though the connection between his brain and his mouth had been severed. He could only stare, slack-jawed, at the motherly woman. “I‟m sorry, honey. But this doesn‟t have to be bad news. They are coming up with new treatments all the time! No worries! Before you even get sick, I‟m sure they‟ll have something for you.” Becky laughed. “You‟ll die of old age before that old AIDS monster gets you!” she laughed again. “Are you sure?” Dan sputtered. “Sure I‟m sure! You‟re gonna be just fine! You‟ll see.” “No. I mean, are you sure about the results?” “Oh yeah, honey. The test doesn‟t lie. You‟re gay, right?” Dan nodded, numb. “And you know what gay stands for, doncha?” Dan put a hand to his mouth to stifle the wave of hysterical laughter threatening to burst from his lips. He knew what she was going to say. “Got AIDS yet?” Becky slapped the desk, laughing, and Dan joined her, laughing until his sides ached, until tears poured from his eyes. The pair paused in their hilarity for a moment, looked at one another, and started laughing all over again. “Mr. Calzolaio? Mr. Calzolaio, are you all right?” Becky leaned over him, concern radiating from her warm, brown eyes. Dan shook his head and the room came back into focus. He realized he had slipped away for a moment, maybe even fainted. “Yes, yes. I think so. I‟ve just been so nervous about this.” He looked up into Becky‟s face. “Let me get you some water.” He grabbed her arm before she left the office. “No. I don‟t need water. I need to know. Did you just tell me I was infected?” Becky looked at him, cocking her head in confusion. “No,

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Rick R. Reed honey, that‟s not what I said at all.” She hurried back around to the other side of the desk and sat. “I said just the opposite. You‟re negative, sweetheart. But your ELISA test did come back positive the first time.” Dan felt like the floor was coming out from under him once again. “And when we ran the test a second time, it came back positive again, so we sent it for the Western Blot and that came back negative. That happens sometimes… but you‟re okay.” She opened a drawer and handed him a pamphlet. “That explains how the testing works. But if the Western Blot is negative, you‟re not infected.” “You‟re sure?” Becky nodded. “You were worried about this, huh?” Dan wanted to laugh again. “Yeah, a little bit.” “Have you been exposed?” Becky peered at him from over the top of her glasses. “No.” He paused, thinking. “Maybe. I don‟t know.” “Well, I need to tell you—there is what they call a window period, when you could be infected, but the tests don‟t yet pick up on the antibodies.” She made sure Dan met her gaze and continued. “That‟s why you need to make sure you play very safe.” She reached in the same drawer from which she had taken the pamphlet and pulled out a handful of condoms, setting them down in front of Dan. The bright metallic wrappers made him think she was offering him candy. “Don‟t take any risks and make sure you come back in six months and get tested again, just to be certain. Okay?” Dan thought he would abstain from any sex for the next six months—maybe forever. He stuffed the rubbers into his pocket anyway and stood. “You gonna be all right?” “Yeah. I‟ll be fine. Thank you.” Dan left the office, feeling curiously numb and relieved all at once. A part of his heart ached because he knew this scene had played out so differently for Adam.

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Caregiver

DAN drove to his office, barely registering the turns he made and the stops at traffic lights, the car on a sort of autopilot. He was still stunned, feeling as though he had dodged a bullet, gotten lucky… and worried that when he returned to the clinic in six months, the real truth would out, and the scene he had dreamed in Becky‟s office would play itself out, only not so absurdly. He wasn‟t quite sure how he‟d be able to do his job for the six or so hours he had remaining in his day, but in a way, he was grateful for the distraction. Good God, what would you have done if the test had come back positive? Could you have gone in and worked as though nothing had happened? Could you have smiled at your coworkers and acted polite on the phone? Could you have written up your underwriting reports as though nothing was wrong? Dan shook his head and pulled into the parking lot of Reports, Inc. He honestly didn‟t know how he would have handled it if the test had come back positive. He might have been in denial and would have gone about his day, treating it like any other. He might have killed himself. He might have visited the bathhouse and allowed himself to have unfettered bareback sex with a dozen guys, realizing he had nothing to lose. Oh you know you wouldn‟t do that! You wouldn‟t dare take the chance of putting someone else through hell, jeopardizing their lives, their health, for your own selfish pleasure. No, Dan knew he wouldn‟t do something so rash. Yet he thought someone else might have done just that to Adam at some point. Whoever had infected him might have known they were infected—and simply not cared. Or they had thought that Adam was infected too; why else would he take the risks he was taking? It was attitudes like those that were causing this plague to become epidemic and Dan knew it. He glanced at himself in his rearview mirror, wiping his damp face with a napkin stolen from Checkers and running his fingers through his hair, trying to impose some sort of order.

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Rick R. Reed He exited the car, hoping he could manage to get through the day as just a cog in the insurance industry‟s machinery.

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Caregiver Chapter Fifteen

THE phone was ringing when Dan put his key to the lock of his front door. What now? Could the day possibly get any more eventful? He hurried to open the door and dashed through the small apartment, trying to beat his answering machine in the race to be the first to pick up. “Hello?” Dan said into the phone, a little breathless. “Dan?” “This is he.” The voice on the other end sounded familiar, but Dan couldn‟t place it. “Hey, it‟s Duncan.” The voice paused. “Duncan Boechler, from the Tampa AIDS Alliance?” “Oh sure. How are you?” Dan couldn‟t imagine why Duncan would be calling him. Maybe just to check in? But they had regular meetings for that, so why call him at home? “I‟m okay.” He paused again, and Dan felt a rush of nerves pass through him. Something was up. Duncan continued, “I‟ve got some news about your buddy.” Dan sucked in a breath. “Is he okay?” “Not really.” Dan moved with the phone to the living room and sat down on the couch. “Did he die?” Dan strangled a cry in his own throat by stuffing his fist into his mouth. “No, no, he‟s, he‟s… not dead. He‟s hanging on.” “What‟s going on?” 123

Rick R. Reed “Last night, Adam got really sick. Pneumonia. By midnight, they had him in the prison infirmary.” Dan sighed a breath of relief. According to Adam, he‟d beaten this pneumonia thing several times before. He would be okay, wouldn‟t he? He said as much to Duncan. Duncan‟s voice went softer. “It‟s… actually pretty bad this time. I talked to the chaplain up there—and I‟ll give you his number—and he said Adam‟s been weakened a lot lately by the ordeal. His KS has gotten rapidly worse. You know that could mean that what they‟re seeing on the outside could be just as bad or worse than what‟s growing on the inside?” Dan stared out his sliding glass doors as a breeze rippled the surface of the lake. He‟d read enough about KS to know that it was a hungry beast and it could devour skin as well as internal organs and tissue. Once again, he had to stifle the urge to cry. Duncan went on. “Anyway, they say he‟s not in real good shape. The staff up there at the infirmary have treated some AIDS cases, but I‟m worried they don‟t really know what they‟re doing.” The man said nothing for several beats. “I just wanted you to know.” “People recover from this pneumonia all the time, right?” Dan said, desperate. “Sure. It happens and I hope Adam will be okay.” Duncan gave him the name and number of the chaplain at the penitentiary and hung up, telling Dan not to hesitate to call him if he needed anything. Dan hung up the phone and started pacing. This wasn‟t supposed to be happening. Adam was supposed to hang in there until things got sorted out with his case. Adam needed to come back home again. Dan couldn‟t even accept the reality that Adam—his Adam— could die all alone, in prison. No, that was just too awful. The universe, God, whatever, wouldn‟t allow it. If only things worked that way! Dan sat back down on the couch, wondering what he should do next. He felt like someone had just handed him the steering wheel of a 124

Caregiver car that was careening out of control on an icy road back up north. Things felt exactly that sudden and reckless. He stared down at the slip of scrap paper upon which he had written the phone number for John Lucas, the prison chaplain. “There‟s no time like the present.” Dan picked up the phone and, eyes moving from paper to keypad, he punched in the numbers, praying the chaplain would be there to take his call. He realized he needed to talk to the man and couldn‟t bear the thought of speaking into an answering machine or worse, listening to lonesome, unanswered ringing. Someone picked up on the second ring. “This is Reverend Lucas.” Dan closed his eyes, grateful. Now, he needed to pull himself together and get through this call sounding like a normal, concerned friend and not someone just clinging to his own sanity, wondering how his own life, and those of people he cared about, had managed to spin so utterly out of control so fast. “Hi Reverend Lucas. This is Dan Calzolaio. Duncan Boechler at the Tampa AIDS Alliance gave me your number. I‟m Adam Schmidt‟s AIDS buddy. I was calling to see how he was doing.” “Hi Dan. I‟m glad you called. I was hoping you would.” “So… how is he?” “You want the good news or the bad news first?” Dan didn‟t have to think. He was never much good at delaying gratification. “The good, I guess.” “Adam, in spite of being very ill, does have lucid moments. And in those moments, he manages to hang on to something very surprising—his sense of humor. He manages to keep the doctors and nurses up here laughing at the worst of times. That man has a shameless worldview!” Dan understood. He could believe Adam would make jokes about his sickness, even about his dying. It was how he would cope. “So, is there more good news?” “I‟m afraid not, Dan.” The chaplain took a deep breath. “His KS 125

Rick R. Reed has worsened and it‟s spread internally. What‟s most concerning is that the cancer has attacked his lungs, just a little right now, but it‟s very aggressive. That, on top of the pneumonia he‟s come down with and the fact that his T-cells number in the single digits, and we have a reason to be very concerned.” Please, please, please, just tell me you‟re joking. Tell me there‟s treatment. Tell me he‟ll get better. Please, please, please. “Isn‟t there something they can do?” Dan asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Chemotherapy? Radiation?” Dan knew the answers already; they were simply common sense, but he had to ask, had to cling to some hope for his friend. “He‟s too weak, Dan. There aren‟t many treatment options open to him, I‟m afraid. The only thing we can do is keep him free of pain and comfortable.” “That makes it sound like he‟s going to die!” Dan said in a strangled voice, not wanting to accept the truth staring him squarely in the eyes. The chaplain said nothing for several seconds. “He is going to die, Dan. I‟m sorry.” He paused again. “Listen, I‟m a man of God. I like to believe in miracles and my heart stays open, hoping something miraculous happens here. But the realist in me knows, as do the doctors treating Adam, that he doesn‟t have much longer.” “Can‟t they let him out? It‟s so cruel! Can‟t they just let him come home for the time he has left?” Dan knew he sounded breathless and desperate. He realized he‟d take Adam in and care for him in his final days, if only they‟d let him. He hated thinking of Adam alone and dying in some cold penitentiary infirmary. It wasn‟t fair. “I wish the system worked that way.” The two said nothing for a while. Dan guessed they were each lost in hopeless thoughts. Finally, the chaplain spoke again. “Dan, he wants to see you.” “He does? I mean, I‟ve been trying to get up there to see him but he never wants to let me come.” “Well, he‟s asked for you now.” “What about Sullivan? His—” Dan groped for the right term 126

Caregiver and felt he was betraying their love when he concluded his question with, “His friend?” “Sullivan was here last night.” The chaplain didn‟t say anything more. Dan wanted to get into bed and sleep, wake up and start the day over again. This was not happening. “Dan? Will you come see Adam?” “Of course I will.” “Can you come tomorrow?” Dan wondered, for only a second, why it had to be so soon. He knew. He wished he didn‟t, but he knew. For just a second, an image popped into his head: Adam racing into the surf at Ft. De Soto Beach. Had that only been a few weeks ago? How could so much, so bad have happened so quickly? Dan bit his lower lip to thwart the sob threatening to escape. He said quietly, “Of course I‟ll come.” To hell with work, to hell with everything. A man, his friend, was dying. “Tomorrow, then? In the morning? Say ten? I can put you on the list of approved visitors.” “Sure. I‟ll be there.” Dan thought for a moment. The chaplain mentioning visitors caused something to occur to Dan. “Have his parents been to see him? They‟re in Illinois, I think. Downers Grove, maybe?” “They were here this weekend, Dan.” Reverend Lucas said nothing for a moment. “His mother took it pretty hard.” He sighed. “So just come to the front visitor‟s area tomorrow. They‟ll take you to Adam.” “Okay.” “Take care, Dan.” “Thank you.” Dan hung up the phone without even saying goodbye. He was saving his good-byes for tomorrow.

127

Rick R. Reed Chapter Sixteen

THE next day, Dan drove north on Florida State Route 75, heading up to Raiford. The day was cloudless, the sun baking the flat lands stretching out on either side of the road. Every once in a while, Dan would spy an armadillo scurrying along the side of the road. Slash pines, palms, and cypress trees lined the highway, stalwart sentinels against the heat. Every once in a while, a billboard interrupted the tropical foliage and broad expanses of rough grass. He passed exits for towns with names like Wesley Chapel, Ocala, and Gainesville. Strip malls, motels, and fast-food joints dotted the landscape here and there. The humid, hot air tousled Dan‟s hair as he drove, all four windows down, making him feel like he was in some sort of oversized convection oven. He was not listening to music. He was not counting the bugs splattering on his windshield. He was not recalling his boss‟s dismayed reaction when he had called in sick this morning. He was not thinking. He knew from his calculations that the drive would take approximately three hours, which was a lot of time to think, to worry, to cry. He didn‟t want to do any of those things. He wanted to be strong, confident, calm, and compassionate. Adam deserved that much. All too soon, Dan found himself pulling up in front of the gates of the Florida State Prison. He drove through the gates and into the parking lot, looking up at the cold and imposing façade, having 128

Caregiver difficulty believing his friend was inside. This all seemed like a bad dream, some sort of nightmare from which he would wake. But the front of a prison staring one down, complete with high walls topped with guard towers and barbed wire, had a way of snapping one back to reality. Dan rolled up the windows, locked the car, and got out. Wasn‟t this where Ted Bundy had ended up? He stood for a moment in the stillness and heat, grateful that he had abandoned the completely absurd idea he‟d had that morning of bringing up his boom box, a selection of Barbra Streisand cassettes, and a Thermos of Mai Tais. For one, they probably would have never allowed him to bring such things into the prison; for another—and this made him very sad—Adam would probably not feel up to enjoying them anyway. Inside, a guard searched him, making him take off his shoes and empty his pockets. A different guard led him to the infirmary. Dan didn‟t pass any cells. The prison interior was cool and quiet. Dan felt almost alone here. The infirmary itself had only a few beds. Dan supposed most prisoners, if their illness was long-term, went somewhere else for treatment. He knew why they didn‟t send Adam elsewhere. The guard, a stocky guy with dark, curly hair, gestured toward a drawn curtain. He said softly, “He‟s over there. He might be asleep.” He walked away, leaving Dan alone to wring his hands and wonder what he would say. Just go. This isn‟t about the right words or being entertaining or amusing. It‟s simply about being here for a friend, a friend who needs you. Put one foot in front of the other and walk over there. Dan forced himself to move. He drew aside the curtain and forced himself not to gasp when he saw Adam. He was asleep, as the guard had said. Warm sunlight illuminated his supine figure on the bed. An IV dripped into his arm; oxygen 129

Rick R. Reed tubes were up his nose. Dan turned away, breathing hard. That‟s not Adam! It couldn‟t be Adam. The wraith on the bed looked nothing like his friend. No, the skeletal man lying on the bed, mouth open, appeared to be much older. His pale face was lined and careworn. His blond hair was sticking up, looking dry and brittle. Dan looked around, hoping to see Adam lying on another bed. Yet the rational part of his mind knew this was his friend; Dan just didn‟t want to believe it. The worst part of it was the lesions that covered his skin like purple blots, raised, crusty wine stains on his alabaster flesh. Dan thought of Adam writing him about how the other inmates called him „Spot‟ and his heart lurched. He moved closer to the bed. Adam‟s eyes fluttered open, and if Dan had had any doubt about who was lying on the bed before him, one glimpse of those twinkling blue eyes erased them. A glimmer of a smile turned Adam‟s lips up for just a moment when he recognized Dan. “You came.” Adam‟s voice was whispery, dry as a husk. “Of course I did. I drove all the way up here to tell you that you have to get better. You still owe me a dinner date at Jimmy Mac‟s.” Dan could see Adam try to laugh and also saw how the simple effort pained and exhausted him. Dan‟s heart started to break. “How are you?” It struck Dan then that there was nothing clever to say, nothing powerful or meaningful. Again, it was just being here that meant something. “Peachy,” Adam whispered, then coughed. His eyes fluttered closed again and Dan leaned in close to verify that he had actually fallen asleep. He had. They talked in this odd, in-and-out-of-reality-way for the next half hour, Adam nodding off with no warning. He would drift off mid-sentence. Dan didn‟t know if it was the illness, the medications, or a combination of the two causing his flagging connection to 130

Caregiver consciousness. One thing Adam did stay awake long enough to talk about was the visit from his parents. “Mom just broke down when she saw me.” And Dan pictured a prim woman, in a skirt and jacket, collapsing as she came face to face with the worst nightmare a parent can experience. “It was nice of them to come down.” “Of course they came. You‟re their son.” “I am now.” Dan had started to ask about Sullivan, but Adam fell asleep once more. The guard came to stand at the doorway to the room. “Five more minutes.” Dan looked back at him and nodded. He took a deep breath and leaned close to Adam‟s face. His breath was rank, but Dan didn‟t care. Adam opened his eyes and gave him a suspicious look that appeared very close to the old Adam. “What are you doing? Are you making a pass at me, Mr. Calzolaio?” Dan laughed. “Yeah, that‟s right. I want to take advantage of you while you‟re vulnerable. Pretty foxy of me, huh?” He almost expected a witty comeback, but Adam only swallowed hard and stared up at him. Their eyes met and held. Finally, Dan leaned in and placed a kiss on Adam‟s cheek, his lips brushing across one of the crusty lesions. He reached down and stroked Adam‟s skin. “I love you,” Dan said. “Me too,” Adam whispered back. Then he fell asleep. Dan crept from the room.

THE chaplain called Dan the next afternoon to tell him that Adam had passed away during the night. “It was painless and quiet. He went peacefully.” 131

Rick R. Reed Dan wondered how he knew. Had he been there in Adam‟s final moment? Was that all Adam got at the end of his life? A prison chaplain? “Thank you.” Dan was about to hang up the phone. “Dan?” “Yeah?” “I think he hung on just to see you.” Dan groped for some words to say, some expression of gratitude, but his vision was suddenly clouded by tears and his throat choked by a sob. His mouth opened, then shut. “Gotta go,” he whispered hoarsely and hung up the phone. He sank down to the floor, the phone in his hand, and simply stared forward until the light outside faded from dusk into night, not thinking a thing.

132

Caregiver Chapter Seventeen

IT WAS only a few days after Adam‟s passing, a Saturday morning, when Dan was surprised by a knock at his door. He turned the heat on under his teakettle and hurried to answer it. He wondered who had come to call this early. Glancing at the clock, he confirmed that it was only a little after nine. The knock sounded again. “Coming!” Dan peered through the peephole and saw Sullivan standing outside. He didn‟t know how to feel; the man had been so standoffish toward him during the whole prison ordeal. Dan opened the door. For several moments, the two men simply stared at one another. A family passed on the walkway behind Sullivan, laden down with stuff for the beach: an umbrella, towels, net bags, bucket and shovel. The two children, a dark-haired boy and girl, laughed and chattered happily to one another. Another world. Dan returned his gaze to Sullivan, who looked thinner in his jeans and Tampa Bay Buccaneers T-shirt. Before Dan had a chance to say anything, Sullivan blurted out, “They took him away.” “What?” Dan shook his head and opened the door wider. “Why don‟t you come inside and sit down? I just put the kettle on for tea.” Dan stood back to admit Sullivan. It was obvious the man was shaken. Dan followed him into the living room. Sullivan took the couch 133

Rick R. Reed and Dan a chair across from him. “They took him away,” Sullivan repeated, his voice bordering on a strangled cry. Unshed tears stood at the corners of his eyes. These looked like they would not be the first to fall today. Dan wanted to touch Sullivan to reassure him, but thought better of it. He sat back in his chair. “What do you mean?” “His parents. Adam‟s parents! They took him away. Had him shipped back to Illinois right after he died. The same day it happened!” Sullivan looked longingly at Dan, the pain apparent on his features. “I never even got a chance to say good-bye,” he rasped, voice husky and raw. Dan closed his eyes, all of it coming clear now. Reverend Lucas had told him that there would be no funeral services, at least not here in Florida, and that Adam‟s parents were taking him back to the Chicago area with them for burial. It left Dan hungry for some sort of closure, but he had neither the time nor the resources to make the trip back to Chicago and wasn‟t even sure how welcome he would be at the funeral. But it hadn‟t occurred to him that they would so utterly leave the man who had loved Adam out of the proceedings, denying him access to any formal grieving process. That seemed so cruel. Dan realized he had never known what kind of relationship Adam had had with his parents and certainly didn‟t know if they knew, or even cared about, Sullivan. He had seen many gay friends‟ families who simply chose to look the other way when it came to their loved one‟s significant others—and that was often a best-case scenario. Often, parents and siblings could be outright hostile to their gay child‟s lover. Or treat him or her as something less than they would have if the person were of the opposite sex. It was the way of the world. But it wrenched Dan‟s heart to know that Sullivan was not only mourning this man he loved, but that he had been denied the opportunity to have a final moment with him, even if that moment was with a corpse. 134

Caregiver The kettle chose that inopportune moment to begin its shriek, startling both men. Dan hopped up from his seat. “I‟ll be right back. You‟ll have some tea, won‟t you?” “Sure.” Dan quickly threw two teabags in mugs, poured boiling water over them, and left them to steep. He hurried back to the living room and sat next to Sullivan on the couch. Sullivan stared out at the lake fronting Dan‟s apartment. He looked lost in thought. He looked lost, period. “I‟m sorry about that. You were saying?” “I was saying that his parents didn‟t even think enough of our relationship to give me a call to ask if I‟d like to say good-bye to him.” Sullivan shook his head and turned to Dan. “I met them a few times. They insisted I call them Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt. And I was always referred to as „Adam‟s friend‟. So that probably gives you some idea of what they thought of me as a partner to their son.” Dan nodded sympathetically. Sullivan stretched his legs out before him. “So I suppose it‟s not all that surprising that they wouldn‟t have thought enough of our relationship to check with me, to see what I might want to do. I guess I didn‟t count, least not in their eyes.” Sullivan bit his lower lip and Dan could see he was trying very hard not to cry. “They‟re just ignorant people. They may have money, but they have no class. You know? Adam was an embarrassment to them, always was, even before he started getting in trouble. They had all but disowned him until they heard he was dying last week. Then, they were rushing down here to be with him, all loving and parental again.” Dan remembered how Adam had told him his mother had broken down at the sight of him. No matter what had gone before, Dan knew that, for a mother, seeing her child die so horribly would be an awful thing. He sympathized with Sullivan, especially as a gay man, but his heart also went out to Adam‟s parents, who were feeling the pain of great loss, he was sure. However, he felt the last thing Sullivan needed to hear at this

135

Rick R. Reed moment was a plea for understanding for Adam‟s parents. So he said, simply, “I am so sorry, Sullivan. This must be killing you. It was really unkind of them to take Adam away, but it doesn‟t sound like they ever really understood what you shared. Sometimes, there‟s no convincing people like that. I‟m afraid you just have to let it go, and remember Adam in your own way.” Dan paused. “He brought a lot of happiness to you, didn‟t he?” Dan knew he‟d brought a lot of grief as well, but now was not the time. “Oh yes.” Sullivan‟s lower lip quivered and a tear slid down his cheek. “I just wish I could have said good-bye. It‟s hard for me to make his death real, you know? I keep expecting the phone to ring and it‟ll be him. Or I wake up in the middle of the night and reach for him in bed. When he‟s not there, I listen for him pissing in the bathroom.” Sullivan touched Dan‟s arm briefly, staring into his eyes. “I wanted to forgive him for what he did to me, there at the end. I know he was out of his head. I wanted to tell him that it didn‟t matter, that I understood.” He slowly shook his head. “But I never had the chance. He died thinking I hated him.” “Didn‟t you go see him?” “I did. Once.” Sullivan hung his head. “He was really out of it. I don‟t even know if he knew I was there. I shouldn‟t have waited so long. I should have somehow made him listen. I wish I just had another minute—just one minute—with him, so I could tell him I love him.” “I know. I know.” Dan placed what he hoped was a comforting hand atop Sullivan‟s own. Sullivan gently moved his hand out from under Dan‟s. Dan got up to get the tea. He brought the mugs back and set them on the coffee table. It felt weird here alone with Sullivan, his body an uncomfortable presence on the couch next to him. Steam rose from the mugs as both men stared out of the sliding glass doors, contemplating another perfect Gulf Coast day, so at odds with the turmoil and sadness both of them obviously felt. Dan didn‟t know what to say to Sullivan. He hardly knew him, really, and that fact aside, what was there to say? For that matter, was 136

Caregiver it really necessary to say anything? Perhaps Sullivan just wanted someone to talk to, to vent with, to share his heartache. I can be that person. I can touch him and hold him and it doesn‟t have to be a betrayal. It was odd that, suddenly, Dan had taken such a central role in two people‟s lives that, such a short time ago, he didn‟t even know existed. It made him think about fate, about timing, and about how people appeared to one another at times when they most needed each other. His mother used to say that people came into our lives for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime. He wondered if he was here now for Sullivan for only a reason. He turned to him and, without thinking about it, moved over on the couch and put his arms around him. He didn‟t say a word, just held Sullivan. He thought that Sullivan might have been surprised by the gesture, or worse, didn‟t want it, because he didn‟t wrap his own arms around Dan but merely sat stiffly. But then Sullivan leaned into him and slowly brought his arms up around Dan, letting his head rest on his chest. Dan breathed easier. He made small circles on Sullivan‟s back, comforting, he hoped. They sat like that for a long time, neither moving, neither talking nor crying. Finally, Sullivan broke away. “I need to go.” Dan felt like he was coming out of a fog. He had gone somewhere else with Sullivan, to a quiet place, where the pain was muted. “Okay.” “You helped,” Sullivan said. “I know you probably didn‟t think you did much, but you helped.” He stood up and looked down at Dan. “I don‟t really have anyone to talk to about all of this. You came along at just the right time, it seems. Thanks for letting me share. Thanks for holding me.” He laughed. “And not trying to take advantage.” “You can talk to me anytime, Sullivan. My door‟s always open. 137

Rick R. Reed It may have not been in the same way, but we both loved Adam and I think we both know what the other is going through.” Sullivan nodded and headed toward the door. Dan continued, “You know, it doesn‟t matter that you weren‟t actually there to say good-bye. Not really. I think Adam is looking down on you now. I think you can still say good-bye.” Sullivan cocked his head. “I hadn‟t thought of that. You‟re probably right. Maybe I‟ll head over to Passe a Grille beach right now—one of my honey‟s favorite spots—and just stare out at the Gulf and bid him farewell. I kind of think if Adam‟s spirit went anywhere, it might be hovering around a beach. He loved the water and the sand.” “He loved the Lighted Tree… and the bar.” Sullivan chuckled. “That too.” Sullivan opened the door. “You wanna come with?” Dan had enough sense to know that Sullivan would be better off having this moment alone. “Nah, thanks, but I‟ll stay here.” Sullivan nodded. “Talk soon?” “Soon.” And with that, Sullivan left. Dan found himself alone, staring at two untouched mugs of tea, gone cold. After a while, he got up and slid open the glass doors and stepped out onto the patio. A balmy breeze blew and it was fairly peaceful around the complex, especially for a Saturday. Dan stepped back inside with the watering can and returned to the patio with it, giving the herbs and schefflera Mark had planted a drink. The sphagnum moss around the schefflera was dry and Dan was sorry he hadn‟t been more attentive. He yanked some weeds out that had sprouted among the herbs. He sat back on his haunches, facing the glass door. The glass threw back his own reflection and that of the lake, palms, and hibiscus behind him. And standing there, not a foot away, was Adam, his reflection clear in the glass. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a simple white T-shirt. He was barefoot and his blond hair 138

Caregiver looked clean and shiny. His skin had a slight bronze color to it and it was free of sores. Dan whispered to the reflection, “You take care of yourself, sweetheart. Don‟t let them jerk you around wherever you are, not like they did down here. I said it before, but I‟ll say it again, just so you don‟t forget: I love you.” Although Dan couldn‟t hear him, he could see Adam‟s lips move and read the words he tried to speak. “I love you. I‟m gonna be all right.” Dan reached a hand toward the glass and Adam did the same. They almost touched. Dan turned to look behind him. There was nothing there. He turned back to the glass to find it reflecting only his own image. But Adam had been there. He knew it. And he had gotten the chance to say good-bye and to know Adam was, finally, okay.

139

Rick R. Reed Chapter Eighteen

A WEEK passed. Then another. The ache of Mark‟s leaving no longer kept Dan up at night, and when he came home from work, the apartment didn‟t feel like a place he had shared with someone, but his own place. He rearranged the living room furniture, bought a bookcase at a second-hand furniture store on Howard Street, and hung up a couple of framed posters he had had in storage. It was becoming his home. Less and less he wondered about Mark, but still, there was a lingering desire to know where he had gone and what had become of him. For all Dan knew, he could have gone out after Dan dumped him, bought an eight-ball, and snorted himself right into an overdose. All this time not hearing from him could mean he was dead. No one would have told Dan. Like Adam‟s family, Mark‟s mother didn‟t have much use for Mark‟s “friend” and, most likely, it would never have occurred to her to notify him if something awful had happened to the man he had loved and shared his life with for several years. Maybe someday, the world would change and people would begin to recognize that gay love relationships were just as real and valid as straight ones, and that gay people could form family units too. But Dan thought of Mark less and less and seriously doubted he had died. He was a big, healthy guy, in spite of his addiction, and was young and strong. Dan figured he‟d kick the habit long before he came to a bad end, but he wished he had some way of knowing for sure. 140

Caregiver His gut told him, though, that Mark was still around. It was like there was an invisible tether that still existed between him and Mark and, strange as it sounded, he still felt his ex-lover at the other end of the line. Although he would never say it to anyone else, he could sense Mark out there, somewhere. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing, but he knew, instinctively, that Mark remained with him on the earth. Dan would have felt some sort of void, otherwise. Even to himself, this all sounded like some sort of weird spiritual mumbo jumbo, a way for his psyche to comfort him, to allow him to live without incessant worry. Yet he believed it. He thought often of another blond-haired man as well—Adam. As he did with Mark, he sensed he knew where Adam was. No specifics, but he felt certain Adam was in a better place now, free from pain and the troubles that had clouded the final year or so of his life. Sullivan called now and then—or Dan called him—but it seemed like their connection was fading, now that the drama of Adam‟s life had ended. The men had less and less to say to one another and their conversations often lapsed into silence, which became more frequent and prolonged with each phone call. And then things changed. Dan returned home from work one day to find a letter waiting for him in his mailbox. A letter from Adam. With a shaking hand, Dan removed it, where it mixed innocently with a bill from the Tampa Electric Company and a catalog from LL Bean. It was akin to receiving a missive from the “other side”, and Dan immediately felt a weird sense of unease that wasn‟t really lessened much by the fact that the postmark on the letter was before Adam passed away. The letter must have merely gotten held up in the mail, as letters sometimes did. No one ever accused the US Postal Service of perfection or timeliness. Still, it was odd to see Adam‟s backward-slanting script and the state prison return address in the upper left-hand corner. 141

Rick R. Reed Dan hurried back to his apartment with the letter, wondering what it would say, when Adam had written it, and if he would learn anything he didn‟t already know. Inside, he tossed the bill and the catalog on the dining table and sat down in his living room to rip the letter open. He felt hungry for this—communication from Adam. It was a gift he had never expected. Dearest Dan, my sweet “buddy”, I wanted to write to you while I still felt well enough to hold a pen. Yes, I think I‟m getting sick again. I feel all the same rumblings I felt the other times I came down with pneumonia—the cough, the ache in my chest, the fever at night. It‟s like a monster waiting just outside my door. Only this time, strangely enough, I feel as though Mr. Monster really means business and plans to kick some serious ass. Que sera, sera, as my heroine, Doris Day, used to sing. I love that quote I once heard about Miss Day, „I knew her before she was a virgin.‟ Hah! But I digress. I wanted to write and ask a favor of you. Now, don‟t go getting all weepy and sentimental on me. I know I‟ll probably weather this storm and come out smelling like the prison daisy I have become, stronger to thwart another rape attempt in the showers. If only! No one here wants to touch “Spot” for fear of contamination. I know, my humor is too dark for a sweet boy like you. Hell, it‟s too dark for most of the boys I knew on the outside, which is why Sullivan was the only one who ever bothered to stick around. He was the sole man who could stand me. Which brings me to my favor…. Just in case the AIDS monster does get me this time, I wanted to ask you to look out for Sullivan. I know, from what little time we had together, you‟re good at caring for other people… and Sullivan needs someone to care for him. He‟s not as tough and butch as he first 142

Caregiver appears. He keeps it all bottled up inside—any pain, anger, frustration…. They all just eat away at him. He‟s made suffering in silence into an art form. So, if something does happen to me—God forbid—would you check in on my man? Make sure he‟s eating his meals, bathing, and having some fun once in a while? Good lord, the man had a serious absence of fun, especially when I arrived on the scene down here in Florida. Can you do that for me, hon? I know you can. I love you like I love my luggage. And I am so, so tired. Gotta stop now. I‟ll write again when I can. XXOO, Adam Dan set the letter down. He felt a rush of heat rise to his face and recognized it immediately for what it was: shame. During the past couple weeks, he should have been there more for Sullivan. Sure, the man had never asked Dan for help or support, but he shouldn‟t have had to. Sullivan had just lost the man he loved and he was alone. As far as Dan knew (and Dan did know this), Sullivan really didn‟t have anyone else to talk to about his loss, and if he seemed okay, like he was moving on, during their brief and sporadic phone calls, Dan should have realized that he might have been masking his feelings. Or he was the type who wouldn‟t want to “bother” Dan with his problems. Dan also thought back, with equal parts longing and regret, about the kiss he and Sullivan had shared. He acknowledged to himself—who else was listening, anyway?—that he was fiercely attracted to Sullivan, his dark, brooding masculinity and his seemingly quiet strength. And maybe it was this attraction and the memory of their fiery kiss that also kept him from getting too close. Having any kind of entanglement, other than friendship, with Sullivan would have just been wrong. Dan had been Adam‟s friend, 143

Rick R. Reed after all. But he should have been more of a friend, a better one. Whether Sullivan voiced a need or not, Dan had to admit to himself, painfully, that he could have tried harder. He sat back on the couch, lifting his legs up to the coffee table. He would have to try and make more of an effort, not only because it was the right thing to do, but because Adam had wanted it. It was, one might say, his dying wish, so it was an obligation. The phone rang and Dan thought that maybe Karma was intervening and giving him an opportunity—perhaps it was Sullivan calling. This time, he would not let him go with a few awkward sentences and feeble reassurances that each was okay. This time, they would really talk. He picked up the phone. “Honey?” It wasn‟t Sullivan. “Hi, Mom.” “So are you too busy down there in the sunshine state to call your mother? It‟s been three weeks and five days since the last time you called. I was beginning to think you died.” Dan thought Italian mothers were second only to Jewish ones in laying guilt upon their children. He smiled. “Sorry, Ma. There‟s been a lot going on. I started that new job I told you I was interviewing for and that‟s going okay. Boring, but it pays the bills… and gives me a chance to do some writing.” He paused, pacing around the dining area, debating whether he should get into the whole story about Adam. He decided on a very abbreviated version. “And I had something bad happen. A new friend I had made down here passed away.” “What? What happened? Was he in a car accident?” It was funny to Dan how his mother had automatically assumed his friend was male. He guessed ever since he came out to her, she just assumed everyone he associated with now must be male. Except for her, of course. And sometimes, Dan had to wonder if she liked it 144

Caregiver that way… very much. Because of his age, Dan also thought it might not have occurred to her that a friend would die from disease. “No, he died from AIDS.” His mother sucked in a breath and made a “tsk” sound. “That‟s a shame. Was he very sick?” “Yeah, Ma, he was. But he was a great guy.” With her voice tinged with concern, she asked, “How did you know him?” He told her about the Tampa AIDS Alliance and how he had volunteered for its buddy program. “We didn‟t know each other long, but he was a special person, so we got close fast.” He felt a lump forming in his throat and took a deep breath to steady himself. “God, I feel for his family. His poor mother!” She didn‟t say anything for a minute. “You take care of yourself, honey? I worry.” “I know, Ma. I just got tested and it came back negative.” “Thank God for that.” Dan decided she didn‟t need to know about his scare with Mark. She had enough bad feelings toward him already, since he had shared his reason for breaking up with him when he had thrown Mark out. “So are you okay? If I were there, I‟d come over and make you sewer pipes and meatballs.” His mother always referred to rigatoni as sewer pipes. It was endearing. Sort of, if you didn‟t think too carefully about the analogy. “That‟s sweet. How‟s Dad?” Dan and his mother talked for fifteen or so minutes more, catching up on their lives. At the end of the call, Dan promised to call more frequently, as he always did, and told himself not to remind his mother that the telephone lines ran both ways. “And you‟re still planning on coming home for Thanksgiving, right?” “Oh yeah. Maybe I‟ll even splurge and fly up.” “You can‟t come up any sooner? The family reunion is next month. Everyone will want to see you.”

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Rick R. Reed “I‟ll think about it.” After assuring his mother that he loved her, and she him, mother and son disconnected. His mother had given Dan an idea. He had planned to run out tonight to pick up a few groceries and now he realized he would need to get some tomatoes, garlic, basil, and oregano, some ground pork and ground beef, and some seasoned breadcrumbs. And, of course, a box of sewer pipes. In Dan‟s Italian family, it was simply good manners to bring mourning loved ones food. He was chagrined he hadn‟t thought of it before. At Dan‟s house, growing up, the exhortation for whatever ailed a person was, “Eat!” and “Eat some more!”

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Caregiver Chapter Nineteen

THE following Saturday afternoon, Dan found himself once more sitting outside the little stucco house in Brandon. He couldn‟t help but think back to the first time he had sat here in this very car, waiting to go inside, anxious about what lay before him, unknown. It hadn‟t seemed all that long ago—and really, it wasn‟t—and he smiled at the memory of Adam, answering the door in his little black dress, pearls, and Bette Davis eyes. He realized all at once that Adam had probably been as nervous about their initial meeting as Dan was, and the drag was simply a way to become someone else, to take the pressure off. He hadn‟t called Sullivan in advance, fearing that the man would put him off if he told him what he wanted. On the seat beside Dan was a Dutch oven filled with his mother‟s red sauce, or “gravy” as she called it. He had spent the whole morning making it and then letting it simmer for three hours, so it could cook down and the flavors could, as his mother would say, marry. Now, the smell, redolent with basil, garlic, and oregano, was making his mouth water. Next to the pot, in a foil-covered mixing bowl, were a dozen perfect meatballs, along with a couple of pork chops he had let braise in the sauce. He hadn‟t cooked the rigatoni yet; that he thought he could do for Sullivan in his own kitchen, if Sullivan would let him. If he didn‟t, Dan would simply leave the food with him. After all, this wasn‟t about Dan. But Dan did hope Sullivan was home. The house looked quiet and empty; Sullivan could have gone to the beach or shopping at West Shore Mall, or even just out for a stroll along Bayshore 147

Rick R. Reed Boulevard. Then again, most people‟s homes in Florida looked empty in the summer—shutters and draperies were often closed against the sun. Whatever. Just get your stuff together, march up the front walk, and ring the doorbell. You remember how to do that, don‟t you? In a delicate balancing act, Dan managed to gather together the makings for his comforting Italian supper and walked up to the front door. Because his hands were full and he didn‟t want to put things down, he kicked the door gently. When no one came, he kicked it again, harder. Sullivan jerked open the door. His handsome face was creased with anger. It looked like his mouth was poised to say something along the lines of “What the hell?” when he saw it was Dan standing there. Dan was relieved to see the fury and the irritation dissolve with the recognition. Just as quickly, Sullivan‟s irritated expression morphed into a smile. “What the fuck?” His query was close to what Dan had feared, but the delivery made all the difference. Sullivan seemed amused as he looked him up and down, at the pot, bowl, and box of pasta balanced in his arms. Dan smiled back, cocking his head, and said, “My mom is Sicilian and she taught me to always bring food to people when someone close to them dies. So I‟m doing that, and to just drive the point home further, I made her world-famous sauce, complete with fresh basil and good old dago red.” Dan laughed. “Well, you‟re a little late with the goodies, but better late than never.” Sullivan continued to smile; the ribbing was good-natured. He stepped back. “Come on in.” Dan followed him into the house. He glanced around and the place looked neat, nothing was out of place, and all the surfaces gleamed. If there was any dust in that house, it was well-hidden. “You can put everything in the kitchen.” Dan followed Sullivan into the kitchen and had a brief vision of Adam, standing at the counter, mixing up a batch of Mai Tais. It made 148

Caregiver him smile. He set the Dutch oven on the stove, put the meatballs in the fridge, and set the pasta box on the counter. He turned to Sullivan. “Listen, I owe you an apology. I‟m sorry I haven‟t done something like this sooner. There‟s no good excuse and I hope that doing it now means something. I didn‟t know Adam long, but I knew him long enough to know what a special man he was. And I knew him long enough to already miss him a lot. I‟m sure the hurt I feel at him being gone is what you feel, too, only a thousand times worse.” Dan stared down at the floor, then looked up to engage Sullivan with his eyes. “I hope you can forgive my tardiness. But I do feel for you—and you have my deepest sympathy.” “Ah—enough with the speeches already! Are you gonna heat that sauce up or what? It smells so good, I‟m afraid I‟m gonna drool all over myself.” “So you want me to stay?” Sullivan crossed the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. He cracked it open and took a long swallow. “No, I said I want you to heat it up. You made it for me, right?” He took another swig. “There‟s a big pot in that cupboard above the refrigerator; you can use that to boil the water.” Uncertainly, Dan crossed the room and pulled the heavy pot down from the cupboard. He began filling it at the sink. He smiled nervously at Sullivan as he waited for the pot to fill. “Man, you need to loosen up. I‟m kidding! Of course I want you to stay. Now, do you want a beer? Or should we open a bottle of wine? I think I have a Chianti in the pantry that should go just about perfect with what you made.” “I think you should open the wine. My mom and dad would be shaking their heads at the idea of drinking beer with this meal. I suppose you cut up your spaghetti too.” Dan shook his head. “Americans!” “And damn proud of it.” Sullivan slid open a drawer and began rummaging. “Now where did Adam put that corkscrew? God knows it could be anywhere.” 149

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“I

FEEL like I can‟t move.” Sullivan groaned. “It isn‟t fair—that

spaghetti and meatballs was the best I‟d ever had.” Sullivan rolled his eyes and looked over at Dan, patting his tummy, which Dan had to admit, looked distended. “I couldn‟t stop myself. I just couldn‟t stop.” “Hey, I didn‟t twist your arm to eat three helpings.” “Yes, you did. You twisted it by making that damn sauce so irresistible. God! I feel like I should go in the bathroom and purge!” “So you can eat even more?” Sullivan was quiet. “Is there any left?” Dan shook his head. “No. I‟m glad you liked it so much.” “What made it so good?” “Cooking the pork in the sauce; that‟s the big secret. My mother gets pork neck bones from the butcher and grates her own Romano. Hers is even better.” The two men sat, post-dinner, in Sullivan‟s living room, on the very same couch where they‟d once had their little make-out session. Now the idea of making out, at least to Dan, was anathema to him, for many reasons, but foremost at the moment was simply being too full to move. On the coffee table before them were two glasses of red wine, the last of the bottle of Chianti Sullivan had opened earlier. Dan felt a little drowsy and more than a little drunk, comfortable. What was nice about this moment was that both of them were silent, and he guessed that neither of them felt a need to fill the quiet space up with chatter. Dan had always believed that one measure of a good relationship was not in what a couple of people could find to talk about, but how comfortable they could be in their silence together. This was nice. There was only a little background music, the stereo turned low. Dan was a shameless pop music, top-forty kind of guy, but he was glad Sullivan had taken the time to introduce him to a singer (jazz? Was that the correct genre?) named Nina Simone. Her smoky voice was warm, playful, and powerful, all at once. Dan 150

Caregiver couldn‟t remember ever hearing a voice quite like it. Both of them had their shoes off, feet up on the coffee table. Outside, the day wound down into dusk. Sullivan had pulled the curtains open after dinner and the east-facing picture window now revealed an end of day that was luminous in shades of lavender and orange as the sun, behind the house, sank below the flat horizon. It seemed natural at this relaxed moment to slide over on the couch and for Dan to rest his head on Sullivan‟s shoulder. Just as easily, Sullivan slid his arm around Dan, his grip warm and secure. Dan could hear the steady rhythm of Sullivan‟s heart beating. His chest felt smooth and hard beneath the soft fabric of his warm T-shirt. Sullivan said, “He would have loved this.” Dan didn‟t move. “Yeah?” “Oh yeah. He could be loud, sarcastic, campy, but he adored quiet times, good food, candlelight. He never would have admitted it, but he was quite the romantic at heart. I remember when we first met, how he wooed me. He wrote me love poems, left candy and flowers outside the door to my apartment…. Once he called my answering machine and left a love poem by Christopher Marlowe on it. I loved it so much I never erased it. It stayed on that machine until it died. And after it died, I committed it to memory. Want to hear it?” Dan was surprised to hear that Adam would ever quote Marlowe. He was more the type to quote Oscar Wilde, or Paul Lynde, for that matter. “I‟d love to hear it.” Sullivan paused and then began, in his deep voice: Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hill and valley, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There we will sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls

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Rick R. Reed Melodious birds sing madrigals. There I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat, As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love. Sullivan‟s voice trailed off on the last words and Dan closed his eyes, savoring the words. He would admit this only to himself but for just one moment, and one moment only, he imagined that Sullivan was reciting the poem to him. He knew it was wrong, especially when the man was sharing such a special memory he had of his now-lost love, so he forced the fantasy from his mind as quickly as it had arisen. “That‟s lovely,” Dan said quietly.

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Caregiver “Surprised that Adam would do such a thing?” Dan laughed. “Honestly, I‟m surprised Adam would even know who Christopher Marlowe was.” He cocked his head to look up at Sullivan. “Is that mean to say?” “Terrible. But I know what you mean, so not really. Adam gave the appearance of being all about disco and dick, but he was really smart and creative. Did he ever show you any of his drawings?” “Actually, in his letters, he would send me these amazing—and comically unflattering—caricatures he had done of some of the other inmates. They were really good, and spot on. I saw some of these guys when I visited him at the county jail, which I guess was when he was still feeling well enough to draw.” “Yeah, before he got messed up with drugs and drink, he had a really good job in Chicago, as a graphic designer with some fancy Michigan Avenue ad agency. When we met, he was pulling down something like fifty grand.” “When did it all go wrong?” Sullivan tensed slightly. “I don‟t know that it did. I mean, sure, money, material things, security, reputation—all that good shit—did end up where shit belongs, I suppose, in the toilet.” Sullivan paused. “But you know what? What we had, our love, although it was sorely tested at times, was always rock solid, so I don‟t know that I can or will say that things went „wrong‟. Even at the worst of times, I loved that guy and he loved me. So how can I say things went wrong?” “I guess as long as you had that, you wouldn‟t.” Sullivan‟s voice was barely above a whisper. “No, I wouldn‟t.” Dan felt a sudden surge of guilt at lying here on the couch with his head on Adam‟s lover‟s shoulder, Sullivan‟s arm around him. He pulled away and sat up, putting both feet on the floor. Dan was stunned when Sullivan pulled him right back into place. “It‟s okay. It feels good, us together like this. We both cared about Adam and I don‟t know if there‟s anyone else who would understand how we feel right now.” Sullivan planted a gentle kiss at the top of Dan‟s head and Dan swore the light touch of Sullivan‟s lips 153

Rick R. Reed against his hair sent an electric tingle through him, one that ran all the way down to his toes. “Do you think Adam would approve of us here now, lying together like this?” “Yeah. Not only do I think he would approve, I think he knows we‟re here and that maybe, just a little bit, he‟s pushing us together.” Sullivan leaned forward to take a sip of wine. “Before, you know, everything happened, and he had signed up with Tampa AIDS Alliance for a buddy, I asked him why.” Dan took a sip of his own wine, sat back, and looked at Sullivan. “What do you mean?” Sullivan shrugged. “Think about it. From what you knew of Adam, his resiliency, his warped sense of humor, his independence, do you really see him as the type to sign up for a buddy? I mean, he had me.” Dan wondered for a moment if Sullivan had been hurt that Adam had reached out beyond their own home in contacting the buddy program. “I know you‟re thinking I was jealous or something—or felt inadequate. I don‟t know. But that wasn‟t it. I was truly puzzled. See, and don‟t get offended by this statement, there was a time when the Adam I knew would have made fun of somebody who reached out for a „buddy‟ from a social services program. He would have thought it was kind of pathetic. He might have said something like, „How sad it must be to have to solicit volunteers as friends.‟ “So I asked him why he did it. Not because I was hurt, but because I was curious.” “What did he say?” “He shrugged and didn‟t really say much.” Sullivan gnawed at his lower lip and in the waning light, Dan could tell his eyes had brightened with tears. “That‟s not quite true. He said, „I won‟t always be around to take care of you‟.” Dan sucked in a breath and shut his eyes, letting his head loll back on the couch. Softly: “So you think he got me for you?” He 154

Caregiver laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “I don‟t think that was all of it, but yeah, I think he knew he wasn‟t long for this world and he didn‟t like to envision me all by myself. Isn‟t that sweet?” Sullivan choked back a sob; it sounded like a hiccup. Dan thought of how supportive Adam had been of him dumping Mark. Maybe it was all part of his grand plan. Again, as if Sullivan had read his mind, he said, “Now don‟t go thinking Adam sat down and plotted this all out. I do think he had some ideas, but I also believe he wanted a buddy because he wanted someone new in his life, someone he could surprise, someone who maybe, just maybe, would care about him in a different way from me.” Sullivan‟s voice went softer when he said, “And maybe he wanted to spread the burden around of his care to more than just me.” Sullivan said nothing for several moments. “We‟ve all seen what happens to guys with AIDS who linger, who don‟t end up in prison hospitals. Endless trips to doctors and emergency rooms. Nausea from AZT. Diaper horrors. Loss of dignity. It‟s not pretty.” Sullivan gulped down the rest of his wine and drew in a deep breath. Dan supposed he was trying to calm himself. “I think, maybe more subconsciously than not, he was looking out for me. I can‟t say that he wanted us to end up in a relationship or anything like that, but I do believe he wanted me to have a friend, someone that cared about me and who would understand about him when he was gone.” Sullivan chuckled. “He could be a jealous bitch, so getting back to your original question—no, he probably would not like me having my arm around you and you with your head on my shoulder. And he probably wouldn‟t like this.” Sullivan turned to Dan and cupped his chin, positioning Dan‟s face toward his own. He leaned in and kissed him. It wasn‟t a simple friendly, comforting kiss, but a deep one. Sullivan‟s tongue pried Dan‟s lips apart and darted inside, warm and exploring, sweet from the wine. Sullivan moved closer and drew Dan into his arms, his stubble grinding deliciously into the soft skin on Dan‟s cheeks. Dan found himself completely surrendering to the kiss, his arms almost 155

Rick R. Reed involuntarily going up and around Sullivan, pulling him so close it was as if he wanted their bodies to merge. It felt good, mindless, in the several seconds it lasted. Dan felt himself growing aroused and did not think of where this might lead. All he could think of at the moment was how good this closeness felt, marveling at what two bodies pressed close and a kiss could create, a kind of balm for a hurting soul. After a moment, Sullivan pulled away, breathing a little heavier and staring at Dan in the darkened room. He reached out and tenderly stroked Dan‟s cheek, then drew his hand away. “It has to end here.” For a moment, Dan panicked, thinking Sullivan was saying he never wanted to see him again. Queasiness rose up inside quickly, replacing yet oddly akin to the desire there only moments before. “I don‟t mean us. We can see each other again, of course. I like you, Dan. But I don‟t know about the physical part. It doesn‟t seem right. My Adam‟s not even cold in his grave.” The image of Adam in a casket, being lowered into a grave in some sylvan Illinois cemetery, completely erased any erotic feelings Dan may have been entertaining. “I understand,” Dan said, without much conviction or even breath behind his words. He was still reeling from the kiss and amazed how things could go from hot to cold in the space of a heartbeat. Sullivan went on. “There‟s part of me that would like to take your hand and lead you into that bedroom. Would that be so wrong? I don‟t know.” Dan stood quickly. He felt dizzy and suddenly the little house and the darkness felt claustrophobic. “I should go.” “Dan! I didn‟t mean anything. I just—” Sullivan‟s voice trailed off, almost as if he didn‟t know what to say. “Please sit down.” Dan did. He stared straight ahead, crossing his arms over his chest, not daring to look at Sullivan, uncertain himself why he felt so confused and wounded. “As I said, a part of me would love to go into that bedroom with 156

Caregiver you, to see you naked, to feel your skin pressed against mine. To suck your dick, to kiss you all over—don‟t think that kind of stuff hasn‟t run through my head, even before Adam passed. “But I think if we did that, it would be crossing a line neither of us is ready for. And, Hell, I may only be flattering myself to think you‟d even be willing to join me in the bedroom.” Dan said, so soft he himself barely heard it, “You‟re not.” Sullivan grinned. “But I think—and this sounds wild and out-inleft-field—we may have something more here and I don‟t want to rush it. I think we‟d have a very good time in that bedroom and I also think that, come morning, we might not be able to bear seeing each other again.” He paused. “I don‟t want that to happen.” Again, Dan felt warm inside. And when he repeated the words, “I should go,” they were not said with terror and hurt, but with an easy understanding that the evening had reached its logical conclusion. “Are you sure? You okay to drive? We have a guest room.” Dan chuckled, but not so happily. “I said „we‟, didn‟t I? There‟s a guest room. I promise I won‟t ravage you in the middle of the night.” Dan snorted. “Then I am definitely out of here.” Dan walked toward the door. “I‟m okay to drive. I‟ll be fine. Maybe I can stop by in a few days and pick up the pots and bowls.” “You better. And I‟ll cook for you next time.” “Okay.” “Okay.” Dan stood awkwardly at the door, smiling. “Are we doing the right thing?” “Who knows?” “Good night, Sullivan.” Dan opened the door without waiting for a reply, out into the balmy night, moist with humidity. He got in his car, thinking it was still early; he could drop by one of Tampa‟s gay bars, Howard Street maybe, or City Lights, and

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Caregiver Chapter Twenty

WEEKS passed. Summer almost imperceptibly faded into autumn, the only signifiers being the shortening of daylight hours and a few— though not many—of the trees shedding their leaves. Although it was now October, Dan believed it still felt like summer. In fact, he predicted that one day, if he no longer lived in the sunshine state, his time here in memory would be an era of endless summer. Dan‟s job went from part-time to full-time and he became adept at writing underwriting reports and prying sensitive information from life insurance applicants. He joined a gay racquetball league and enjoyed the camaraderie and the matches, held every Thursday night. Even more, he enjoyed the couple hours of cocktails at whatever gay bar was nearby and, once or twice, even took one of his teammates home for the night, although nothing ever developed from it. He thought of Adam often, but as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into a couple of months since his passing, he thought of him less and less. Dan supposed it was inevitable. Their brief time together would always be a treasured memory and Dan would forever long for just a few minutes more with Adam. Adam‟s memory would stay a hot touch of pain and loss, but in a sad way, that absence grew easier to bear with the passage of time. Sometimes, Dan would dream of him and the dream was always the same—them on a blanket at Ft. De Soto beach, a perfect summer day laid out before them like a gorgeous landscape painted in hues of aqua, taupe, and green. They would lie together, their warm, sun-heated bodies pressed close, not 159

Rick R. Reed talking, but with a great sense of contentment. The breeze would be salty and warm, and sometimes Dan could swear he could feel, in these nighttime interludes, the coarse brush of sand on his face as the wind lifted a few grains from the beach. Once in a while, he would awaken with not Adam‟s voice in his head, but Barbra Streisand‟s. The song was, more often than not, “He Touched Me.” Dan would always wake from these visits—and that‟s what he considered them, not dreams—from Adam feeling happy. The visits were gifts, a few bittersweet moments, and always too short. He would go about the rest of his day feeling especially close to Adam. The dreams, too, grew less frequent with the passage of time. Dan found himself longing for them, wishing there was a way he could force them to come back. For a while, he even tried reading some of Adam‟s letters from prison before he went to sleep at night, thinking that might conjure up a dream, but it seldom—if ever— worked. Dreams of Adam, much like Adam himself, kept to their own capricious and unpredictable schedule. Yet he never dreamed of Mark. And, curiously, he never heard another word from the man. As with Adam, the pain of Mark‟s absence grew less and less acute as the days on the calendar flew by, until now Dan hardly ever thought of his ex and what they had shared, good or bad. There was a certain restfulness to being done with the suspicion and mistrust that had haunted their final days together. He saw Sullivan every couple of weeks. He would go to Brandon or Sullivan would come to his apartment in Tampa and they would make dinner for one other. Both men loved to cook and each was good in the kitchen. Sullivan‟s specialties were comfort foods— macaroni and cheese, beef stew, chili, a roast chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. Dan shared his Italian heritage more and more with Sullivan, cooking up not only pots of pasta, but greens and beans, minestrone (which Dan called, as his family did, simply “minest”), pork chops seared in a cast-iron skillet with Swiss chard and garlic, stuff like that. They flirted with each other and sometimes a hand would linger too long on a thigh or their eyes would meet and they would hold the 160

Caregiver moment, getting lost in one another‟s eyes. And then the moment would pass, too quickly, and they might laugh with embarrassment as though they had done something foolish. But things never went further than that. Tonight, Dan was ready to change things. As he hurried around the kitchen this late-afternoon Sunday, he was determined to take Sullivan and his relationship to the next level. Months had passed since Adam‟s death, and even before he died, things with Sullivan had been strained, different—and Dan knew that Sullivan had begun his mourning process for the man he loved long before he was in the ground. It was sad but true. Tonight was Dan‟s turn to cook. He wanted to keep things light and simple (Calculated? Perhaps.). He had made a salad of oranges and arugula (what his mom called “rocket”); it chilled in the refrigerator. Dan would bring it out about an hour before dinner and dress it with a little olive oil and red wine vinegar, shaving a bit of Parmigiano-Reggiano on to it. Later he would take a couple medallions of veal, pound them almost paper-thin, dredge them in flour, and sauté them quickly in lemon and wine. A few roast potatoes with some rosemary and olive oil would round out the meal. A bottle of valpolicella chilled in the fridge. Nothing had really happened to bring Dan to this decision, this maybe upcoming act of seduction—nothing other than time passing and him knowing, more and more, that he wanted no one other than Sullivan. He loved Sullivan‟s quiet strength, his deep voice, his dark hair… and his long legs and broad shoulders. Hey, he wasn‟t too proud to admit he was in lust too. Over the months since Mark had left, Dan had tried to find someone other than Sullivan. He really had. At the racquetball league, at various bars, even at Passe a Grille beach on Sundays—he always found sex easily and quickly and that was okay, but it was like having a snack when you wanted a meal. He even dated a few guys properly, dinners and movies, but nothing ever stuck. And every time he was laughing and cooking in a kitchen with Sullivan, he knew why—the man before him was the one he wanted. 161

Rick R. Reed There was already, between them, a sense of home. Sometimes, the simple truth takes a while to hit you squarely in the face. So, a good meal, a nice bottle of wine, some candlelight… these tools of the romance trade had worked for generations, so why couldn‟t they work for him? Dan was pretty certain that Sullivan reciprocated his feelings. He was uncertain, though, if he was ready to act on them. The man still hurt a lot—unlike Dan, he had not played the field at all and Dan was pretty sure if something did happen tonight in his bed (on which he had just placed—optimistically— freshly laundered sheets), it would be the first time for Sullivan in a long time. Dan checked the refrigerator one final time to make sure he had everything he needed for the meal, then headed off to the shower, dropping his shorts and T-shirt along the way. Dan took his time in the shower, luxuriating in the spray of hot water and carefully washing every part of himself twice, just to be sure. He shampooed and conditioned. He shaved his face and, for good measure, his balls and the pubic hair above his cock, hoping for an optical illusion of added length. He had barely finished dressing, in loose-fitting linen pants and a pale blue T-shirt that accented his tan, when he heard a knock at the door. Barefoot, he hurried to answer it, his heart beginning to thud with excitement. Sullivan stood outside, grinning. He carried a handful, a half dozen or so, of irises. Somewhere along the way, Dan remembered telling him that the purple flowers were his favorite. Hmmm, maybe there‟s some telepathy going on here tonight between us. Perhaps I am not the only one with plans for a very special dessert. Dan smiled and opened the door wider. “What did I do to deserve flowers?” Sullivan stepped in. “That remains to be seen.” Dan stepped on tiptoe to give Sullivan a quick peck on the lips. “Thank you. You look great tonight.” And he did. Sullivan‟s simplicity only accentuated his masculine beauty. Tonight, he had on a pair of faded jeans, a crisp white button-down Oxford shirt with the 162

Caregiver sleeves rolled up to reveal his hairy forearms, and a pair of Topsiders, which he ditched almost immediately. Dan could not recall when he had seen such sexy feet. Sullivan had not shaved in what looked like a couple of days, and his dark stubble was several hours beyond five o‟clock. “Thanks, kid. You don‟t look so bad yourself. Those pants are scandalous.” Sullivan leered downward. Dan was glad the fact he hadn‟t bothered with underwear was taken in so quickly… and, it appeared, appreciated. “Dinner tonight is simple, just a few family favorites and a good bottle of wine.” Dan moved into the apartment. “Let me find something to put these in.” While he was searching for a vase to no avail (he discovered, to his chagrin, he didn‟t own one), Sullivan settled in on the couch. Dan made do with a jumbo tumbler, cut the flowers‟ stems and arranged them in the glass. He put the irises on the breakfast bar. The evening was off to a good start. “It‟s only gonna take a few minutes once I start cooking, so would you like a glass of wine, first? Or a beer?” “I‟ll take a beer. How about some music?” Sullivan crossed over to the stand where Dan had arranged his TV and stereo equipment. Sullivan squatted to peruse the CD tower next to it. He let out a little cry of delight. “Someone went shopping! Nina! And Billie Holliday! I‟m glad to see I‟m having a bit of influence on your musical tastes.” He turned on the receiver and CD player and within moments Nina Simone‟s smoky voice spilled into the apartment. Dan grinned. The first song of the evening was the very naughty and suggestive “Sugar in my Bowl.” Dan put the potatoes he had tossed in the pre-heated oven, took the salad out to temper, and grabbed two beers. He returned to the living room and sat next to Sullivan on the couch. They clinked their bottles together and drank at the same time. Dan had a fierce urge to lean over and transfer some of his own beer into Sullivan‟s mouth, but held himself in check. Take it slow, boy, slow. This isn‟t a race. It‟s about enjoying—hopefully—every moment. Dan was surprised he was able to get through the evening on 163

Rick R. Reed good behavior, in spite of how he hoped the evening would end up. His sexual encounters of late had had no elements of seduction— foreplay consisted of closing the front door and going at each other like animals, ripping off clothes, and being lucky if they made it to the bedroom instead of the couch or, sometimes, the dining table. Dan wanted—needed—for tonight to be different. The men enjoyed the meal Dan had prepared and Sullivan rhapsodized over the veal and confessed he had never had oranges in a salad before, or arugula, for that matter. “The bitter and the sweet go so well together.” Dan thought that the description could have been applied to Adam, but didn‟t say that. After the meal, they moved into the living room, where Dan produced another of his recent musical purchases, a greatest hits collection by Sarah Vaughan. Sullivan grinned when he brought it out. “A man after my own heart.” When “Make Yourself Comfortable” came on, Dan set his wine glass down on the coffee table, turned to Sullivan, and asked, “Would you care to dance?” Sullivan laughed self-consciously and a flush of crimson rose to his cheeks. “Really? Just us?” Dan looked around. “I don‟t see anyone else here. Please?” Dan stood, holding out his arms. If he doesn‟t stand up, like in five seconds, I am going to die of embarrassment. Sullivan finally did get to his feet and let Dan take him into his arms. They began moving in slow circles around the living room, their bodies pressed close. Once they bumped into the coffee table and giggled, but after a while, things went silent, save for the music, their breathing and, Dan would swear, the beating of their hearts. They stayed that way through two more songs, one of which had an inappropriate-for-slow-dancing tempo that did not deter them, and then the CD ended. “What do we do now?” Sullivan whispered into Dan‟s ear, his breath hot, causing what felt like a line of silken electricity to run up

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Caregiver and down Dan‟s spine. His dick bulged, almost painfully hard, out in front of him. He was sure Sullivan felt it… and not only because he was aroused, but because Sullivan was too. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted to pull away, though neither of them was moving any longer. So they stood, for what seemed like hours, just holding each other in the now almost-dark room, lit only by the taper candles flickering on the dining room table. “What would you like to do?” Dan whispered, cursing himself for not having a cleverer, or at least more assertive, response. “I don‟t think we need to talk about it.” Sullivan pulled away from him and stood, waiting. Dan took his hand and led him into the bedroom, stopping for a moment to blow out the candles on the table. Dan left only the Levelor blinds in the bedroom open for illumination. Outside, a nearly full moon had risen and it cast silvery slats upon the bed from where it shone in between the blinds. The light in the room was grayish and dim, just enough to make undressing less awkward than it was. Yet, once they had retreated into the bedroom and the course of the evening was locked into place, both men‟s passions seemed to have been replaced by, if not fear, then shyness. Neither said anything as they took off their clothes. Dan couldn‟t help eyeing Sullivan‟s figure, almost ghostly white in the moonlight, as he shed shirt and jeans. Dan did not miss the fact that Sullivan also hadn‟t bothered with wearing underwear that night. Dan took his time pushing his linen pants down, kicking them off, because he wanted just this moment to take Sullivan in. He wasn‟t perfect, but he was perfect for Dan. His body was lanky and he had just the beginnings of a tiny pot belly, but those things were more than compensated for by his broad shoulders, his smooth chest with its well-defined pecs, and the treasure trail of dark hair that pointed down in an arrow to what looked like a painfully erect cock. Dan sucked in a breath as he eyed it, its purple head raised straight up, as if it could smell him in the room. Dan laughed aloud at the analogy and Sullivan immediately 165

Rick R. Reed looked worried. “What? I know I need to lose a few pounds.” Dan went to him, naked, his own erection bouncing proudly in front of him. “No. No. I wasn‟t laughing at you. You‟re beautiful. It was just a silly thought. Please….” And Dan took Sullivan in his arms, their naked bodies coming together for the first time. The moment was magic, searing—the feel of all that skin pressed together was indescribably sensuous. Dan could feel Sullivan‟s cock spasming against his own belly and looked down. Sullivan pulled away from him, grinning sheepishly, and grabbing at the base of his cock. “That was close! I‟m sorry. It‟s been so long.” “Really?” “Yeah… it was a year ago, almost, the last time Adam and I were together, and even that wasn‟t any good. I was so afraid of catching something.” Sullivan sat down on the bed, his lean legs spread out before him, his cock still rising up from between his thighs. “Wasn‟t that silly?” Dan sat down next to him, leaning so that their shoulders touched. “No, it‟s not silly. People are dying out there, so I understand.” This was not a topic upon which Dan wanted to dwell at the moment, so he added, simply, “I just got tested, by the way, and I‟m negative.” “Good.” “And just to be sure, there are condoms and lube in the drawer over there.” Sullivan glanced to where Dan had pointed and nodded. “If we get that far.” “Hey, if you come, you come. Don‟t think I‟ll be disappointed. I don‟t care if it takes you a few minutes or a few hours. I just want to put a smile on your face.” Dan slid down to the floor, positioning himself between Dan‟s thighs, and looked up at him. “Should I start trying right now?” Sullivan nodded and Dan took him, with one fluid gulp, deep 166

Caregiver into his mouth. Sullivan cried out and Dan could feel muscles bunching and clenching everywhere but Sullivan didn‟t come. Sullivan clenched Dan‟s hair so tight it hurt, but Dan didn‟t complain. His mouth was full. Somehow, Sullivan managed to stave off orgasm for the next half hour or so, all through the protracted sixty-nine, the passionate kisses, and finally, the moment when Dan entered him, Sullivan on his back with his legs on Dan‟s shoulders, eyes looking upward and filled with trust. The moment softened Dan‟s heart, if nothing else. Once Dan slid inside his channel, there was no holding back for either of them. With a yell, and without even touching himself, Sullivan spurted long, arcing jets of come across his stomach and chest. The first ones hit the headboard and the pillow behind his head, then they gradually decreased, hitting his cheek, his chin, neck, stomach, and the last few drops pooled in his pubic hair. This sight sent Dan blasting off inside Sullivan and, although he had had sexual encounters in the recent past, he believed his orgasm was no less intense than Sullivan‟s. He collapsed, sweating, onto Sullivan‟s body. For a long time, Dan simply lay on top of Sullivan, holding him, allowing their heartbeats and respiration to return to normal. And then he felt something curious. It was as though Sullivan‟s body was quivering. Dan pressed himself even more against him, their bodies glued together by spent semen, listening. He realized Sullivan was crying. And not just a soft weeping, but sobbing. Dan reached down and grabbed his cock—and the condom—at the base and pulled out. He dropped the condom on the floor and rolled over so he lay next to Sullivan. Sullivan turned his head away, his shoulders still heaving. “Hey, hey. What‟s the matter?” Dan whispered. It took Sullivan a few moments to compose himself enough to speak. But when he could, he said, “I don‟t know. I‟m so happy. I‟m so sad.” He turned and looked at Dan, who could easily read the paradoxical mixture of anguish, relief, and affection on Sullivan‟s handsome features. “I never cheated. Not once. Even when we 167

Rick R. Reed stopped pretty much having sex. I could never be with anyone else… not in that way.” He touched Dan‟s chest, rolling a nipple lazily between his fingers, and then stopped. “I never cheated.” “And you‟re not cheating now.” “Why does it feel like it?” “Because you loved him—and, in his way, he loved you. But he would want you to be happy and, in a weird way, I kind of think he‟d like the idea that this first time was with me, someone who knew you both.” Dan swallowed and without even thinking about it, said, “Someone who loved—no, loves—you both.” “You don‟t love me. You hardly even know me.” “Yeah, I think I do.” Dan rolled over, so his body pressed against Sullivan‟s. “Know you. Love you.” He licked and kissed away the tears on Sullivan‟s cheeks, savoring their salty warmth because they were his. “I think I fell for you the moment I first came to your house and saw you walk in that door.” Dan paused for a moment, remembering. “And I think Adam saw it too.” Sullivan grinned. “He did—he said as much after you left.” Sullivan wrapped his arms around Dan and squeezed him. “Do you really think this is okay? You don‟t think it‟s—I don‟t know—a betrayal?” “I think it‟s great. And I think it‟s only going to get greater.” Almost too softly to hear, Sullivan said, “I think so too.” That night, Sullivan did not tell Dan he loved him, but Dan was glad—it would have been too soon. It was enough that he drifted off to sleep in Sullivan‟s arms.

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Caregiver Chapter Twenty-One

IT WAS Thanksgiving morning. Dan‟s mother had pleaded with him to come home for the holiday, but Dan got out of it by saying he just didn‟t have enough time off to consider making the trip north. It was a lie, but a kind one. Besides, he had another reason for wanting to stay in Tampa for Thanksgiving. Sullivan. Since that special “first” night together, the pair had been inseparable, and sometimes Dan himself couldn‟t believe how perfectly their hearts, souls, minds, and spirits meshed. Rather than a betrayal of Adam‟s memory, Dan saw their burgeoning love as more of a tribute—the coming together of the two men who cared most about Adam at the end of his life. It was a lovely thing. More and more, Sullivan spent nights and days off at Dan‟s apartment, making memorable love in every room and every position, cementing them even more soulfully together. But they also shared quiet times, cooking, or just watching TV, their arms and legs intertwined comfortably as they laughed through an episode of The Golden Girls or cried through one of The Wonder Years. They spent weekends at the beach, or rollerblading along Bayshore Boulevard, or walking the trails at Lettuce Lake Park. They seldom stayed at Sullivan‟s—there was still too much of Adam there. It had been his home too, and it just felt more right for the new couple to be in a place where thoughts of Adam did not conjure up a past.

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Rick R. Reed And today, Dan and Sullivan would celebrate their first holiday together. It was appropriate that it was Thanksgiving because Dan knew that each of them had a lot to give thanks for. Before him on the kitchen counter was a whole turkey. The night before, Dan had brined it in a solution of stock, rosemary, thyme, sage, salt, and brown sugar. Now, he massaged the flesh with olive oil and stuffed fresh rosemary and sage under the skin. He would fill the cavity with lemons and oranges, cut in half. It was going to be perfect. He‟d also make his mom‟s famous oyster stuffing, mashed sweet potatoes with orange zest and maple syrup, and a salad of baby greens, walnuts, dried cranberries and Maytag blue cheese. He recalled the conversation he‟d had with Sullivan about twenty minutes before. Sullivan, like a child, had been positioned in front of the TV, with a bowl of Frosted Flakes in his lap, watching the Macy‟s parade. “I hate to bother you,” Dan said. Sullivan turned around and Dan snickered at the small halfmustache of milk on his upper lip. “What?” “I don‟t have any kosher salt. I need it as the finishing touch for the skin. But I used it all up last night in the brine.” Sullivan moved easily to the kitchen, looking hot in only his boxers. Dan was tempted just to put everything on hold for an hour or so and wrestle the man into the bedroom. But there would be plenty of time for that later, once he got the turkey in the oven. As they did at his childhood home, Dan wanted his and Sullivan‟s holiday feast to take place early in the day. For one, it would help continue a small tradition, helping the couple define themselves as a family—which, more and more, Dan was convinced they were becoming. For another, it would allow them time for a nice after-dinner beach walk. Dan was thinking Passe a Grille beach, within view of the beautiful—and pink—Don Cesar hotel. Maybe that could be a new tradition to blend with the established one. Sullivan rummaged in the cupboards and it made Dan happy to see how familiar and comfortable he now was in the kitchen. He 170

Caregiver pulled out a box of Morton‟s. “Here‟s salt.” “It‟s not kosher. Not in any sense of the word.” Dan rolled his eyes. “But I‟ll miss the parade.” “Publix is just down the road and I know they‟re open today. You can be there and back in ten minutes. You won‟t miss much.” Sullivan frowned, but Dan knew he‟d do his bidding. Dan said, “I can‟t go. I have too much to do here.” “I offered to help.” “I know. But I wanted to do this for you—on my own. You‟re handling dessert.” “Pumpkin pie?” “Something like that. Now, would you do me a big favor and go pick up a box of kosher salt? You‟ll thank me later.” Dan paused. “I can throw a tape in the VCR and record the parade if you want, so you don‟t miss a minute of it.” Sullivan rolled his eyes. “I think I can stand to miss a few minutes. Don‟t worry about it.” And he was off to change into a Tshirt and shorts for the short trip to the grocery store. “Back in a flash,” Sullivan called over his shoulder as he headed out. Now, as Dan washed his hands, he heard a tentative knock at the door. He was surprised that Sullivan was back so quickly, but supposed it was possible. He wondered why he didn‟t just use his key or, for that matter, come on in. They seldom locked the door when they were home. But maybe his hands were too full. Dan dried his own hands quickly with a dishtowel and hurried to the door. “That has to be the quickest Publix run on record,” he shouted. He didn‟t bother to look through the peephole. And when he swung the door open, he wished he had. The smile vanished immediately from his face, to be replaced with a look, Dan supposed, of utter shock. His mouth dropped open. Mark stood there, his smile firmly in place, and holding a bouquet of cosmos in his hand. He looked like a suitor. 171

Rick R. Reed For a moment, Dan was too stunned to say anything. After a few seconds, he managed to close his gaping mouth and get his tongue in position, so it was connected up to his brain again and he was able to ask a coherent question. “Mark! My God, what are you doing here?” Quickly, almost guiltily, he leaned around his former boyfriend and scanned the parking lot, searching for any sign of Sullivan. What would Sullivan think? “It‟s been a long journey back to you, Dan. But here I am. These are for you.” Mark held the flowers out, and Dan wasn‟t sure what to do. He didn‟t want to take them. He didn‟t want to ask Mark in. He just wanted him to go away—and fast. In the end, reluctantly, he took the flowers from Mark‟s outstretched hand, breathed a whispered “thanks,” and let the bouquet hang at his side. “Aren‟t you going to let me in?” Mark cocked his head, the carefully prepared smile fading from his features. Dan looked him over more closely. Mark had changed. It wasn‟t just the crisp, pressed khakis and blue button-down shirt he wore, but the essence of vitality and health he had about him. His skin glowed. His hair—looking freshly cut—gleamed in the morning light. And his eyes! His dark brown eyes seemed clearer than he had seen them in years. Seeing them this way, with the white pristine and free of red veins or a yellowish cast, shining, made Dan realize how awful Mark had looked most of their time together. It was as though the man had stepped into a time machine and erased years off his features. He was whole again—as he was when he and Dan had first met. “If you don‟t move aside and let me come in, I‟m going to think you don‟t want me here.” Mark laughed, but there was a lot of anxiety behind the short bark. “You do want me here, don‟t you?” Even though the answer to that question really was, “No, I don‟t want you here,” Dan simply stepped back, opening the door wider. He allowed Mark to follow him inside. He busied himself finding the tumbler he used for flowers, filling it, and arranging the cosmos within it. Finished, he set it on the breakfast bar. “These look beautiful.” Dan found it nearly impossible to meet Mark‟s gaze, which he could feel had been leveled on him, trained with the 172

Caregiver intensity of a laser. Mark moved to stand on the other side of the breakfast bar, facing Dan, who still stood in the kitchen. He refused to meet Mark‟s stare, instead fussing with some of the herbs he had chopped, putting them into small bowls. “What‟s going on?” Dan laughed. “What do you mean?” “Do you have company?” Dan did look up then, watching as Mark crossed the short distance to the bedroom door. He peeked inside. Dan swallowed. Why did he feel guilty, as though he had been caught at something? He and Mark had broken up months ago. He wasn‟t doing anything wrong! So why did he feel like a cheater caught red-handed? The impulse was irrational, ridiculous, yet there it was. The heart knows no logic. “I do. I do have company.” Dan rinsed his hands at the sink, even though they were clean. “He ran out to Publix. He‟ll be back any minute.” Mark plopped down on the couch. It felt like an invasion. Dan glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed, but how much longer would it be until Sullivan returned? What would happen then? “A boyfriend?” There was a hint of a sneer in the query. Dan sighed. There was no reason for him not to be forthcoming with Mark, yet he remembered, deep down, how awful Mark‟s temper could be, and a part of him didn‟t want to incur his wrath. He certainly didn‟t want Sullivan to be a witness to it. But there was nothing else to do but tell the truth and really, no reason on earth not to. “Yes. Yes, a boyfriend. His name is Sullivan. We‟ve been seeing each other for almost two months now.” Dan stared at the back of Mark‟s head, noticing how close his hair had been clipped, almost a buzz cut. His neck looked white and his sandy blond hair had faded to a dull brown. Wherever he had been over the past few months, it had not been in the sun. There were, Dan had to admit, a whole lot of questions he wanted to ask Mark, but now 173

Rick R. Reed was not the time. “I see,” Mark said, slowly. “Maybe it was a mistake coming here.” “Well, it would have been nice if you had called first, you know?” Dan laughed, trying to ease the blow of the words. “I mean, you‟ve been gone for months without a single word and then you just show up unannounced on my doorstep.” Dan could feel it—mixed in with the anxiety was a growing, buzzing fury. Mark had no right. But, oh, how he did not want the day to go this way! He felt like he was heading toward some kind of confrontation and the feeling resembled hurtling toward a cliff. “Your doorstep?” Mark laughed bitterly, standing. “I thought it was ours. We moved down here together and if I recall right, I‟m the one who found this apartment.” “What? Do you want it back?” Mark had been in the midst of crossing the room, presumably, Dan thought, to join him in the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks at the question. “No.” “What do you want, then?” “I want you back.” Mark bit his lower lip and his brown eyes stared at Dan beseechingly. Just then, the door opened and Sullivan walked in, carrying a bag from the grocery store. Dan could read what was going on in Sullivan‟s head pretty clearly. If he had to guess, Dan would say Sullivan doubted his own eyes. In the space of a few minutes‟ absence, one man had now multiplied to two. And the two men were frozen in a moment of discomfort and pain. His smile withered from his face. “What‟s going on?” Dan felt bile splash at the back of his throat. Of all the things he might have predicted would happen on this Thanksgiving Day, this was not one of them. He didn‟t know how to answer Sullivan‟s question because he wasn‟t sure he knew the answer himself. Once more he would retreat into the last refuge of the unimaginative—the truth.

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Caregiver “Sullivan. This is Mark. Mark—Sullivan.” The two men, one a former lover, the other current, stared at each other across the room. Neither moved to shake hands. Neither smiled. “Are you going to close the door?” Dan asked weakly. Sullivan closed the door and set down the bag on the coffee table. “I got your salt.” “Thanks.” For several moments, the room was filled to capacity with an uncomfortable silence, almost like a third presence. Then Sullivan laughed—and Dan could not recall when he had last heard a more uncomfortable or anxious sound. Sullivan said, “So are we having a guest for dinner? You didn‟t mention it, Dan.” Mark looked at Dan, almost as if he were expecting an invitation. Fat chance. Dan supposed they needed to talk, but now was not the time. “Would you mind if I stayed, Dan? I spent the last couple of days driving down here—all the way from Rhode Island.” Rhode Island? What on earth was Mark doing in Rhode Island? The locale sounded as exotic and strange as if he had said he had been in Fiji. Mark went on. “I‟ve got no place else to go.” This wasn‟t fair. This absolutely was not fair. Mark was being manipulative, trying to exploit Dan‟s kindness and his distaste for confrontation. But what could he do? Mark had brought flowers. And—as he said—he had nowhere else to go. Dan! Dan. That‟s not your problem. You didn‟t create this situation, sweetheart. He brought this all on. He did not call you first. He arrived on a holiday without a word of warning. The hell with him. Don‟t you dare tell him he can stay. If you‟re even considering it, just think how horrible and uncomfortable that dinner is going to be, with the three of you gathered around the table. Thankful?! You‟ll be praying, all right, but not with gratitude, but for deliverance. Dan listened to the thoughts in his head, knuckles whitened, 175

Rick R. Reed gripping the counter for support. The curious thing about those thoughts was that they did not sound like his own internal voice, but Adam‟s. Sullivan simply looked from Mark to Dan and back again. Dan couldn‟t quite read what was going through his head, but was willing to bet one of the thoughts was not that Mark should stay. Dan felt sick, really sick, to his stomach, wondering if he would have to run into the bathroom and throw up. Sullivan noticed it. “Honey? Are you feeling okay? You look pale.” Dan‟s mouth was dry. He had to work to summon up enough spit to respond to Sullivan. “You know, I am feeling a little under the weather.” He tried to summon a smile and failed. “Came on all of a sudden. I think I‟m gonna go lie down for a bit.” He moved from the kitchen toward the bedroom, stopping in front of Mark. “I‟m sorry, but I‟m gonna have to ask you to go.” “What?” Mark seemed flabbergasted. Didn‟t he get it? This was so wrong! Dan knew he understood perfectly well. Mark was many things, but stupid had never been one of them. Sullivan piped up. “He‟s not feeling well, Mark.” Mark nodded, but made no move to leave. “Please,” Dan whispered, getting closer to him, close enough to smell the Fahrenheit cologne he had splashed himself with. “Can we talk some other time? I do want to hear what‟s been going on with you. But now‟s not good. Not today. I‟m sorry.” Dan expected Mark to react with anger, but he only lowered his head and stared at the floor. He looked hurt. “I‟ll go,” he said softly, with little inflection. He moved toward the door. Dan worried that Sullivan might not like what he was about to say to Mark, but Dan was trapped—the old rock and a hard place. He moved toward Mark and touched him gently on the arm. “I really do want to know how you‟re doing, what‟s been going on with you. Can you give me a call? We can make a time to meet.” Mark‟s eyes lit up a bit and he grinned, more at Sullivan than at Dan. 176

Caregiver This means you won nothing, honey, so don‟t so look so pleased with yourself. Again his thoughts sounded as though they were couched in Adam‟s voice. Once more, Dan expected a snarky reply, something along the lines of “What? Now I need to make an appointment to see you?” But Mark only said, “Okay. I assume the number‟s still the same?” “Still the same.” Dan opened the door. He looked into his exlover‟s dark eyes and could clearly read the pain there. Part of him wanted to talk more to him, to invite him back in, but he just couldn‟t do that to Sullivan. Yet here was a man he had once loved, and it wasn‟t as easy as Dan would have liked to just shove him out the door and go on again blithely with his day. Mark walked by him, without a word. Dan called after him, “Try to have a nice holiday!” and then realized how inane and futile it sounded. He closed the door. Sullivan had gone into the kitchen, and Dan saw he had set the box of kosher salt out on the counter. He was balling up the Publix bag to throw in the trashcan under the sink. He didn‟t look at Dan. Dan felt marginally better now that the immediate threat and tension had departed. But he worried how Mark‟s visit might have affected Sullivan, so the cloying nausea remained, only not as strong. “That was weird.” Dan tried to laugh, but it came out more as a hiccup. “Yeah. Weird.” Sullivan came out of the kitchen and returned to his spot on the couch. When he didn‟t move to turn the TV on, Dan asked, “Aren‟t you going to finish watching the parade?” Sullivan shook his head. “Ah. I‟m not really in the mood for a parade anymore.” Dan sighed and sat down next to him. He scratched his head and rubbed the skin on the back of his neck. Tentatively, he placed a hand on Sullivan‟s arm. “You‟re not mad, are you? Sullivan, I swear, I had no idea he was even back in town, let alone—” 177

Rick R. Reed “I know you didn‟t know. That was obvious.” Sullivan toyed with a loose thread at the bottom of his shorts, then looked up at Dan. “But what else was obvious was that there‟s still something between the two of you.” Dan watched his throat muscles contract as he swallowed. “That was also obvious.” Dan considered denying it, but realized, even before the words left his mouth, that Sullivan was right. With Mark leaving the way he did, there had never been any closure, and Dan realized he wanted— no, he needed—to at least talk to Mark, to see where things stood and what had happened to him when he was away. Dan said softly, “You‟re right.” He waited a few seconds, then added, “But it doesn‟t change how I feel about you.” Sullivan nodded, but didn‟t say anything in response. He picked up the remote and turned the TV on. The sounds of the parade, weird and overly cheerful, filled the room. Dan sat there next to Sullivan, staring at the TV screen but not seeing. After a while, he said, “I better get back to work on our dinner.”

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Caregiver Chapter Twenty-Two

IT

HAD been a quiet Thanksgiving dinner, and not in that

companionable manner that Dan had relished between him and Sullivan, but in a tense, ill-at-ease way. Both men made approving sounds about the dinner Dan had prepared and both ate well, indulging in second helpings of everything and even eating a big slice of the pumpkin pie Sullivan had brought over, topped with Dan‟s homemade whipped cream. They even made the usual comments about being stuffed and how the turkey had made each sleepy. A football game came on in the living room, not out of any interest in sports, but because it was traditional. It also helped to fill the silence. Both of them, Dan knew, were preoccupied with thoughts of Mark, who might as well have stayed, as much as his presence remained stamped on the day. Dan hoped Sullivan was not thinking he still carried a torch for Mark. It was true there was unfinished business between them, but he didn‟t think that carried over to still having feelings for the man. Who are you trying to kid, kid? Even you don‟t buy that malarkey about no longer caring. You‟ve got yourself in a real pickle here. Admit it. Adam‟s voice in Dan‟s head was getting irritating, reverence for the recently dead or not. As the holiday night wound down to a close, Sullivan stretched on the couch, throwing his arms above his head and yawning. “Tired?”

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Rick R. Reed Sullivan nodded. “Don‟t take this the wrong way, but I think I‟ll go sleep in my own bed tonight.” He grinned. “I‟m just too stuffed. A little drive and the fresh air will do me good.” He looked pointedly at Dan. “And with my belly this full, I doubt I‟d be any fun.” He paused. “Is that okay?” Dan wanted to say, No, it‟s not okay. You‟re punishing me. We both knew that all along you would spend the night here and your excuses are feeble and about as transparent as those sliding glass doors in front of us. You could still stay over. We don‟t have to have sex. We no longer, in fact, have sex each and every time we sleep together. I was looking forward to falling asleep next to you with the hopes that sleep and a night beside each other would bring us into a morning free of the tension that has dogged us all day. But what Dan really said was, “Sure. I understand.” Dan spent a restless night, alone, yet not alone, in his bed. Ghosts of three other men, two living and one dead, taunted him throughout the long night with their different and opposite positions and opinions. Dan rose before the sun, exhausted. He went into the kitchen to make coffee in hopes that a jolt of caffeine would make him feel a tad closer to normal, if not exactly energetic. At around ten, the phone rang. Dan hurried to answer it, hoping it was Sullivan, calling to confess he‟d spent an equally miserable night without Dan and was on his way over. “Hello?” Dan could not keep the hope out of his voice. “Hey, it‟s me.” “Hi Mark.” Dan went into the living room with the phone and sat down. “What‟s up?” “I was hoping I could see you today. You don‟t have to work, do you?” “No, I‟m off.” Dan cursed himself for being honest when a perfect excuse stared him right in the face. But he would have to deal with Mark sooner or later. He hoped Sullivan would see it the same way.

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Caregiver “Good.” Mark didn‟t say anything for a few seconds. “So, can I come over?” Dan thought about that. Having Mark here just seemed somehow wrong. It had once been their home, and even though there were bad memories associated with that time, there were good ones as well. Dan didn‟t have any idea of what was about to happen or what they would talk about, but instinct told him it would be better if they met on neutral ground. “Actually,” Dan said, standing to peer out through the glass sliding doors. “I‟m craving a Cuban sandwich. Maybe we could meet for lunch. Le Teresita?” Dan suggested one of Tampa‟s cheapest, best, and most established Cuban eateries. “On Columbus?” “Yeah, you know. You loved that place.” Mark sounded hesitant. “I just thought I could come over. I have a lot to tell you.” “It‟ll be fun. Noisy. Lively. I need a change of pace. I‟ll treat!” What Dan wasn‟t saying was that he didn‟t really want to be alone with Mark. What Dan didn‟t want to probe too closely in his own mind was why he didn‟t want to be by himself with the man. “I guess it‟s okay. I haven‟t had real Cuban food in ages. But can you make me a promise?” “What‟s that?” Something with sharp teeth began to gnaw at the inside of Dan‟s gut. “That if we need more time to talk, we can come back to our, I mean your, place after we eat.” “Let‟s just play it by ear,” Dan said quickly, and just as fast added, “See you around twelve thirty? Meet you out front?” “Yeah. Sure.” They disconnected.

JUST as Dan had hoped, the bustling Cuban restaurant with its 181

Rick R. Reed horseshoe-shaped counters was crowded with post-holiday patrons, hungry for the kinds of food that didn‟t appear on most American Thanksgiving tables—Puerco Asado (roast pork that melted in one‟s mouth), ropa vieja (shredded beef) and arroz con pollo (chicken with rice). They had to wait for about fifteen minutes for two side-by-side seats to open up at the counter. Dan ordered a Cuban sandwich, with a side of fried plantains, and Mark simply asked for a couple of ham croquettes and a bowl of chick pea soup. When their food had been put before them, Dan asked the question foremost on his mind. “So where the hell have you been?” He smiled to soften the query and took a bite of his Cuban. “Where do you think?” “Rehab?” “Bingo. In Rhode Island. It was a place my mom knew, well, knew intimately. As you know, she‟s had her own troubles and she had a relationship with the place and was able to get me in at a reduced rate. I still owe. Lots.” Mark took a bite of his croquetta. He chewed for a moment and said, “It was the best thing I ever did.” He looked at Dan. “Other than meeting you, of course.” He smiled, and Dan busied himself with the fried plantains. Over lunch, Mark told Dan about his three-month stay at Hope Rises, the rehab facility where, he said, he “confronted his demons” and realized “he was not the one in the driver‟s seat.” He smiled at Dan as they drank their cortiditos, the thick, black coffee syrupysweet and delicious. “Letting go and accepting that there was a higher power in charge of my life made it a lot easier to get off the coke. The Twelve Steps saved my life.” “Are you still going to meetings?” “Oh yeah, the first thing I did when I got back down here was to find out where the meetings were.” Mark shoved his empty plate away. “It‟s been rough! Especially those first few weeks, I was so tempted to just walk out of that place. I had it up to my eyeballs with what I thought were their cornball platitudes and shit, but now I look back and I know it was the coke demon inside me making me think that way. Once I was able to „let go and let God‟ as they say, things 182

Caregiver started to get a bit easier.” Dan toyed with the paper napkin in front of him and finally balled it up and set it on his plate, where all that remained were a few crumbs. “So you think you‟re clean now? Cured?” Dan was surprised when Mark shook his head. “Oh no. It doesn‟t work that way. If I started thinking I was „cured‟ or not an addict any more, that would just open the doors to a whole world of temptation and, eventually, acting out. No, I think I‟m recovering and I hope and pray that I will continue to recover for the rest of my life.” Mark met Dan‟s gaze with earnest eyes. “That‟s what I ask my higher power for every morning when I start my day.” Dan wasn‟t sure he knew the person sitting next to him. He was glad Mark had gotten clean, and even though the man had kept the more serious aspects of his addiction a secret (mostly) from him, he had this odd feeling of sitting next to a stranger. Mark definitely looked better—there was a vibrancy and vitality about him now that caused him to practically glow, yet Dan couldn‟t help but feel suspicious and wonder where the real Mark was hiding—and when he would pop out again. Mark interrupted Dan‟s reverie. “One of the things, as you probably know, about recovery, is making amends to the people your selfish and reckless behavior harmed.” Mark covered Dan‟s hand with his own for a moment and Dan snatched it away, surveying the traditional Cuban restaurant to see if anyone had seen. This was not the place for many things. Dan started to feel a racing of his pulse as he considered how Mark‟s mea culpa might affect him. “I do want to apologize to you, honey.” He caught himself. “I mean Dan. I‟m genuinely sorry for the lies, the sneaking around, and the just not being there for you.” “It‟s okay,” Dan said, feeling more nervous and flustered than he rationally thought he had a reason to. “No, it‟s not okay. I hurt you and not only do I say I‟m sorry for that, but I want to make it up to you.” Dan nodded. He didn‟t know what “making it up” to him would mean. Suddenly, the noisy restaurant and all the strange bodies 183

Rick R. Reed pressed so close made him feel claustrophobic, as though he were working to take in air. “Listen,” he said, a little breathless, “I really need to get out of here.” “Is it okay if we go back to your place?” Dan briefly considered a drive, perhaps even parking somewhere off the Courtney Campbell Causeway, but then thought how earnest his former boyfriend was and that such a suggestion might minimize what he was trying to offer him. So he simply nodded. They settled up with their waitress and left.

AFTER they got home, and had gotten comfortable on the patio with glasses of iced tea, Mark continued with what Dan thought of as his “heart-baring.” He listened, while staring out at the water of the pond in front of them, as Mark described his journey, the people he had met in rehab, the realizations he came to about himself, the group therapy sessions and how much he had learned. “I know I can cope now. The drugs were an escape.” Dan didn‟t know what to say. He watched as sudden storm clouds gathered on the horizon. Mark‟s voice became a drone, competing with the darkening, gathering clouds, with their bruised hues of purple and gray. Finally, something Mark said shook him out of his reverie as much as the first, fat raindrop landing on his forearm. “One of the things I learned was that my addiction was an escape. I know now that, for a long time, things weren‟t right between us.” The rain started coming down harder as Mark turned to him. “It was my fault, mostly, but I understand myself better now. I want to try again, Dan. I need you.” Were those tears on Mark‟s cheeks or simply raindrops? “We should get inside before we get drenched.” Without waiting for a response, Dan got up from his chair and hurried to the door, not looking back to see if Mark followed. In the living room, they sat down next to one another on the 184

Caregiver couch. Dan didn‟t know what to say, so silence reigned for several minutes. What was there to say, anyway? Words did not rise up in Dan‟s mind in response to Mark‟s proclamation, but an image—of Sullivan. After Dan‟s silence lingered for an uncomfortably long period, Mark finally spoke again, his voice soft. “Did you hear me?” Dan didn‟t want to play coy, so he ignored his impulse that told him to claim he hadn‟t heard, so he simply nodded. Mark touched his face. “Of all the shit that went on in my life— an alcoholic single mom who never met a man she didn‟t like, the dead-end jobs, the dead-end boyfriends, you, Dan, were always the shining star.” He laughed. “I know, I know. That sounds corny, but I mean it. You were the one good and decent thing that let me know I wasn‟t just damaged goods. Your loving me let me know I counted; that I was worth something.” Mark‟s lower lip quivered, but he took in a deep breath and held it together. “You were kind of like a mirror that threw back a reflection of a man who was good, or at least could be.” Mark swallowed. “And that scared me, I think. Made me afraid I couldn‟t live up to the expectation in your eyes. Made me wonder if I was really deserving of the love of a guy like you. That‟s where the drugs came in. They let me stop thinking I wasn‟t worthy. They made me feel good. But it was an empty good, a big, fat, fucked-up lie. “I see now that I can be the guy you fell in love with. I can give you the good you saw in me.” Mark removed his hand from Dan‟s face—he had been gently stroking his cheek as he spoke. Mark quieted and Dan knew he was waiting for a response. And Dan, surprising even himself, was torn. Here before him was not a strange Mark, but the Mark he had fallen in love with way back when. Here was the Mark he knew, he always knew, hid inside the user and abuser, damaged by pain inflicted by a mother who didn‟t care and a society who had never really seen his worth, not as Dan had. Here was the decent Mark, the whole Mark, the one who was capable of giving and receiving love. Dan closed his eyes and let his head loll back on the couch, unable to speak. Oh my God. The thought hit him with the force of a 185

Rick R. Reed brick to the face. I still love this man. He needs me. What am I going to do? I can‟t just turn away from such soul-searching honesty. How can I be so heartless as to say something like, „Sorry. There‟s someone else now‟? Dan opened his eyes and looked into Mark‟s dark brown ones; the irises had always reminded him of dark chocolate, rich, mysterious, and maybe even a little bitter. Without thinking, he leaned toward Mark, with his lips parted, ready to kiss him. He jerked back. No! No. No. Don‟t let the physical enter into this. Not right now. It will only confuse things. He stood suddenly, going to the sliding glass doors and staring out at the storm. The rain came down in sheets, the dark skies illuminated every couple of minutes by flashes of lightning that gave the day a bluewhite intensity. Does life never quiet? Do the conflicts never cease? I‟ve had so much to contend with these past few months—meeting and losing Adam, losing Mark, my own AIDS scare, meeting and working things out with Sullivan. Just when I think things are settling into a somewhat comfortable groove—a nice boyfriend, a boring but stable job, an apartment I like—God has to say, “No, no, no! You‟re getting too complacent down there. What can I do to shake things up? How can I knock the pins out from under this guy?” and He sends Mark careening back into my life, bringing up feelings I thought were as dead and buried as Adam. Dan turned back to Mark, simply looking at him for several moments—his stocky build, the hair once blond, shorn close to his scalp, that now seemed dark enough to qualify as brown, the waiting, hopeful expectation written large all over his handsome features. Don‟t say it. Don‟t say it, Mark, please. But Mark did. “I love you, Dan. I never stopped.” Mark smiled and it was a guileless, innocent expression, one filled with remembered joy. It nearly broke Dan‟s heart because he knew he was the source of that joy. “The one thing that kept me going all through rehab was the belief that you were down here, waiting for me to come back.” Mark laughed. “I even kept a picture of you above my bed. You remember the one? I took it of you when we went canoeing on the Hillsborough River when we first came down here. Remember 186

Caregiver that day?” “We saw a nest of baby alligators,” Dan recalled. “And another alligator, about six feet long, came swimming near our canoe. You wanted to get closer so you could take a picture. I was terrified.” Mark grinned, nodding. “Anyway, the picture was taken before you saw any of that, when you had just gotten in the boat and you were smiling and holding the paddle up, like you couldn‟t wait to get going.” All at once, the warm, perfect day on the river rushed back to him and Dan recalled Mark taking the picture. It was a good photo, not so much because his smile was just so and the lighting was perfect, reflecting off the river‟s green water, but because it represented how he had felt that day. Back then, they hadn‟t even found their apartment yet and were staying in a cheap motel off the highway. They had just come down from Chicago, leaving the cold threat of winter behind as though they had traversed time as well as distance. Dan had thought they had left all of Mark‟s demons behind in the city, and the canoe ride and the trip south represented a new start. Dan‟s soul had felt clean, refreshed. That day had been a new beginning. He understood why Mark loved the photo. But Dan couldn‟t help but also wonder how much he could trust this new beginning, the one thrust in front of him right now. Just for arguments sake, what would happen if Dan did take him back? Would Mark find a job? He blurted it out without thinking. “How are you fixed for work, Mark?” “I already got a job, you‟ll be happy to know. I‟m selling cars again, at a Honda dealership in Temple Terrace. I‟ve only been working a few days, but I‟ve already sold two and the place does a great business.” “Wow, that‟s great.” One obstacle down…. But how would Dan know Mark wouldn‟t start using again? What guarantees did he have that Mark wouldn‟t one day, in a moment of weakness, call up that same dealer again and begin the cycle anew? Didn‟t addicts relapse 187

Rick R. Reed all the time? You don‟t know. You don‟t have guarantees. Love is about trust. It‟s about faith. It‟s about believing in the person you love. Dan got up and moved over to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and began rummaging around in it, not knowing what he was looking for. Something inside him ached, something he didn‟t want to acknowledge or face. He realized he had grown these past few months. The old Dan would have been in Mark‟s arms now, making forgiving sounds and perhaps even urging Mark into the bedroom. But Dan was no longer the same person he was when Mark had gone out of his life just a few months ago. Pain and loss had forged growth—and so had knowing an incredible man who stayed strong until his very early and premature end. Dan knew what ached inside. He closed the refrigerator and leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the back of Mark‟s head until the man turned and looked at him. Oh God! I do love that face. That hope I see there just makes me want to melt. “What?” Mark asked, grinning. How can I break his heart? He‟s worked so hard! He‟s clean. He has a job. He‟s a beautiful man. But what aches is the answer to my thoughts of a moment ago. Love is about faith. It‟s about trust. And as much as I want to believe, I don‟t have those things for Mark anymore. He broke my trust too many times. He risked my own life with his careless behavior, his partying, and infidelity. He may be in a different place now. Good for him. But it‟s not a place I can be. Dan crossed the room and sat down. He took Mark‟s hands in his own, gripping them tightly. He made sure their eyes met and locked. “Mark. I‟m so proud of you. You did the right thing.” He stopped, not sure he could go on, not sure he had it in him to wound the optimistic face before him. He had to. “But things are different now. I didn‟t just sit here while you were gone, in a vacuum, waiting. I grew and changed too. And what we had, when it was good, was

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Caregiver very, very good.” Dan grinned. “But when it was bad, it was horrid. You know that.” Dan drew in a deep breath, shaking his head. “And the sad truth, my sad truth, is I don‟t know if I can just forget everything. Can I forgive you? I can and do. I probably did that a long time ago, just so I could move on.” Dan touched Mark‟s face as the hope began to flee from it, to be replaced first by wariness, then despair. “But I can‟t forget and I don‟t know if I can ever trust again.” Mark‟s brow furrowed and he didn‟t say anything for a moment, thinking. “I get that. But couldn‟t we just try? Couldn‟t we start over?” Dan was not at all sure they could, even if Sullivan was not in the picture. His trust—his faith—had been too badly broken. Yes, there was a kind of love still present for Mark, but it was a nostalgic, brotherly affection, one based on remembering the good memories and forgetting the bad; it was love without a spark. Dan didn‟t want to tell him that. What would be the point? It would only wound Mark even more. Instead, he said, “Mark. There‟s someone else. Sullivan. You met him on Thanksgiving. I—” Dan‟s voice trailed off for a moment. “I love him.” Dan expected rage. He did not expect tears. Mark simply crumpled, wordless. His head dropped into his hands and he began to weep, softly, his shoulders shaking. This display of anguish was almost enough to cause Dan to renege on everything he had just said, to make a promise to get rid of Sullivan and be there for Mark. Almost. But Dan clung tightly to his newfound inner strength and knew he couldn‟t jeopardize his own happiness to take care of Mark. That wouldn‟t be, he realized, nurturing someone, but enabling them. Things were over between him and Mark. They were over the day he told him to leave. Yes, a part of him wanted Mark to find a way out of the hell he had created for himself with the drugs, but that hope was not based on him coming back to Dan whole. That hope was one Mark had nurtured on his own. Dan felt bad for that, but he couldn‟t take responsibility for it, no matter how much a tiny, whining 189

Rick R. Reed part of him continued to tell him he should. He placed a hand on Mark‟s shoulder, trying to peer into the face Mark hid with his hands. “I‟m sorry. I really care for you, Mark, and I want only good for you. But what we had…what we had….” He sighed, blowing out a big breath and staring up at the ceiling. “It‟s over.” The words only made Mark cry harder, so Dan did what any good friend—and not lover—would do: he took the man in his arms. Mark clung to him desperately, pulling him close and sobbing. He choked out the words, “I love you so much, Dan. The whole time I was away I kept thinking this will all be worth it because Dan is waiting at the other end. My Danny….” Dan made slow circles on Mark‟s back. He whispered, “That‟s romantic and sweet to hear, but we both know that isn‟t quite true. And it shouldn‟t be. You didn‟t get clean for me, did you? I hope not. I realize I entered into it, but I hope you got clean for yourself. That‟s the only way it‟s going to stick.” Mark kissed his neck, nuzzling his face into the hollow. The wetness of his lips, along with the contrast of the stubble on Mark‟s face, was causing Dan to get excited in spite of himself. He could not, would not, let this lapse into a moment where something he knew he‟d regret might happen, all because the flow of blood moved from one head to another. “See?” Mark whispered. “You‟re right. You‟re so smart—it‟s why I love you.” Mark hugged him harder, practically pulling Dan onto his lap. Mark said, “We‟re not getting back together, are we?” “No.” The simple word felt like a release for Dan and he was at last able to give Mark the simple physical comfort he needed at this difficult moment, holding him close, stroking his hair, running his hands up and down his torso. He allowed Mark‟s head to rest on his shoulder. Dan tensed as he heard a key in the lock and remembered all at once giving Sullivan a key just last week. Before he could disengage from his embrace with Mark, Sullivan had the door open and stood staring at the two of them, mouth open in shock and dismay. 190

Caregiver Before Dan could speak—before, really, he could do anything— Sullivan had turned, gone back out, and softly closed the door behind him.

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Rick R. Reed Chapter Twenty-Three

“SHIT.” Dan whispered, wriggling to free himself from Mark‟s embrace. He glanced briefly at Mark, whose eyes were rimmed in red, glistening with the tears he had shed. Snot clung to his upper lip. Outside, the rain had abated to a soft patter and Dan‟s gaze moved to the closed door. He was still too stunned to know what to do, to put his feet into motion, or to at least say something. Ironically, it was Mark who spoke up, motivating Dan. “Aren‟t you going to go after him?” Dan glanced at Mark, surprised that he would make such a suggestion—surprised and very touched. He reached out and gently touched Mark‟s lips, whispering, “Thank you.” He roused himself from the couch and ran outside into the now misty, humid day. It was like a blanket of warm damp out here, like a steam room, and Dan looked around desperately for some sign of Sullivan, despairing when he didn‟t see him. God, those few minutes I hesitated were critical. He sure managed to make a quick getaway. Dan was about to turn back to the apartment when he spied Sullivan, standing by a kumquat tree across the small lake fronting his apartment. His arms folded across his chest, he stared out at the raindotted water. Dan wasn‟t at all sure he even noticed him. Quickly, Dan traversed the curving sidewalk that would bring him to Sullivan. He looked at Dan as he approached, regarding him warily. He didn‟t smile. Cautiously, as though he were coming close to an animal that 192

Caregiver might bolt, or worse, strike, Dan moved closer, so he was within earshot. “I know it sounds like a cliché, but it‟s true—that wasn‟t what it looked like.” Sullivan turned a little more toward him, but still didn‟t say anything. At least he‟s not running away. At least he appears as though he might listen. Still, I hate that frown—and the fact that I put it there. Sullivan shrugged. “What it looked like was two hot guys locked in a passionate clutch.” He smiled, but there was only bitterness in it. Dan took a step closer. “I know. I know. But will you just listen?” “That‟s what I was doing. And let me say right off the bat, don‟t insult my intelligence by trying to feed me some bullshit line. I can smell BS a mile away.” “Will you come back inside? Where we can talk?” “With him in there? No way.” Dan felt the drip of the warm rain on his neck, wetting his hair, and decided it didn‟t matter. “Mark just got out of rehab.” “Bully for him.” Dan shook his hand. “Don‟t. Bitterness doesn‟t become you.” He went on. “He just got out of rehab, got clean, and got a job. He wants us to get back together.” Sullivan‟s grin stopped at his eyes. “Looks like you agreed.” “Actually, no, I didn‟t.” Dan paused, thinking. “You know how there are times when someone betrays your trust one too many times and you just, no matter what, can‟t get back to where you were with them before?” “It happened all the time with Adam! God rest his criminal, unfaithful soul. Yet I continued to love him—there was always something at his core that I believed in, that I knew made us a family, no matter how far out of line he stepped.” Dan hadn‟t considered the scenario Sullivan laid out before him, and wondered for a moment why he didn‟t feel the same about Mark. 193

Rick R. Reed “Maybe it doesn‟t work the same for everyone. And maybe I just can‟t explain this to you. You continued to love Adam—and perhaps that‟s all there is. No one ever said love was rational… or logical.” Dan took another step closer to Sullivan. He was now within touching range. “The truth of the matter—for me—is that I no longer love Mark, not in the way I did. I care about him. I want him to get back on his feet. I don‟t want him in my life. “I want you.” “So… what was that all about back there? What I walked in on?” “Actually, I was telling him pretty much what I‟m telling you right now. And he was crushed. I know, I know—over me? Who knew? But he was. He cried. I put my arms around him to comfort him, as any friend would do.” Dan now did touch Sullivan, lightly, on his shoulder. “That‟s all you saw.” “Why should I believe that?” “You don‟t have to. It‟s your choice. We‟ve gotten to know each other. I think you have a pretty good idea of who I am. You can believe or not. Nothing I say beyond what I just told you is really going to make a difference. It‟s all about faith. Trust. What you feel right here.” Dan touched Sullivan‟s chest, just above his heart. Dan turned and began to walk away. He had gone only a few steps when he heard: “Dan? Wait.” Sullivan rushed up to him and there, in the rain, he kissed him. It wasn‟t a long kiss—after all, it was daylight, 1991, and they were in the south and in public—but it was enough to let Dan know, within the seconds-long-duration of the kiss, that Sullivan did believe him. Sullivan pulled away. “I know. I should have realized there was an explanation. I‟m sorry.” “I am too. I wish you didn‟t have to see that. It probably hurt! But now that you know what it was, and how innocent, you don‟t have to be jealous.” Dan did not mention, nor would he ever, his arousal at the feel of Mark‟s lips on his neck. That was physical. And what Dan had with Sullivan was so 194

Caregiver much more—already, they had built a history and a shared bond. It was fertile ground for love. “Come on, Sullivan, let‟s go home.” Side by side, they walked back to the apartment. The rain was now only a drizzle. As they got closer to the front door, Dan thought of the two lost souls who had brought them together, men each of them had loved, men with demons. Without them, Dan and Sullivan would never have found the other… and maybe, never been able to give the kind of care that was mutual and born of love and not need. At the door, Dan turned to Sullivan. “Ready?” “Ready.” They joined hands and went inside.

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Rick R. Reed Epilogue

Three Letters from Dan Shoemaker‟s Gmail Me to Adele O‟Dair

show details 9:35 AM (1 hour ago)

Adele, Thanks for getting back to me so quickly about the CAREGIVER manuscript. I have to say I was sorry to hear your response. Perhaps the book is a bit of a memoir and, yes, it does parallel my own life in many ways, but you know me personally and you‟re the only one who knows that. To my mind, the book is just what you asked me to send along in its stead: a love story. Your response, unfortunately, demonstrated to me that perhaps it‟s time for us to part company as author and agent. I appreciate all you‟ve done for me and my career and will always be in your debt for creating a world where I can do what I love and be paid enough for it that I can live without resorting to an evil day job. I love you for that! But I think our relationship has run its course. The fact that you could not see the worth of this book showed me you truly are, as you said, all about business. And that‟s fine. But as much as I appreciate being able to make a living off spinning yarns, I am also an artist. That book is very dear to my heart—and it‟s my hunch that it will be near the hearts of my readers, the ones who appreciate the romance that has played an increasingly larger and larger role in everything I‟ve written, especially over the past couple of years. The fact that you can‟t see that tells me you‟re really not right for me. I don‟t know what will be right for me—whether I forge a 196

Caregiver path alone or with another agent—but I do know it‟s time to move on. Again, Adele, many thanks for the hard work you‟ve put in on my career. Because of that work, even though I‟m terminating our professional relationship today, you will continue to enjoy the fruits of my labors for many years to come, I‟m sure. And our contact will continue, only not in the same way. It boils down to taking care of your clients, Adele. For the most part, you did a good job with me, but you failed me the one time when I think I needed you most. If that sounds bitter, please know it‟s not. I will always respect your business acumen and certainly will always consider you a friend.

Dear Adam, It‟s strange to be writing to you now, twenty years after you‟ve passed into whatever constitutes heaven for you. But it‟s taken me that long to process what we had between us and just how significant a role you played in my life and—I hope—I in yours. It‟s funny, when I mentioned heaven, I had an immediate image of you as an angel, looking down on me with a self-satisfied smirk, knowing just how much you contributed to my current life circumstances, but how knowing you shaped me as a person and made me stronger. But I didn‟t see your typical angel, which would have been much too cliché for you. No, the cloud you‟d be sitting on, for starters, would not be fluffy and white, but leopard print, or maybe zebra. And there wouldn‟t be some fellow angel sitting nearby, strumming a harp, but Barbra herself, whispering, over and over, “Papa, can you hear me?” And you, naturally, would not be wearing some celestial white robe or have wings sprouting from your back. Again, my Lord, far too unoriginal! No, you‟d be wearing something classic, perhaps a pink Chanel suit, à la Jackie Kennedy, and smoking a Benson and Hedges 100. Your legs would be crossed, dangling over the edge of your animal-print cloud, and your feet would be tastefully sheathed in patent stilettos. 197

Rick R. Reed God, I do hope you can see me and know how I think of you. It makes me smile to think that maybe I could make you laugh. I always wanted to make you laugh and you, in spite of your circumstances, made it an imperative to make those around you laugh. It‟s twenty years later and I still remember you so clearly! And I miss you like hell. If you had hung in there for just a few more years, my Adam, you would have seen the advent of protease inhibitors and drug “cocktail” combinations that would have allowed you, possibly, to live a much longer and healthier life. I wish that would have worked out for you. There‟s so much I wish would have worked out for you. Selfishly, I still pine for just a little more time with you, to bask in your wit and charm, to drink in your strength that was always there, even when you wore a little black dress and pearls. I‟ll tell you a secret—I still read your letters, the crazy things you wrote me from prison, the spot-on caricatures you drew, the life lessons you issued to me even when I should have been sending them to you. A casual observer from that time we knew each other might have said it was your life that was a mess, but it was mine all along. You—and only you—helped me see it and gave me the strength to see that letting people walk all over me was no way to live. Wherever you are, sweet thing, I hope you are happy and at peace. I think you are. I feel it every night when I close my eyes. You touch me, don‟t you? Yeah. And you touch Sullivan too, lying next to me. He‟s been there for the past twenty years now and neither of us is as pretty on the outside as when you left us, but your memory lives on in each of us, keeping us connected and keeping us young and beautiful on the inside. Okay! Okay… I see the image you‟re projecting to me—the one of you sticking your finger down your throat. So I‟ll just say it, simply: I love you, Adam. 198

Caregiver

Dear Reader, The book you hold in your hands is a combination of memory, fancy, imagination, and the culmination of the author‟s realization about the elusive nature of love. It‟s about me. It‟s about you. It‟s about all of us, especially if we are lucky enough to have loved someone, even if only briefly, who profoundly changed our lives, simply by example. This book was not published, as you know, by some big New York City house. It has not been touted as the next best thing by Miss Oprah Winfrey. It most likely will not be reviewed by the New York Times. It is not coming soon to a theater near you. But I do hope it will live on in your heart, as Adam truly does live on in mine. And I do hope you‟ll take the time to appreciate the small publishing house that took a chance with CAREGIVER and saw its simple, and I like to think, noble worth. They are the kind of publisher who recognizes a true love story… and knows that love stories cannot be confined to formulas. What story in life runs according to formula anyway? And if you, dear reader, have made it this far, I‟m hoping you, too, will appreciate that a good love story can be as individual as the people who comprise it. I hope you recognize that my giving this story to you, and by extension, my publisher making it available to you, is a gift of love. Just like Adam gave me that same gift…. Best, Dan Shoemaker

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Rick R. Reed “Do you want an engraved invitation, honey? Lunch is on the table and it‟s getting cold,” Sullivan called from the kitchen. “I‟m on my way. I‟m on my way.”

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About the Author

RICK R. REED is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a two-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). His work has caught the attention of Unzipped magazine, “The Stephen King of gay horror”; Lambda Literary, “A writer that doesn‟t disappoint”; and Dark Scribe magazine, “an established brand—perhaps the most reliable contemporary author for thrillers that cross over between the gay fiction market and speculative fiction.” He lives in Seattle. Visit him at http://www.rickrreed.com or at his blog at http://rickrreedreality.blogspot.com/. You can contact Rick at jimmyfels @gmail.com, Twitter: http://twitter.com/RickRReed, and Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/rickrreed.

Also from Rick R. Reed

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Also from Rick R. Reed

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Also from Dreamspinner Press

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Also from Dreamspinner Press

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com