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LUSH LIFE
by
Ritch Christopher
Chapter Twelve
(conclusion)
"A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME"
"I'm not meant to live alone.
Turn this house into a home.
When I climb the stair and turn the key,
Oh, please be there, still in love with me."
Lyrics by Hal David
Copyright 1964
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It was Tuesday, Clay's second full day of work in his new position as Assistant Chief Of Staff at St. Bart's Hospital and already he was questioning his decision to work there. His first day had been spent doing quality assurance on documentation of both staff physicians and the nursing staff. Maybe Clay had been spoiled by Cole Institute's near perfect documents, but Clay wondered how St. Bart's had passed the latest state inspection as so many records either contained errors or had been filed unfinished.
After a day and a half of inspecting old and present charts, Clay wasn't ready to place blame on anyone, but someone was at fault, whether it was his immediate superior, Dr. Brantley, or his administrator, Dr. Parker. Clay was shocked at what he'd found in the error-filled and incomplete medical records. If any of Clay's discoveries ever leaked out, St. Bart's would be shut down due to lawsuits over what appeared to be obvious malpractice.
Not wanting to reveal his finding to anyone who worked at St. Bart's, Clay was tempted to call Dr. Ed at Cole for advice...or else he could resign before his name became attached to the flawed facility, thus jeopardizing his newly acquired New York license for practicing medicine. But then, Dr. Ed and Dr. Jackson were old school buddies and it was only on Dr. Ed's recommendation that Clay had been hired on such short notice. Clay had to have a lot of documented proof before calling Dr. Ed.
Clay's second impulse was to call Tom and Rachel and invite them to lunch where Clay could drop a few hints without spilling the whole can of wax and perhaps Tom and/or Rachel could offer him advice even though they didn't know all the details of Clay's uncovering...because if Tom felt the slightest clue from Clay that something was rotten in Denmark, or in St. Bart's, Tom would be the first to say, 'Uh huh! I TOLD you so!' Tom had called Clay the Sunday evening before Clay's first day at his new job, asking him to reconsider and take the offer of going into private practice instead of trying to make his way at a second rate hospital.
Clay's excuse to Tom was that he wanted to wait until after the November presidential election. If the Democrat nominee won, then Clay would go back into Hodgkin's research with Rachel because the Democratic nominee had promised one of his first official acts as the new President would be to overturn the ruling on stem-cell research. Medical science had been handicapped ever since the present Republican President had been elected four years ago. The President was swayed and had almost bowed to the right-wing Christians who were pro-life. Clay, like most doctors, thought this was idiotic since the fertilized eggs needed for research were not in a woman's womb, they were on a frozen dish in a lab...and the eggs would NEVER become a human baby...thus, IF the new president opened the door to extensive stem cell projects...many cures could most likely be found, including Parkinson's, HIV, diabetes, spinal cord paralysis, Hodgkin's, maybe even Alzheimer's, and dozen of other illnesses which presently had no cures or treatment. Once again, the growth of man's intelligence had been deterred in the name of God by ignorant people who interpreted God's teachings in their narrow-minded, biased way. So going into Hodgkin's research was put on hold by Clay until the last of November. In the meantime, he had to cope with his new position which he had already begun to hate.
Things were better on the homefront for Clay. For some unknown reason, Benny hadn't called in over five days. Scott, on the other hand, was being a better than good patient. He had adjusted to his new healthy diet without much fuss and was already taking his new medications routinely. Clay noticed a change in Scott's attitude. He was happier, more cheerful, making small jokes whenever possible. Clay couldn't decide whether to credit Scott's new pleasant demeanor to the new drugs or to Scott feeling freer, being away from his woes in Boston...his former job, his student lover, and his wife and kids.
Clay had postponed asking Rick to help Scott find work until Scott showed an inclination to stay in New York and also until he felt strong enough to work. Clay had not visited the Rustic Inn to talk with Rick, primarily because, since Benny's harassment seemed to have ceased, he didn't want it to begin again once Benny saw him at the Inn.
Clay was started his new job on the day shift and while he was at work, Scott began to jog lightly to Washington Square and back once or twice daily. Scott's new energy pleased and impressed Clay. Although Clay still missed Dave with every ounce of his being, Scott was becoming an excellent roommate. He even fixed dinner for Clay on Monday before Clay got off from his job. Everything seemed copasetic between the two old friends.
By lunchtime Tuesday, Clay had changed his mind and thought better of asking Tom and Rachel to have lunch to extract advice from them. He called the apartment around noon to check on Scott, but Scott didn't answer. Clay assumed Scott was out jogging. He tried to call again and one, again at two, three, and four o'clock and still got no answer. Clay became concerned. He had not been able to reach Scott for over four hours and surely that was too long for anyone to jog.
So Clay decided to finish his work at five and go home to see why Scott hadn't answered and to assess the situation if there was one. Clay took a cab back to the apartment and ran up the stairs; opened the door and found that Scott was not there. Now Clay became really worried. Scott hadn't been gone long enough for him to call the police, but then, perhaps something had happened to Scott while jogging and the nearest hospital to which he'd've been taken was St. Vincent's. On a hunch, Clay called the St. V. ER and told the receptionist that he was Dr. Clay Lawson and was trying to find out if his patient, Scott Parsons, had been admitted there some time during the day. The receptionist checked and found no one there by that name. Clay then had her recheck for a 'John Doe' admission. Her reply again, was 'no'.
Clay became more alarmed. 'Where the fuck would he have gone? Where WAS he?' Playing amateur sleuth, Clay decided to check the closet and see what clothes Scott might have worn. Since he had brought so few with him to New York, it was easy to check to see what was missing. When Clay opened the closet door, he felt a surge of weakness in his knees...ALL of Scott's clothes were gone! So were his two suitcases! All of Scott's toiletries had been removed from the bathroom which made Clay panicky.
The next place Clay went was to the kitchen cabinet over the sink where all of Scott's new medications were kept. All the bottles of pills were there in tact. None were missing! This mystery was suddenly becoming stranger by the minute to Clay. As he turned away from the sink, that was when Clay saw an envelope on the kitchen table with 'Clay' written on the front.
Clay's hands began to shake as he opened the envelope to read the letter inside.
"Dear best friend, Clay:
By now you've discovered that I'm gone and so are all my belongings. I confess I feel guilty about making you go through the process of finding that you've lost someone else very close to you, from your life. It took me several days to get up the nerve to leave and once I made up my mind, I decided there was no turning back.
I'm leaving for a number of reasons...some are selfish, others not. First of all, being with you in New York has been a strain on both of us...you, taking care of me with my illness and my biggest struggle was that I found myself falling in love with you, more deeply every day. If we could go back fifteen years and start afresh, there might have been a chance that you could have loved me the same. Even if Dave never comes back, your memory of him would always make me take a backseat to him. I know how much you love him. Someone as handicapped as Helen Keller could've seen it.
I spent many hours contemplating our hopeless relationship as well as my failed relationship with Kathy. My student, Lonnie, opened my eyes to the gay world and it was the only time I'd ever experienced it except with you. I could have been one-hundred percent gay if I could have spent the rest of my life with you...or with someone like you.
On the other hand, I wondered if I could go back into the straight world and mend fences with my wife and get my two sons back. I had the best and the worst of both possible worlds before me and I didn't know which way to turn. Finally, after much self-deliberation, I came to the conclusion that I don't really belong in either world. I was unhappy in both. Maybe I can find a little in the next one.
If you look in the kitchen cabinet, you'll find all my medications. I hope you can send them back to Cole so that some other patient can use them. I've decided I don't need pills or anything else. I don't care to get well. Whatever happens to me...happens. If I die soon or a few months from now, it's my decision and the choice I've made.
Please don't look for me in Boston because I won't be there. I hope that you won't try to find me at all. Remember me as the teenager that you had fun with and not the adult who really had nothing to offer you.
The one thing good that I did for you was to rid you of Benny. He came to the apartment to see me yesterday and after a long session with him, I don't think he'll ever bother you again. I beg you, PLEASE, don't ever have sex with him again. He's not worth risking Dave over. God forgive me, but I almost gave my disease to Benny today on purpose. I couldn't let him stand in the way of yours and Dave's happiness. I asked Benny to have bareback sex with me, knowing full well what I was doing and then I suddenly stopped by asking myself, what gave me the power to be God and perhaps ruin or take someone else's life. So I put on some kind of psychotic exhibition for him and told him that if he ever tried to contact you either by phone or in person, I would be waiting for him in the alley behind the Rustic Inn with my pistol aimed at his balls. Apparently my performance was worthy of Oscar consideration because he bolted for the door, not shutting it as he ran down the stairs and into the street where he caught a cab.
I pray that Dave comes home soon. You need him. I only hope he discovers that he needs you as well.
I hope you won't be angry with me. Leaving is my decision and my staying is not your decision to make for me.
I love you with all my heart and hope you'll always think of me as the boy next door.
Love,
Scott"
Clay's tears were actually making the ink run on Scott's letter. With Dave missing, Clay thought he couldn't feel sadder or more depressed but he was mistaken. Now he'd lost two people who together had made his world complete. Clay was cognizant of the truth that he never could have loved Scott the way he loved Dave, but still, he DID love Scott!
Clay sank to his knees on the kitchen tile and wept out loud. His world had come to an end for the second time. His job of two days made him feel miserable enough and now this...! Clay felt childlike because at the moment all he wanted was to call his mother. She was the only tangible person left in his life.
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Against his better judgment, Dave gave in to Sam, the agent, and committed himself to the Boston live concert. Sam, being a typical southern California booker, automatically assumed he would receive thirty-percent of Dave's Boston earnings which was a 'no go' deal with Dave. Sam would only get twenty-percent or Dave refused to sign a contract. Sam whittled and finagled every way possible to get the extra ten percent, but Dave was adamant. After all, Dave didn't really want to play the gig. Sure, it meant big bucks, but it also meant he was headed back in the same direction from which he was running.
Then Sam made Dave a counter offer. He would agree to Dave's measly percentage if Dave would agree to come to L.A. in January and cut a CD. Jazz Notes Records was lining up a series of recordings to honor some of the past jazz greats. They were planning to cut a trombone album aswell as one each for trumpet, piano, and saxophone. Unbeknownst to Dave, Sam had taken some of the sax solo sections from the Garland soundtrack and played them for Kenny Jacobs, head of A&R at Jazz Notes, and Kenny had all but flipped when he heard Dave's work. The sax album would feature songs previously recorded by Stan Getz, Johnny Hodges, Paul Desmond, Bud Shank, only to mention a few. The idea of the CD was not to copy the style of the artists, just represent the each artist with one of his biggest hits, but Dave would play the songs in his own eminent style.
Dave was not only pleased, he was thrilled. He recalled Clay asking him in Central Park why he'd never cut a CD and here was his chance. Dave would be paid a substantial salary up front plus a small percentage of the sales over a certain designated number. Just like the Boston concert, Dave's attitude toward financial compensation was. 'fuck the money, just let him play'.
With each new good thing that was happening to Dave, he cursed the episode in jail even more. This was the black spot which couldn't be erased from Dave's mind. It was the main reason for never seeing Clay again.
Dave had another debt haunting his mind which he had to settle. He went to a bank in Burbank and had a cashier's check drawn up in the amount of one-thousand dollars made out to Job's Retreat which paid back God's money twofold which he had stolen from Mildred's desk and mailed it to her anonymously. That closed one chapter anyway and Dave felt better.
Now it was on to Boston for Dave and after that...he couldn't think past the concert.
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Scott's sudden exit left Clay depressed and feeling hopeless. He couldn't bear thinking of continuing his job at St. Bart's. He felt if he overlooked the flaws and discrepancies he had seen in the medical records and charts, he would be participating in an illegal cover-up and this was beneath him, as his dad and mom had always taught him to be honest, particularly with himself. But the things which he had uncovered at St. Bart's were actually putting patients' lives at risk. At the same time, being young, inexperienced, and newly licensed to practice in New York, who would believe him if he were to become a whistleblower?
He decided to bite the bullet for two more weeks and stay at the facility until he had enough documented evidence to expose the malfeasance of nearly all the hospital staff. Perhaps he could send his finding to the New York Hospital Medical Board in a large manila envelop without incriminating himself.
For moral support, he did call Tom and invited him and Rachel for dinner at Dave's apartment. He asked them to swear total confidentiality on their friendship before telling them his discoveries.
Tom was shocked, as was Rachel. They reinforced his plan and told him that he was doing the right, just, and only thing to do, which made Clay feel a whole lot better. Rachel told Clay a secret of her own.
"As long as we're baring ourselves naked to one another," Rachel said, "I've been doing a bit of cover-up work myself."
"Oh?" Clay said, puzzled.
"I wish I could trust you to join me, but it's almost as illegal as your St. Bart's report."
"Are you sure you want to tell me, 'Rache'?"
"Sure, I know your secret and I could use it to blackmail you if you ever told what I'm about to tell you. So, on that score, I feel safe in trusting you."
"Sounds as if we're on an even keel then," Clay replied.
"Well, I've become very unpatriotic where I work!"
"Rachel, it's no longer illegal to burn flags..." Clay joked. "That was in the 70's when you could get arrested for wearing an American flag on your jeans hip pocket."
"Oh, it's far more serious than flag-burning."
"Uh oh...what have you been doing?"
"For weeks, I lay in bed at night unable to sleep. Ask Tom if you don't believe me, and finally I sat up one night and said out loud, 'Fuck the President and the entire Republican party. I'm gonna do a stem cell study on Hodgkin's and if I'm caught and have to go to jail, I'll call Ted Kennedy or Joe Biden to raise such a stink in the Senate, they'll be sorry for trying to stop me!"
"Good God, Rachel! You could lose your license!" Clay exclaimed.
"If I find a cure, it's worth it. I'm so fucking tired of the 'you're killing babies' argument I could scream."
"Where did you get the eggs?"
"Where do you think...they're mine...fertilized by Tom. No fucking bastard in Congress is going to tell me what I can do with my own eggs. They're mine and I'll use them as I see fit. Pardon my being blunt, but passing an egg is no more important to me than shitting a turd...and if I want to play in my own shit, that's legal, so if something comes out of one of my other orifices, then I can play with that as well."
"Jesus! You surely can make a strong case," Clay said, laughing.
"You're the only person who knows, besides Tom."
"Don't look at me, Clay," Tom said, "I DID try to stop her, but I know her conviction to find a Hodgkin's cure and I knew she was right."
Rachel looked at Clay and said, "Now if you wanna leave one medical cover-up and join me in another...I'm offering you a job. As a matter of fact, you'd be a great help to me even if you didn't want to assist me. You could treat my regular patients which would give me more time to spend in the lab. That way, you'd actually be no part of my illegal activities, you'd be practicing honest medicine and incidentally, I know you're good at it!"
"So, in other words I'd be trading the risk of going to Sing Sing for the chance of going to federal prison instead?" Clay joked again.
"No, no, no! Like I said, you wouldn't be involved in what I'm doing. You'd just give me more time to do it!"
Tom spoke up. "Clay, don't try to argue with her. I learned that years ago. The best thing you can do is to accept her offer, otherwise we could be here the rest of the night."
"Seriously, Rachel," Clay said, "I could say 'yes' now, but I would like to think about it. I'm not trying to put you off, it's just the holidays are around the corner. Dave's gone and my best friend, Scott, left me a couple of weeks ago and, well, with Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up...I don't want to be alone. I've been thinking about going down to spend some time with my mother and stepdad. You wouldn't believe how different Christmas is when its celebrated in eighty degree heat. You'd both laugh your heads off seeing Christmas lights strung on palm fronds...Santa Clauses in shorts and bathing suits and all the malls decorated inside with fake snow and sleighs while outside the sun is blistering hot."
"Ah, come on, Clay," Tom said, "you can celebrate Hanukkah with Rachel and me. I'll bet you've never spun a dredl in your life."
"You're right, I haven't."
"You're going to miss a lot if you don't see Christmas in New York. There's no place like it in the world...Rockefeller Center and Fifth Avenue with all the lights and decorations...plus it'll be something like ten degrees outside...and SNOW! You can't celebrate Christmas in Florida sand, not the way you can walking in the slush and sliding from one parking meter to the next on icy sidewalks."
"I'd love to see Christmas here, if only..."
"If only Dave were here with you," Rachel murmured softly.
"Yeah," Clay sighed, "that's about it, I guess!"
"Stay here and maybe he'll come home for Christmas," Rachel pleaded.
"And if he doesn't? This apartment would be twice as lonely."
"Well, let's not get maudlin," Tom said, changing the subject. "Do what you have to do with St. Bart's and Rachel and I will back you all the way. I'll bet your old boss at Cole will do the same."
"I...I was thinking about calling Dr. Ed."
"Why don't you? He's a very famous man in the medical field...he has world renown, I might add, and he'll insist that you do the right thing."
"Thanks...and thank you both for coming over and letting me bend your ears."
Clay got Tom and Rachel their coats from the bedroom and after they'd bundled up to face the cold, they each kissed Clay lightly on the cheek and left. Their visit encouraged Clay and lifted his depression, temporarily at least. He picked up the three glasses in which he had served drinks and took them to the kitchen. He turned on the television as he passed it and went to wash the glasses in the kitchen sink.
On the television in the living room, Clay could hear the sound of an orchestra playing. He assumed it was the Boston Pops since he usually kept his set tuned to PBS. He heard a medley of familiar tunes, mostly Judy Garland songs. As he put the glasses into the draining rack, he heard the symphony segue into 'The Boy Next Door', with an alto sax lead. Clay suddenly felt weak. He knew that sound. No one in the world could play that song that particular way on the sax other than one person. Clay didn't have to look at the screen. He knew it was Dave playing.
He rushed to the television set and the camera shot was on the conductor. Quickly he picked up the TV section of the Times and looked at channel thirteen to see who was playing the concert, where, and when? Was it live or on tape? The TV guide only listed, 'to be announced' and gave no more information. He picked up the phone and asked information the phone number for the station. He got a recording saying that for additional thirty-five cents his call would be connected.
All the time he was on the phone, Dave kept one eye peeled on the TV screen to see if the director would shoot a close-up of the sax player...and he did. Clay dropped the phone when he saw Dave. It was the best sight Clay had ever seen in his life. But how the fuck could he find out if Dave were playing live or if this was a concert that had been redorded several weeks earlier? When the phone rang through to PBS-TV, all Clay got was a fucking recording.
Fortunately, Clay's being a doctor enabled him to think clearly in an emergency situation and he was level-headed enough to know where to seek help. He ran to the computer, logged onto Google and searched for PBS.org programming. He typed in the call letters of Channel Thirteen NYC to see what was playing now. The link didn't give him much description, only that it was a LIVE Boston concert tied into the new Judy Garland documentary with a tribute to her music by several guest artists. 'Guest artist?' Clay thought, 'one of those is Dave!'.
Hurriedly, he picked up the phone and dialed 617-555-1212 to get Boston information and asked for the number of various concert halls. One in particular rang a bell in Clay's memory, so he dialed and got the ticket office and as luck would have it, he reached the right one. The ticket person was reticent about giving Clay the back stage telephone number until Clay lied and said he was Dr. Clayton Lawson from New York, and he regretfully had some tragic news for one of the orchestral members.
The ticket seller bought Clay's lie and transferred his call to the stage manager. Clay gave the SM the same rigmarole and he bought the lie as well. The SM told Clay that the concert should be finished in ten minutes and if he cared to hold on, he would get Dave to the phone as soon as possible.
Clay's heart began to pound with anxiety and anticipation. He held the phone to one ear and continued to listen to the orchestra with the other. The orchestra played a swinging version of 'Get Happy' and then the music began to build for the finale...Dave playing 'Over The Rainbow'. Maybe it was the fact that Clay knew that Dave was alive and well, or perhaps it was Dave's rendition of the song, or even the song itself...but a combination of all three had Clay crying out loud and shedding tears. One time when the SM picked up the phone to see if Clay was still holding in New York, he heard Clay crying and thought, 'Boy, the news for Dave must REALLY be tragic if the doctor, himself, was openly weeping'.
At long last, after ten minutes which seemed to last forever, the concert was over and Channel 13 was about to log onto its next program. Clay held the phone tightly and as patiently as his nerves would allow until someone picked up the back stage phone in Boston.
"Hello?" it was a woman's voice.
"I...I...uh...was waiting to speak with Dave..." Clay say, nervously.
"I'm Sarah, Dave's wife. How can I help you?"
"Pardon?"
"I said, I'm Sarah, Dave's wife. Larry, the stage manager, told Dave and me that you had some urgent news."
"I'm afraid I said, 'tragic'," Dave replied, still puzzled.
"Oh, dear, 'tragic'? This is dreadful. You are a doctor in New York City?"
"Yes, I am..."
"Then your news must be about Dave's twin brother who lives there. Would you mind telling me the news so that I can break it gently to Dave?"
"Dave has a twin brother...in New York?" Clay was stunned. His call to Boston was getting more bizarre by the second.
"Yes, his twin brother, Larry. Dave and I both knew he had AIDS, but he insisted keeping his dancing job in 'The Lion King'. He...he isn't dead, is he? I mean you ARE Larry's physician, aren't you? What is the tragic news or why else would you call in the middle of a concert broadcast?"
Sarah was firing questions so fast Clay couldn't answer and his thoughts were in shambles when he found he was talking to Dave's 'wife'. Clay's first impulse was to quietly set the phone down and disconnect it as if there had been a phone line accident. Instead, he was curious to find out a bit more from Sarah.
"Uh...Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"You ARE married to Dave Banks, aren't you?"
"Well, no. My husband's name is Eisenberg...Dave Eisenberg..."
"Does your husband play saxophone?"
"No, he plays the bassoon...I play flute and piccolo..."
Clay was so relieved he wished he was near Sarah so that he could kiss her.
"Sarah, I'm afraid there's been a big mix-up. I was calling to speak with Dave Banks, the guy who played all the sax solos."
"Oh, THAT Dave? Wasn't he wonderful? I got goosebumps every time he played a solo..."
"Yes, THAT Dave! Can you call him to the phone?"
"I'll try...but now does this mean that Larry is all right then?"
"Sarah, I don't even know Larry."
"He really IS very sick, you know. The doctor...oh, I assumed that was you...well, he told Larry NOT to go back to work...but you know those 'hoofers'...'the show MUST go on' and all that jazz."
"I...I hope Larry is fine...if I hear differently, you'll be the first one I'll call."
"Thank you, doctor. You're very kind."
"Now, I believe you were going to call Dave Banks to the phone?"
"Jeez! I almost forgot! Let me go find him." ditzy Sarah said as she dropped the phone and scurried off to the stage to find the 'real' Dave.
Twenty-five minutes later, Clay was still waiting for Dave when another man's voice picked up the Boston phone.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
"Yes, I was holding the phone for Dave Banks...the saxophonist to answer."
"I'm Clyde, the music librarian. I was picking up the scores off the stand when I saw the phone receiver lying on the floor...so I picked it up."
"Clyde, do you know if Dave Banks is still there?"
"Who?"
"DAVE BANKS! The saxophone soloist on tonight's show..."
"OH, HIM! Wasn't he sensational? In all my years of being connected with these broadcasts, I never heard anyone play as he did."
"Yes, he was sensational...BUT, IS HE STILL THERE?"
"I don't think so...looks like everyone has gone. I only see the stage manager and his assistant. All the musicians left ten minutes ago."
"GOD DAMN IT!"
"Pardon? Did I say something wrong?" Clyde asked, very innocently.
"No, Clyde...I...uh spilled a cup of hot coffee in my lap..." Clay lied.
"You oughta be careful. You know the best thing for a burn is cold water. People used to put butter on burns but they found out that butter could cause scars...and you shouldn't get scars in your lap. I mean that's a very sensitive area. Maybe you should take off your clothes and take a cold shower...that might keep you from scarring your...well, you know."
"Thanks for the advice, Clyde, I'll remember that and go...jump into the shower."
"You're doing the right thing!"
"Thanks."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, Clyde, I'm afraid that's all."
"Well, then, goodbye."
"Goodbye, Clyde."
They both hung up. "Jesus! What a bunch of fucking idiots!" Clay screamed out loud. "Why the fuck didn't they get Dave to the phone? We were so close...so very fucking close..."
Clay's feeling of hope which he had maintained for the past half hour had been replaced by a feeling of total helplessness. Clay considered the possibility of rushing to JFK and getting the next flight to Boston. If he were lucky, he could be in Boston in less than an hour...but then, where would he begin to look for Dave? That prospect seemed hopeless, too.
For the first time in his life, Clay understood how depressed people could commit suicide. Despair had pounced on him from all directions. He had been so close to talking with Dave...but that proved to be a false hope. He would almost rather jump in front of a subway than deal with the idea of going back to work in the morning at St. Bart's. Rachel's job offer seemed inanely risky...or even 'insanely' risky to him. The last place he wanted to go was to the Rustic Inn because of Scott's warning to never see Benny again.
Clay began to put two and two together...had Scott loved him enough to want to have unsafe sex with Benny and deliberately given Benny HIV? Was Scott that vengeful? 'Oh, Jesus, Scott, how I wish it could have been you that I fell in love with. It's just that time plays tricks on all of us. If the two of us could have met and talked before I met Dave...I hope you find someone somewhere!'
Suddenly the phone rang and Clay leapt over the couch to get it.
"Hello?", Clay answered, hopefully.
"Clay?"
"Oh, hi, Mom..."
"Rob and I were just sitting here thinking about you and I thought I'd give you a ring to find out how you're doing with your new job."
"Mom, I could lie to you...but I never have. It's...it's not so good, Mom."
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry to hear that."
"I think I'm gonna quit, Mom."
"If you're unhappy, that's what you SHOULD do. There are plenty of other places for a doctor of your calibre."
"Thanks, Mom."
"I'll talk to Rob about it and see what he can do for you..."
"Thanks, Mom."
"And Clay...for goodness sake's, don't worry about money. You know that anything you need, I'll get it for you in a heartbeat."
"Thanks, Mom, I know that."
"Oh, sweetheart, you should've had PBS on the past hour. Rob and I heard the most marvelous concert. It was a tribute to Judy Garland."
"I saw it, too, Mom."
"Then, you know how marvelous it was. I only wish you dad could have heard it. What did you think of the saxophonist?"
"I...I loved him, Mom...as a matter of fact, I'm IN love with him..."
"What do you mean, Clay?"
"That was Dave, Mom."
"Dave? YOUR DAVE?"
"Yes, Mom, MY Dave!"
"Oh, honey, I didn't even know he had returned. You didn't call to tell me."
"He hasn't returned..." Clay broke into tears.
"Clay, what's wrong?"
"You gotta minute?"
"I have all night if it takes it, Clay."
"Let me tell you what just happened."
Clay related the whole episode to his mother. She didn't interrupt at all until he had finished.
"Oh, Clay, honey, I'm so sorry. I know how disappointed you must feel. I mean, you've been through so much sadness and tragedy during the past month. It just doesn't seem fair."
"I know."
"Listen, if you DO quit your job, why don't you come home to Florida for a few days and think things over. When you're involved in a situation subjectively, you can always look at it more objectively if you see it from a distance."
"That sounds like a good idea. I...I was thinking about coming home for Thanksgiving and Christmas anyway."
"Then, why don't you? There's nothing Rob and I would rather have for a Christmas gift than having you here with us."
"I'd love to see both of you, too."
"Clay, if you need money for a plane ticket, let me know. I'll buy it here and you can pick it up at the airport there."
"I have money for the ticket, Mom, but thanks..."
"Then, come on down. Maybe after the first of the year, you'll have a different perspective on what you want to do...and where you want to practice medicine."
"I...I'll think it over and call you in the next day or two."
"Clay, I'm getting all excited thinking about your coming home."
"I...I'm not promising, but I will consider it very carefully."
"Very well, son. I'll be expecting to hear from you."
"I'll call...I promise..."
"All right, dear, I love you..."
"And I love you and Daddy Rob, too."
"I'll tell him..."
"Good night, Mom..."
"Good night, my darling."
It wasn't the brightest ray of hope for Clay, but it was 'hope' after all. Good old Mom! She always seemed to know when to call and just what to say!
Clay turned off the TV, went to the CD collection to pick out a couple of CD's which might relax him when he went to bed. His first choice was Paul Horn's 'Other Voices' which made him think of another album with the same title, Errol Garner's, 'Other Voices', the only album Clay knew which Garner had made with a full orchestra. On it was 'Misty' and four or five other of Garner's original compositions, 'Dreamy', in particular, one of Clay's favorites. He decided to play Errol's CD first. As the first track began, Clay fixed himself a scotch, turned out the lights in the living room and sat down on the couch in the dark. The only light in the room was from the street lamp outside, spilling across the floor creating eerie shadows.
Clay didn't move through the entire CD, nor the next CD, Paul Horn's. The drink and the almost two hours of soft music had relaxed him. He had become sleepy and was ready for bed. He stumbled as he made his way into the bedroom in the dark. He took off all his clothes and plopped on the bed in a dead heap. He had almost forgotten the bad Boston 'telephone' ordeal and was too tired to dread going to work the next day. He had cried out his last tears on the phone with his mother and all he wanted to do was sleep...go to sleep and never wake up. If only that were possible without actually attempting suicide.
Clay turned onto his side and grabbed Dave's pillow and began to hold it. No one knew except Clay that he had not changed Dave's pillowcase since he left. Clay could still smell what was left of Dave's cologne and even a hint of Dave's sweat remained...or at least in Clay's mind he could smell it. How happy life would be if only Dave were there in person! Clay couldn't believe that he could get an erection by holding the pillow, but, inside and outside, Clay longed for Dave. Why couldn't Dave long for him as well? By midnight, Clay had drifted into a deep sleep.
Almost an hour later, Clay was awakened by a knock on his door. Clay almost decided to ignore it because he had been disturbed enough for one night. Not realizing he was naked, again he made his way through the dark living room and opened the door where he saw the silhouette of a man.
"Hi...I...I was in the neighborhood and..."
Clay wanted to pinch himself and awaken out of his dream----in front of him stood Dave!
"You...expecting someone?" Dave asked, looking at Clay's nakedness.
"Oh, my God! Dave? Is it you? Is it REALLY YOU?"
"Yes, my love..."
Clay practically jumped into Dave's arms and began to cover his face with kisses. "Oh, God, it IS you...it IS you," Clay kept repeating, in between kisses.
Dave responded somewhat reticently and said, "Is it all right if I come in?"
"Jesus Christ! The only problem is...will I ever let you go?" Clay replied. "Oh, God, how I missed you..."
"I...I've missed you, too, Clay."
"Sweetheart, I won't ask where you've been. That's not important... just tell me if you're all right?"
"I am, now."
"Oh, my God! I can't believe you're here...I heard the PBS broadcast earlier...and I tried...Oh, God, how I tried to reach you in Boston!"
"You caught the show?"
"I was mesmerized the whole hour. You were wonderful. I was in the kitchen when I heard you playing, 'The Boy Next Door'...and I knew it was you...I knew it without looking."
"I was talking to you..."
"You think I don't know that?"
"We...we've both been through a lot...I know it's been as difficult for you as it has for me," Dave said, holding Clay close to him.
"Fuck all that! You're here and that's all that matters!"
"The ticket I had in the Boston airport was not for New York City. I had many places I started to run to, but I began to think...that there was no one in the world I'd rather see than you...I traded in my ticket and caught the first flight to JFK...Clay, a lot has happened...things I don't know if I can tell you about."
"I don't want to know, Dave...I don't NEED to know."
"I...I may not be the same person that you fell in love with...and what's worth, I don't know if I can ever be that person again."
"Dave, I see all I want to...you're everything in my life...only please don't tell me you no longer love me."
"I couldn't say that if I tried. You're all I've thought about, day and night. Of course I love you...I was frightened as hell that you wouldn't love me if I told you what happened to me."
"There's nothing you could say to stop me from loving you. I waited all my life to find you...and I lost you once...but it'll never happen again."
"Would you be willing to forgive me if I said things happened to me which might have changed me...?"
"I'd forgive you if you killed someone or robbed a bank..."
"I...practically did...rob a bank...well, it wasn't really a bank."
"That doesn't matter...we'll pay it all back!"
"I already have."
"So...?"
"Can...we turn on a light where I can get a good look at you?" Dave asked.
"In the bedroom...if you'll let me take your clothes off and look at you at the same time..."
"You really want that?"
"More than life..."
"Come on, then."
Dave took Clay by his hand and walked into the bedroom. Clay began to tear Dave's clothes off his body until he, too, was naked. Then Clay turned on the light.
It was if they were speaking a duet on the downbeat when they said, simultaneously, "God, let me look at you!", then they both laughed.
"You're beautiful, just as I remembered," Dave said.
"Don't look at my dick," Clay said, "it's bright red from jerking off three or four times a night while fantasizing about you."
"Then maybe tonight, you won't have to fantasize," Dave replied.
Clay rushed into Dave's arms again and kissed him passionately. "I never want to spend another night without you..."
"I don't either, my love," Dave said.
"Let's go to bed," Clay said, pulling Dave to the bedside.
Clay lay down and Dave covered Clay's body with his. Each was aware of the other's throbbing erection and soon they made love. It was like the first time, only better, more meaningful, and they explored every part of the other's body...touching, probing, searching...until their orgasms exploded between their abdomens at the same time.
Clay raised his head to look into his lover's eyes and joked, "That was 'one'. You owe me at least a hundred more..."
"My God, that'll take nearly to Thanksgiving..." Dave retorted.
"Speaking of which..."
"What?"
"Thanksgiving!"
"What about it?"
"What would you say if we went to meet your 'in-laws' in Florida for Thanksgiving...AND Christmas?"
"Fine...just as long as we're together."
"My mom is dying to meet you in person. She heard you play on TV tonight and she's your second biggest fan...after me, of course."
"Maybe she'll buy my first CD when I cut it in January...AFTER we celebrate our first New Year's Eve in Times Square and fly to L.A. the following week for my recording session!"
"What? How? When?"
"I'll tell you about it tomorrow, if we ever stop making love tonight."
"Then tell me about it the day after tomorrow..."
"Do you have some place to go tomorrow?"
"I did...but never again. I had a job but I just quit it!"
"Oh, you want me to support you now? Huh?"
"Money is something neither of us'll ever worry about again."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll explain THAT to you day after tomorrow...but for now, lay back, close your eyes and let me make love to you."
"Don't we need music for that?"
"Wait!"
Clay jumped out of bed and ran to the CD player and placed six discs which Clay had set aside for Dave's return; three of which were by Chet Baker, but the first was by Della Reese. Clay returned to the bed to embrace Dave and as Della began to sing a Ray Noble classic which was written way back in 1938. The lyrics were more than appropriate as they expressed what Clay and Dave both wanted to say:
"I hadn't anyone till you.
I was a lonely one till you.
I used to lie awake and wonder if there could be
A someone in the wide world just made for me.
Now I see I had to save my love for you.
I never gave my love till you.
And thru my lonely heart demanding it,
Cupid took a hand in it;
I hadn't anyone till you."
fin
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(This is the conclusion of "Lush Life", no more chapters to follow. I think Clay and Dave can share what we all want).
Author's note and disclaimer: Thus, with the end of chapter 12, let's all assume that Dave and Clay lived happily ever after. Had I written another chapter or two, to make it more interesting, another problem of series of problems would have to pop up and ruin their bliss. I, for one, get very angry watching gay movies (especially foreign gay movies) or reading gay novels where the hero and/or his lover MUST die or go their separate ways and I usually ask myself, "Wasn't this suppose to be a 'gay' story? Then what was 'gay' about the ending?" I'm a sucker for seeing two 'prince charmings' ride off together on white horses into the western sunset. So let's use our positive imaginations and pretend Dave cut his jazz CD. It won a Grammy and sold a million copies. Clay established his own practice in New York and soon became a successful millionaire doctor on Park Avenue. The two of them still reside in Greenwich Village and 'The Upstairs At The Downstairs' reopened with Dave headlining there nightly, playing to sold-out crowds. Rob and Elizabeth sent them a pair of Labrador Retriever puppies from the latest litter and Clay and Dave named them 'Chet' and 'Judy'...and Dave and Clay walk the pups nightly in Washington Square.
Now for the disclaimer, using John Williams as a convention to get Dave and Clay back together, only happened in the author's mind. It was an entirely fictional episode and John Williams didn't score a Judy Garland documentary, although in the author's opinion, it's a damned good idea!
Due to the email response begging me to continue this story...I have to say "Lush Life" is complete...now and forever. But my next story will be "If Love Were All" which shifts to Boston where Scott began his affair with Lonnie. I hope you enjoy it!
Ritch Christopher