A Lethal Legacy (7 page)

During my infrequent
contacts with Gary over the next two years, Kristina's name never popped up
much except when he became worried over something she had or hadn't done.
During the summer of 1988, they came to Florida for a visit.

Gary and I didn't
have much time alone because of the relatives' demand on both Kristina and
Gary's time. Gary looked gaunt and tired. When someone asked him about his
health, he said little, if anything at all. Gary was the expert on avoiding the
unpleasant. Because he still managed to do all the family things, I wrote it
off to job stress or maybe even a problem with Rick who had become Gary's most
serious partner so far.

Kristina seemed
worried, too, although we only talked about it one time. I tried to avoid being
alone with her as much as possible. I didn't trust my emotions in her presence.
Just looking at her sometimes aroused such feelings of passion that I could
barely keep my hands at my sides. Those were the moments when I usually escaped
back to my apartment in Gainesville. I felt much safer that way.

"Do you think
Gary looks all right?" she asked one afternoon as we sat on the porch at
Claire and Philip's.

"He seems tired.
What do you think?

"It's weird. He
won't talk about it, but I know something is wrong. He coughs a lot, too. He
does seem better here, but I think he's trying real hard in front of his
parents."

"That's Gary. He
would never admit to even having a cold when we were kids. That's probably all
it is, but when you two get back to New Orleans, make a big deal about his
going to a doctor. He'll listen to you, Kristina."

She promised she
would watch over him and keep me posted, but

when Gary didn't come
home for the holidays in 1988, I became more worried. I called him on New
Year's Day. He called to wish me a Merry Christmas.

"Happy New Year,
Gar," I said when he answered the phone.

"Hey, Cuz,"
came the weak reply.

"What's
wrong?"

"Just getting
over the flu. It's a rough one this year, but I'll be all right. How're you
doing?"

"I had dinner
with your folks tonight. Your dad is still trying to get me to move to Ocala.
Now Aunt Susan's started putting on the pressure, too."

"Well?"

"I'm thinking
about it. I'd like to be closer to Mom. You saw her when you were here. She's
not doing so well, although I thought she'd be happier in Florida after my dad
died. I'm not sure how much longer Susan can live alone with her in the
apartment. I guess, temporarily, I'd move in with them. Besides I can write
anywhere."

"Who could ask
for more? What are you working on now?"

"I'm fooling
around with a few ideas. I just sold an article to a local travel magazine, but
I'm still waiting for the muse to move me on the next novel."

"You'll find
something, buddy. I know Mom and Dad would enjoy having you closer to them.
Sometimes I think they'd rather have you as a son. At least you don't
disappoint them all the time." He sounded dejected.

"Gary, what's
wrong?" I was very concerned now. He never felt sorry for himself.

"Could you
manage a visit anytime soon, Cuz? Maybe before you embark on your next
bestseller? I could use a few good laughs."

Now he really had me
concerned. Gary never asked me for anything. He never wanted to appear weak
even in his weakest moments.

"Sure, Gar, I
could get away next week, OK?" I imagined all the things I needed to
accomplish before then, but they paled in comparison to the plea I heard on the
other end of the line. "You better keep me out of the strip clubs. I need
to come back here clean and sober," I said, keeping my tone light on
purpose.

"That'd be
great, Ed. Listen, can you keep it to yourself that I asked you to come? Mom
and Dad might think something was wrong."

We hung up the phone
after making final plans for my trip. I wondered if Kristina had done something
that required Gary to beg me to come for a visit.

I arrived in New
Orleans on a foggy January evening just as the sun set over the Mississippi
River. Now that I was accustomed to the New Orleans' climate and peculiarities,
I quite enjoyed my arrivals. The weekend Kristina first arrived, the fog seemed
to add a level of mystery and intrigue, which kept me on edge that whole
Thanksgiving weekend. I realized that Kristina probably had more to do with my
nervousness than the weather, but the density of the air that weekend indelibly
marked my view of Kristina forever and left me sexually aroused whenever I
thought of New Orleans or the fog. However, this winter cold and humidity cut
through to the bone like a Michigan winter never had. And even though I learned
to enjoy the weather of this area, I still felt wrapped in a cloud of confusion
whenever I arrived, although I didn't find it unpleasant any longer.

Rick answered my
knock on the door of the apartment. Several months before, Rick moved in
permanently with Gary. The two formed a comfortable and hopefully lasting
relationship. Gary once remarked that in Rick he had finally found someone who
accepted all of his complications and insecurities and didn't try to make him
into someone else. If only I could be so lucky in love.

"Ed, I'm glad
you're here." Instead of opening the door wide for me to enter, Rick came
out into the hallway shutting the door behind him.

"We'll go inside
in a minute. You haven't seen Gary since ...?" he asked.

"August. Why?"

"Things are
different now." Rick looked me straight in the eyes.

"What do you
mean?" My knees begin to shake, and I felt my usual panicky reaction when
confronted with the unpleasant. I wanted to run back down the stairs, get into
my car, and drive back over that long bridge to 1-10. I suddenly knew that
Kristina had nothing to do with Gary's request for me to come to New Orleans.

"He's sick, Ed.
Real sick," he said. The stern gaze of a moment ago melted and tears
formed in his eyes. He put his hands over his face to compose himself.
"He's ..."

"What? For
chrissakes, Rick ..." I wanted to reach over and grab the collar of Rick's
shirt to make him tell me.

"AIDs," he
said so softly that I had to lean toward him to hear.

"You mean he's
HIV positive?" I had been reading about the disease as I researched an
idea. I knew people sometimes confused the two. Unfortunately, Rick knew the
difference.

"Not anymore.
He's got full-blown AIDs." He hung his head while I reached out for the
wall to steady myself. We stood like that for a few minutes, neither of us
moving.

"I want to see
him." I saw Rick hesitate. "Now," I practically shouted.

He opened the front
door and led me down the familiar hallway to Gary's bedroom. He was asleep with
his back to me when I opened the door. I wasn't sure it was Gary. This form
before me didn't resemble the one I was so accustomed to over the years.

"Gary," I
said softly, approaching the bed.

The form moved and
moaned softly as if every effort brought excruciating pain. When he turned
toward me, I used every bit of strength not to cry out in horror. It was Gary,
a thinner Gary, an unshaved Gary, but a Gary with open sores all over his once
handsome face. His jaws, sunk into his teeth, no longer carried the stone-like
authority I used to depend on for strength. The strength had seeped from him,
leaving behind this weakened and frail creature lying on the bed.

"It's a bitch,
ain't it, Cuz," he said through his cracked lips. “Here, I finally begin
living openly and honestly, and I get struck down. Great joke God played,
huh?"

"Come on, Gar,
this is just a temporary setback. You've fought much worse things than a silly
virus," I said to try to convince myself as much as Gary.

"No, Ed, this
time it's real. The demons I fought for so many years have finally become real.
This is the end, and I'm tired. You've got to do one last thing for me,
buddy." He paused to catch his breath and gain some strength.

"Anything, Gary,
you name it. You know I'll do anything for you." I fought to control tears
threatening to break through my thinly veiled façade of bravado.

"You've got to
tell Mom and Dad. I want to see them before I die, and they need to be told
before they arrive," he said, attempting to raise his head from the bed.

"Gary, are you
sure?" I knew he had given up hope if he wanted Claire and Philip to know
the truth.

"Just tell them
about the virus. They can ask me about the rest. I'm ready to put all the
subterfuge to rest now. And one more thing, Cuz. Take care of Kristina for me.
She admires you, and she needs a strong, positive influence in her life, and I
don't think she's dealing with this very well."

The first request
would be easier to fulfill. I wanted to distance myself as far away from Kristina
as possible. I wasn't sure I was the positive role model he might think I was,
but I told him not to worry, anyway. I'd handle it all.

When I walked out of
his room, I found Kristina sitting alone in the living room looking out the
window. She moved her head slightly when I entered the room.

"How's he
doing?" she asked.

"He's sleeping.
You may want to wait awhile before you go in. He wore himself out talking to
me."

"That's OK. I
haven't been in to see him since he got so bad. I can't go in there, Ed."
At this confession, Kristina's eyes filled with tears, and she hung her head
losing a battle to fight the sobs that began to wrack her body.

I went quickly to her
side on the couch and put my arms around her, rocking her back and forth like a
baby until the crying stopped. Finally, she leaned quietly against my chest. I
pulled her thick dark hair back from her face and wiped away her tears.

"There, there,
it's OK, Kristina," I said.

Kristina looked up at
me with those trusting blue eyes and reached with her hand to touch the side of
my face in a familiar caress. I smiled and turned my head slightly so I could
kiss the palm of her hand very tenderly. I pulled her close to me, and we sat
there together on the couch as darkness settled over the city of New Orleans,
and Gary lay in the next room with the life ebbing from him.

During the holidays
of 1968 when Gary had come to take his family back to New York, we made plans
for the summer of 1969. I decided to go and live in Greenwich Village for two
months. I had postponed this visit for two years, and now I knew I needed the
atmosphere of this area to complete my book about a woman unable to love during
the late sixties, the decade of love. But other issues kept nagging at the back
of my mind. I wanted to weave the story around the false attractions of outward
appearances, too. I worried that maybe I had set up an impossible goal for my
first novel.

Because of my
confusion, I felt that the book had stalled. I hoped the different cultural and
artistic atmospheres in the Village would inspire me as I waited for the muse
to direct me.

Gary managed to find
me the perfect efficiency above a used bookstore overlooking Washington Square
Park. The apartment was big enough for him to stay over sometimes if he didn't
want to take the long train ride out to Long Island. I didn't see it until the
day I arrived, but he hadn't disappointed me. The dark woodwork would have been
oppressive in the winter, but in the summer with its ceiling-to-floor windows,
I could see the treetops. By midday, the sun shone brightly, lightening the
atmosphere in the room considerably.

The activity in this
small section of Manhattan throbbed with excitement by early evening. I wrote
every morning and afternoon, but by dinnertime I ventured out to the cafes,
bars, and coffee houses that made the Village famous.

That summer, many of
the younger kids couldn't stop talking about the music concert to beat all
music concerts in August. It would be held in upstate New York and many groups
had already been booked.

I listened politely
but had no interest in going because I wasn't familiar with the music. I still
listened to Elvis and the early Beatles. Somehow, the new rock missed its mark
with me. But I wrote about all I heard, never realizing the opportunity I would
be missing by not taking the talk about the Woodstock concert seriously.

I had several
notebooks filled by this time about all of the characters I met on my travels.
I knew the people I met this summer would eventually become a part of the rich
tapestry of my novel that I had decided would trace the history of the past
decade.

One night in July,
Gary and I sat and watched the tiny black and white TV in the apartment as Neil
Armstrong took the first steps on the moon. I became even more convinced that
this era would have an historical impact on the future like no other time in
history.

I also heard
rumblings about raids on a few of the neighborhood bars around my apartment.
The police knew of open homosexual activity at several of these establishments
and decided that it must be stopped. They began raiding the bars and forcing
everyone to leave. They especially picked on an establishment called the
Stonewall Inn on Christopher Street. One night soon after my arrival in June, I
tried to get Gary to go with me to the Stonewall.