We had made reservations at Napoleon, our favorite restaurant and were just heading for the door when the phone rang. I had to head Joshua off at the pass to beat him to it.
“Hello?” I said, displaying my keen sense of originality.
“Dick Hardesty?”
“Yes.”
“This is Mel Franklin, Tom Kester’s roommate. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner; I was out of town. What did you want to know?”
“I appreciate you calling, Mr. Franklin…”
“Mel,” he corrected.
“Mel,” I said. “While it’s really none of my business, could I ask about your relationship? Roommates? Friends? Partners?”
“We were best friends since high school,” he replied, “which always amazed both of us, considering how very different we were.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“Tom was the classic extrovert, never afraid of anything. He was up for any adventure and liked living on the edge.”
“I understand he was a regular at the Male Call,” I said.
Franklin laughed. “Oh, yeah. He loved his leather. He loved the fantasy of it.”
“And you?” I asked.
“Not me. I always found the leather scene kind of silly. Tom would drag me along with him to the Male Call every now and then, but…I was afraid that exactly what happened would happen.”
“So, you think he contracted AIDS from the Male Call?”
“I’d bet every penny I have, and I’ll bet you I know exactly how he got it and who gave it to him.”
That got my adrenalin pumping! “Who do you think it was? And how do you know?” I asked as calmly as I could.
“Like I said, I always thought the leather scene was just one big fantasy trip for most guys,” Franklin said. “That butch thing is a real turn-on for a lot of guys, and there’s one guy there who takes it well past the limit. His name, I think, is Cal…”
He paused a second, during which my adrenalin level kicked up a notch.
“And?” I prompted, though I knew he’d continue when he was ready.
“And like just about every other guy in the place, Tom wanted him. Bad. And one night he got him. Tom was walking on air, and he described it all to me in glowing detail. They did it in the back room of the bar, which wasn’t exactly what Tom had hoped for, and he said the guy had refused to wear a condom. Tom never went anywhere without a condom, and he always insisted the guys he went with wear them. But he was so hot for this Cal character that he went along with him.”
He paused again. “That was it. I know it was. Tom knew it, too, the minute he found what he thought was a bruise on his forearm, about a month later. He died the third of July. He was thirty-four years old.”
“Do you know if the guy said anything to Tom after they’d had sex?”
“Not that I know of. Tom didn’t say anything. Why?”
“No reason,” I lied. “Oh, and did he say anything about the lights being on?”
“Yes, he did say that when they went into the room there was only one small light on, and that the guy went over and unscrewed it before they had sex. There were a lot of guys in the room, but no one said anything.”
They wouldn’t have dared, I thought. Cal Hysong did what he wanted.
“That took a little of the excitement out of it for Tom,” Franklin continued. “He liked to watch the person he was having sex with.”
*
The phone call with Mel Franklin had, on the one hand, confirmed my earlier belief it was Cal Hysong who was deliberately spreading AIDS. Stan Jacobson had said Hysong had had evidence of Karposi’s for at least four months. There’s no way he could not have known he had AIDS, yet he kept on insisting on having unprotected sex. He had to have known he was spreading it. At best, he just didn’t care. At worst, he was doing it deliberately, and I was willing to bet it was the latter from what he’d been telling guys he’d had sex with.
I tried my best to push the conversation aside long enough to enjoy our dinner, which was made a little easier by the fact that Jonathan had gotten a haircut on his lunch hour and was wearing a new shirt. He looked so spectacular that as we were looking at our menus I blurted out, “Jeezus, I love you!”
He looked up from his menu, gave me a small smile, said, “I’m rather fond of you, too,” and went back to the menu—but I felt his foot rubbing up against my leg.
It was eight thirty when we left Napoleon and drove to Daddy-O’s. I’d called Thursday when I got home to verify that Scotty DeVose, one of Brewer’s fired bartenders, was still employed there. I was determined that despite my conversation with Mel Franklin I would try to cling to my objectivity.
Daddy-O’s was a pleasant little neighborhood bar not too far from The Central, the city’s main predominantly gay district. I’d not been to Daddy-O’s in years, but like most neighborhood bars, it hadn’t changed much. It was early, so there were probably eight guys sitting at the bar. A lesbian couple was playing darts, and another was deeply engaged in conversation in one of the booths.
We took seats at one end of the bar as the bartender came over to take our order. His long hair was pulled tightly back into a rubber-banded ponytail, and he had a short chin-strap beard.
“What can I get you gentlemen?” he asked.
“A draft for me and…” I turned to look at Jonathan.
“Tonic and lime,” he supplied.
“A man after my own heart,” the bartender said with a smile. “Comin’ right up.”
As he moved off for our drinks, I took a bill and a business card out of my billfold and laid them on the bar.
“Do you have a minute?” I asked when he returned. I pushed the card toward him, and he picked it up.
“A P.I., huh?” he said. “We don’t get many of those in here. What do you need?”
“I’m looking into these rumors about someone deliberately spreading AIDS. Do you know anything about them?”
He put the card back on the bar. “I’ve heard them, of course,” he said. “But I can’t believe anybody would do something like that.”
“Have you heard any names mentioned?”
He shook his head. “Just some names of guys who claim to know someone who knows someone—you know how rumors are. I can’t remember anything specific about any of them. The Male Call is mentioned a lot, though, now that I think of it. I used to work there. It’s a pretty rough place, so I’m not surprised.”
“Do you have any reason to think, having worked there, there’s anything to the rumors?”
“I couldn’t say. I was drinking too much back then and a lot of it’s sort of a blur. It took my getting canned to pull my act together.” He indicated Jonathan’s tonic and lime with a nod of his head. “That’s as strong as I go now.
“But as for the Male Call, like I say, it’s a pretty rough place, and a hell of a lot goes on there that wouldn’t be tolerated in other bars. So, it’s not surprising the place would be a rumor mill.”
“So, nothing specific about anybody getting AIDS from someone there?”
He glanced up and down the bar to see if anyone needed another drink then said, “Look, guys who go to leather bars either are tough or want everybody to think they are. Intimidation and control are all part of the game. You have to take it all with a pound and a half of salt.”
He picked up the bill I’d set out and headed for the cash register.
“Keep the change,” I told him.
“Thanks,” he said over his shoulder.
*
We made quick stops at two other bars between Daddy-O’s and Venture, neither of which produced any useful new information, and arrived at Venture shortly after ten. The place was just beginning to fill up, and I knew that by eleven it would be jammed.
We looked around for Mario but didn’t see him. The smaller bar by the dance floor wasn’t open yet, but there were three bartenders at the main bar. I had no idea which one might be Ray, but we walked over to the nearest and ordered. After three beers, I’d switched to a weak bourbon-Seven, and I was sure with all the quinine Jonathan was consuming in his tonic with limes he’d never have to worry about malaria.
Just as we were picking up our drinks, Mario appeared and, spotting us, came over.
“Let’s move over here,” he said, leading us to the far end of the bar. He indicated the bartender closest to us, one my crotch had pointed out to me when we entered—blond crew-cut, obviously tailored short sleeve white shirt that molded his impressive biceps, probably older than he looked. “That’s Ray,” he said. “I’ll get him for you in a minute.”
Though Mario was as relaxed as if we were sitting in his living room, we knew he was working, and that riding herd on a busy gay bar wasn’t the easiest of jobs. Sure enough, less than two minutes into our conversation one of the other bartenders flagged him down, telephone in hand, and Mario excused himself. On the way down the bar, he stopped to say something to Ray, who looked in our direction and nodded then went back to fixing a drink.
A few minutes later, Ray came over.
“I’m Ray,” he said, extending his hand to first Jonathan then me. “Mario says you have some questions for me?”
“Yeah,” I said, noticing his eyes kept moving back to the customers near his station. “We won’t keep you long. I’m trying to track down the source of these rumors about somebody deliberately spreading AIDS.”
“Yeah, Mario told us all to start paying attention to them. Lots of talk, little substance.”
“I understand you worked at the Male Call,” I said.
“That’s right. And if you know that you know I got canned for threatening to deck the boss. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No,” I said. “I’m only interested in getting to the base of the rumors. A lot of them seem to wind their way back to the Male Call.”
“Well, I don’t know who’s spreading them, but I know it isn’t me.” he said. “Carl Brewer’s a prick, and I wouldn’t piss on the Male Call if it was on fire, but saying someone from there was deliberately spreading AIDS—no way, unless I knew for a fact it was true. And I don’t.”
“Well, I’ve heard a couple names mentioned from the Male Call.”
He nodded. “Cal Hysong, I’ll bet.”
I hoped my surprise didn’t show. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, compared to Cal, every other guy in the bar is a drag queen, and if you doubt it just ask him. I don’t know what there is about that guy everybody finds so fucking hot, but they sure as hell do. And the guy’s an arrogant asshole. He treats everybody like shit, and they’d still fall on their backs and throw their legs up in the air anytime he snapped his fingers.”
“Well,” I said, “he’s not the only ultra-butch guy at the Male Call.”
“No, but he’s the only one I know of who didn’t start wearing condoms as soon as they figured out how it’s spread. Man, that’s asking for trouble these days. And anybody who would let him get away with it is asking for it, too. I’d really hate to think that anybody would knowingly infect somebody else, but if anybody would, my bet’s on Cal Hysong.”
Increasingly, so was mine.
*
Even though the evening was fairly frustrating from the standpoint of finding out anything I hadn’t either already known or suspected—and that in itself bothered me because I couldn’t be sure exactly how objective I was really being, or whether I was just accepting things because they fit in with what I already thought—the time with Jonathan was very pleasant. Talking with Jimmy and Bob at Ramon’s was nice, though not even Jimmy, who attracted rumors like a magnet attracts metal shavings, could supply any additional information, and spending time at Griff’s listening to Guy Prentiss sing old show tunes was, as always, a great pleasure.
We got home around one to find Craig curled up asleep on the couch in front of the TV. I wasn’t sure if we should wake him or just let him sleep, but he woke up when Jonathan turned the set off.
“Hi,” he said sleepily. “How was your evening?”
“Great,” Jonathan said with a smile. “Joshua behave himself?”
“No problem. I read him a story before bedtime and he ‘read’ me one. He’s got ’em all memorized.”
Jonathan got the couch ready while Craig excused himself and went into the bathroom. He came padding out a minute later in his shorts, his clothes over one arm; he laid those carefully out on a chair.
I must say, Craig was definitely crossing the threshold between being a kid and a young man. Jonathan saw me looking at him and gave me a small grin then mouthed the words “Don’t drool,” which fortunately Craig didn’t catch. We said our goodnights and went to bed.
“Was I ever that young?” I asked as we got under the covers.
“Oh, come on, Gramps, it’s not that bad,” Jonathan said, moving closer. “Besides, Craig and I aren’t all that far apart in age.”
“Rub it in,” I said and turned off the light.
Chapter 10
We’d arranged with Craig to come over Sunday after church and stay with Joshua while we met Jake and Jared for brunch at Rasputin’s, one of the places we used to go fairly regularly BJ—before Joshua. They were there, sitting at the bar, when we arrived and got up for an exchange of hugs.
“Hey, Jonathan,” Jake said, taking him by the shoulders and stepping back to arm’s length. “You been working out? You’re lookin’ good!” Then he turned his head to look at me. “You…eh!”
Jonathan blushed furiously as he did every time Jake flattered him.
“No, just working,” he said. “And I think Dick looks great.”
Jake grinned at me. “He’ll do.”
While I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask about what they might know about the Male Call and its clientele, I determined I wouldn’t say anything if neither of them brought it up, and they didn’t. We talked about everything except the Male Call and the rumors and the shadow I could sense even now had fallen over our two friends.