Between Boyfriends (14 page)

I wanted to be stunned, but I couldn’t be. Because Flynn is my closest friend, I had seen firsthand that someone who is positive is not necessarily one swan dive away from his cemetery plot. And yet I know many men who, if faced with the choice of dating someone who’s negative and someone who’s positive, would opt for negativity. Survival of the fittest? Fear of the unknown? I don’t know. What I do know is that despite all the breakthroughs and medical advancements, being HIV-positive can still mean living a very lonely life.

“You’re right,” I said.

“Well, thank you for not trying to disagree with me. I appreciate that.”

“Please promise me one thing though. You won’t give up.”

Flynn contemplated this request. “No, I won’t give up, but quite frankly I don’t know how much time I have left on this planet.”

“Flynn, that’s nonsense!”

“Steven, it’s the truth. I know none of us has a lock on immortality, but for me complications could arise tomorrow. I’m not going to waste whatever time I have left hoping for someone who may never turn up.”

“I wish I could change things,” I said feebly.

“It is what it is, Stevie. I’m just glad that you’re my friend. You’re all I really have, you know.”

“Flynn,” I said, “your mother has tried to reach out to you.” I examined my plate and flicked a few pieces of ziti with my fork, aware that Flynn’s family was not considered subject matter for pleasant conversation.

“Yes, she has, but it’s always on her terms and it’s always done because she feels sorry for me. Do you know what that’s like? To have your mother feel sorry for you because she thinks you’ve fucked up your life?”

Fortunately I had no idea. Although any physician would willingly write Anjanette a prescription for anti-psychotic medication, my mother was nurturing and supportive and furthermore she would tell anyone willing to listen that I was the most brilliant and successful young man working in the television industry. And she meant every word of it.

“The worst thing about it is that part of me agrees with her.”

“Flynn, don’t—”

“I got drunk and made a mistake. I knew the rules and tossed them out the window and now I’m paying the price.”

Flynn turned away and I could see the tears well up in his eyes. Watching your friend at his most vulnerable is a powerful moment. It’s also a moment of privilege. The fact that Flynn would expose himself like that to me and share his private thoughts and actions without censoring made me feel honored. We both knew that it would be much easier to force a smile and say, “Oh, I’m a little depressed right now, but I’ll feel better tomorrow.” But easy isn’t always best.

I moved next to Flynn and put my arm around him. The tears had stopped, but the sadness remained. We sat there for a while in silence, neither one of us feeling it necessary to speak.

“Isn’t this more fun than having dinner with your boyfriend?” Flynn joked.

“Well…fun is such a subjective word.”

Flynn looked directly at me and laughed. It was wonderful to see his crow’s-feet crinkle again. If I didn’t know that it would make him even more depressed, I would have told him how handsome he looked with the crinkles next to the tiny flecks of gray in his sideburns. And how happy any man would be to look into that face night after night. But there are some things that are best unsaid, even to your best friend.

Before I went to bed I gave my mother a quick call, knowing that she was the resident night owl of her high-rise. I was surprised to find that she had company at such a late hour.

“Audrey and I are practicing,” my mother announced.

“For what?”

“Tomorrow night’s bingo tournament.”

“It’s Winner Take All,” Audrey shouted from the background.

I wondered how much the winner could take considering they all lived on fixed incomes. “That’s terrific. But can you really practice playing bingo? It’s all luck.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Stevie. There is skill involved and Mama need to win.”

“So does Audrey!” shouted Audrey.

“Ma, you’re becoming very competitive, you know. Why’s it so important all of a sudden that you win?”

“We’re playing for bragging rights against the Martha Salvatore Tenants in Hoboken. My cousin Antoinette, the bitch who tried to seduce your father when we were first going out, she’s the reigning bingo champion. I’m finally going to knock her down a peg.”

“Or two!” shouted Audrey supportively.

“Easy on the vendettas, ladies.”

“No one offers to make my husband lasagna,” Anjanette said. “With imported mozzarella!”

“I hate to disrespect your family, Anj, but that one was always a tramp.”

“How can you disrespect, when it’s the truth? Steven, did you need anything, we really have to practice.”

“I just wanted to say hi.”

“Do you hear that, Audrey? Steven just wanted to say hi.”

“He’s such a good boy, Anj! I wish my Albert was a gay.”

“Albert’s too fat to be gay.”

“I know. But he could diet.”

“Gastric bypass, Audrey! All he needs is a staple gun and a dream.”

“Ladies, I hope you beat the support hose off of Martha Salvatore and her peoples.”

“We will, honey, don’t you worry.”

Why should I worry? My mother wasn’t the most educated woman in the world and she would never be a millionaire no matter how many bingo tournaments she entered, but she enjoyed her life and that’s the greatest lesson a mother could ever share with her son.

The only thing more enjoyable—and gayer—than a Krofft super-show is an ice-skating revue. While they both have over-the-top characters, elaborate costumes, and a once-famous cast, the world of ice-skating has the edge as it has some of the best male butts this side of the porn industry. It also has Lindsay Wilde.

Since Lindsay was one of the former skating celebrities taking part in Fox’s skating retrospective,
Back on the Ice III
, at Madison Square Garden, we all got seats in one of those glassed-in booths that comes complete with your own bathroom, bar, and catering staff. I would have preferred to be a little closer to the ice action, but this way we could make like Dick and Peggy and have our own running commentary on the skating icons. Or as Lindsay calls them, the
Ice Whores
.

“I have to admit, I think I cried when Lindsay just missed getting the bronze medal in Lillehammer,” Brian admitted.

“Steven! Didn’t you warn him?” Flynn asked.

“No, sorry,” I said. “Brian, when it comes to the Olympics Lindsay is highly sensitive, some might say insane.”

“Who can blame him? I mean really…pewter?”

“Blimey! Don’t ever say the
P
-word in Lindsay’s presence!” Gus shouted.

“Or the
O
-word,” Flynn added.

“Or the
D
-word,” Sebastian offered.

“What’s the
D
stand for?” Brian asked.

“Dick.”

“How do you not say
dick
in front of a homo?”

“Not
dick
as in
cock,
the most beautiful, mouthwatering organ that God ever created,” Sebastian explained, “but Dick Button.”

“Lindsay thinks the Button should button up and retire,” Flynn explained.

“Brian, don’t ever tell Lindsay,” I said. “But I have a little crush on Mr. Button.”

“You do not!”

“I think it’s the bow ties.”

“You’re a freak,” Brian declared, then gave me a kiss.

I caught Flynn watching us out of the corner of my eye and despite myself I felt as if he had caught me doing something improper, like Rock Hudson must have felt when Mrs. Hudson came home just a little earlier than expected. I didn’t want to flaunt my relationship, but I didn’t want to temper it either. Flynn eased my confusion when he came over to me and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks for the other night.”

“Sshh! That’s how rumors start.”

“You should be so lucky as to be involved in a scandal.”

“Did someone mention scandal?” Sebastian asked from across the room.

“How’d you hear that?” Flynn asked. “Did your doctor give you superhearing along with your new and improved asshole?”

“I didn’t hear what you said, I felt it. I’m like that Melody girl on
Josie and Her Pussies.
”

“You mean
Josie and the Pussycats.
”

“Whatever. When she senses danger her ears wiggle. When I sense danger, my dick twitches.”

“I thought you didn’t watch TV,” I said.

“Sometimes I keep it on in the background if I’m getting serviced. I thought it was a lesbo pussyfest and the occasional meadow munch turns me on. Of course I was disappointed to find it was a cartoon, but I think that Alexandra girl is a dyke. If you ask me, her obsession with stealing Josie’s boyfriend is merely a ploy to mask her true feelings. She wants to snuggle up to Josie herself and make her purr like a satisfied Miss Kitty.”

“Another Saturday morning cartoon ruined,” I declared.

“Listen up, gay folk, scandal is brewing,” Sebastian announced. “My dick is still twitching. Feel it. C’mon, feel my dick!”

Of course that was the moment the only straight cater waiter in all of New York City chose to walk into the room carrying a tray of buffalo wings.

“I’m telling you all right now,” the cater waiter said, “anybody touches my ass and I’ll make you wear the Bunsen burner as a cock ring.”

We were all rendered speechless. Except Sebastian.

“Like I haven’t done that before.”

Nearly twenty minutes into the show the hostess, a luminescent Rosalynn Sumners—who just happened to be my favorite ice-skater ever—introduced Lindsay. I felt so proud at that moment I wanted to grab Rosalynn’s microphone and announce, “That’s my friend!” but my friend was nowhere to be found. The spotlight shined on empty ice, the audience screamed, but there was no Lindsay. Uncertain, Rosalynn made the announcement once more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the three-time U.S. men’s champion…Lindsay Wilde.”

Rosalynn looked as nervous as she had when she was competing against that Teutonic temptress of the ice, Katarina Witt. Once again the spotlight shined and this time the audience chanted “Wilde Boy!” as they did when Lindsay was in his prime, but still he didn’t appear.

“Oh my God! Do you think he’s having a backstage breakdown?” Flynn asked.

“When I spoke with him he sounded great,” I said. “He was really looking forward to putting his skates on again.”

“Brian, are you sure you didn’t mention the
P, O,
or
D
words in front of Lindsay earlier today?” Gus asked.

“No, I didn’t even see him.”

“Look at my dick! It’s twitching like Kate Moss after a couple of rides on the white line.”

And it was. Sebastian’s dick could barely be contained by his Levi Offender jeans—it looked like he’d shoved a ten-inch Mexican jumping bean into his underwear. Could Sebastian’s penis actually be prophetic? Could it really know when danger was about to develop? Or were Latin dicks like Latin men, always craving attention?

“There he is!” cried Flynn.

At last, Lindsay made his entrance and the crowd erupted. The sound technician didn’t turn Rosalynn’s microphone off fast enough and she was heard thanking God that pewter boy had shown up. Luckily, Lindsay was too busy tucking his shirt into his pants to hear her comment, which would have undoubtedly spun him into an emotional death spiral and landed him as lead story on
Inside Edition.

“Look at his dick!” Sebastian shouted. “Wilde Boy just had wild sex.”

Much like Sebastian’s jeans, Lindsay’s black stretch pants couldn’t conceal his erection. Evidently, the guy who ran the spotlight noticed too because Lindsay’s spot got so small that you could only see him from his waist up. Sadly, this made it easier to see Lindsay’s disheveled hair, melting makeup, and the large kidney-shaped hickey on his neck. This event was supposed to be a comeback of sorts for Lindsay, to see if he could get back on the touring scene after taking a break from the ice-skating world. Unfortunately, it looked like he was coming back as Tonya Harding’s sex-crazed brother.

“He’s really good,” Brian said. “Even though he probably took it up the ass five minutes ago.”

“I told Lindsay not to wear the stretchy pants,” Sebastian said. “They feel too good, too sensual…my dick is twitching again.”

“Another scandal?” I asked.

“No, now I’m just horny. I have to go jerk off.”

When he got to the bathroom door he turned and stared directly at the straight cater waiter. “I’ll leave the door open in case you’d like to join the home team.”

The straight cater waiter didn’t take the bait, but the milk-fed Abercrombie clone manning the sundae station made a beeline for the bathroom, armed with a can of whipped cream. I would have to remember to eat my sundae sans topping. I turned back to the arena action just in time to see Lindsay land a triple axel perfectly on the downbeat of the music. Obviously he had lost his erection, because he was now being filmed without restrictions, and he was skating spectacularly despite his shaky start. When the show aired the following week his delayed entrance would certainly be edited out, so hopefully this would mark his return to professional skating. I was more curious as to what, or more accurately who, delayed him from returning to the ice on time.

Lindsay skated another solo that was even better than the first and then joined the rest of the company in a Broadway medley culminating in all the skaters forming a line and skate-dancing to “One” from
A Chorus Line.
Flynn was in his glory and if Sebastian hadn’t made it passé, he would have jerked off with a cater waiter in the bathroom. Flashing a beaming smile, Lindsay seemed to be in his glory too, and I hoped he was smiling because he could feel that the audience had missed watching him perform and not because he was flanked by Vladimir, a hot Russian pairs skater, and some hairy-chested French ice dancer.

After the show we waited at the stage door with a horde of suburban housewives wearing red hats and embroidered sweatshirts and pimply faced gay teen boys wearing fedoras and mascara to watch the ice stars exit. Brian tried, but couldn’t prevent me from accosting Rosalynn Sumners. “Oh my God, you’re my favorite!” I exclaimed.