Monkey Suits (13 page)

“Must be harder for women.”

“We have to prove ourselves twice as much as you guys.”

“Are you the only female A waiter?”

“Oh that. The list.” She folded her arms. “Disgusting, isn’t it?”

“What do you expect?”

“Any thoroughly classist organization dedicated to the rich and corrupt must also be sexist and racist.”

Lee giggled.

“Why are you laughing?” Carissa asked. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m laughing because it’s true.”

“It’s hard to see the truth.”

“It’s too exhausting just working for these people. Fabulous is too glossy for politics.”

“Too tastefully presented,” she said.

“Too easy to digest,” he added. “You know, I like your philosophy.”

“You know, you should come to an ACT UP meeting sometime.”

“Oh, uh ... I’ve been meaning to. Mondays are always good work nights. But I saw the thing on TV last month ... I saw Kevin.”

“Oh, the FDA? It was fantastic. You shoulda been there.”

“Did you actually get arrested?”

“Of course. But not everybody has to.”

“Well, I’m not sure if I’m ready for all that.”

“That’s okay. You will be. You just haven’t had any friends die. Am I right?”

Lee didn’t know what to say.

She leaned close to him. “And until you figure it all out, there’s lots of cute guys at the meetings.”

Lenny Zahuti barreled through the double doors of the hallway. “Okay, people, time to clean up.” The group groaned, sighed, and trudged back into the dining room.

The large atrium with ceiling windows had an expansive splendor, yet the tables displayed a state of abandoned disarray, cluttered with spilt coffee cups, smudged dessert plates, dripping candles and plucked centerpiece bouquets.

As they broke down the tables, carried off dishes, and blew out candles, Lenny bellowed out orders. “I want all the tablecloths folded. I don’t care if they’re dirty, I want them folded!” He puffed furiously on a cigarette and waddled back into the kitchen.

Brian glanced across the expanse of collapsing tables to Lee. What had happened to them, he wondered? What was to stop the same thing from happening with Ed? His thoughts were broken when Andrew Spears, one of few humane captains, patted him on the back.

“Lost in space?”

“Huh? Oh, hi. How ya been, Andrew?” They stripped a table of its chintz cloth. The foam underliner floated up a moment. Brian wadded it into a ball and tossed it into a nearby pile.

“Oh, the usual. Had a few auditions. I got an extra scene on
Young and Restless
. Yourself?”

“Alright, I guess,” Brian thought.

“Getting any work?”

“Well, a few parties next week.”

“No, I mean acting.”

“I’m not an actor,” Brian shook his head.

“Oh, I thought you were.”

“No. I’m a waiter.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“I did get you into this, though.”

“No, I put that on Marcos’ shoulders.”

“But he came to me.”

“So be it.”

Someone had stepped up to the bandstand and sat at the black grand piano. It was one of the waiters. He began playing a Chopin nocturne.

Andrew watched distractedly for a moment, then turned back to Brian. “Oh, I understand, believe me. But you should do some modeling.”

“Too short.” Brian saw Lee approaching. He tried to ignore him.

“Hmmm. Maybe porn?”

“What?”

“I have a friend whose ex-lover produced that new Jeff Stryker tape. Did you see it?”

“No.” They moved on to another table.

“You know, he’s really short. You don’t have to be tall to ... Who is that playing the piano?” Lee asked as he collected votive candles.

The cacophony of folding tables and dragging wooden chairs dwindled to a halt as the pianist continued. It seemed odd, out of place, forcing them all to listen. The player sat at the black piano, his jacket off. His white shirt under black suspenders glowed beneath the sole stage light. Wasn’t a captain going to stop him? Where was Lenny?

Brian glanced to his right. Across an empty table, Lee stood looking at him. Their eyes met for a long moment. They said nothing, then turned back to watch the pianist, whose intensity increased, the melody rising in emotion. His back rose and fell as he played, hunched over the keys.

The entire room grew silent except for the flowing music. People stood, dirty glasses in hand, piles of napkins at their feet, tubs of slopped wine settling to stillness. Some sat momentarily in chairs. Others whispered lightly.

The pianist finished and sat for a small moment in silence.

Waiters burst into applause. The pianist stood. His eyes seemed watery in the distance. He took a slight bow, then hopped off the stage and immediately went back to work picking up ashtrays. A murmuring swept through the room as everyone resumed their duties.

“What’s his name?” Brian asked Andrew.

“I don’t know,” he said as he stuffed another napkin into a laundry bag. “But I do know his boyfriend died last month.”

Andrew turned away, picked up a lipstick-stained wineglass, and poured the dregs into a white plastic tub. Brian stood, unable to respond, unable to say anything. He watched the droplets splash the sides, then looked back to the abandoned piano.

“C’mon.” Lee patted his shoulder. “Help me with this.”

He kicked his feet at the metal hinges beneath the table, its bare surface an ugly brown. Setting it on its side, he held it firmly upright and led Brian as they wheeled it out to the loading dock, hand over hand over hand.

13
“One for
Dogs of the Desert,
” Lee said with a bit of embarrassment
to
the sullen Black girl behind the afternoon glare of the glass cashier booth. She took his seven dollars. A ticket ca-chunked up and she pushed it out with two quarters. The warmth of the theater lobby felt good after the December chill.

Even though he’d received a few cards in the mail (one from his parents, another from his parent’s cat), he’d forgotten to tell anyone that it was his birthday, so instead of hinting about a party or gifts from anyone, he simply went to a movie.

As Lee floated up the escalators through the three levels of the Cineplex Odeon lobby, he recognized a man’s face under the eerie blue lights. He wasn’t sure if he’d worked a party with him or seen him on television. Sometimes both could happen with the same guy. He imagined a tuxedo placed over the man’s clothes, placed on like a paper doll.

Yes, the face looked familiar. The guy turned to glance at Lee, seeming to recognize him as well, but he turned away as the escalator scooted him to the next floor.

Lee considered, then hesitated.
Absolutely the stupidest opening line
, “Haven’t we met?” The guy would probably laugh in his face.

Nevertheless, he followed him to the counter to get some candy. The guy turned casually, and as their eyes met, said, “I know you ...”

The bright fluorescent light behind him, and the blue light in front of him, gave a shadowed cast to his face. He looked thinner than the last time Lee had seen him.

“Right,” Lee said. “Um, catering?”

“No, I quit that.”

“May I help you?” a young Latino man called from behind the counter. Lee turned a moment, then the two ordered, clumsily chatting between getting their change and holding their popcorn.

“Um, do you know Todd?” the man asked.

“Who lives uptown?” Lee realized he didn’t know Todd’s last name.

“Yes.”

“It was at his party,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” Lee remembered. “I’m Lee.”

“Chet Sinclair.” They shook hands. His fingers were thin.

“How are you?”

“Okay, um, what are you seeing?”

“Oh, the horror movie,” Lee pointed to the poster as they walked from the concession stand. “Got a friend from college in it. Killing some time before I go to work tonight.”

“That’s nice. Oh, I’m here,” he stopped near the door with a poster of Meryl Streep. “I used to act, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but I’ve been sick. Very messy. Kind of kills the thespian drive.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay, just another bout of PCP. But I’m doing a lot of herbal stuff, quit the cigarettes. I’m on an underground drug trial for ddI, but I have to go all the way out to Queens for that.”

“Uh. Wow. Um. Must be tough,” Lee offered.

“Yes, well, we get by.” He paused for an awkward moment. “So. It’s nice to see you.”

“Yeah. Take care.” Lee waved slightly as Chet turned away.

Lee took another escalator level up and entered the theatre. No more than twenty people sporadically filled the seats. The reviewers had trashed the film, but Lee felt obligated to go. He set his bag on the seat next to him and stretched out.

Throughout the previews, Lee thought about Chet.
He’s dying. Get over it. You don’t even know the guy
. Lee tried to relax. The credits appeared. In white lettering on red, eleven feet across the darkened screen, he read the familiar name.

DANN BLACK

Fifth billing, Lee thought. He’s probably already bought a house in West Hollywood. A guy behind him giggled when his date spilled popcorn on the floor.

Dann’s character drove around with a woman playing his girlfriend, made out in a park, talked with a scientist and got eaten by a pack of wolves in the first reel. It gave Lee a quiet thrill to see his old college friend’s face spanning the screen, the same face of the first man to make love to him, but with an additional N, since perhaps there were too many other SAG members named Dan Black.

Lee tried to lose himself in the movie, forget about work and the eight years between meeting Dan, sleeping with him, heck, learning how to do everything with him, then seeing him in this ridiculous movie. He’d never even seen a condom back then.

Lee had yet to ask Brian about his health. He wasn’t even sure how to do it. He just assumed he was okay. Of course, the guy he’d just seen in the lobby looked pretty healthy a year ago. He’d read the GMHC flyers left in the crowded hall at the Community Center. He listened to the news, but every talking head seemed barely able to say the word “homosexual” without a twinge of distaste. How was he to believe their words and the charts of the government? What if they were all lying? He’d seen the paranoid headlines, heard jokes about government germ warfare gone awry. What was he supposed to believe, other than the fact that people were dying?

The movie became increasingly ridiculous. He’d lost track of the plot. The monster wolves traveled in a pack, their red eyes glowing. He watched a man transformed into a beast with the usual second-rate special effects; the pulsing flesh growths, the yellow contact lenses. How could all these people spend so much money on something like this? What if they’d made a movie about AIDS instead? When would that happen? If he had been as aggressive, or as closeted as Dan, would this be the kind of work he’d get?