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LUSH LIFE
by
Ritch Christopher
Chapter Eight
"DON'T WORRY 'BOUT ME"
Don't worry about me, I'll get along.
Forget about me, be happy, my love.
Let's say that our little show is over
and so the story ends.
Why not call it a day the sensible way
and still be friends?
Look out for yourself should be the rule.
Give your heart and your love
to whomever you love.
Don't be a fool.
Darling, why should we cling to some foolish thing
that used to be?
If you can forget,
don't worry 'bout me!!!
Lyrics by Ted Koehler
Music by Rube Bloom
Copyright 1939
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There was no change of buses, but the first stop on Dave's journey was in Washington D.C. where he disembarked for a thirty-minute layover. He was hungry, he realized. Then he spied an elderly black woman just outside the terminal, selling packaged sandwiches out of a galvanized pail, probably her old mop bucket.
Dave walked over to her and asked, "How much?"
"Meat, egg, or cheese?" she replied.
"Egg, I guess."
"Three dollahs a piece or two fo' five."
"Give me two, please." He handed her a five and a one and told her to keep the change. Then, in a voice above a whisper, he asked her, "Hey, do you know if there's a liquor store nearby?"
"They's one in the stashun, but you kin buy it a whole lot cheapah 'bout a block up the street."
"Which direction?"
"Noth."
"Thanks."
Dave shoved the two cold sandwiches into the two side pockets of his stolen jacket and walked toward the liquor store. He was feeling pain in his rectum, and, having no pain pills, he thought a good shot or two of whiskey would ease him.
In the liquor store, he bought two half pints of cheap bourbon and set them on the counter. The liquor store clerk looked at Dave, noting his shoddy clothes and general appearance and assumed Dave was an "alky".
"Hey, buddy, you can save a buck if you buy the same stuff in the pint size."
"Uh...I...can't hide a pint in my jacket."
"Oh, you're traveling on the bus?"
"Uh...yes."
"Just don't let the driver see that you have whiskey, he'll kick your butt off and you won't get to...well,wherever you're going."
"Thanks. I'll remember that."
"Just be careful. It depends on the driver, but they've been known to call the cops and have someone arrested for drinking on the bus. That 'drink and don't drive' applies to the passengers as well."
"Thanks, I'll be careful. How much?"
"Let's see...twenty bucks for the two."
"Jesus! I thought this was the cheap stuff!" Dave exclaimed.
"It is! You oughta see what I charge for the brand names. Everything's gone sky high."
"Why, for chrissakes?"
"My distributor blames it on the rising cost of gasoline."
"I'm not drinking gasoline!"
"Yeah, I know, but with that crazy fucker in the White House, everything's gone up everywhere. The asshole's sitting in the Oval Office pretending he's not to blame while all the while, he and his daddy are gettin' filthy rich off the gas prices. I'll...I'll knock two bucks off! Give me eighteen."
"Thanks, I appreciate that."
"Remember, don't let no one see you! Go to the bathroom if you feel you need a drink."
Dave counted out twenty dollars and told the clerk to keep the change. Somehow he managed to squeeze a bottle in the pockets housing his egg sandwiches, mashing the bread flat. Then he went back to the terminal and reboarded his bus. He was luckier finding a seat this time. There was an empty seat directly across from the restroom in the back of the bus. Seated next to the window was a young sailor, approximately nineteen years old. He glared at Dave when Dave sat next to him. The next stop was Cleveland and if Dave smelled as bad as he looked, the sailor thought, why the hell didn't he sit elsewhere?
Dave's face was still pale and his eyes looked like a raccoon's eyes, dark and sunken. He was not feeling well and it showed; he could tell what the other passengers thought. The passengers knew for sure that Dave was a drunk and they hoped he wouldn't disrupt their trip. Before the bus pulled away from the station, Dave ducked into the tiny bathroom and drank almost half a bottle of the cheap booze.
'Damn!' he thought. 'Why the fuck didn't I buy some gum or breath mints?' He could smell it on himself. He knew he couldn't hide the aroma from the other passengers, especially the scowling sailor boy.
He took his seat and faced away from the sailor, hoping no one would notice that he had taken a drink. However, the drink did the trick for in fifteen minutes time, the alcohol took its effect on Dave and his pain subsided. He was so relaxed that he fell asleep as soon as he'd reclined his chair. The next thing Dave was aware of was the sailor shaking him.
"Hey, buddy...BUDDY! Wake up! You're snoring like a buzz saw and it's buggin' the shit out of me and everyone around you!"
"Huh?" Dave said, coming out of his deep sleep. "I...I'm sorry."
"Not half as sorry as the rest of us."
"I...I'll try to stay awake. I really am sorry."
"Forget it! If I could find a vacant seat I'd move. Just don't start snoring again."
"I...I won't..."
Dave and the sailor sat quietly side by side for another thirty minutes and Dave felt his pain returning. He needed another drink but he also knew that if he went back to the restroom, the passengers around him would become suspicious and perhaps report him to the bus driver. Dave would simply have to suffer until he got to Cleveland in order to take another drink.
Another hour passed along the highway and now the sailor had fallen asleep. This was Dave's chance to make a fast exit into the restroom, but unfortunately, the sailor, while sleeping had nuzzled onto Dave's shoulder. Dave refused to be as rude to the sailor as the swabbie had been to him, so he let the sailor rest against his body. This was very uncomfortable for Dave, he was unable to change positions in his seat and his pain was coming back, stronger.
The sailor began having some kind of a nightmare and started talking inaudibly. Occasionally, in a muffled cry, he would say, "No, no, no." Dave noticed the sailor beginning to writhe and even put one arm around Dave's chest and started to clinch Dave's jacket. Dave couldn't decide whether to awaken the young man and end his bad dream or wait for it to disappear. Dave remembered how his dad used to react during a nightmare. His mother had warned him that it was dangerous to disturb his dad for fear he would slug him.
Finally, the sailor's dream worsened and he drew his head up near Dave's and he awakened with a jerk and was shocked to see how close their faces were. The sailor screamed, "Get away from me, you faggot!"
Dave was horrified and humiliated as the passengers in the next three rows turned around to assess their view.
"PLEASE!" Dave said, loudly. "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! He was having a bad dream."
"Fuckin' drunk!" said one of the men in the next row, "Leave the kid alone, pervert!"
The sailor came to his senses and realized it was only a dream and not Dave's fault. He began to defend Dave. "No, no, it's all right! He didn't do anything to me, I...I was dreaming."
This seemed to satisfy the onlookers and they turned back around, facing forward.
"I'm sorry," the young man said. "I,,,"
"It's all right. I don't know what was happening to you in your sleep, but it must've been pretty bad."
"I...I saw my buddy...on my ship...and...there was this explosion..."
"That's all right," Dave said, "don't try to relive the experience. Forget about it."
"I...I guess everyone thought you were a pervert by the ruckus I made."
"It's OK, They know now."
"I guess if I can sleep on top of you, we can tell each other our names. I'm Neal, Neal Frye."
"My name is Wes...Wes Phillips," Dave replied. He almost said 'Charlie' but he thought the police might be looking for 'Charlie', who stole God's money. "Where are you headed, Neal?"
"Evanston, Indiana. That's my home."
"Couldn't you get a flight out of New York?"
"Yeah, I could...but I'm...I'm trying to recover from this nervous condition and the thought of flying gave me a panic attack. The bus trip was longer but safer. Where you going?"
"Out west...just out west. I'll know where to get off once I get there."
"Pardon my saying it...but you appear to be sorta down on your luck."
Dave sighed."Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"Looks like we're in the same boat, only in different compartments."
"You won't mind if I go to the bathroom, do you?"
"You, uh, want to take another drink?"
"Am I that obvious?"
"Sorta." "I'm not an alcoholic in case you think I am. I hardly ever touch the stuff."
"Looks like you're making up for lost time."
"It's just that...I...I...I had surgery a few days ago and I forgot to pack my pain pills."
"Wow! No wonder you're sniggling a snort."
"It does help to ease my pain."
"What kind of surgery?"
Dave struggled for an answer to avoid the truth..."Cancer...colon cancer."
"Fuck! Did they get it all..I mean, your surgery?"
"They don't know yet."
"I guess you'll have to go through chemo and radiation. That's what my uncle did. He had colon cancer, too."
"Did...did he recover?"
"Nah, he died three months after his operation," Neal replied, then realizing what he had said, quickly added, "but I'm sure they got yours in time. Let's hope anyway."
There was a long silence before Neal spoke again..."Incidentally, would you like a stick of gum?"
"I'd love it. I guess I need it, for your sake as well as my own."
The sailor fished into his uniform blouse pocket and retrieved a pack of Wrigley's' Double Mint and handed a piece to Dave.
"I don't know how edible they are, but I bought two egg salad sandwiches at the D.C. terminal. You can have one if you like."
Dave reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a very limp and smashed sandwich and offered it to Neal. Neal took one look and said, "Thanks, just the same."
Dave looked at the crumpled bread and said, "I don't blame you."
"We have about an hour's layover in Cleveland, we can both get a bite when we get there."
"I think I'll wait, too. Maybe I should go and flush these monstrosities down the toilet."
"You're...you're not going to take another drink, are you?"
"No, as long as I have you to talk with...I won't need a drink."
"Go on, then. We'll chat away as soon as you get back."
Dave rose and went into the restroom. The gum was still fresh in his mouth and would probably hide the aroma of another drink. It WOULD ease his pain, but he decided to forego the drink, just to pee and flush the two sandwiches and settle for a long conversation with his seat mate. Dave returned, not having had a second drink.
"If this is painful to talk about, then don't...but what you said about your buddy and an explosion---did that really happen or were you...?"
"It really happened."
"I'm sorry, Neal. We'll talk about something else."
"No, maybe I OUGHT to talk about it. I could say things to you with no problems. You're a stranger and, after today, I'll never see you again."
"All right, say what you want. I'll just listen."
"I'll have to lower my voice. I don't want anyone else to hear."
"OK."
"You see, Wes. my buddy Patrick and I grew up together. We both had older sisters, but neither of us had a brother. So from about five or six years old, we became like each other's brother. We were almost like Siamese twins 'cause wherever one of us was, the other was either there or close by. Growing up, we became sorta closer than brothers, if you know what I mean...only it wasn't dirty. Shit! We fool around like all best friends do, I guess. And then it came time for us to graduate from high school. Both our folks were on the poor side, and Patrick and I decided to help 'em out by joining the Marines and getting our college paid for...only Patrick couldn't pass the Marine Corps physical. He had been born with a slightly deformed foot and they wouldn't take him. So that's when he and I tried to get into the Navy. He showed the Navy doctors his foot and it didn't seem to matter to them, so we both signed up for a hitch, long enough to get college money."
"That was smart. Nice, too, that you were willing to help your folks out, financially."
"We went through training and the Navy had this deal if you signed up with a buddy, we wouldn't be separated...and that's what happened. We got assigned to the USS Brickenshire to work in the artillery unit. We were happy as larks in a park being together. Then about four months ago, we docked in Singapore and one of our mates got some kind of flu bug...somethin' we hadn't been vaccinated for and I got the bug, only Patrick didn't. Any rate the twenty or so of us were quarantined from the rest of the crew. I was in sick bay for over a month. One day, about the third week I was sick, I heard one of the medical orderlies talking about some accident that had happened in the ammo unit. They said a couple of the sailors had been killed. I lay in bed another week, not being able to find out the names or if anyone else had been injured. When I got released that's when I found out that one of the two killed..was my best friend."
"How did you feel?"
"I...I sorta went ballistic, I guess. I didn't even get chance to see him. They'd shipped his body back home to be buried. I guess I made an ass out of myself, because when I heard the news about Patrick, I fainted like a fucking woman. They told me I became delirious and was talking out of my head. I couldn't stop crying and I knew if I told 'em how close I was to Patrick, I'd've been discharged."
"You and Patrick were involved in a--a homosexual relationship?"
"Uh...yeah, but only Patrick and I knew about it. NO ONE ELSE! I felt like I'd lost the other half of myself. They put me on all kinds of drugs to calm me down...Haldol, Thorazine, Visteril, and I don't know what else. The next time we docked, I was flown to Bethesda Hospital for psych evaluation to see if I could stay in the navy. That was last week and one of the doctors thought it might help if I got to go home and visit with my family for a couple of weeks. Of course, I know I'll have to go visit Patrick's grave and I...I don't know how I'll feel after that."
"How did you get to New York? Isn't that where you caught the bus?"
"Another guy I met in the hospital told me his folks were picking him up and driving to New York, and if I wanted to make a detour, it would be a good chance to see the big city...sorta like therapy. I only stayed two days and nights before I caught this bus."
"I'm sorry to hear about your loss, Neal."
"I know I'll never find anyone to take his place."
"Do you think you were in love with him, Neal?"
"If I wasn't, it was the closest thing to it."
"Patrick was the only one in your life?"
"Yeah,"
"What are you nineteen...twenty?"
"Nineteen."
"I know everyone will say this to you, but it's true---you ARE young and you'll find someone in your lifetime that you'll learn to care for."
"Wes, have you ever lost anyone that close to you."
"...Yes...yes, I have."
"How long ago."
"Uh...last week."
"My God! Now I feel guilty about telling you my problems when you've just gone through the same thing as I."
"It...it wasn't quite the same, Neal. My lover didn't die."
"He left you?"
"No, I left him."
"I won't ask why!"
"Thanks, I'm afraid I wouldn't tell you why."
"Only that's why you left New York?"
"Yeah...that's why."
"Is there any hope of your going back and trying to patch things up?"
"No...what happened is irreparable."
"So, from what you told me, you're running away and you don't know where you're running to?"
"Something like that."
"Do you have any money to get to--wherever it is?"
"I have some money in the bank, if I can contact an old friend who can vouch for my ID and get access to my account."
"I thought your clothes and appearance were deceiving."
"Why do you say that?"
"I looked at your hands. You've recently had a manicure and your fingernails didn't go with your attire."
"Maybe I ought to change my nails or my clothes."
"Make it your clothes. If you don't mind my saying so, you're too good-looking to dress like a bum."
"Being honest with you, Neal, I FEEL like a bum."
"I expect when you start your chemo treatment and get to feeling better, so will your outlook on your appearance."
Dave almost forgot he'd lied to Neal about having colon cancer and when Neal mentioned chemo, he forgot why, momentarily.
"Oh, yeah...that..."
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Clay and Scott reached Dave's apartment and Clay suggested that Scott go into the bathroom, shower and clean up, then they'd go out to dinner. Scott agreed and went into the bathroom. While he was undressing, he noticed the rack of towels on the wall, all embroidered with the initials "D.B." and none that showed "C.L." who Scott immediately assumed Clay had a roommate and none of the furnishing in the place belonged to Clay. The towels were chocolate brown, trimmed in black, so the roommate MUST be male. All the while that he and Clay had talked on the way back from Central Park, the conversation had only been about Scott and his problems. Not once had he asked Clay anything about his private life. Was Clay gay? Had he not grown out of the adolescent homosexual 'foolarounds' as Scott had? Was the roommate Clay's lover? Then where was he and why hadn't Clay mentioned him? Scott knew that the two of them would have lots to talk about during dinner and a lot to catch up on.
"Hey, Scott, how do you like German food?"
"The only German foods I know about are Weiner Schnitzel, Knockwurst, and Apple Strudel."
"Then you're in for a treat...MY treat."
"Clay, I'm sorry but I don't have much of an appetite."
"That's OK. Tonight, I'll not only be your old buddy, but your doctor."
"That's funny, I'd forgotten you were a practicing MD.I always thought you'd wind up being a veterinarian, the way you used to love animals"
"I still do, the two-legged kind."
"Can I ask now or should I wait until later...who's 'D.B.'?"
"Huh?"
"The monogrammed towels in the bathroom."
"Oh...they're Dave's."
"Dave's?"
"I tell you all about him during dinner!"
"He...uh..he won't be joining us for dinner?"
"I wish he would, but I'm afraid not..."
"I detect a semblance of intrigue..."
"Come on, get dressed. I don't want to have to stand in line to get a table at the German restaurant."
The Drang and Sturm Restaurant in the Village featured some of the finest German and Bavarian cuisine in greater Manhattan. It was extremely popular and usually had patrons from all five boroughs of New York, as well as New Jersey. Their specialties included Schweinebraten (German style roast pork) with Kartoffelkloesse (their own special recipe for potato dumplings). The only time Clay had eaten there, he ordered Zweibelfleisch (onion beef), Spargel in Weisser Soss (asparagus in white sauce) and Karotten im Bier (carrots in beer) and had found it delicious.
When they were seated at the restaurant, the time came for Clay and Scott to order. Scott said he would have soup and a salad...frankly, he didn't know two words of the German language and didn't recognize anything on the menu.
"That's bullshit, Scott!" Clay remarked. "Let me order for you."
"OK, but don't expect me to eat much."
Clay looked at the waiter and ordered his favorite dishes--the ones he'd eaten before and said, "Now for my friend, please bring him some roast beef and an order of your vegetable medley with cauliflower, cabbage, and broccoli."
"Good God, Clay, I won't eat that. I hate vegetables, especially those three."
"I'm speaking now as your doctor, not your friend. You're gonna LEARN to like all three if you want to get well."
"What do you mean?"
"I was working at the Cole Institute in Briarwood up until a few weeks ago. Cole is the most advanced treatment center in the country for HIV and AIDS. The one thing that all the Cole doctors insist on is that all HIV or AIDS patients eat cabbage, cauliflower, and heavy on the broccoli at noon and evening meals."
"Is that a euphemism for euthanasia?"
"Most hospitals doing AIDS research have found a magical quality in those vegetables...especially broccoli. In many documented cases, the leafy cocktail, as it's called, actually does more for the patients than their prescribed medicine."
"Nature's way of healing, huh?"
"Actually, yes. Now tell me, are you taking medication for your HIV?"
"I have about ten bottles of shit in my suitcase."
"When's the last time you took them?"
"Wanna know the truth?"
"I asked, didn't I?"
"Then...never!"
"You asshole! Don't you want to get better?"
"To be honest? NO!"
"Damn you, you nitwit! I'm not going to let you die."
"Clay, what do I have to live for? My wife and kids? My job? My long life?"
"All of them! Jesus, you can't just quit. I've seen patients at Cole go into complete remission and the cell count is perfectly normal, even without medication! So don't tell me you can't get better or maybe even cured!"
"Can we change the subject for a while?"
"OK, but fair warning---I'm not through lecturing you. So what do you want to talk about?"
"I seemed to have monopolized our conversation in the park. I didn't ask about you. I'm still curious as hell about 'D.B.'!"
"Dave Banks. He's...he's a guy I met here in New York."
"A friend or a lover?"
"Both, I guess..."
"Where is he? Why wasn't he at the apartment?"
"It's a long story, but I'll try to give you the 'Cliff's Notes' version."
For the next fifteen minutes, Clay talked non-stop about his and Dave's meeting and their all too brief love affair. When he finished, Scott was speechless and didn't know how to respond. Scott and his former best friend had suffered a tragedy and in spite of his own major problems, Scott felt sympathy for Clay and reached across the table to put his hand on top of Clay's.
"I'm sorry, Clay, if I dumped all my woes on you. It sounds as if your past two weeks have been as traumatic as mine."
"Well, at least we have each other's shoulder to cry on."
"I suppose that is a comfort."
"Listen, how long can you stay in New York, Scott."
"I'm not sure. I really have nothing or no one to go back to in Boston at the present."
"Good! You can stay with me. I have the rest of the week to spend with you day and night. My new job doesn't start until next Monday. I can show you around the city. We can catch a couple of Broadway plays; eat at some fancy restaurants and get you fattened up. I can get you started on your med regimen and see that you get used to it. I DO have a nightly routine if you'd like to join me?"
"If you mean going to a New York bath just to 'get off', count me out."
"No, nothing like that at all. There's this bar I go to every night, the Rustic Inn, the place where I met Dave. They have a great quartet that plays there...the kind of music my dad used to play for us in the afternoon. What do you say?"
"I think I'd like that."
"Good, we'll stop by the Inn after we finish dinner."
The waiter brought their food and Clay watched over Scott like a mother hen, making sure he ate every bite of his vegetables...including the broccoli! Dinner was followed by strudel and Scott was filled to the gills. He had surprised even himself at the amount he had consumed.
When they arrived at the Inn, Clay headed for his usual table and seated Scott and himself. As soon as Benny saw Clay sitting with a strange young man, he hit a few clinkers on his trumpet which made Leo, Ray, and Rick turn around to see what was wrong with Benny's playing.
In reality, Benny was jealous and upset and he suddenly changed the numbers planned in the set. There were no forlorn ballads, just up-tempo tunes, some ragtime, and some Dixieland. Benny hoped Clay got the musical message he was sending to him.
When the set ended, Benny couldn't decide whether to go to Clay's table as usual or go into the back alley and smoke a cigarette. This was only one night after he and Clay had had sex and suddenly Clay walks in with a total stranger as if to show him off and make light of his and Clay's interlude from the night before?
Benny peeked through the crack of the backroom door at Clay's table and when Scott got up to go to the men's room, this became Benny's chance to go to Clay's table to see what the fuck was going on. Clay greeted him nicely.
"Hello, Mr. Trumpet Man, you're sounding kinda lively this evening."
"You couldn't wait, could you?" Benny said to Clay, accusingly.
"What? What do you mean?"
"You couldn't wait to find someone to take my place in your life! What's it been?.. eighteen hours since I left you? God damn! You're a fast worker. I guess it's true what they say about doctors."
"Now, wait a minute, Benny. You're being unfair. I didn't find anyone to take your place in my life. Besides, it's Dave and I who are in a relationship, not you and me."
"That didn't seem to be the case when we were in bed together last night."
"Benny, did I ever ONCE say I loved you...or even hinted at it?"
"You said you only had sex with someone you cared about."
"I DO care about you, Benny, but I don't love you...not the way I love Dave, anyway."
"You sure had me fooled!"
"Then I'm sorry if I gave you that impression, Benny."
"I suppose you've already had sex with the guy you brought with you."
"As a matter of fact...yes, I have...dozens of times."
"Then he's an old trick, not somebody new. Does Dave know about him?"
"Only because I never mentioned him to Dave."
"So then, if Dave doesn't come back, you already have someone to replace him, huh?"
"No, he's not going to replace Dave! No one is! The guy with me is my oldest friend when I lived in Florida. I haven't seen him in over ten years. He was the boy next door."
"Oh, so he's the reason you don't want me to play that song?"
"Jesus Christ, no! You've got everything twisted in your mind."
"I've still got my eyesight. I saw the way you were looking at him while I was playing."
Scott returned from the restroom and heard only the last few remarks of Clay and Benny's conversation.
"Oh, Scott, I'd like you to meet a friend, the trumpeter you've been listening to, Benny Stillwell," Clay said, "and Benny, this is my oldest friend from Florida, Scott Parsons."
"Pleased to meet you, Benny," Scott said, putting out his hand to shake. "You play a mean horn."
"Sometimes," Benny replied, ignoring Scott's handshake. "I play better when someone inspires me."
"Well, I hope you stay inspired. I love the sound of your trumpet," Scott said.
"Benny, up until recently, Scott was the director of the number one marching band in New England."
"Oh, do you play an instrument?"
'Trombone."
"Too bad you can't choreograph a marching routine for me and the boys," Benny said, sarcastically.
"It would be a bit awkward," Scott said, with a polite grin.
"I guess I'd better get back. It's time to start the second set."
"I'm anxious to hear you play more," Scott said. "Do you ever play slow ballads? I mean with your tone, you'd probably sound a great deal like Chet Baker."
"Yeah, probably." His eyes never left Clay's face.
Clay was getting annoyed and embarrassed by Benny's sharp remarks to Scott. "I...I see Rich and Leo coming from the back, so I guess you'd better get going."
Benny walked away about three steps and turned back to look at Clay. "Oh, by the way, if you ever want another blowjob, call me. Your dick is small enough to make a tight fit in my embouchure." He turned back and stepped upon the band stand. Benny leaned over to tell Rick the next tune.
Scott was a bit embarrassed for Clay over Benny's last remarks to Clay.
"What was that all about?"
"All queens get bitchy from time to time."
"You mean he's gay?"
"Like a June Christmas tree."
"Jesus, he doesn't look it," Scott said. "And what was he talking about...'another' blowjob? Have you had sex with him?"
"Yes, I...he caught me at a weak moment and out of sheer desperation, I let him do down on me, but I swear, I didn't touch him. You see, Scott, Benny would be the first to tell you he's a cocksucker. According to him, he sucks a different cock every night. I guess my pubic hair became another scalp on his belt of trophies. Sure, I like Benny, he's been a great companion and friend since Dave's been gone, but Benny's and my friendship could never develope into a romantic relationship."
The quartet was in place and ready to start the second set. Benny avoided looking at Clay as he played the first two bars of the next song.
Clay recognized it immediately and said, "That son-of-a-bitch!"
"What? Who? What's wrong, Clay?"
"That song! Benny promised he'd never play it while I'm here."
During the next six bars, completing the first refrain, Scott's eyes lit up because he was familiar with the tune as well.
"That's the song Judy Garland sang in the movie about the World's Fair...'The Boy Next Door'. Your dad used to play that record by Chet Baker, you said. You know, it's amazing how much his trumpet sounds like Chet's."
"You ought to hear him when he sings it. He sounds more like Chet than Chet."
"Is he playing that on my account? I mean you did say I was the boy next door to you in Florida."
"No, Scott. he's playing it because he knows it's something special between Dave and me."
"Jesus, you and Dave only knew each other less than a week and you already had a favorite song. Clay, buddy boy, you've got it bad!"
"And that ain't good, or so Billy Strayhorn said,"
"Damn, I hadn't even thought about Billy Strayhorn till you mentioned your dad's afternoon record sessions."
"You remember, Billy wrote a whole book of songs that Duke Ellington took credit for."
"Yeah, what was that one I liked so well? 'Lush Life'? Yeah, that was it."
"Billy was gay, you know."
"No, I didn't, but now in retrospect I can see it. The first line in 'Lush Life'...'I used to visit all the very gay places...'. He was talking about real gay places, I thought he meant--you know, happy places---like lively clubs with jazz."
"Billy in those days had two strikes against him to begin with. Not only was he black, but he was black and gay. It's no wonder his life was tragically filled with drugs, booze, and one-night love affairs."
"Can I ask you something personal?"
"You've played with my dick, how much more personal can you get?" Clay's smile softened the remark.
"When you meet Dave...how did you know he was the 'one'?"
"I just did. I'd spent over ten years searching. I mean, I never wanted to have sex with anyone after you went away to college. Then one night, a few weeks ago, I took one look into Dave's eyes and I knew it instantly. He was the one I'd waited for all my life. The amazing thing was that Dave felt the same way about me. We hit it off and fell in love at first sight."
"You...you never felt anything like that for me?"
"Scott, be sensible. You and I were kids...teenagers with only one thought in mind...how to get off. Not once did either of us attempt to kiss. Sure, we hugged, but like best friends. What would you have done if I'd ever kissed you?"
"I'd probably have called you a queer and run home to my mother."
"We had great times together and I don't regret anything we did. It helped me to know I was gay."
"I...thought about you a lot after I left for school"
"You never called me. You wrote me a few letters but suddenly they stopped."
"That's when I joined Sigma Chi and had to become super straight, dating a different sorority girl every weekend."
"Did you ever lay any of them?"
"Occasionally, but it wasn't the same."
"Why not?"
"You and I could last for hours without reaching a climax. We got to know what pleased the other and sex between you and me was great. But with a girl, fuck, I'd no sooner get inside her than I'd shoot and I know she wanted to go for a long time and reach three or four orgasms as all girls do. Only I couldn't keep it hard for any of them!"
"Yeah, but you eventually found the girl you married and had kids with her?"
"That was part of my social acceptance. It was the thing to do. ALL my fraternity brothers got married, I just followed like a sheep."
"Didn't you love your wife?"
"Now that I think back...I guess I never did. Not really."
Benny finished the 'taboo' song and the rest of the set consisted of a swap-off of tunes by Vernon Duke between Benny and Rick on the piano. It was like a musical tennis match and one popped a tune to the other. The songs were all great and Clay and Scott knew every one of them..."I Like The Likes Of You", "What Is There To Say?", "Cabin In The Sky", "Taking A Chance On Love", "I Can't Get Started", and perhaps the composer/lyricist's best two songs, "April In Paris", and the immortal "Autumn In New York."
Benny kept eyeing Scott with disdain, but avoided Clay's stares at all cost.
"That piano player is sensational," Scott exclaimed. "Listen to those Previn and Evans chords he's laying down under Benny's trumpet."
"That's Rick. He's been a great help to me, looking for Dave."
"Does he know about you and Dave?"
"He does, but I don't think Leo, the drummer, or Ray, the bassist does. I had to tell Rick. Otherwise, I'd have looked like an idiot or a stalker, searching for a guy I'd only known for a couple of days. Benny is just filling in with the quartet until Dave gets back."
"Clay, why do you torture yourself, coming in here night after night?"
"I HAVE to, Scott. I keep hoping against all hope that when Dave returns, I'll find him here."
"Looks like both our lives are fucked up. We've both lost everything in one week."
"Scott, it's my turn to pry. Were there any others besides your student?"
"That I had sex with?"
"Yes."
"No, after you...he was the one and only."
"Fuck! Your first time at bat and you wind up with the virus."
"When I went home, I couldn't tell my folks that I'd been unfaithful to my wife. God, if she'd known it was with a guy, she'd've shit a blue streak. You know how she was about queers. Then if she learned I'm positive, she'd tell me that's God's punishment for my behavior."
"Fucking Southern Baptists! They all think alike. Fortunately for my sake, my parents were more liberal minded."
"What about you? Did your mom and dad know you were gay?"
"My dad suspected it and even told me so. I'm sure my mom did too because when I finally got around to telling her a couple of weeks ago, she wasn't the least bit shocked, hurt, or angry."
"You told her and she didn't mind?"
"Hell, no! Well, inside, I'm sure she minded, but she even gave me money for Dave's bail and then she insisted that I bring him to Florida, so she could meet her new 'son-in-law'."
"That's amazing! Hell, she's an amazing woman! Well, if your relationship is serious enough to bring your spouse home to meet your mother, you'd better treasure it and keep your dick out of certain embouchures."
"I will from now on, believe me!"
"God, it's so great just sitting here looking at you. I'd given up hope of ever seeing you again."
"I'm glad you came, Scott. At one time in my life, you were the only friend I had in the world."
"And you were mine."
"I'm afraid my 'broad scope' of friends hasn't widened much. Outside of Dave; of course, and Rick, Leo, Ray, and Benny in the band, Tony the bartender, There's just a guy I went to medical school with and his wife. They're the only people I know I can even call friends. Now, that you're here...you help fill part of the void in my life. I mean, I had more intimacy with you than any other person I've ever known."
"With this fucking virus, it looks like I won't be making any new close friends."
"That's bullshit! Tonight I introduced you to three very important friends that are going to make you well again."
"Who, for God's sake? Where was I when you introduced us?"
"At the Drang und Sturm...broccoli, cabbage, and cauliflower."
"Well, I suppose I could cut a hole in the side of the cabbage and fuck it and stick a stalk of broccoli up my ass, and suck on a floret of cauliflower. Shit! Who couldn't get off with those three?"
"I'm serious about those items, Scott. They DO work against the virus. Trust me and I'll get you well again."
The band finished the set but Benny decided not to come back to Clay's table. In less than an hour, Benny had become insanely jealous of Scott and the camaraderie he seemed to have with Clay disappeared. Instead, he took his break outside in the alley with Rick, Ray, and Leo, smoking a cigarette.
Meanwhile, Clay, the doctor, could see that Scott, his new patient, looked tired and realized thatthey should leave and get Scott to bed, as he'd had a long flight, followed by a long day and night. Rather than walk and make Scott even more tired, Clay hailed a taxi and they returned to Dave's apartment. Scott observed Clay on the cab ride as he looked at both sides of the street for Dave. Scott missed his wife, but not as much as he missed his kids, and he knew how Clay must feel.
After they arrived at the apartment, Clay made a couple of weak night-caps for both of them. Scott was enamored by Dave's vast CD collection. He ran his finger over the back of the jewel cases, row after row.
"Damn, are all these Dave's?"
"Yeah, most of mine are packed in storage in Briarwood. I'm still at a loss as to how much of my stuff to have shipped up to me. I mean, I know Dave's going to return, but this indecision about whether to actually move in with him at this point...or should I get my own place...it's all up in the air."
"Damn, he's got a gold mine in rare jazz CD's. If Dave ever needed extra cash, he could list about a hundred titles on Ebay and have enough to live on for quite a while. I'm sure he knows their value."
"Probably, but I don't think Dave is the kind of person to put monetary value on art, especially music."
"Would it be all right if I put some of these on the player?"
"Sure, I'd like that. It would interest me to know what you'd choose and see how your taste in music has persevered. I'm afraid you won't find any marching band music on those shelves."
"I can see you're out of touch with marching bands since the football telecasts no longer feature marching bands during half time. Sousa marches are now passé."
"What do you mean?"
"In my routines, I do a lot of big band jazz of yesteryear. Would you believe my band took first place in competition, playing Stan Kenton's 'City of Glass'?"
"Jesus, where in the world did you find the arrangement?"
"I did it myself. I copied it note for note from the CD."
"God, I'd loved to have heard it."
"It knocked the judges off their fucking seats!"
"God, Scott, you and Dave have so much in common."
"Maybe my interest in music was a prerequisite for your falling in love with Dave. I mean, I was your first and you never found your ideal mate until you met Dave and we both are musically inclined."
"I never had a reason to think that until just now. Yours world and mine revolved around music and sex. You could be right! Those were the principle attractions the night Dave and I got together for the first time."
"Ah, here's a good tune!" Scott said, placing the CD in the player and cueing track eight. It was Tommy Dorsey's original recording of 'You've Changed' with Frank Sinatra doing the vocal.
Clay handed Scott a drink and the two of them sat on the couch lost in the reverie of the song and the lyrics.
"You've changed;
that sparkle in your eyes has gone;
your smile is just a careless yawn;
you're breaking my heart, you've changed
You've changed;
your kisses are now so blasé;
you're bored with me in every way;
I can't understand--you've changed
You've forgotten the words 'I love you',
each memory that we've shared.
You ignore every star above you;
I can't realize you ever cared.
You've changed;
you're not the angel I once knew;
no need to tell me that we're through,
it's all over now, you've changed.
During the song, Clay rested his arm on the back of the sofa and slowly let his fingers play with the back of Scott's hair. Scott smiled, but didn't look at Clay. He was enjoying Scott's touch and how much it meant to him to have physical contact with someone he cared about. Scott's student had often run his fingers through his hair while they were lying in bed after sex. That was the thing that had been missing in his marriage. His wife and he never touched...even if they did, it was almost meaningless.
This was the most relaxed and best feeling Scott had encountered since the Boston scandal. Never would he have thought he'd wind up in New York with his oldest friend, listening to records as they did years ago in Florida. Perhaps Scott and Clay had been too young to know the meaning of love and maybe that's why their gay relationship had never developed. It took several years of being lonely in a failed marriage and having two kids before Scott's gay feelings would materialize, if only in another doomed relationship with a student. As he listened to Sinatra, he wondered, if the time had been right, could there have ever been something serious between Clay and him? God and heaven knows, it was too late now, but he let the idea wander in his mind during the song.
The CD played into the next track and Clay kept his hand in Scott's hair when Clay quietly asked, "Did you pick that particular selection because you wanted to hear it or were you sending me a message?"
"Both, I guess."
"Then, tell me---have I changed, Scott?"
"In many ways. You're...you're older, of course...more mature, even better looking, if that's possible, but your personality, the one I always looked for deep inside you, is the same. Sitting here like this, just the two of us...I keep wanting to look at that empty chair and visualize your dad sitting there, watching us enjoy each other's company and listening to the same kind of music your dad taught us to love. That's what I missed most when I left you for college."
"And that's the reason I want you to get in the habit of taking your medication and lots of vitamins. I want to see you get well and find someone you can really love and find happiness for many years to come."
"Are you paying attention to the lyrics of THIS song? 'There'll Never Be Another You'? There won't be, Clay. There'll never be another you in my life. God, how I envy Dave and how I hate the way I've fucked up my life."
"Maybe your condition will make you change so that, the next time you meet someone, you'll be ready for love."
"I wish I could be near you so that you could look after me. I think you could make me better. Just being near you today and tonight makes me want to get well for the first time."
"Then why the fuck don't you stay with me for a while? Even when Dave returns, you and he would get along great! You could talk about music."
"And you."
"Pardon?"
"Dave and I could talk about the way we both care about you...in different degrees, of course."
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't care about you, too, Scott. I always did. I mean...all the times I sucked your dick...I HAD to care about you."
"Do you really think I could fight this virus and shake it?"
"I'm the doctor and I should know...YES, you asshole. Stay with me and I'll prove it. I'll call Cole Institute tomorrow and talk with Dr. Ed, my former administrator, and Fedex a sample of your blood to the Cole labs and get them to send me the combatant drugs you'll need and I'll supervise."
"You'd do all that for me?"
"Scott, what do I have to do? Rip off your clothes and give you a blowjob to prove how serious I am? You're my oldest friend, jerkoff, and I love you."
"I...I suppose I could stay for a while...only until Dave returns..."
"I just told you, you can stay AFTER he returns. I only want to see you get healthy and become the person I used to know."
"You've got your work cut out for you. I'm not a very good patient."
"Maybe not, but I'm that good a doctor. Trust me! Now, come on, let's get you to bed. You need your rest. I'll make up the spare bedroom for you...unless you want to sleep with me in my bed."
"Jesus! Are you afraid of me giving the virus to you?"
"I said, 'sleep with me', not having sex with you!"
"In that case, I'd like to sleep with you. It would seem like old times."
"Yeah, I think I'd like that, too."
Clay took Scott's hand and led him into Dave's bedroom where they undressed down to their shorts.
"Boxers or 'au natural'?" Scott asked.
"Take 'em off. It's not like we haven't seen each other naked before. Hell, when we were fifteen we knew every inch of each other's anatomy from head to toe."
"If you're sure..."
"I'm sure, now drop 'em, Private, while I see about 'lights out'!"
They both stripped; Clay turned out the lights and they got into the king size bed. Scott stayed far away from Clay on his side of the bed until Clay reached for Scott's arm and pulled him next to his body.
"Why did you do that?" Scott whispered.
"Because we both need someone to hug...you, as well as I. Don't worry, nothing's going to happen. You won't infect me. As you said, it'll seem like old times,"
Clay drew Scott close to him and put his arms around his old friend and soon they drifted off asleep. Scott felt happy and safe while Clay imagined he was holding Dave and he was happy as well.
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Over a thousand miles away, Dave lay asleep on the back seat of a Greyhound bus making its way west. Three things were missing from Dave: his seat companion, Neal; the content of two half pints of cheap whiskey; and the remainder of God's money which had been in Dave's jacket.
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(To be continued in "Lush Life" chapter nine.)