Monkey Suits (19 page)

As he sat beside his boyfriend, Brian knew that he was a bit lost, and would never become a member of this or any flock. But he would go to these meetings and hear these words, if only for the assurance of being with Ed, whose beauty struck him to be as fine any altar or books or cassettes or do-it-yourself soul-affirming courses. Who was he to criticize? He got the same feeling from watching strippers.

If he had the virus creeping around in his veins, so be it. He would not spill it into Ed and hoped he hadn’t done so to Lee. If he had to go to these meetings, and see the world fall apart outside their very doors, so be it. He would not take it out on Ed.

Maybe he would see the light. Maybe he would someday honestly be able to feel faith, or passion other than for a body, or hope for more than love and money. Maybe that day would come. Maybe someday he would actually feel it.

But until then, as long as he could end the day in the arms of someone like Ed, he would fake it.

A light snow had begun to fall as the young men walked down Central Park West toward Columbus Circle, slowly following the other attendees, who dispersed out into the night.

“I don’t know about that stuff, Ed.” Lee said as he slipped on his gloves. He tried to enjoy the white snowfall, but it reminded him of his Indiana home and only made him feel sad.

“What don’t you know?”

“Whether to believe any of it.”

“It takes time. Just take a bit of it as you go. It’s a learning process.”

“Sounds like unlearning to me.” Brian remained silent as Lee continued. “I mean if we really want to fight it, we should be doing things that don’t hurt our immune systems, changing our lives.”

“I believe that,” Ed agreed.

“Then why are we working for the people that are killing us? Why are we feeding them?”

“I think you’ve been hanging around with Kevin Rook too much.” Brian commented.

Lee blushed, as if Brian had read through his intentions and seen his quiet lust for Kevin. His idealistic claims sounded a bit naive, even to himself. “Never mind about him,” he defended. “Remember the dinner at the World Financial Center last week?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. They had each worked at the affair, a massive dinner for Amerinet, a large telecommunications corporation whose main activity was gobbling up smaller telecommunications corporations.

“Do you remember who was at your table?”

“That senator, uh, what’s his name.”

“Aside from being indicted for taking bribes from the construction company that’s building the offices of that corporation whose party we were helping serve, he also voted for the mandatory AIDS testing bill.”

“So?” Brian shrugged it off.

“So, he also voted in favor of the Helms Amendment, and voted against the Bias Crimes bill.”

“Whoa, the newly politicized Lee Wyndam.” Brian said. “Who appointed you PC Patrol?”

“You asshole. You don’t even get it.”

“Look, what am I supposed to do?” Brian snapped. “Not serve someone food because I don’t like their politics? Because he’s a Republican? I have to make money. ‘Excuse me sir, but before I serve the appetizers, could you offer your stance on cocksucking?’”

“Bri, these are the people who are killing us and we’re waiting on them hand and foot!” Lee stopped himself, realizing he was practically yelling. Passing strangers glared at him in surprise. He lowered his voice. “Maybe you’d think about it differently if you were HIV-positive.”

“Are you?”

“No. That’s not–”

“I still wouldn’t agree with you.”

“I do.” Ed popped in.

Lee and Brian looked at him.

“It wouldn’t disagree with your holistic stuff?” Brian teased.

“No, I agree with him,” Ed repeated. “I wouldn’t quit working, but I’d think differently if I were positive.”

“Why?” Brain asked.

“Because I am.”

They were all silent, until a bus roared by, its fumes visibly clouding their path.

Brian stuttered a response. “You’re joking, right? This is just some kind of skills test for your meditation.”

“No, I’m positive. Got the results a few days ago.” Brian stopped walking. Lee and Ed turned back to him. Ed had been waiting for the right moment to say it, but at the moment, it just came out. He’d tried to figure out the transmission point, using a few specific men as potential vectors; only a few unsafe times, except the last Senior year shaving party he threw for the swim team the night before a National meet. But trying to pin it down was useless, even within the fifty or so guys he’d ever slept with. His potential of having infected Brian concerned him. He didn’t think that it might have been Brian that might have infected him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Brian asked.

“You didn’t seem ready,” Ed said.

“Look, uh,” Lee was feeling quite awkward. “This is something you two oughtta talk about in private.” He began to think up a reason for leaving.

“Why?” Ed seemed completely clear-minded about it. “You two were boyfriends. I know you were still seeing each other before Bri and I got close. You should know, Lee. I don’t want to keep secrets.”

“Well, you better not tell anybody at Fabulous,” Brian warned. “Who knows what they’d do.”

“I don’t think so. There’s people in the company who are dealing with the same thing.”

“Bullshit,” Brian huffed.

“He’s right,” Lee added.

“Who?”

“You just told me not to tell anyone and you want gossip?” Ed cried.

“Well, if Lee knows ...”

“Philipe,” Lee said.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Is it true?” Brian asked Ed.

“I don’t know. It’s not some club you join, you know. Everybody who’s positive doesn’t know everybody else.” They all were able to laugh then, for a moment, before letting what Ed had told them really sink in.

“Have either of you been tested?” Ed asked. Brian looked down at his feet, nearly tripping over a Chihuahua on a leash as it peed against a mailbox. He looked up the length of the leash to see the flirting eyes of a debonair man in his fifties who resembled a client from his escort days. They waited until the man walked on.

“Have you been tested?” Ed repeated.

“Yeah, I’m negative,” Lee turned away. “Look, um, I gotta go catch my train before they roll up the sidewalks.” He reached to Ed, who hugged him. “I’m real sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I mean, I know you’re gonna fight it ... and, well ... just keep ...” He choked a moment. “... You know.” Tears sprang from his eyes.

“Ohh. It’ll be okay, Lee boy!” Ed hugged Lee again.

Brian tossed him a silent nod, his hands dug in his pockets. The two watched as Lee walked down toward Columbus Circle, then, as they figured, he turned back and waved.

Snow fell deeper and slower, in that mysterious quieting way.

“Hey, sailor. When was the last time you walked through Central Park in the snow with your boyfriend? ”

They rushed across the street. A cab swerved on the street, its wheels roaring a moment over the fresh snow.

“You know, you could have waited until we were alone.”

Ed followed Brian. “Why? Lee should know. He’s a friend. I’m not planning on keeping this a secret.”

“Fine. C’mon, let’s walk.” Brian said.

He heard him, but didn’t move.

“Edward. What are you doing? ”

As soon as they’d crossed into a quiet corner of the park, already lightly dusted with snow, Ed had tilted his head back, counting flakes as they touched his eyelashes or melted on his face. He stayed that way, until he felt Brian’s arms around him, Brian’s cold lips kissing his colder ears, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“Service requires a reservoir of adequately obedient or servile individuals. The drying up of this reservoir, no less than the loss of wealth itself, can rob wealth of its prerogatives.”

– John Kenneth Galbraith,
The Affluent Society

“I figure I’m living in dog years. I really don’t have all the time in the world.”

– David B. Feinberg,
Spontaneous Combustion

18
Marcos had achieved “maximum buzz frequency.”
Quite zippy
from a single yet strong hit of X, also sold to Lee and Cal by his club friend Gustavo, he watched the swirling crowd of men, a few drag queens and women chat loudly into each others’ ears, cruise and dance.

He sipped the free beer handed to him by the ebullient club promoter Chuck Dukat, whose immediately successful gay nights at the new Club Anubiz ruled the meatpacking district since its New Year’s opening. Despite the fifteen-degree February chill outside, the club’s four-storied dance floors and lounges approached steam bath conditions.

Marcos scanned the crowd with Lee and eyed cute boys as they passed; a tall lanky blond, a bit too skinny, but with cute eyes; a shirtless, freshly chest-shaven muscle man with brooding eyes; two nearly identical sultry Latinos in black fishnet shirts and Gautier shorts. In spite of the fact that he knew such joy was chemically-induced , he felt connected to them all. Here, none were only as good as their jobs or apartments. Beauty, hip-swaying abandon, and attitude overruled.

“And just when I wanted to sing along to Madonna’s ‘Oh, my God’s’ that faggot waltzes up to me and says “Darling, why haven’t you called me!’ As if
he
wasn’t the one who didn’t return my last three phone calls!” Serina, his Black drag friend, shouted into Marcos’ ear. As they talked, she handed out small flyers for Fagriculture, her Monday night parties at the Pyramid. Lee took one and smiled.

“Really!” Marcos responded, glancing at the boy whom Serina dished, who danced no less than ten feet from them, his backward-turned baseball cap hiding a flattop, while his Read My Lips T-shirt clung to his lean, sweaty frame.

“So I asked him if he said that to make himself feel better, because that line wasn’t working on me.”

Marcos turned back to Serina. Her blonde wig glowed under the club lights like radioactive cotton candy. Her simple black plastic mini-dress clung tightly to her thin brown body, revealing a tightly muscled physique. “And what did he say then?”

Serina waved it off, her nails slashing precariously close to Lee’s nose. “Oh, he just slithered on to some other ditzy queen.” They both scanned the crowd. “So, is it kicking?” she asked. They’d each taken bumps of Gustavo’s supply.

“Like a rocket, girl,” Marcos giggled.

“You?” She peered at Lee, checking his eyes for a delirious glaze. Lee nodded silently.

“Well, I sure as hell don’t love everybody I see, but I’m gonna dance my butt off! Maybe I’ll shove your little amour around on the floor.” She pinched Lee’s butt and whisked off.

“That girl is Miss Mess, I’ll tell you,” Marcos warned. “Don’t bother with such trash!” Serina’s fingernailed hands fluttered away as they shouted above the booming music.

“I should go see if I can wrangle a DJ gig out of Miss Dukat.” Marcos introduced a few passing friends, whose names he shouted into Lee’s ear. They chatted away the February blues. Work was in a total slump, but they’d saved a few thousand dollars each, and didn’t plan on working until March.