Object of Desire

by William J. Mann

  But why should any of it surprise me? Didn’t it all make sense in a terrible kind of way? Did I really think I could get away, that hopping on a Peter Pan bus would really save my life?

  It was worse for Frank. Frank was a teacher. We’d heard the stories from all over the country of teachers with AIDS being fired. I was just an actor, after all. Sure, it would be an issue if I had to kiss someone in a scene: people were still clucking over the way Rock Hudson had kissed Linda Evans on Dynasty. I’d have to deal with such talk, of course, and I’d probably lose out on some roles. But still, it was worse for Frank. Much worse. He’d dedicated years of his life to studying to be a teacher. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed mine back.

  If the results were positive, I wondered if I’d tell my parents. Frank’s parents were dead, so it wasn’t an issue, but mine were still out there in the world, at least as far as I knew. I hadn’t been in touch with them now for a few years. I imagined picking up the phone and telling them that I had AIDS, and Mom breaking down in tears and saying, “Oh, my little Danny” and rushing out here to take care of me. But then I laughed to myself. In what universe might that happen? No, I didn’t think I’d tell my parents. Mom would just see it as confirmation of her frequently expressed belief that I’d chosen a sick, degrading, and sinful lifestyle. No. I wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

  Of course, a positive result was far more likely for me than it was for Frank. I’d been the hooker, after all. I’d been the one to take it up the ass from strangers and allow them to shoot jizz into my colon for a hundred bucks a pop. I wasn’t proud of it, but there it was. Still, Frank was older than I was, he’d been having sex for a lot longer, and he’d had sex with a lot more people than I. Probably, I figured, we were both positive. Everybody we knew was. Why should we be any different?

  “Danny,” Frank said finally, breaking the silence in that little white room. “You know it’s going to be all right, one way or other, don’t you?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I don’t know that.”

  “It will be. Trust me.” His bright eyes found mine. “Do you trust me, Danny?”

  I smiled. “More than anybody ever.”

  Frank’s green eyes smiled back at me. He was so beautiful. Even after two years, he was still the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. On his strong shoulders, Frank seemed able to carry the world, and that included me. His eyes were so alive, so bright, so filled with a sense of what was right and what was possible. As I sat there, looking at him, I thought that I’d never really known what beauty was until I met Frank. All those men in my scrapbook, with their pretty eyes and pearly white teeth, were nothing compared to Frank. With my free hand, I reached over and touched his cheek and his strong jaw. There was no man in the world more beautiful than Frank Wilson.

  “If we’re positive,” he was telling me, “we’ll find the meds that work. There are new ones, much more effective ones, on the horizon. And there are alternative treatments, too. We’ll find the ones that work best for us.”

  “But what if only one of us is positive?” I asked.

  “Then we’ll deal with that, too. Together.”

  Suddenly the terror rose up in my throat like bile. “Will you stay with me, Frank?” I blurted out. “Will you?”

  I knew that hadn’t been part of the bargain. But I needed to know.

  “Of course, I will, Danny,” Frank said, without missing a beat. “Of course, I will stay with you.”

  I didn’t believe him, but the words were good to hear nonetheless.

  But then he asked softly, “Will you stay with me?”

  “Of course,” I echoed. “Of course.”

  The door opened, and the doctor came in. He was a young man, quite handsome, with dark hair and blue eyes. He nodded and sat down opposite us in a white plastic chair. He opened the file he held in his hands.

  “Okay, Frank,” he said, scanning the results inside. “Your test came back negative.”

  “Oh,” I heard Frank say, more a shudder of relief passing through his chest and out of his mouth than any authentic word. I grabbed his hand as tightly as I could.

  “And you, Danny,” the doctor said, his eyes moving down the page, “your test came back—”

  There was a moment’s pause. I teetered at the edge of a cliff.

  “—negative as well.”

  “Oh, God!” I started to cry. “Are you sure it’s not a mistake?”

  “It’s not a mistake, Danny,” the doctor said, smiling. “You don’t have HIV. Neither of you do.”

  I broke hands with Frank to make the sign of the cross. I hadn’t made that gesture in years. It was something left over from my mother, perhaps the only thing I still had of hers.

  “Now continue practicing safe sex,” the doctor said, standing. “I don’t want to see these results change.”

  We smiled at him, still seated, as he left the room.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said to Frank. “Just like that. Our worries are gone.”

  He was beaming. “Believe it, baby.”

  “I was so certain I was going to be positive,” I said, as much to myself as to him. “After all the things I did. I was so certain.”

  Frank stroked my hair. “We’re incredibly lucky, baby.”

  “It’s just so odd,” I said. “It felt as if testing positive would make sense. That of course, I’d die young, probably in a couple of years. I was certain that was the way my life would go, and it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least.”

  “No, baby,” Frank said, still stroking my hair. “That’s not the way it will go.”

  “So odd…”

  Frank leaned forward to rest his forehead against mine. “We’re going to have long lives, baby. We are going to last and last and last. We are going to grow old.”

  “How wonderful,” I whispered, scarcely able to believe it still.

  Our eyes locked as our noses rubbed together. My mother used to get up close to Becky and me like this. She’d call it “seeing the owl.” I smiled at Frank.

  “That doctor just gave us a blank check, baby,” he told me. “The road is stretching out in front of us. We can take it anywhere.”

  “But why were our tests negative when Randall’s was positive? Why are we so lucky when so many others aren’t?”

  “That I don’t know, Danny.”

  The door opened again, and the nurse reappeared, seeming surprised to find us still inside. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” Frank told her. “We were just leaving.”

  We stood and made room for the next people to sit in these chairs, whose news might not be nearly as good as ours. But for us, the joy was unbound. Taking each other’s hand again, we headed out into the rest of our lives.

  EAST HARTFORD

  The principal of St. Francis Xavier High School was a small, elfish, red-faced Irishman named Brother Doyle, whom I had never liked, and who, I was sure, had never liked me, either. Certainly he didn’t like me that day in his office, his red hands folded on his highly polished desk, Mom, Dad, and I seated in straight-back chairs in front of him. Above his head was the motto of the school—BE A MAN—something I appeared to have failed miserably at, and above that hung an enormous crucifix, with a near-naked Jesus writhing in the throes of his last human agonies. At that moment, I could definitely relate.

  “But it is the other matter that is even more distressing than the marijuana,” Brother Doyle was saying.

  Neither he nor Mom nor Dad would look at me.

  Brother Doyle continued. “Troy Kitchens has admitted to us in rather graphic detail the sins he and Danny committed on a weekly basis for much of the last two years.”

  Mom made the sign of the cross.

  “Of course,” said Brother Doyle, “we have compassion for these two boys, both of whom have suffered terrible family tragedies, losing beloved family members—”

  “We haven’t lost Becky,” Mom interrupted. “We’re going to find
her.”

  “Of course.” Brother Doyle cleared his throat. “But still the trauma of her disappearance has clearly pushed Danny into perverse behaviors.”

  I saw Dad rub his forehead.

  “I am certain that the use of that drug caused it,” Mom said, leaning forward, her big, manly hands opening and closing into fists. “And I believe that Chipper Paguni is the real criminal here, for he introduced my daughter to that drug as well. I believe he started Danny on it, and his mind was corrupted from there.”

  “Well,” said Brother Doyle, “it’s clear that Chipper partook of the drug with Danny, but Troy has admitted it was he who introduced your son to the drug.”

  His eyes flickered briefly over to me but then looked away.

  I had fallen into silence. While Troy seemed happy to sing, to spill his guts, I said nothing. No longer did I try to deny it, to bluff my way out of it, as I had in the men’s room the day before. But neither did I confirm anything, either. As Brother Doyle read the charges against me, I sat expressionless, immobile. When he asked me if I had anything to say, I simply shook my head. Mom and Dad had so far said nothing to me. There had been no angry words, no confrontations. Only silence.

  “All I know is,” Mom said, “Chipper Paguni has been an evil influence on my children. I expect any punishment he faces will be as severe as Danny’s.”

  Brother Doyle nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Fortunato. But remember that Chipper was not involved in the perversities….”

  “He has plenty of perversities!” Mom retorted. “He knows more about my daughter’s disappearance than he has ever admitted!”

  “Be that as it may, Mrs. Fortunato, that is not the matter at hand here.”

  “He shouldn’t be allowed to graduate,” Mom said. “Are you going to let him graduate?”

  Brother Doyle sighed. “We haven’t yet decided the course we will take with Chipper. But we do know that we cannot allow Danny or Troy to continue at St. Francis Xavier.”

  Mom cocked her head. “Are you saying…that you’re expelling Danny but possibly not Chipper?”

  “Mrs. Fortunato, we do not tolerate such perverted behavior in our school.”

  “Danny’s not going to do it again!” she shouted. “I’ll see to that!”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fortunato. We have essentially been giving Danny a free ride here. We haven’t asked you to repay the tuition you’ve missed.” He gave her a sanctimonious smile. “And this is how we are thanked.”

  “So you’re kicking my son out?” Mom asked. “Just like that?”

  Brother Doyle sighed. “I’m afraid we can see no other way.”

  Finally, there was life from Dad’s chair. He stood up abruptly. “And you call yourself a Christian,” Dad said thickly, striding out of the office.

  Mom paid him no heed. “Brother,” she said sternly, “I do not want my son educated in a public school. If he has these perverse tendencies, only a good Catholic education can wipe his mind clean.”

  I closed my eyes. The room was starting to spin.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fortunato, our decision is final.”

  She was outraged. “Is Troy Kitchens being expelled as well?”

  “We haven’t decided about Troy yet.”

  My eyes opened to see Mom suddenly leap from her chair and press her hands down on Brother Doyle’s desk, her nose only inches from his. “So only Danny! You’re only expelling Danny!”

  “Danny is the only one we’ve been subsidizing,” Brother Doyle spit back.

  “And the Kitchens money probably comes in real handy now that you’re building a new gymnasium, doesn’t it?”

  “Mrs. Fortunato, I will pray for you and Danny and your family. That is all I can offer you at this time.”

  “You can go to hell,” Mom said, turning on her heel and storming out of the room.

  That left me sitting alone in front of Brother Doyle. I looked at him.

  I smiled.

  “You may go, Danny,” he said uncomfortably.

  I laughed. “Oh, I’m going,” I assured him, my first words all day.

  Outside in the corridor, Mom and Dad were nowhere to be found. Maybe they’d left me behind. Maybe I was on my own now. But when I headed out into the parking lot, I saw them waiting for me in the car. I trudged over and slipped into the backseat. Not a word was spoken all the way back to our apartment.

  But once inside, the volcano of Mom’s emotions erupted. For two hours, she railed at me. I was sick, she said. I was depraved. I had done all this to hurt her. I was selfish. I had caused her so much shame and anguish that she feared she’d lose the energy to look for Becky. I was, she said, the ruin of everything.

  Throughout it all, I remained silent. I sat on the couch, with my hands in my lap, my eyes on the floor. Dad poured himself a drink and paced from room to room. Mom’s shrill voice filled up that tiny apartment. I was certain the people next to us and above us must have heard her every word.

  “It is a filthy thing!” she cried. “No son of mine will be a homosexual!”

  I closed my eyes.

  “I’ve lost two children now! I’ve lost both my babies!”

  I heard the front door slam. Dad had gone out. He couldn’t take any more. I doubted we’d see him for a couple of days.

  Mom stopped ranting after Dad left. She down at the kitchen table. A thousand things seemed to be going through her mind. Her silence disturbed me far more than her rants.

  At that moment, the doorbell rang. With tremendous effort Mom stood to open the door.

  It was Detective Peter Guthrie. He had come, he said, because he had information.

  “Come in, come in!” Mom said, suddenly animated again, ushering him inside, fluttering around him like a giant moth. He sat at the kitchen table and looked grim.

  “The man you call Bruno,” he told her, “has been arrested on a narcotics charge. I suspect he will go to jail for a long time.”

  “Then he can tell us where Becky is!”

  “Mrs. Fortunato,” the detective said, his thin, reedy face expressing annoyance. They’d clearly had this conversation many times.

  It occurred to me sitting there that I had never witnessed any real discussion between Mom and Guthrie before. She had usually spoken to him on the phone. But now, from across the room, I listened closely.

  “There has never been any evidence that Becky was with Bruno or any other biker,” Guthrie said. “I have followed up this lead of yours only because you have insisted, and that is why I am here today.” He paused for emphasis. “Bruno knows nothing about your daughter. He says he has no idea who she is or where she is. He admits he called you, because he learned you were following him. He thought you were a private detective and you were onto his drug ring.”

  “He’s lying!”

  Guthrie shook his head. “Even when offered a possible reduction of the charges against him, he could offer us no information.” The detective looked at Mom with stern eyes. “Mrs. Fortunato, your daughter was never with Bruno. Those bikers were bilking you for cash. That’s all.”

  “I won’t believe it!” Mom shouted. “Warren is my friend! There have been too many sightings of her for it all to be a lie. Too many bikers have seen Becky!”

  “Mrs. Fortunato.” Detective Guthrie stood. “It is time that you faced facts. Your daughter left home because she was unhappy.”

  “She was not! My daughter was very happy! We were very close!”

  “Not according to her friends. You know that I interviewed all of them immediately after Becky’s disappearance. I spoke with Karen Mulgrew. I spoke with Pam Antolini. I spoke with Carol Fleisher. I spoke with dozens of girls. They all told me of the arguments the two of you had been having. They all told me that Becky felt you were pressuring her about her relationship with her boyfriend.”

  I had never known this. I had had little contact with Becky’s friends. They were all over at St. Clare’s, and all were older than I was. Becky’s life and my life had becom
e so separate. I knew that she and Mom had been arguing a lot, but I’d been unaware that her unhappiness had grown so great that she’d told all her friends.

  “If Becky was unhappy,” Mom was saying, “it was because of him, because of that Chipper Paguni, not me!”

  “Whatever the reason,” Guthrie replied, standing from his chair, “she was unhappy at home. I believe you need to face the fact that Becky ran away, Mrs. Fortunato. The evidence is there. Her missing clothes. The money that was taken from your cookie jar.”

  My eyes widened. More information that I hadn’t known. Missing clothes. Money from the cookie jar. Mom had never spoken of such things in front of me.

  “Becky wasn’t kidnapped, Mrs. Fortunato,” Detective Guthrie said, trying to sound kind, but years of frustration seeped through in his voice. “Certainly not by bikers.”

  Mom’s lips had gone white with rage. “So you will continue overlooking leads, then! You will force me to continue searching on my own!”

  Guthrie sighed, his hand on the door to leave. “We will investigate every viable lead, Mrs. Fortunato. Trust me, I would like to find Becky very much. It’s just that I still believe she will come home on her own eventually.”

  “Get out,” Mom said contemptuously.

  Guthrie said good-bye and left.

  Mom picked up a plate from the table and tossed it against the wall. Miraculously, it didn’t break. It just bounced like a Frisbee and landed on the couch, beside me. I jumped, but only a little.

  I looked over at my mother. “You never told me about any of that,” I said, my words hard and accusatory.

  “Listen to me, Danny,” Mom said. “Your sister wasn’t unhappy. Your sister was a good girl!”