by Brad Graber
Instead, Harry gave way to more-confident voices. Gay men who had faced the terror of AIDS and held their ground. Those who pressed for research, legal protection, and dignity, all the while burying loved ones as Harry receded into a writer’s fantasy world. Nothing was real but what he was able to create. And now, on the patio in the cool night air, Harry realized that he’d failed Richard by not being more. He’d failed himself by not even trying.
“I should have done better,” he said as he massaged Beetle’s neck, hoping to hear Richard’s voice. But there was no response. Only the sound of Beetle’s breathing, persistent and struggling as he started to wheeze.
Harry placed his hand under the terrier, gently massaging his tummy. “There you go, boy, take it easy,” he said soothingly. “You’re okay.”
◆
Elle checked her watch. “Honey, please, we’ve got to get a move on. I need to get to the airport. I can’t miss that flight. Your Uncle Bill will kill me.”
It was an early September morning as Rikki slipped on her shoes. Elle’s job at Jacobson’s had come to an end, and even though she had refused to move back to New York, Bill Allington had asked her to once again join Haney & Lewis. “You can telecommute,” Bill had said. “And Detroit isn’t so far from New York City. You can hop a plane and be in the city by noon.”
Rikki laughed. “He’d never kill you,” she protested at the mere mention of such a violent act. “He thinks you’re wonderful.”
Her mother stood in the hall outside Rikki’s bedroom door, a brown leather workbag on her shoulder and a black roller bag at her side. “Yes,” she agreed. “He does. But then he has great taste.”
“When will you be back?” Rikki asked, gathering up the schoolbooks on her desk.
Elle had one hand on her hip as she watched her daughter. “I told you twice already. Tuesday night.”
Rikki remembered; she’d just wanted to hear her mother say it one more time.
“Now, when you come home from school, go straight over to Evelyn’s,” Elle called out as she headed down the stairs, the roller bag banging injudiciously against the steps as she struggled to lift it in the air.
“Yes,” Rikki answered, following close behind. She knew the drill. Dinner with Evelyn and then she’d spend the night. Perhaps Evelyn might even take her to the movies. Rikki had so wanted to see Mariah Carey in Glitter. Elle had said no, but Evelyn was such a soft touch, Rikki thought she might be able to get Evelyn to go.
“She’s doing us a really big favor,” Elle warned her daughter as Rikki followed her out to the car. “And no to Glitter.”
Rikki gasped. “Of course not,” she feigned surprise. “It’s Monday. A school night. I’ll have homework.”
Elle placed her luggage in the trunk. “That’s right. So, don’t you give Evelyn any trouble,” she said, walking around to the driver’s side.
Rikki smiled as she got into the passenger seat. “Mom, Evelyn loves spending time with me. It’s no bother.”
Elle laughed at her daughter’s assertion. “That she does,” she said as she fastened her seat belt before checking Rikki’s. “Why, I’ll never know,” she said jokingly as she backed the car down the driveway.
◆
Rikki awoke in a sweat. She kicked off the covers before realizing she wasn’t in her bed, back in Queens, and Rita wasn’t down the hall.
She was in Phoenix. She was at Harry’s house.
She sat up. The faintest bit of light shone through the curtains from the outside streetlight. The room felt too warm, almost claustrophobic. Not quite awake, she moved in a daze, reaching for the lamp on the side table, missing her target, and knocking it over. The sudden crash startled her. In an instant, a memory flashed. The sound of a crash. Voices screaming. She could hear it all. It was as if she were there.
“Are you okay?” a voice called from the shadows of the room.
Rikki gasped. “Mom, is that you?” she cried.
“Rikki, wake up,” the voice demanded.
When Rikki opened her eyes, Barney was by her side, in only a pair of white briefs. The lights in the room were on. The lamp hadn’t fallen at all. It sat perfectly straight on the side table.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he ran a cool palm across Rikki’s wet brow. “You’ve just had a bad dream. That’s all.”
Rikki nodded, as if Barney’s explanation made perfect sense.
The smell of his musk caught in her throat. She hadn’t ever seen him without his shirt on. His skin seemed to glisten as he eyed her with concern, a bit of hair falling into his eyes.
“Would you like a glass of water?”
“No.” She was slow to answer, still lost in a state between dreaming and waking. “I’m fine, really.”
“Okay, then. Lie back,” he instructed her.
Rikki did as she was told as Barney pulled up the cotton blanket. “Now, try to get some sleep. If you need me, I’m just next door.”
“Wait,” Rikki called out as he started to go. “Don’t leave.” A strip of brown fuzz lined his belly. She wondered how it might feel to stroke it.
“Are you sure?” he asked, head tilted to the side, one brow raised.
“Yes,” she said with a growing certainty. “Stay with me.”
Rikki wet her lips and adjusted the pillow beneath her head as Barney slid down next to her. “What was the dream about?” he asked, leaning on one elbow as he looked at her. She spotted a patch of dark hair under his arm.
“I don’t know,” she said, hoping to get him to move closer to her. “I don’t really care anymore.” Her heart was rapidly beating as the blood coursed through her body.
“But it had to be something,” he said as he took her hand.
She gazed into his eyes. “Barney, thank you for coming here with me.”
He smiled an impish smile. She sensed his desire. “I really should go back to my room,” he said, unconvincingly, leaning in closer for a kiss. She lifted her head, and as their lips touched their noses awkwardly collided.
“Oww,” Barney said as he rubbed the tip of his nose with his fingertips.
She blushed, deeply embarrassed.
“I’ve never done this,” Barney admitted, as he came closer again, leaning in to smell her hair, his body against hers.
“Me neither,” she whispered, feeling foolish, certain that he already knew that.
“But,” he said, as a hardness pressed against her thigh, “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with.”
She closed her eyes as she pulled him closer, her hand now exploring his manhood, his tongue buried in her mouth.
◆
Harry pulled the bedspread back with one hand as he gently placed Beetle down. “You’re getting heavy,” Harry said as he massaged his right arm, sore after carrying Beetle in from the outside.
The terrier stumbled over to the middle of the bed, releasing a small cry as he lowered himself, resting his head on his paws.
“There you go,” Harry said sweetly. “You look nice and comfortable.”
As Harry brushed his teeth, he thought about the day. The surprise of the two teens showing up at his door. The familiar expression on Rikki’s face, which so reminded Harry of Richard’s. The questions the teens had posed . . . and his awkward answers. He wondered why he was still so uncomfortable in his own skin. Perhaps that’s why he wrote mystery novels. Maybe the genre lent itself to escaping the facts of his own life.
Surely a man of my age should be past all this, he thought as he gargled. Life should be easier at this point. And yet, his confusion over the past, his sexuality, Lil and Edward, all seemed to be critical to his very identity. As if, without the confusion, he’d cease to exist. Cease to be Harry.
He sighed as he slipped under the covers. Beetle remained in the center of the bed, facing the master bath, his legs stretched backward. “Come over here, boy,” Harry instructed, gently patting a spot next to him.
But Beetle didn’t move.
“Bee
tle,” Harry repeated, “Beetle?” he said louder, sitting up to touch the terrier’s paw as Beetle rolled on his side and began to pant. “Beetle!” Harry cried out as he leapt over the covers and came around to kneel at the foot of the bed. Beetle’s eyes, glassy, unfocused, the whites exposed, signaled distress as the tiny chest heaved valiantly. Harry caressed Beetle’s back, hoping his touch might calm the terrier. “I’m here,” he softly said, “right here,” as Beetle continued to pant, a paw quivering, as urine pooled on the blanket. Each moment an hour, until Beetle’s breathing finally settled back to a steady rhythm.
“Oh God, Beetle,” Harry said, as he lifted the terrier, now fully alert, and placed him on the floor. “You scared the crap out of me.”
Harry pulled the blanket back to inspect the sheets. The urine had soaked through. With a sigh, he stripped the bed, carrying the blanket and sheets down the hall where he loaded the washer.
You better get that dog to the vet. It was Richard’s voice.
“I know,” Harry said, as he added detergent and set the temperature to hot. With a click of the dial, the washing machine started.
Don’t wait for the morning. Get him to the Emergency Clinic now.
Harry rushed back to the bedroom. Beetle was curled up in his crate. All was calm.
Perhaps there’s nothing more to do, Harry thought as he sat down next to the crate. Leaning against the wall, wearing only his briefs, Harry took a deep breath. He could feel the tension in his chest on the exhale. Whatever that was, he seems okay now. He’ll definitely need a bath, but I should probably let him rest. Time enough for Newbar in the morning. I’m sure he’ll take him first thing.
Harry stretched a hand out and gently touched Beetle’s head. The little dog opened its eyes. Harry could feel himself begin to relax. “You are my life,” Harry whispered as Beetle lifted his head, inviting Harry’s touch. Harry leaned sideways and slipped two fingers beneath Beetle’s chin and scratched. “What am I going to do if something happens to you? You’re my best buddy,” Harry said as tears gathered. “I don’t think I could stand it, Beetle.”
◆
When Harry awoke, he was next to Beetle’s crate. He’d fallen asleep, knees pulled into his chest, head resting forward. He craned his neck to see the clock. It was nearly midnight. He licked his lips and blinked, acutely aware that his body, unaccustomed to sleeping in such a bent position, had grown stiff. He looked over at the crate. Beetle remained in a curl. Harry smiled. He was glad that he hadn’t rushed to the emergency vet.
Harry struggled to his feet. Hands on his hips, he swiveled back and forth, blinking hard as he pondered his unmade bed. No need for sheets or a blanket, he thought as he grabbed a bathrobe out of the closet and slipped it on.
As he sat down on the bed, he once again looked over at Beetle. The terrier seemed at peace. Harry smiled. “I’m so lucky,” he thought as his eyes settled on Beetle’s chest in anticipation of the familiar rise and fall. But there was no movement. No movement at all as Harry waited and stared, his breath growing shallow as he was overcome by fear.
◆
Edward’s voice rang out. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”
Harry had called Edward first, too distraught to do much else. Tears streamed down his face as he sat on the floor of his bedroom, Beetle next to him on a bath towel. “I let him die,” Harry sobbed. “He was in distress and I should have rushed him to the emergency vet. How could I be so stupid?”
“Oh, Harry,” Edward sighed. “You’re too hard on yourself. That little dog loved you and you gave him a wonderful life. But Harry, he was old and he was sick. You know that. You took such wonderful care of him. And wasn’t he lucky to have died in his own home? I’m certain that was the best ending, for Beetle’s sake.”
Harry had no idea how to get past the next few moments, let alone consider the actions required for the next day. “I’m lost . . .” he mumbled between gasps. “I don’t think I can stand it, Edward. My beautiful Beetle is gone.”
“My dearest Harry.” There was a gentleness in Edward’s voice, a kindness that Harry had never paid much attention to. “I know this is hard. But you’re not alone.”
“I am,” Harry cried, stroking Beetle as if his touch might revive the terrier. “Totally.”
“I’m here, Harry,” Edward assured him.
Harry realized that Edward too had been the other constant in his life. The editor, the friend, the lover. The touchstone that Harry could always count on. Now, he wondered why he’d kept Edward at a distance.
“But you’re not here,” Harry answered, barely able to get the words out.
“Not now . . . but I can be there tomorrow.”
“You’d come all the way back?” Harry sobbed.
“Certainly,” Edward said. “I think you just might need me. Do you, Harry? Do you need me?”
Harry stopped crying. “I do,” he answered, his heart breaking as he looked down at Beetle’s silent form. “I need you more than you could ever know.”
◆
Rita groused as she worked her way down the aisle to seat 21F, her bag periodically catching in an armrest as she struggled to move forward. She’d awakened at 3:00 a.m. to catch the 6:25 flight out of Kennedy International, arriving in Phoenix at 9:15 in the morning with the time change. Dear God, she thought, eying the traveling public. All these people packed together in a sardine can. And look how they’re dressed. She passed a young woman seated next to a toddler. The woman’s red top was cut so low, Rita was certain the entire plane was being treated to a titty show.
It’s worse than taking a bus, Rita thought, as she slid into the window seat, tightly tucked beside two black men. The older one in the middle seat, who appeared to be in his fifties and was wearing a blue cardigan sweater, nodded and smiled. “Traveling alone?” he asked in a warm tone.
“Yes,” Rita answered, searching through her purse for a tissue. Perhaps if she pretended to be sick, he might leave her be.
“I’m taking my son back to Tempe.”
Rita nodded, not wanting to continue the conversation.
“He’s a star athlete at ASU.”
Again she nodded, directing her attention out the window just as, down on the tarmac, a young man in an orange vest approached the side of the plane.
“Who is that?” she asked, concern in her voice, forgetting her lack of interest in conversation.
The man leaned forward to get a better view. “Just an airport worker. Probably someone who needs to check the cargo hold.”
“Oh, God,” Rita said aloud. “If I didn’t have to fly, I never would.”
The man chuckled. “I know what you mean. But there’s no other way. If you want to get to Phoenix from New York, you really have to fly.”
Rita felt a mild sweat breaking on her brow. “I don’t know . . .” she said, without thinking about the consequences.
“Well, you’re perfectly safe,” the man said. “Junior and I are right here. And Junior plays defensive end. Trust me, with my boy around, you never need fear.”
“But ever since 2001 . . .” and her voice trailed off. She’d promised herself not to think about it.
“9/11?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Rita revealed, her voice sounding like that of a little girl. “I’ve been frightened.”
“Oh,” the man answered sympathetically. “And you haven’t flown since then?”
“No,” she admitted. “But now, I guess I have no choice.”
A flight attendant announced that the doors were secured for take-off.
Rita sighed. “It’s now or never,” she said to the stranger as she leaned back and tried to relax.
◆
Harry sat outside the vet’s office in his car and waited for the staff to arrive for the start of the morning shift. He’d been up most of the night, unable to sleep. Edward had recommended a warm bath, but Harry hadn’t followed the advice. He was too upset to sit in a warm tub, bombarded by the same thought over and over. I
should have taken him to the emergency vet. Why didn’t I?
Michelle, a veterinary technician, took Beetle’s wrapped form from the backseat. “Please be careful with him,” Harry implored as the bundle was carried off.
Dr. Newbar came outside and offered his condolences. “How are you holding up?” he asked as Harry got out of the car to meet him.
“Not well, but I’m managing,” Harry muttered. “I don’t really have a choice.”
“You were a good doggy dad,” Newbar said. “Beetle had a great life because of you. You took really terrific care of him.”
“But last night . . .” Harry was unable to continue. Instead, he looked down, reliving Beetle’s last moments. The wild-eyed stare, the quivering paw.
“Harry, you know Beetle had congestive heart failure. And I told you that his enlarged heart might actually tear. We had discussed all that.”
Harry nodded. “It’s just so hard, isn’t it? How do you manage through this?” he asked Newbar.
“It’s just how life is. None of us is here forever. When it’s our time, we just hope that we go easily and quickly, like Beetle. He was a special little guy.”
Harry shook Newbar’s hand. “I really should thank you for everything that you’ve done for Beetle.”
“Well,” Newbar said. “That’s my job.”
“But you’re really a kind of hero.”
Newbar smiled. “And so are you, Harry. So are you.”
Harry was unable to stop himself from putting his arms around Newbar and pulling him in for a tight hug.
◆
“I just got here,” Edward told Harry as he raced to the cab stand, cell phone held tightly to his ear. “The flight was on time. Thank God.”
“I just dropped Beetle off at the vet,” Harry replied. “I’m afraid I scared Dr. Newbar. The way I hugged him, the poor man probably thought I was in love with him.”
Edward sighed. “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry.”
“Should I come get you?”
“No need,” Edward said, as he leaned forward and asked the cabbie to take him to the Biltmore. “I’m on my way now . . . I should be there in fifteen minutes.”
