Full Circle

  "Hey, lover," he said. "Sorry to kiss and run, but I've got rehearsal. Jerry rewrote one of the numbers, and I think I'm going to get to sing it. I'll be back around ten."

  He darted past me and was halfway down the stairs before he called up, "I almost forgot. Your friend Andy called. He says he has something to tell you. 'Bye!" I shut the door and took off my coat. Andy calling me was unusual, and the fact that he had something to tell me didn't make me feel any less apprehensive, especially since he hadn't felt he could give Alan the message. I was sure something bad had happened, either to him or to Jack. But I'd just spoken with Jack a few days earlier, and everything was fine. Still, people were forever getting killed or discovering they had life-threatening illnesses right after assuring someone that everything was all right, so why should Jack be an exception?

  I picked up the phone and dialed Andy's number before I could work myself up even more. Whatever terrible thing he had to tell me, it was best to get it over with quickly. I waited impatiently as the phone rang three, four, five times.

  "Hello?"

  "It's Ned," I said. "What's wrong?" "What makes you think something's wrong?" Andy replied.

  "Well, first of all, you didn't leave a message," I said. "And second, you never call."

  "Yeah," Andy said. "I've been bad about that. But listen, I didn't leave a message because I wanted to tell you the news myself."

  "So tell me," I said, steeling myself for the worst.

  "I'm moving to New York," Andy announced.

  CHAPTER 46

  "So, is Boy George a drag queen or what?" asked Andy as the unmistakable opening chords of "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?" came from the radio.

  Taffy put down the feather duster she was using to clean the bookshelves on either side of the fireplace and faced Andy, who was unloading a box of video tapes. "I think she's a what," she said. "Because if she thinks she's a drag queen, she better lose twenty pounds and get rid of those damn braids. Ruby Rims looks more like a woman than that thing does."

  "I think he looks great," I said, opening another box and looking inside. "It's time America saw a big queen on television anyway."

  "You mean besides that guy on Hill Street Blues ?" said Andy.

  "Which guy?" asked Taffy. "Not the one who played the prostitute who narked on his own lover?"

  "Yeah," Andy said. "That guy."

  "That's just what we need more of on TV," said Taffy. "Gay hookers who can't be trusted. No wonder straight people think we're freaks." "Who's a freak?" asked Alan, walking in with yet another carton.

  "Boy George," I told him. "According to Taffy, anyway."

  "The other day my mother told me that my father has a crush on him," said Alan. "He saw Culture Club on Solid Gold last week and wanted to know who the pretty girl was." "Did she tell him?" asked Taffy.

  "No," said Alan. "She thought she'd wait until he told all the guys at work about his new fantasy woman."

  "I take it you want this in the bedroom," I said, holding up an enormous dildo that I'd found in the box I was unpacking. Taffy looked at it and whistled. "And I thought you were one hundred percent a pitcher," she said to Andy. "It just proves what I always say, the butcher they are at the bar, the faster their legs go up when you get them home."

  "Speaking from personal experience?" Alan teased.

  "Please," Taffy said. "You know I'm all girl. Or I will be soon enough."

  "I don't use that on myself," said Andy, indicating the dildo, which I was shaking so that the enormous dong flopped grotesquely. "It's for other guys."

  "Why?" Taffy asked. "Aren't you big enough for them?" I was about to say that he was plenty big enough, but realized that I hadn't told Alan the extent of my relationship with Andy. He thought Andy was an old friend; he didn't know that we had a more complicated history. As for why I didn't tell him, well, I wasn't really sure. I knew he wouldn't care, so it wasn't that I thought he would be jealous. I guess it just seemed—and this will sound strange—but too personal. Getting into what Andy had meant to me would mean talking about a lot of things I was uncomfortable talking about, namely my own behavior when it came to falling in love with men who didn't love me as much as I needed them to. Since things with Alan were going well, I didn't want him to think he was another mistake.

  Fortunately, Andy answered Taffy's question by tossing her one of the videos he'd just unpacked. She looked at the cover. "Piledriver," she read. "‘These construction workers put the jack in jackhammer.'

  Who writes this stuff?"

  "Don't look at that," said Andy. "Look at the picture."

  Taffy examined the box more closely. She looked at Andy, then back at the box. She turned it over, and her eyebrows rose. "Is that you?" she asked.

  "It is," said Andy. "Or at least, it was. I don't make those anymore."

  Taffy was still staring at the pictures on the video box. Alan went over and took it from her. "Wow," he said. "That's quite a…tool belt you have there."

  "Brad Majors," Taffy said. "Isn't that the name of the guy in Rocky Horror ?"

  "Yeah, well, we didn't know that when we thought of it," Andy said, taking the video back from her and putting it on one of the shelves Taffy had dusted. "But I still get letters for him." "I wonder if Barry Bostwick gets ones for you," I mused. "He must wonder why all these gay guys want him to fuck them."

  "I'd let Barry Bostwick fuck me anytime," Taffy said. "Brad Majors, too," she added, blowing Andy a kiss. Andy winked at her. I knew he would never sleep with Taffy. He was just charming her, as he did everyone. What I really wanted to know was who he was sleeping with. He'd said he was moving to New York because of a "friend," but when I pressed him for more information, he changed the subject. He was equally vague about what he would be doing for work, telling me only that he knew somebody who was going to give him a job. Jack didn't know any more than I did. Andy had told him that an old friend was helping him out with an affordable apartment, but that was it.

  Whoever the friend was, the apartment was a beauty. Located on the Upper West Side, it was on the top floor of one of the castle-like prewar buildings that lined the streets of that neighborhood, covering whole blocks like giant squatting dinosaurs. The enormous living room had floor-to-ceiling windows, and the master bedroom was large enough that it could easily double as a ballroom if necessary. Already furnished, it looked as if the decorators from Architectural Digest had been hired to appoint it. The carpets and furnishings were straight from the city's finest stores, and I'd already been assured by Alan, who knew such things, that the Warhol hanging in the hallway was an original. I was dying to know the name of Andy's benefactor, and what the exact nature of their relationship was. Knowing that he wouldn't tell me, I'd engaged Taffy's help in trying to find out. She was nosy by nature, and I knew that after spending some time with her, Andy wouldn't find her questions out of the ordinary. Now that she'd warmed him up, I thought it was time. Using our prearranged signal, I said, "This view is really amazing, Andy."

  "Andy," said Taffy. "If you're not making movies now, what is it you're going to do in New York?"

  Andy rocked back on his heels and scratched his head. "A buddy of mine runs this company," he said. "I thought I might do some sales for him."

  "Sales," Taffy said. "That sounds interesting. What will you be selling?"

  "Insurance," Andy answered.

  "Insurance?" I said, despite myself. "That's what my father did."

  "Really?" said Andy. "Huh."

  "Insurance sounds kind of boring," Taffy said.

  "Yeah, I know," Andy replied. "But I'm getting older. I've got to start thinking about the future."

  Something about the way he was talking made me suspicious. For one thing, Andy had never had an office job in his life. I couldn't see him in a suit-and-tie kind of business, especially insurance. Plus, the way he was answering the questions, he was giving Taffy a story that sounded plausible but didn't invite further questions. I wasn't buying it, but I didn't know
how to get to the real story without just asking him outright, which I knew wouldn't yield any answers.

  "Well, it must pay pretty well to have this place," said Taffy, trying a different tack. "It belongs to a friend," Andy said. "He's living in Florida right now, so he's letting me have it."

  Again we were being stonewalled. There was no way to ask who this friend was without it sounding like an interrogation. I looked at Taffy and shook my head. The game was over for now.

  "Here's something else I don't get," Andy said as the song on the radio changed. "Why would you write a song about coming on some chick named Eileen?" "It's not about coming on Eileen," Taffy said. "It's about…oh, never mind."

  "I'm just saying," said Andy. "It's kind of rude."

  "Are you up for going out tonight?" I asked Andy. "We thought we'd introduce you to the scene." "Sure," he said. "Where are we going?"

  "I thought the Monster," I told him.

  "The Monster?" Alan and Taffy said in unison, clearly horrified by my suggestion. "It's famous," I told them. "And it's not that bad."

  "If you're over sixty-five," Taffy remarked.

  "Don't listen to them," I said to Andy. "They're just upset because the owners won't let them do their drag act there." "Like we'd want to," Taffy sniffed.

  "Is it really an old guys' bar?" Andy asked me.

  "Please, you can't get served there if you don't have your AARP membership card," said Taffy. "It's the only bar in New York with an Early Bird Special."

  "You're pretty sassy for a girl with a dick," I shot back, earning a glare from Taffy and a roar of approval from Alan and Andy. "She kind of reminds me of a certain girl we met in Vung Tau a bunch of years ago, eh, Ned?" "Now that you mention it, she does kind of look like her," I said.

  "Taffy, I don't suppose your mother was a Vietnamese whore, was she?"

  Taffy threw a video at me, just barely missing my head.

  "Careful with that," Andy chided her. "Pole Positionis a classic. I got to fuck Billy Studd on the hood of Mario Andretti's backup car in that one. We had to position ourselves over his sponsor's logo so nobody would know one of his crew guys was a fag."

  After a minute or so, Taffy calmed down and we finished unloading the boxes Andy had shipped to New York from San Francisco. Then we left him to shower and take a nap before meeting us at the Monster.

  He showed up just after nine, entering the bar and causing heads to turn as the regulars smelled the scent of fresh meat. Walking through the crowd as if he'd been coming to the bar every night of his life, Andy made his way to the rear of the room, where we'd positioned ourselves next to the piano, close enough to the bar to get a good look at everyone there, but far enough out of the way that we could talk.

  "Nice place," Andy said when he reached us. "Lots of ferns."

  "I told you," Taffy said.

  "Come on," said Alan, taking her by the arm. "Let's get you another drink. Andy, what can we bring you?" "Gin and tonic," he answered. "Thanks."

  "What do you think?" I asked him when they were gone.

  "It's sort of like Twin Peaks, but bigger," he said. "And I don't see all that many old guys," he added. I laughed. "New York is different from San Francisco," I said. "Here you're over the hill when you're thirty."

  "Christ, they're going to think I'm ancient," he said. "I have a feeling you'll do just fine," I told him. "Look, you've already got guys checking you out." I nodded in the direction of the bar, where a couple of men were giving Andy appreciative glances. Andy gave them a quick once-over. "Not really my type," he said. "I'm looking for something a little different these days."

  "Oh?" I said. "Different how?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it," he said. "I'm just getting tired of running around so much, you know?" "I do know," I said. "That's why I'm glad I have Alan."

  "He seems like a nice guy," said Andy.

  "He is. He's good for me."

  "Unlike me and Jack," Andy replied.

  "I didn't say that," I said, surprised that he would include himself in the same category as someone who had been my lover.

  "But it's true," Andy said. "You always seemed kind of, I don't know, tense around us. You're calmer now." "Maybe," I said. "Getting out of San Francisco was something I needed to do, for a lot of reasons."

  At that point, Alan and Taffy returned with our drinks, and the conversation turned to the things gay men talk about when they're out in public in groups. Jack used to call it the Three C's—clothes, celebrities, and cock. Generally, each subject received individual attention, but occasionally we'd enjoy times where two of them would merge, those generally being clothes and cock (as in, "What do you think he's got under those jeans?"), or celebrities and clothes (a combo particularly common when discussing people such as Cher and/or Liza Minnelli). The Gay Trifecta, where all three could be applied to a single person, was the ultimate in bar chatter, but it happened so seldom that normally we didn't dare get our hopes up. That night, however, we hit the jackpot. As Taffy and Alan were having a heated debate over who had made more guest appearances on The Love Boat , Marion Ross or Audrey Landers, conversation in the bar suddenly stopped for a full five seconds. When it resumed again, we still hadn't figured out what had caused the interruption. Then Taffy gave a little shriek. "Oh, my God," she said. "It's really him."

  "Who?" I asked her.

  She jerked her head toward the bar. "Him," she hissed.

  "That narrows it down," said Alan.

  "From the TV," she said. "That show about the detective."

  I looked again, and this time I saw exactly who she meant. Standing at the bar, seemingly alone, was the star of a currently-hot police drama. Propriety, not to mention the possibility of legal unpleasantries, prevents me from divulging his name, but I will say that he looked even better in person than he did on the television screen. Tall, dark-haired, and well-built, it was easy to imagine him wielding a gun and pursuing criminals in real life.

  "What do you think he's doing here?" Alan asked. "He's not exactly keeping a low profile." "He can always say he's researching a role, I guess," I suggested. "Do you think he's really gay?" "There's one way to find out," Andy said. "Ask him."

  "I'm sure the last thing he wants is people bothering him," said Alan.

  "You think he came here just to have a drink?" said Andy. "He could do that anywhere. He came here looking for dick, just like the rest of us." "Twenty bucks says he'd run screaming if anybody talked to him," said Taffy.

  "You're on, mama-san," Andy said, downing his drink and turning around.

  "Where's he going?" Taffy asked as Andy made a beeline for the star. As we watched, Andy went up to the guy and said something. We saw the actor smile, and he shook Andy's hand. The two began a conversation that lasted several minutes, during which Alan, Taffy, and I didn't say a word. When the two men left the bar and started walking toward us, I couldn't believe it.

  "How do I look?" Taffy asked, playing with her hair. Before I could answer, Andy and the actor were standing in front of me, and Andy was introducing us. I remember saying something stupid about really liking his show, and him being very polite in the face of my obvious nervousness.

  "I love your shirt," Taffy said, touching the man's arm. "It's so much nicer than that flowered one you wore on the show last week."

  "I'm sorry you didn't like it," he said. "I'll mention it to wardrobe."

  Taffy giggled. Andy lifted his drink, which he'd refilled at the bar. "Here's to New York," he said. "The greatest city in the world." "You've only been here one day," I reminded him as I toasted along with the others. "This is your first day here?" the actor said.

  Andy nodded. "Just got in this morning."

  "Well, you've got a lot to see then. It's a beautiful place. I grew up here, you know."

  "Really?" said Andy. "I was hoping maybe someone who knows the place would show me around."

  "I could do that, if you like," the man we watched every week said, as if the two of
them were acting out a scene.

  Playing his part, Andy waited a moment before answering. "Sure," he said. "If it's not too much trouble." "It's not," said the actor. He looked at his watch. "In fact, we could start now. The view of the city from the Empire State Building is phenomenal at night. If we leave now we can just make it before they close."

  "Sounds good," said Andy, handing me his unfinished drink. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said. The actor handed his drink to Taffy, who held the glass in her hand as if it was an Academy Award. "It was nice meeting all of you," he said.

  We said our good-byes and the two of them left. As they reached the bar, Andy excused himself and came back to us. "I almost forgot," he said to a still-stunned Taffy as he held out his hand. "You owe me twenty."

  CHAPTER 47

  "Ned, it's Jerry from GMHC."

  "Hey, Jerry," I said. "I was just about to come by and pick up John's lunch."

  "That's why I'm calling," said Jerry, and my heart sank. A call from him could mean only one thing.

  "When did he die?" I asked.

  "He hasn't," Jerry answered. "Not yet, anyway. But it doesn't look good. He won't go to the hospital, but we have someone with him."

  "Can I go see him?"

  "I think he'd like that," said Jerry. "He really looks forward to your visits. He missed you while you were gone."

  "I'll go over there now," I told him. "Thanks for calling." I hung up and got ready to go out into the cold. I'd just gotten back from spending Christmas with my mother and Walter. I was in Pennsylvania for five days, and was glad to be back in New York. Alan was still with his family in Indiana, and was due to return on the afternoon of New Year's Eve, when we planned on ringing in 1984 in Times Square.

  I hurried to John's apartment, more than a little afraid that he might die before I could see him. In the year and a half that I'd been his buddy, I'd come to be very fond of him. He'd lasted so much longer than most men with AIDS that I'd even begun to hope that he might be the one to beat the disease. Now, it seemed, he was losing the battle.