Sure of You (28 page)

“Fine. Did she tell you she got a part in the Presidio Hill Christmas play?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have a feeling it’s not the lead,
but
…” She widened her eyes as winningly as possible.

“It’s an atom.”

“Adam?” She frowned. “A girl plays Adam?”

“No.
An
atom. Like…a nuclear particle.”

That school, she thought. “Doesn’t sound very Christmasy.”

“It’s about…you know, saving the planet.” He smiled at her, sort of.

“When can I tell her you’ll be back?”

“Friday.”

After she was gone, in other words.

“She knows that already,” he added.

“Oh…O.K.”

“She won’t be alone, will she?”

“No,” she answered. “Nguyet’ll be here. I’ve explained everything to Shawna. She’s O.K. about it.”

He nodded.

“The logistics have all been worked out.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “What time are you leaving?”

“There’s a limousine coming at six.”

“
P.M
.?”

“
A.M
.”

He winced, apparently empathizing. “You have to get up early for this job too.”

She smiled. “I guess I’m in the habit.”

Their eyes met for a moment, then sought safer places to rest.

“I’m really sorry,” she said.

He held up his palm. “Hey.”

“I think you’re such a great guy…”

“Mary Ann.”

“I don’t know what to say. I feel so awful.”

“Fuck it,” he said quietly. “I’m over it.”

He didn’t look a bit over it.

“Michael’s the one you should talk to,” he added.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…this is kind of it for you guys.”

“What?”

“I mean, if he got sick…You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“What is this? What are you saying? I shouldn’t be going, because he might get sick and I should be here to…?”

“Did I say that? I didn’t say that.”

“Well, good, because Mouse would never…”

“I know that.”

“Let me finish. He would never, ever, accuse me of…” She felt close to tears, so she collected herself. “He knows what I’m doing and why I’m doing it, and he wishes me well. I’m glad he’s going to miss me, if that’s what he told you, because I’m going to miss him too. But that’s what happens, Brian. Life just sort of does this sometimes.”

He looked at her blankly and said: “Your life.”

“Yes. O.K. My life. Whatever. Just don’t accuse me of running away from…his illness.”

“I didn’t.”

“I would be back in a second if…”

“You can’t. How could you?”

She hated thinking about this. He knew it too. Michael was his last card, and he was determined to play it. “This is the lowest, Brian. If Michael knew you were using him to…”

“Talk to him. That’s all I’m saying.”

“No it isn’t. You’re laying this big guilt trip on me.”

“I can’t help how you take it.”

“You don’t know what goes on between me and Mouse. You don’t know how much we understand each other.”

He gave her a dim, mournful smile. “No,” he said, “I guess not.”

She could see the effect this had and tried to undo it. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Just call him, O.K.?”

“Sure.”

He rose.

“Don’t go yet,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “I’m getting my shirts.”

She stood by the window and stared out at the bay. He was back in less than a minute, his laundry flung over his shoulder like a cavalier’s cape.

“You could sleep on the couch,” she said, “if the bed bothers you.”

He leaned over and pecked her on the top of her head. “That’s O.K.”

At the door, for some stupid reason, she touched his arm and said, “Drive carefully.”

Another Letter to Mama

Dear Mama,

When you were talking about Papa’s headstone the other day I noticed you mentioned there was room at the plot for the entire family.

No. Awkward. Start again.

Dear Mama,

It was wonderful talking to you the other day. Thack says you and I should talk more, and I guess he’s right, since it always makes me feel better.

Stop lying and get to the point.

Dear Mama,

I’m glad we talked the other day. There was something you mentioned, though, that concerned me. You seemed to think that someday the whole family would be buried at the cemetery there. I know how you meant this, but frankly, the idea of Christian burial strikes me as unnecessary and a little ghoulish.

Real subtle, Tolliver.

Keep writing. You can change it later.

I don’t know how much time I have left—whether it’s two years or five or fifty—but I don’t want to be taken back to Orlando when it’s over. This is my home now, and I’ve asked Thack to make arrangements for my cremation here in San Francisco.

This wouldn’t be so important to me if I didn’t believe in families just as much as you do. I have one of my own, and it means the world to me. If there are goodbyes to be said, I want them to be here, and I want Thack to be in charge. I hope you can understand.

If you still want to do a memorial service in Orlando (assuming you can’t come here), Thack can send you part of the ashes. I think you know I’d prefer not to have a preacher involved, but do whatever makes you comfortable. Just make sure he doesn’t pray for my soul or ask the Lord’s forgiveness or anything like that.

Please don’t get the wrong idea. I’m fine right now. I just wanted this out of the way, so we don’t have to think about it again. I’m not too worried about how you’ll take it, since I know how much you like Thack. He sends his love, by the way, and promises to send pix of the new chairs as soon as we get them painted.

I’ll try to call more often.

All my love,

M
ICHAEL

P.S. My friend Mary Ann Singleton (you met her once years ago) has a new syndicated morning talk show. It starts in March, so watch for it. She’s a good friend of mine, and we’re all really happy for her.

Relief

W
ITH WINTER CAME PRECIPITATION
,
BUT NOT
nearly enough. The puny mists and drizzles drifting in from the ocean barely dented the parched reservoirs of the East Bay. Michael watched the nightly forecasts with a sense of mounting dread for the nursery. By the end of February the weatherman was leading off the news again, speaking darkly of the stringent water rationing to come.

Then, on the day after Saint Patrick’s Day, huge flannel-gray clouds appeared over the city like dirigibles, hovering there forever, it seemed, before dumping their cargo on a grateful population. The rain came with sweet vengeance, making things clean again, sluicing down the hills to whisk away the dog shit like logs in a flume.

It kept up like this all week, until Harry’s running meadow in Dolores Park had become a bog, impenetrable to man or beast. When the skies cleared temporarily on Saturday morning, Michael stuck to the concrete route along Cumberland as he gave Harry his first real exercise in twenty-four hours. The blue rip in the clouds was about to be mended again, so they would have make it quick—a fact that even Harry seemed to grasp.

At the top of the Cumberland stairs, while the dog squatted ingloriously in the wet weeds, Michael sat on the rail and looked out over the rain-varnished valley. There were lakes beginning to form on the flat roofs of the non-Victorians.

A tall, thin man with a little blue backpack came toward him up the stairs, taking his time. When he reached the landing, Michael recognized him as the guy from the Rawhide II. Eula’s son. With the six T-cells. “How’s it going?” he asked, recognizing Michael.

“Pretty good. Isn’t this air great?”

The man stopped next to him and filled his lungs. “Beats pentamidine.”

“Doesn’t it?” Michael smiled. “How’s your mother?”

“Fabulous. They asked her to judge the Bare Chest Contest.”

He chuckled. “She must be in hog heaven.”

“She is.”

“You live around here?”

The man shook his head. “I was just down at the Buyer’s Club.”

“The one on Church?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you get?”

“Dextran. Some freeze-dried herbs.”

Michael nodded. “I did Dextran for a while.”

“No good?”

“Well, I heard your body can’t absorb enough to make any difference.”

“I heard that too.” The man shrugged. “Can’t hurt. The Japanese take it like aspirin.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you heard about this new thing? Compound Q?”

Michael hadn’t.

“It’s been killing the virus in lab tests. Without damaging the other cells.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“They haven’t tried it on people yet, but there’s a lot of…you know.”

“Cautious optimism.”

“Right.”

Michael nodded. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it? A chemical?”

“That’s the amazing part. It comes from the root of some Chinese cucumber.”

“No shit.”

“It’s a natural thing. It’s right here on earth.” The man gazed out over the valley for a while, then looked back at Michael. “I try not to get too hopeful.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I guess you’re right,” said the man.

They swapped names again. His was Larry DeTreaux, and he was on the way to Metro Video. “My lover told me to get
Mother Teresa
and
Humongous II.
Does that tell you about my life or what?”

Michael smiled. “Which do you watch first?”

“Good question.”

“
Humongous II
is pretty good.”

Larry nodded. “We just keep the sound off and use it as background.”

“Yeah. Same here.”

“The voices are the worst.”

Harry pawed impatiently at Michael’s leg.

Larry smiled. “This is yours, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s hard finding time to walk him in this rain. Mellow out, Harry.”

“Poodles don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Michael clipped on the leash, peering up at him. “You’re not a poodlephobe, are you?”

“No. But I know these dogs. Eula’s had a few in her time.”

I’ll bet she has, thought Michael. “I’ll walk with you,” he said. “My house is just over there.”

Thack was in the garden when they arrived. He was bent over his trellis, examining the new growth. He did this at hourly intervals, it seemed.

“You remember Larry from the Rawhide II.”

“Oh, yeah.” Thack smiled and shook hands with him. “Thack Sweeney.”

“New trellis?” asked Larry.

“Fairly.”

“Interesting shape.”

“We’re growing clematis on it,” said Michael, “so it’ll be a pink triangle this summer.” He was certain more than ever that it wouldn’t read, but he was trying to be supportive.

“What a great idea! Who thought of that?”

Thack puffed visibly. “Me.”

Larry glanced up at the clouds, which had turned threatening again. “Better haul ass.”

“Need an umbrella?” Michael asked.

“Got one here.” He patted his backpack. “You guys take care.”

“You too,” said Thack.

Michael added: “Say hi to Eula for us.”

“Sure thing.”

“Eula,” said Thack, as soon as Larry was out of earshot. “
That
was her name.”

Michael let Harry into the house and closed the door. “How could you forget?”

“We should fix her up with your mom when she visits.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“She could take her to all the piano bars…”

“Look, if you know what’s good for you…”

His lover laughed. “You’re just afraid it’ll agree with her.”

“Damn right.”

“She’ll move her and we’ll have to drag her out of the Galleon every Sunday afternoon.”