Secret for a Song (11 page)

F
ifteen
minutes later I was in Zee’s car, and we were headed toward Sphinx. The streets
glittered with ice, but Zee drove confidently, leaving other slower-crawling
cars behind. I glanced sideways at her again. Her hair was in a volume-infused purple
bob, with silver strands of what looked like tinsel sparkling throughout.

She
laughed. “You can just ask, you know.”

I
returned my eyes to the front. “Ask? Ask what?”

“Yes,
it’s a wig. Yes, I’m bald. I lost it all during my last chemo treatment. The
red pigtails you saw last time? Also a wig.” She patted her head. “You like
this one?”

I
looked at her openly then. “It’s bold,” I said. “And I like the silver.”

She
shrugged. “I figure, if I have to wear a wig, I’m going to go flashy. Why do
anything by half measures, you know? I’d always wanted to be a redhead, so now
I have that wish fulfilled too.”

“Are
they...” I stopped and cleared my throat. “Will you do another round of chemo?”

She
took a deep breath, kept her eyes on the road. “Nah. All they can do now is
palliative stuff. I decided I didn’t want it.”

The
next question burned at the back of my throat.

“You
can ask it,” she said. She looked at me and smiled a little. “You want to know
how much longer I have.”

I
nodded.

“It’s
anyone’s guess,” she said. “But they think no more than six months.”

Six
months. That meant she wouldn’t even see the summer through. I wondered if
she’d collect snow and keep it in her freezer, if she’d grab grass cuttings and
store them. But then again, why should she? It wasn’t like she could take those
with her. Memories were for the living.

Zee
pulled into an empty parking space across from Sphinx. “Ready to hear the man
sing?”

“Yes.”
I opened the door and began to get out when Zee grabbed my wrist.

“He
likes you, you know,” she said, searching my eyes.

I
thought about lying, about acting like I didn’t know who she was talking about.
But in the end, the truth came out. “I know. I like him, too.”

She
nodded, let my wrist go. “Good.”

Inside,
Drew and Pierce were already at a table, nursing beers. They smiled when we got
in their line of vision. A little, ridiculous surge of a thrill ran through me
when Drew’s blue eyes lingered on mine.

After
we’d sat down, he nodded. “You look like you’re feeling better. Carson said he
saw you at the doctor’s Monday.” He gestured to his cell phone. “He texted me
to say he couldn’t come tonight. We weren’t just randomly discussing you.” He
smiled a little cheeky smile that made my breath catch in my throat.

“Yeah.”
My stomach churned a little at the less-than-fun memory of being in Dr.
Daniels’s office. I pushed it away. “How are you?” I hoped the “you” was laden
enough with meaning that Drew would understand I was talking about his
emotional state, after what he’d told me about his hand coordination slipping.
I’d wanted to text him these past two days, but somehow, bringing up something
like that over text didn’t feel right, and I was horrible at talking on the
phone.

“I’m
better now,” he said, smiling at me. Did he mean
now
as in after time
had passed, or
now
as in
now that
you’re
here
? More
importantly, when had I become one of those girls who agonized over everything her
crush said?

I
noticed he had his guitar strapped to his back, and wondered how he managed to
walk with the extra, awkward baggage. His cane hung on his knee, suspended in
the air. I remembered Carson’s warning: that Drew would be losing his voice
soon. How much longer before he had to trade his cane in for a wheelchair—or
“the chair,” as he called it? How much longer before his guitar had to be
stowed or sold to pay for a brace for his arm? I tried to imagine his tall,
strong body curled up in a chair, his legs useless, his hands bent into claws.
I couldn’t picture that any more than I could picture myself glowing with good
health.

Across
from me, Pierce’s conversation with Zee devolved into a volley of barking
coughs. I turned toward him, concerned that he might throw up. Finally,
wheezing and trying to catch his breath, he stopped coughing long enough to
take a slug of beer.

“Are
you all right, man?” Drew asked. “Do you need to go home?”

But
Pierce shook his head. “Just...” He took a deep breath so he could finish. “...A
complication.”

“A
complication from what?” Zee’s voice was oddly quiet, and when I looked at her,
she looked paler than usual. She’d obviously got more from that statement than
I had.

Pierce
stared down at the glass neck of his beer bottle for a long time. Then he
looked right into her eyes and said, “Kaposi’s sarcoma.”

Zee’s
lips twitched and she looked away, watching the other patrons in the bar with a
sudden vivid interest. Pierce swallowed compulsively and turned to me and Drew,
who looked just as clueless as I was. “When your CD4 counts drop below a
certain level, you’re at risk for a lot of different diseases.”

“Right.
Because your immune system’s so weakened.” I knew that much about AIDS from all
my medical reading.

Pierce
nodded and showed us a quarter-sized purplish bump on his upper hand. “This is
a kind of tumor. It’s spreading fast.” He flipped his hand over and showed us
the underside of his forearm, which was covered in the spots.

Drew
looked at him, his face grim. “So what’s the prognosis?”

Pierce
cleared his throat. “Well, it depends on the person’s level of infection, their
viral load and things like that.”

Drew
nodded. “Okay. So what’s
your
prognosis?”

Pierce
looked us both in the eye and then simply shook his head. I glanced at Zee, but
she was still looking away, refusing to be a part of this conversation.

There
was a squeal of feedback from the microphone on the small wooden stage before
anyone could say anything else. I turned to see a guy, face and arms covered in
tattoos, fiddling with it. When it got quiet, the bar filled with his scratchy
voice. “Hellooo, Sphinx customers!” he said. There was a smattering of applause
in response. “Put your hands together and welcome one of our own, the very
talented Drew Dean!”

“That’s
me,” Drew muttered, pulling the guitar off his back. After a quick smile in my
direction, he limped to the stage, cane in one hand and guitar in the other.
Tattoo Guy clasped his shoulder and got off stage, and Drew sat down in the
chair set out for him.

People
began to clap and cheer, and across the bar, some female voice said, “Hey
sexy!” I tried to see who it was, but the crowd over there just seemed to be
one seething mass.

Drew
strummed a few notes, the music shimmering out into the room and dissolving,
and the crowd got quiet. Cradling his guitar to him like a longtime lover, he
began to play.

I
t
was a song I hadn’t heard before, about someone who promised to tell his or her
lover a secret. With each line he sang, it felt like he was talking to me. I
opened my eyes without even realizing I’d closed them, and when I looked at
Drew, I felt like he’d been watching me the whole time. It was probably
impossible for him to see me sitting in the dark when the spotlights were
trained on him, but I could’ve sworn we were gazing right at each other.

When
he was done, the place erupted in applause and cheers again, and Drew waved a
little bit. Someone said, “Encore!” but he smiled and shook his head.

“Sorry,”
he said into the microphone. “This fellow’s got to rest his voice.”

There
was a chorus of “boo” and “aww,” but Drew ignored them and made his way slowly
over to us. He sat down and Pierce passed him a fresh, cold beer that he’d snagged
from the bartender.

“Nice
work, bro,” he said, grinning. His earlier somberness was gone. I wondered if
Drew’s music had infused his blood with the same magic as it had mine, if only
temporarily. I hoped so.

“Thanks,”
Drew replied. His eyes met mine. I felt my cheeks flash hot, but I couldn’t
find the words to tell him what I was thinking, mainly because he’d probably
think I was a weirdo. What I really wanted to ask was:

Was
that song about you and me?

Were
you really looking at me while you played, or was that my imagination? and

What’s
happening between us?

“Mercury
Rev,” Zee said, flipping a purple strand of hair out of her eyes. She looked
more relaxed than before, too, and I was thankful. “Haven’t heard you play them
in a while.”

“Felt
right tonight,” Drew said, his eyes still on me.

Zee
looked at me, an expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement flitting
across her face. “Oh-kay. Hey, listen, we need to talk about Jack’s birthday
party. It’s next week, and we still haven’t decided where to have it.”

“Where
does Jack want to have it?” Drew asked.

“When
we talked about it a few weeks ago, he’d mentioned wanting to have it someplace
outdoors.” She quirked one corner of her mouth. “But it’s so freaking cold, I
don’t know about that.”

“I
vote for his house,” Pierce said.  As he spoke, he rubbed absently at the tumor
on his hand. “I mean, it’s probably the safest place for him. He doesn’t have a
lot of energy anymore, you might’ve noticed.”

It
struck me as odd, that Pierce would say that. Did he feel like he was in much
better shape than Jack? Was it a defense mechanism, especially in light of his
newest health development? I took a sip of my Dr. Pepper. “I think we should do
it at Prescott Park.”

Three
heads swiveled toward me.

“Um,
as I said, it’s not really park weather, Saylor,” Zee said. “January. New
Hampshire. Snow.” She paused. “You see where I’m going with this?”

“I
think he might enjoy getting out, even if only for a few minutes. It’s what he
wants, isn’t it?” I said. “Besides, they have that community building there. We
could host it inside.”

“That’s
actually not a bad idea,” Drew said. “You have my vote.” His smile as he said
it seemed to imply that he was talking about more than just the park idea. But
maybe I had a fever again.

“I’ll
run it by his mom and see what she thinks,” Zee said. “It’s next Tuesday, just
so you guys remember. Get presents and cards.”

“Cool
hair.”

Our
gazes swung collectively to the owner of the voice, who turned out to be a
muscular guy in a tight t-shirt with purple streaks in his blond hair. He stood
grinning next to Zee’s barstool.

She
smiled at him and patted her head. “Thank you. Obviously you’re a fan of purple
yourself. Good taste.”

He
gestured to the empty seat next to her with his beer. “Mind if I...?”

“Go
ahead,” she said, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink.

I
glanced at Drew and he winked at me conspiratorially.  Pierce looked vaguely
annoyed.

“I
haven’t seen you here before,” the guy said. “I’m Nigel, by the way.”

“Zee,”
she replied. “I come in here often enough. We must’ve missed each other.”

“My
loss,” Nigel said, staring deeply into her eyes.

I
wanted to laugh behind my hand, but I didn’t dare with Zee sitting so close.
Drew cleared his throat loudly.

Zee
rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Nigel, these are my friends. Drew you probably already
know because he’s such a legendary pain in the ass around these parts. That’s
Saylor, and the dude next to you is Pierce.”

Nigel
nodded at each of us in turn. When he saw Pierce, he said, “Aw, man. Let me
guess—bronchitis?”

Pierce
shook his head, his eyes twinkling above his mask. “Nah. Just a touch of AIDS.”

Nigel
did a huff-laugh thing and looked around at the rest of us to see if Pierce was
joking. “AIDS,” he said wonderingly.

Here
it comes, I thought. The hasty retreat. From Zee’s expression, I could tell she
was thinking the same thing.

“Yep,”
Pierce replied. “Full-blown AIDS.” It was like he was rubbing it in, daring
Nigel to make a run for it. He put his elbows on the table and the sleeves on
his sweater slid up, exposing the matrix of tumors on the underside of his
forearm. He didn’t seem to notice Drew’s glare or Zee’s resigned slouching.

“Man,
that sucks.” Nigel took a swig of his beer. “I volunteered for the local AIDS
organization downtown last semester.” He blew out a breath. “Talk about
intense.”

Zee
preened a bit at Pierce, as if to say, See? He didn’t run off. He likes me and
you aren’t going to ruin that.

“Really?”
Pierce replied. “That’s cool. What did you do for them, exactly?”

“I
helped their case manager. Every time I saw a dude or a chick around my age,
I’d just be thinking, Man, I am so fucking
lucky
.” He looked at Zee,
waving his beer around as he talked. “You know? I mean, those sad bastards. All
skin and bone, struggling for each breath.” He shook his head, caught Pierce’s
eye. I saw his face pale just the slightest bit. “But obviously, that’s not how
you are, man,” he said, laughing nervously. “You look great.” I saw him take in
Pierce’s pale skin, his slender wrists with the bones jutting out like big
white beads, the smattering of purple tumors like a constellation across his
skin.

We
stared at him.

Nigel
clutched the pocket of his pants suddenly and stood. “Oh man, my phone’s
vibrating,” he said, not looking at any of us. “I gotta go. Nice meeting you
all, though.”

When
he was gone, Zee sighed. “That’s how you can tell the ones who can’t cut it in
our world, you know,” she said to me. “Pity. They try to drown us in it.”

Pierce
took a sip of his drink. “They never last, do they?”