At Risk (18 page)

He’s twenty-eight years old and he wets the bed every night. He knows he will have to have a catheter soon, but he couldn’t stand it if it were now. The nurse who sleeps in every night doesn’t even know about this; rather than be humiliated, he stays in bed, on the urine-soaked sheets until Adelle comes in the morning to relieve the nurse. Adelle was once his biggest fan, she was the band’s secretary, a gofer really, but now she works for him alone. In his will he’s left her everything, including this apartment, but it isn’t enough. In the beginning he made charts and lists, he was obsessed with figuring out how he got AIDS, he has been in love only with men, but he has slept with both men and women, and years ago he shot cocaine all through a tour of the South without ever thinking twice when he shared someone’s needle. He’s so used to thinking I’ve
gotta quit
every time he reaches for a cigarette he still thinks it even though there’s no reason to quit anymore. He always makes certain to smoke far away from his oxygen tank; he sits by the window so the smoke spirals outward, between the bars.

Last week, before Brian had this relapse, Reggie came to visit. Reggie was so uncomfortable that Brian was doubly glad he hasn’t told his family in New Hampshire. They have never approved of anything about him other than the money he’s made. Reggie didn’t touch anything in the apartment; he had a blank, startled look on his face, and Brian realized Reggie had never seen the welts of Kaposi’s sarcoma on his face before. The band’s latest record has been an enormous flop, and they have to do whatever they can to salvage their careers. Without thinking, Brian began to cry when Reggie told him they had found a new lead singer. That made Reggie back even farther away.

“Look, forget I told you,” he said.

“No, really,” Brian said. “I’m happy for you guys.”

“Yeah?” Reggie had said. He turned away and Brian could see his body shake with a slow sob. “Man,” Reggie said without ever facing Brian again. “Why did you do this to us?”

Today Adelle has brought a box of little cakes she picked up at Bildner’s, and she’s making a pot of tea they can have when his guest arrives. Brian will not have any of it; he has problems swallowing. Adelle makes him a mixture of spring water and honey and some kind of liquid protein. From the window, Brian can see a man enter the brownstone, and when the buzzer goes off Brian yells to Adelle, “He’s here.”

God, he’s actually excited to have company. This guy he doesn’t even know, but of course when Ivan comes in Brian realizes he does know him. He’s talked to him for hours; he knows things about Ivan no one else will ever or can ever know. Before she brought him into the living room, Adelle took Ivan’s jacket and said, “Let me warn you. He doesn’t exactly look like his photographs right now.”

“All right,” Ivan said. He has never seen a photograph of Brian and what he sees now is a very thin man who has lost most of his hair. Brian wears a gold hoop in one of his earlobes, and loose blue jeans. A few months ago these jeans probably fit him just right; now Brian has to hold onto them when he stands up to greet Ivan. They shake hands and then Ivan gives Brian the flowers. Brian studies the lilies for a moment, then gives them to Adelle to put in a vase.

“I came to see you,” Ivan says. He can’t believe how desperate he sounds.

“Great,” Brian says. “Have a seat.”

Adelle goes into the kitchen for the tea; the apartment is cavernous and her footsteps echo. An entire wall in the living room is taken up by tape equipment; next to the window is a piano that Brian doesn’t use anymore. The ivory is too cold; when he tries to play he feels that if he pushed a little harder his fingers would snap off at the bone.

“I guess I came to thank you,” Ivan says.

Brian begins to cough, and he turns his head away. The cough shakes his whole body. Ivan grabs a box of Kleenex off the coffee table and holds it out, but Brian shakes his head. He can’t cough anything up; it’s all trapped inside him. Ivan feels panicky; he reaches into his pocket and finds a roll of Life Savers he bought for Charlie but forgot to give him.

“‘Take one of these,” Ivan says. “This will do the trick.” Brian takes one of the Life Savers, but instead of eating it he holds it up to the light. “I used to love these,” he says. He puts the Life Saver on the table, reaches for a cigarette, lights it, and coughs.

“I plan to quit when I’m thirty,” Brian says. Ivan stares at him. “That’s a joke,” Brian tells him.

“Ah,” Ivan says. “I’m not very good at those lately.”

“No,” Brian says. “Tell me about Amanda. Tell me how she is.”

Ivan looks at him, uncomfortable, then he sees that Brian is sincere. He really wants to hear, and so Ivan tells him, tells him how she has taken to wearing her hair in a French braid, how she feels in his arms, so damp and thin, when he goes to her in the middle of the night. He tells him that he has tried everything for her diarrhea, but that on some days she has to miss school because of it. And then, for some reason, Ivan begins to talk about the stars. He tells Brian the stories he used to tell the children, stories of mythical heroes plucked from death and set into the sky. In every story there is a reward for bravery, for courage; in each, flesh and blood is transformed into blinding white light.

Brian has closed his eyes, and when Ivan stops talking he opens his eyes, slowly; even this takes great effort.

“Beautiful,” Brian says. His voice is thick, no longer the voice of a singer. He lights another cigarette and asks, “How’s Amanda’s vitamin therapy going?”

“She hasn’t gotten any better,” Ivan says, “but then she hasn’t gotten any worse.

“That’s something,” Brian says. “Isn’t it?”

Adelle comes in with the tea and cakes.

“Put out that cigarette,” she says.

“Don’t give me orders,” Brian says, but he stubs out the cigarette. Blue smoke hangs in the air like a spider’s web. “Pour the fucking tea.”

“I stay only because of his charm,” Adelle tells Ivan. “Keep it up, I tell him. Good for you, you’re too mean and too stubborn to die fast.”

Ivan takes a sip of his tea because his throat feels so tight. What the hell is he supposed to do without Brian? Who will there be for him to talk to?

“That’s right,” Brian says. “And when I do I’m coming back. I’m not taking this lying down.”

Adelle grins at him, but as soon as he turns away, she looks as if she might burst into tears. She’s brought Brian a glass of spring water, which he drinks now. He’s so pale it’s almost possible to see the water through the delicate skin of his throat. Brian is tired. Ivan can see now that he has overstayed. Brian leans forward. He has extremely blue eyes; girls who fell in love with his picture could never decide if they were aqua or sapphire.

“Kids are funny,” Brian says. “They can be stronger than we are. Don’t give up on her.”

“No,” Ivan says. “I won’t.”

“Don’t listen to doctors. They told me I’d be dead months ago.”

“And here you are,” Ivan says.

It’s late now, and the sunlight is fading. Adelle coughs and goes to the windows to lift the shades higher. When the light fills the room, Ivan swears he can see all the bones in Brian’s body rising to the surface like fish. He can see Brian dissolving, and in this instant Ivan realizes that Brian is barely here, he is already looking at something far away, something in another dimension no one else can see.

LAUREL SMITH SITS IN THE bleachers with her knees pulled up, her feet balanced on the empty seat in front of her, her toes curled so her rubber flipflops won’t fall off. She chose this side of the gym because it’s much less crowded than the rows of bleachers she faces, where students and families are scrambling for good seats. This is the first meet of the season, and it’s against Medfield, a school farther west, which is Cheshire’s archrival. It’s an important meet, and Laurel knows it’s an honor for her to have been invited by Amanda. During the time they’ve spent together Laurel has been the instructor, teaching Amanda how to braid her hair, how to simmer chocolate for mousse, how to scoop sand in the marsh and find peculiar blue crabs. Now Amanda wants to show her something, and that’s why Laurel’s here, even though she should be at work.

Laurel was lucky to get a job in Morrow, and she knows it. With no real skills, other than the ones she’s taught Amanda, now that she’s given up her readings she has only the little income she gets from her parents’ estate. She’s lucky, too, that Marie Pointer, who runs the gift shop, is quite deaf, so that if anyone had told her not to hire Laurel, she probably wouldn’t have heard. Mrs. Pointer is extremely patient. She spent an en tire afternoon teaching Laurel how to work the cash register, and another showing her how to make out invoices. Mrs. Pointer’s store is not one of the better shops in town; there are no displays of local crafts, no pottery and weavings. But there are plenty of Hallmark cards, and there are ceramic figures of poodles and collies and ducks bought by children on Mother’s Day, as well as rows of candy and gum, magazines, office supplies, and, up by the register, trays of cheap jewelry, mostly birthstone rings made of colored glass.

Laurel doesn’t mind the job. The shop is messy and there are always boxes to be unpacked in the storeroom, trinkets to be dusted, magazines to be rearranged on the rack or, if it’s a really slow day, to be read. The accomplishments of this job are meager. The high point so far has been straightening out a tangled web of ribbon. But Laurel took the job for a weekly paycheck, not for any personal satisfaction. For that, she has Amanda.

Laurel has always kept her distance from people in Morrow: her cottage is far enough out of town for her to be ignored. This is not the only place where she’s felt she doesn’t fit in. She’s felt that all her life; she’s well practiced at making herself as invisible as humanly possible. Today she’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, and her hair is wound up in a knot, but she was foolish enough to wear a white cotton dress, which makes her more noticeable. Certainly Polly sees her as soon as she and Ivan come into the gym.

“I can’t believe this,” Polly says to Ivan. “Laurel Smith is here.”

“It’s a free country,” Ivan says. “It’s a free gym.”

“Hah,” Polly snorts, and Ivan wonders if she’s thinking about all the meets he missed last year.

“We should go over and say hello,” Ivan tells Polly.

“Absolutely not,” Polly says.

“Fine,” Ivan says. “I’ll go.”

“Don’t,” Polly says, and she’s not kidding. She doesn’t trust Laurel Smith. She’s certain Laurel is after something.

Ivan was even more suspicious of Laurel than Polly was; the only way Amanda got him to drive her out to Laurel’s house was to have a fit, complete with tears and threats of locking herself in the bathroom. He doesn’t know what he expected, but he certainly didn’t expect Laurel to be so down-to-earth. As soon as he walked into Laurel’s cottage he realized it was exactly what Amanda would have chosen for herself if eleven-year-olds could have their own houses: it was all pink and yellow and wicker, with a cat who was allowed to leap onto the table and lick out mixing bowls. Ivan went to sit out in the Karmann-Ghia; occasionally he could see Amanda and Laurel through the window, mixing up something, their faces streaked with chocolate. Afterward, Amanda ran out to the car, her face shining. She carried a tray of little chocolate things, which Ivan slid into the back of the Karmann-Ghia.

“Tarts,” Amanda informed him.

He didn’t care if Laurel Smith was a kook if she could make Amanda look so happy over a bunch of tiny pastries.

“Look,” Ivan says to Polly in the doorway of the gym, “Amanda is crazy about her.”

Polly practically had to tie her parents to kitchen chairs to keep them away from this meet. She wanted today to he a special time she and Amanda and Ivan shared. Just the three of them. Now that’s ruined. Polly can’t help but wonder what Amanda and Laurel could possibly have to say to each other. It kills her that Amanda would rather spend time with a stranger than with her own mother. But Ivan is right, what matters is what Amanda wants, and Amanda wants Laurel Smith.

“I’ll go over and get her,” Polly finally says.

Ivan goes and finds them some seats while Polly crosses the gym. Laurel is in the third row. Her head is bent down; she’s reading a newspaper, though Polly’s sure it must be impossible to make anything out with her dark glasses on.

“You’re sitting on the wrong side,” Polly calls from the floor.

Laurel looks up; flustered, she lifts her glasses off.

“Everyone on this side of the gym is rooting for Medfield,” Polly tells Laurel.

Laurel grimaces, then quickly makes her way down to the floor. “Stupid of me,” she says.

“Why don’t you sit with us?” Polly says with absolutely no warmth.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t,” Laurel says.

“You’ve already forced yourself on us, you might as well go ahead and sit with us,” Polly blurts out. She turns away from Laurel, shocked by what she’s said. “I’m sorry,” Polly says now.