Michael's Secrets (21 page)

“What? Are you sick? What’s wrong? That can’t be good!” He asked and exclaimed.

“I’ve lost my appetite. I’m just not eating,” Michael said, not telling him he was depressed. “My HIV test was negative as usual, and so far everything looks fine.”

“Why aren’t you eating? Maybe I should send you a care package,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“And, they found a lump on my left testicle,” Michael said with no emotion.

“Oh my God! Michael, are you in pain? What do they say it is? Are you nervous?” Sam asked, more worried than Michael.

“No, I’m not nervous. If it’s cancer, they’ll just remove it. It’s very curable. I have an ultrasound scheduled for next Friday,” he answered as he got up from the futon and walked outside to have a cigarette.

“Do you want me to fly out there and go with you to the ultrasound? I can be on a plane tonight,” Sam said, offering to be at his side.

“Oh no, Sam, that’s awfully generous and thoughtful of you, but I’ll be fine. Really, they’re just taking a picture. It’s going to be fine. I really appreciate it,” he said, really touched by his offer.

“I’m serious; I can be there by tomorrow morning. It’s no problem at all,” Sam said insistently.

“Sam, you stay put,” Michael said. “I’ll call you after the ultrasound. Enough about me, what’s going on with you?”

“Me, you want to know about me? You have a lump on your testicle, that’s what’s important,” Sam said.

“Seriously, Sam, tell me what’s going on with you,” he insisted.

“OK, if you insist,” he began, “Sid lined up a couple of auditions for me. I’m filming a commercial for a jock itch product …”

Michael started laughing, and said, “Now that’s ironic.”

“Yeah, I get to scratch my nuts for fifty million people,” Sam said.

“Sam, I’m glad your career is taking off,” Michael said. “And, break a leg with the auditions. Listen, I’m going to go take a nap now, but I’ll talk to you on Friday, OK?”

“OK, and if you change your mind, I’ll hop on a plane and be out there.”

After moving to Washington, Michael found out his father was not his father, he had a half brother, he met a man who ripped out his heart, and now there was a lump on his left testicle. Michael really hated Sharon at this point. That was when he made up his mind he was done with D.C.

Michael wanted to go home and never look back.

Chapter Nine

By the following Monday, Steve left for another work-related trip, and the e-mails became less frequent. The dirty talk had stopped, and Michael had not talked to him on the phone at all. He really thought he had scared him off, yet he knew that he should not have contact with him anyway, but he persisted. The depression was getting worse, and Michael was still not eating, and he had started chain-smoking, up to three packs a day. He decided to try to rectify the situation by sending Steve another e-mail, saying he was really not in love with him and hoping it would put Steve’s mind at ease.

It read:

“Dear Steve,

“I have come to realize that I am not in love with you. I thought I was in love with you because I miss you so much and was not sure what we had going on.

“I am just confused because we have this strange intimate connection, and I want everything to fit neatly into a little box.

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend or partner, just your friend for life. As we have connected in bed, I feel that I should accept that as some new kind of relationship for me, and I hope I did not frighten you with my declaration of love.

“My only concern was that you would get back together with Tom or some guy you met, and I would not fit in the picture. I need to get over that, and I will.

“You are a great guy, and I want and need you in my life.

“Love,

“Michael.”

Michael sent it, and after he did, he realized he had gone completely nuts. He was totally out of control. “What bullshit! I
am
in love with him. I am
deeply
in love with him. What was I thinking?” Michael said out loud after hitting send and regretting it. He was trying to undo what had already been done, and now he had made things worse. If he received something like this, Michael knew he would run for the hills.

He waited and waited for a response, but there was none. He chain-smoked outside and went inside every five minutes to check for an e-mail from Steve. When there was none, he decided to call, but Steve did not answer, so he called and called until Steve finally picked up.

“What?” Steve answered bluntly.

“Hi,” Michael said. “Did you get my e-mail?”

“Yeah, listen I’m busy and a guy is picking me up in a few minutes for a date. There’s a knock at the door; I have to go.”

He hung up.

Michael knew he screwed up.

Steve e-mailed Michael the next morning saying he was thinking of getting a dog. He then e-mailed Michael to tell him how tired he was and tired of traveling and sent two more that were about how he was feeling and whom he was seeing. It was as if nothing had happened. Michael told him with his schedule it would not be a good idea to get a dog. He also e-mailed him about his day, since Steve never asked about it.

That evening, Michael received the following in all caps:

“OK MICHAEL, STOP!!!

“YOU SENT ME SIX EMAILS TODAY. CONSOLIDATE WHILE I AM ON TRAVEL. I RECEIVED 37 EMAILS TODAY, I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS.”

Michael was heartbroken. Four of those e-mails were responses to Steve’s e-mails. Michael decided then and there that it was over, but another e-mail came that Michael was cc’d on, and it was to one of Steve’s bodybuilder friends in Baltimore.

“Hey sexy! Congrats on the new job in Los Angeles. My dear friend Michael lives out there and perhaps he can help you find an apartment, Love Smithy.”

“Hey sexy? I get yelled at, and this guy gets hey sexy?” Michael said out loud as he read and re-read the e-mail. All of his hostility was aimed at Michael, yet Steve called him a dear friend.

Then another e-mail came from Steve with pictures for Michael to see.
What is going on?
Just a few minutes ago, I was told to stop e-mailing him, and now I’m receiving another one from Steve with pictures.
One was of Steve leaning against a car, wearing a tight T-shirt and cargo pants; in another, he was standing in a field shirtless; and in another, he was standing in front of a mirror also shirtless. Michael then noticed something disturbing. Steve was so much bigger than the last time he saw him, which had been over a month already. He looked more muscular, if that was possible, and Steve’s face looked different, too.
Is he on steroids?
Michael thought as he looked at the other picture, where Steve was standing in a field with his shirt off, and he became absolutely convinced he was on the juice. He then thought about the e-mail Steve sent when he wrote in all caps. He was becoming hostile and unpredictable.

Michael knew people on steroids in Hollywood, and their personalities would change so dramatically, and in his experience, Michael was usually the target of their hostility. They had a guest star on
Los Angeles Live
once, an ex-football player, who threw a chair at Michael when he suggested rewriting a line because the football player could not pronounce one of the words in the dialogue. The guy just snapped with no provocation, and Michael knew to avoid guys on the juice. For some other reason, pregnant women also took out their hostilities on him, but he was sure Steve wasn’t pregnant.

Michael’s ultrasound was the next day, but he decided not to remind Steve about it to see if he asked him on his own. Steve never did ask him about his test results or how he was feeling. As Michael lay there on the table while they scanned his testicles, he never felt so alone in his life. He watched on the monitor not knowing what he was seeing. Sharon had offered to drive him and wait, but he insisted it was just a picture they were taking, and he would be fine. However, while lying there exposed, he regretted that decision. Michael didn’t know why he always preferred to be alone in these situations.

“Well, Mr. Bern, your testicles are not large,” the doctor said.

“I beg your pardon?” Michael responded.

“I mean enlarged,” he said.

“That’s better,” Michael said.

“However, I am concerned about this small mass on your left testicle. Get dressed and come with me to my office.”

The doctor immediately scheduled an appointment with an oncologist. Michael told him how his doctor wanted to see him to go over the results, but the doctor said he would call Michael’s doctor to discuss the results with him as he wanted him to see an oncologist that afternoon. In a couple of hours, Michael was again standing with his pants down while two doctors examined him. The good news was they were both cute, but Michael was not in the mood.

“Mr. Bern, I think we should remove this testicle. The mass is small, but once we remove it, you should have nothing to worry about,” one of the doctors said as the other agreed.

“How long will I be in the hospital?” Michael asked.

“This will be an outpatient procedure. We can schedule you for Friday, May 5,” one of the doctors said as if Michael were having a pimple popped, so Michael scheduled the surgery.

Sam called to find out the results, and Michael told him about the surgery. Again, he insisted on flying out, and again, Michael told him to stay put. Sam really cared about him, but he didn’t want to be a burden. Michael really could be a Jewish mother sometimes, almost saying, “Never mind, I’ll sit in the dark.”

He called Sharon, who asked to drive him to the hospital, and this time he took her up on her offer. During this time, Steve and Michael e-mailed sporadically, and the Thursday night before the surgery, Michael decided to call him, and surprisingly, Steve answered.

“What’s up?” he said, sounding annoyed at the sound of Michael’s voice.

“I just wanted to say hello?” Michael said.

“Listen to this. This guy I had over for dinner just wrote me: ‘Dear Steve, I cannot date you as I could easily fall in love with you, and you are going through a break up, and I don’t want to be the rebound guy.’ Who needs this drama? What the fuck?”

“I can totally see where he’s coming from,” Michael said, agreeing with the guy he never met.

“I am so lonely and in a funk. And now this shit. I don’t get men. Why can’t guys just have fun?” Steve asked him as if he would sympathize.

Do I really need to listen to this?

Michael told him to go out and have some fun and didn’t tell Steve about his surgery as he did not even ask about the ultrasound. It was all about Steve, and he was beginning to see it would always be all about Steve. He could also detect more changes in his personality as he became more self-centered – if that were even possible.

The following morning, Sharon drove Michael to George Washington University Hospital at six for his nine o’clock surgery. They gave him an epidural, so he could talk to the doctor throughout the surgery. Michael could not believe what Washington had done to him. He arrived a relatively happy man, and he would leave a depressed man with a new brother, an unrequited love, thirty fewer pounds, and one testicle. Michael decided he really needed to schedule his flight home.

“Are you feeling OK, Mr. Bern?” the surgeon asked.

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve had surgery, but I think I’ll be OK,” he answered wishing he could see what he was doing, but glad he could not feel it.

* * * * *

During the summer of 1983, Michael had sinus surgery to remove a calcium deposit that had made it almost impossible for him to breathe through his nose. He ended up arguing with Hannah about having a private room at Mary Immaculate Hospital because she did not want to spend the money on one. She absolutely would not listen when Michael explained they only had private rooms and that was where Dr. Mirmelstein performed his surgeries. Dr. Martin Mirmelstein was Florence’s second husband, whom she married in 1974 and divorced in 1976. It was her only amicable divorce. He was also the doctor who discovered Michael was deaf when he was three years old.

Hannah never worried that Michael stopped talking after the age of two. She probably found it less annoying to have a toddler speaking to her. Michael often wondered if she even noticed. Dr. Mirmelstein stood behind Michael during a physical exam and clapped his hands, and he did not flinch or notice.

“Hannah, he’s deaf,” Dr. Mirmelstein told her.

“Should I put him in an institution?” she asked, which is how Michael always imagined her response.

“No. We can correct it. He needs both his ear drums reattached as they’ve ruptured,” the doctor said. “It’s unusual for this to happen. Has he had a head injury in the last few months?”

“No,” Hannah answered, knowing full well she had slapped him repeatedly on the head.

Dr. Mirmelstein reattached his ear drums, and ever since then, whenever Michael had a physical, doctors would ask what happened to his inner ears.

The surgery in 1983 went well, and once out of recovery, Michael was taken back to his room, where his mother and Aunt Flossie were waiting for him.

“Thank you for not costing me a lot of money on this surgery,” Hannah said.

“Hannah, what kind of thing is that to say?” Florence asked her as she put her hand on the back of Michael’s head and stroked his hair.

“Where are you car keys, Michael?” Hannah asked. “My air conditioning is out, so we came in Florence’s car, and I just got my hair done, so I’m taking your car.”

“They’re in my bag over there,” Michael said as he pointed to the table in the room, reluctantly letting Hannah drive the Cadillac Doreen and Sammy had given him.

“Hannah, aren’t we going to stay awhile?” Florence asked her.

“You can stay, Florence, I have errands to run,” she said as she pulled out Michael’s car keys and started to leave the room.

“I’ll be back to see you, later,” Florence said as she kissed Michael and trailed behind his mother to get his car from the parking lot as he had driven himself to the hospital because Hannah was busy that day. Fortunately, Florence took Michael home from the hospital the next day because Hannah had to work and refused to take the day off. It was one of the few times, Florence’s driving was not scary, or Michael was too heavily medicated!