Breaking the Surface (36 page)

Shortly after he died, I sold the Dana Point house.

M
Y FATHER ’S DEATH WAS
a huge blow. On top of that loss, I was still dealing with Tom’s death. Several college classmates and other friends had died of AIDS as well, including the roommate who had first introduced me to Tom. And Kevin, my lover before Tom, died around the same time Tom did.

Shortly after my father passed away, one of my old friends who was sick came to visit me at the house. Ken and I had dated off and on during and after college, but we hadn’t talked in a few years. He called out of the blue one day to tell me that he had AIDS and hadn’t been doing very well. From then on, we stayed in touch by phone, and we made a date for him to come visit.

When Ken got out of his car, I could see that he’d lost a lot of weight, but he was still handsome. We sat in the kitchen and talked a lot about my relationship with Tom and how it had ended. He’d been friends with Tom, so when I talked about Tom, he knew what I was saying. We had a lot of laughs about Tom and all of his claims, like his three college degrees from UC Irvine and being on the 1980 Olympic rowing team. It was all made up. What could I do but laugh?

Itold Ken about my HIV status. I wanted him to know that I really understood what he was going through, that he wasn’t alone. It also made me feel better to tell someone I cared about, so I didn’t feel so alone. We talked about his treatment and what he’d been through, including the medications he was taking, the bad reactions he’d had. I was very curious, because I knew it was something I would likely have to face. I figured that the more I knew, the less fearful it would be for me. I also thought I’d better ask Ken while he was still around to talk to. He’d been in the hospital several times because of various complications related to AIDS, and I knew from experience that I shouldn’t count on seeing him or talking to him again, especially since he talked about being tired of fighting. He also talked about his good days and going to the movies. Unfortunately, his eyesight was failing.

Ken left the next morning around nine o’clock. When I said good-bye to him in the driveway, I thought it might be the last time I would see him. Even if it was, I believed that it would only be a temporary separation anyway. It didn’t surprise me when I got a call from Ken’s mom shortly after that visit saying that he’d passed away.

With so many people close to me either dead or dying, I couldn’t help but feel like it was my turn next. The whole thing was overwhelming, and I got terribly depressed and withdrew into my shell. Looking back, I can see that I started losing the will to live.

After my father died, I had kept his morphine. There were two kinds: injectable morphine and pills. I had kept it because I thought I might need it to end my life in the event I got really sick, but I didn’t save it. I got so depressed that I decided to use the morphine to see if it helped. The morphine did exactly what I needed it to do; it numbed the pain and left me feeling mildly euphoric. It’s very embarrassing to admit I did this. It makes me feel very weak. It’s also illegal.

For the next few months, I injected the morphine two or three times a week, until I had used it up. Then I took the morphine pills until I used those up. Some days I didn’t take any, and on a bad day, when I was feeling depressed or I’d had an argument with Steven, I’d take two. I don’t think Steven had any idea what I was doing.

In all, I was on morphine for about a year before the pills ran out. I thought I would have withdrawal problems, but the pills weren’t that potent, and I didn’t have any bad symptoms. But I missed that mild euphoria that kept me from getting upset about things. On morphine, nothing seemed worth getting upset about. I could still function, but everything seemed okay. Without it, I started feeling overwhelmed again and the depression got really bad.

That summer, I was up in Canada at a dog show and I found another narcotic that helped take the edge off. In Canada, Tylenol with codeine is sold over-the-counter, and I bought a few bottles. I took that pretty regularly, three pills on a bad day, but usually less. I knew it was wrong and that I needed help, but my only goal at that point was to make myself numb.

I was in a real fog from the narcotics during that time. I don’t remember doing much other than taking care of the dogs. I’d quit my acting classes. I did an occasional appearance for Speedo, I did some work for the 1992 Winter Olympics, but that was about it. I spent most of my time at the house in Malibu with Steven. Instead of building a life together, Steven and I were hiding out, and I was waiting to die. As if the HIV needed any help, I stopped taking my medications regularly and started smoking again.

Megan tried very hard to keep me informed about the latest developments regarding HIV and how I could stay healthy. She did lots of research, but I didn’t pay any attention to the material she sent me and most of it is still sitting on my desk. She talked to me about visualization as a way to enhance my immune system. She talked to me about developing a sense of purpose in my life, but I stopped caring all that much about living. She got very upset with me when I started smoking again. It was frustrating for her to watch me give up.

Toward the end of 1992, what I was waiting for started to happen: I began getting sick. I developed chronic diarrhea. I was tired all the time. I was sleeping a lot. I started dropping weight. I couldn’t get motivated to work out, so I began losing muscle tone, which made me even more depressed. The doctor put me on an antidepressant, but it didn’t seem to do any good. I really should have been in therapy, but I didn’t care enough about living to go to the trouble. I could barely get myself motivated to take care of the dogs, and Steven wound up doing that most of the time.

By Christmas 1992, I began to think that this would be my last Christmas and that my thirty-third birthday, coming up in January, would be my last. So I told Steven that I wanted a big birthday party. He knew why, and I could tell he was sad, but he was also excited because this was something he wanted to do for me. It turned out that he’d already been talking with my mother about giving me a surprise party. When he told me that, I said, “I don’t want to be involved with the planning. Just surprise me.” I gave Steven my phone book, and he took it from there, although I pretended to forget about it.

The party was to be on January 29, 1993. My mother came in early that day from San Diego, and I went to pick her up at the airport. It was her responsibility to get me out of the house for the day while Steven got everything set up. I figured this would be a good time to tell her that I was HIV-positive. I’d held back telling her in the past, because I didn’t want to worry her. But now that I was already having symptoms, I thought it was better to tell her than to wait until I was really ill. I wanted her to hear about it from me before it wound up in the newspaper.

I met my mom at the airport, and our plan was to go shopping for her Christmas present. I’d told her that the next time she visited, we’d go get her a coat. Before we went shopping I took her out to lunch at the Ivy restaurant. Afterward, as we were driving to a store, I told her I was HIV-positive. I didn’t tell her that I was already having symptoms, because I didn’t want to overwhelm her.

When I told her, I felt pretty certain that the news didn’t come as a total shock, because my mother knew that Tom had died of AIDS. I explained to her that I didn’t yet have full-blown AIDS. She understood the distinction between being HIV-positive and having AIDS. Then she told me that two years earlier, my sister had told her that I had AIDS. My sister had been doing some secretarial work for me, and she came across some paper that had led her to think I had AIDS.

My mother said that even before my sister told her, she had known for a long time that something was up. She didn’t know if what my sister said was true, but whatever it was, she knew I’d tell her when I was ready, because I always did. She told me it put her mind at ease to know what the problem was. Recently, she told me that it broke her heart to know I was HIV-positive and that she thinks about it every day, but that day in the car, she put up a good front.

By the time we finished shopping, I was totally exhausted. It didn’t take much to get me tired, so I was really wiped out on the drive home. As we made the turn onto my street, there were cars parked everywhere. I pulled up to the driveway and there was a VALET PARKING sign right in my driveway. I couldn’t believe that this was really happening. I was nervous and excited driving down the driveway because I didn’t know who was going to be there.

Brutus, one of my dogs, was with us in my van. We all got out of the van and walked up to the front door, and Steven came out and said, “Get in there.” But I wasn’t rushing. I told him that I had to walk Brutus, that he needed to be fed. I was stalling because I was afraid to go in. But Steven told me to get my butt in the house.

I walked in the door with my mom and everyone yelled, “Surprise! Happy Birthday!” Megan was the first person to come up to me and she gave me a big hug. She’d flown in from Colorado just to be there. She was one of the very few people at the house who knew why I’d wanted this party. I’m sure some of my friends suspected I was HIV-positive, but I don’t think they realized that I thought this was my last birthday.

The house was filled with people from all corners of my life: diving friends, acting friends, gay friends, and straight friends. My cousin and doctor, John Christakis, was there. And Kathy Shon was there, too. Ron O’Brien couldn’t be there, but Mary Jane came from Florida along with one of my diving friends, Kent Ferguson. Linda Provenzale, my baby-sitter from when I was a kid. Billy Day, a diver I worked out with when I was training with Dr. Lee. People from my acting classes. Grover Dale and Anita Morris, whom I met when we did
Circus of the Stars
together. Friends I had met through dog breeding, like Kathleen Mallery, from Idaho, and Doug and Ann Toomey—Doug is one of the top handlers of Great Danes. Leigh Benson, who was assistant manager at Chess King, the clothing store I’d worked at as a salesperson. Juliet Lambert, who was my Cinderella and who’s gone on to Broadway in
Meet Me in St. Louis
and
Passion
. And, of course, Aunt Geri came up from San Diego. My friend Michael Feinstein couldn’t make it, but he sent a gift basket filled with all kinds of wonderful things.

I never imagined that all of these people would meet. My life had been so compartmentalized that most of them had never even heard of each other. And here they all were mixed together, thirtythree years of my life under one roof. Remarkably, everybody had a great time, especially me. There were so many loving faces that I didn’t know which way to turn.

The whole party was very emotional because, looking around the house, I had such a sense of accomplishment that I’d done so many different things in my life. I thought of my dad and how after he passed away everybody got together but he wasn’t there. Now here were all the important people in my life in one place and I was still alive to enjoy it. It was like I got to go to my own memorial, but I was there to see everybody one last time and everybody was happy, not sad.

My family was so funny, especially Aunt Geri. She couldn’t believe who was there. She totally flipped over Dawnn Lewis, who used to be on
A Different World
and then moved to
Hangin’ with Mr. Cooper
. As soon as Dawnn walked in, Aunt Geri got so excited. “That’s Dawnn Lewis,” she kept saying. I said, “Yes, I know. We went to school together.” She said, “No, you don’t understand, that’s Dawnn Lewis!” When she finally calmed down, I introduced them.

The birthday cake was beautiful. I had designed it. I wasn’t supposed to get involved in the planning of the party, but Steven had asked what kind of cake I wanted and I drew up a design. It was a big rectangular cake, and on top, drawn in icing, was a picture of me with one of my dogs, a drawing of Cinderella’s slipper, a splash in blue icing, and written underneath were three 10s and a 9.5, and the words
Where’d he go?
Before I blew out the candles, Rita Coolidge, whom I had met through Joanne Carson, sang “Happy Birthday,” and then everyone went back to having a good time.