Caregiver

Chapter 2

Sullivan crossed the living room, gathered up the glasses and cocktail napkins, and took them into the kitchen, where he rinsed the glasses in the sink and put them into the dishwasher. He returned to the living room, grabbed the ashtray, and emptied it into the wastebasket in the kitchen, after checking to make sure none of the butts smoldered.

While Sullivan was busy cleaning up, Adam sat on the couch, legs crossed, swinging one leg back and forth. He smiled at Sullivan, who sat down next to him once he was finished and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Finally,” Adam said.

“Hey, just tidying up a bit after your little party. You know me, Mr. Clean.”

Adam grabbed Sullivan’s grizzled face and turned it toward him. “Yes, I do know you.” He pulled Sullivan close and gave him a real kiss, his tongue darting into Sullivan’s mouth. A little breathless, Adam sat back and said, “That’s more like it.”

Sullivan laughed. “So did you and your new friend have a good time? He looked like a nice guy.”

Adam snorted. “How could you tell? You only met him for a minute.” Adam kicked off his heels; one landed on the floor by the coffee table and the other slammed into the wall. “And he seemed quite taken with you.” Adam gave his lover a meaningful stare. “I know that look.”

Sullivan chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about that. Even if he was, you know I only have eyes for you, sweetie.”

“Oh, please! You know how much I hate that sickening sweet love talk. You want to be really sweet? Use your mouth to give me head.” Adam bumped his shoulder into Sullivan’s, grinning.

Sullivan shook his head. “You think you can fool me. I know you better than that. You’re not the tough broad you want to make yourself out to be, Miss Barbara Stanwyck.” Sullivan scooted away just a bit from Adam and concentrated on straightening the coffee table. “So you never answered me. Did you like the guy?”

“He was okay, I guess. A little straight for my taste, if you know what I mean. I mean, he is gay, said he had a boyfriend and all, but kind of square, as my mom would say.”

“Is that why you wore that?” Sullivan pointed to Adam’s ensemble, which would have looked at home on a 1960s secretary.

“Yeah,” Adam replied, looking pleased with himself. “I wanted to see how he’d react.” He smoothed the bottom half of the dress. “You know you can never go wrong with a little black dress.”

“I guess he passed the test, then?”

Adam snorted. “Not exactly! You should have seen the look on his face when I opened the door. Flabbergasted!” Adam sang out the last word. “But he relaxed after a few minutes or so, or at least pretended like he wasn’t taken aback by a five-foot, eight-inch man in kitten heels, pearls, and black nylons.”

“Well, good for him. You liked him, right?”

Adam grabbed Sullivan’s chin. “Why does that matter so much to you?” He let go. “Yeah, he was fine. I mean, it’s a little weird having this brand-new friend who volunteered for the position, out of charity. But I guess once you get past that, he was somebody I could see having a laugh and a drink with, although not a smoke. Good Lord, no.”

“Not a smoker?” Sullivan toyed with Adam’s pack on the coffee table, spinning it around.

“Not at all. He didn’t realize it, but I saw him crinkle his nose when I lit up.”

“Well, maybe he has the right idea, honey. You know it’s not good, especially with the pneumonia….”

“And I told him what I’ll tell you again: I am going to die. I am not going to expire from lung cancer or emphysema at age 70. I am going to die from AIDS at probably age twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight, if I’m lucky. So get the hell off my back about one of the few vices I have left to enjoy.” Adam cut his gaze to Sullivan. “I certainly don’t get to enjoy s*x much anymore.”

Sullivan looked away. Hot tears sprang to his eyes. He was trying only to have a simple conversation with Adam about his new AIDS buddy. He hadn’t expected things to turn so ugly so quickly. But these days, mercurial was Adam’s middle name. He blew out a sigh and tried to rein in his urge to cry. He sucked in a few sniffling breaths. Tears he liked to save up for when he was alone. He stood up and walked to the window, where the rain poured down in sheets, illuminated every few minutes by a flash of lightning. Adam’s comment about s*x was a low blow, but it was on target.

Sullivan couldn’t recall the last time the two of them had had s*x—not real s*x, where there was passion and mindless f*****g and sucking involved, as it was in their early days together, which now seemed so long ago. Although, it had only been a couple of years since the pair had met at the bathhouse on Halsted in Chicago. But those times now seemed almost as if they had happened to another couple altogether.

Now, if they did anything s****l at all, they m*********d together, watching porn, with Sullivan trying not to recoil when Adam kissed him deeply or attempted to take things to a more intimate level. The idea of having real, full-on s*x with his boyfriend was scary, when he thought that the act could be a death sentence. Sullivan couldn’t help it; once the s*x/death connection had been made it was, well, it was hard to get it up.

He knew it wasn’t fair. He knew it most likely wasn’t even rational. There was such a thing as condoms, after all. Adam’s doctor had told him that they could have satisfying, penetrative s*x as long as they took the necessary precautions; many couples like them did.

So, they could be careful. And then there was the fact that they had had all kinds of s*x, some of it not so safe, in their early days, when most likely Adam was unwittingly infected, just as infected as he was today. How had Sullivan managed to stay negative? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, his mother would have told him.

But so far all of Sullivan’s many HIV tests had come up negative. And God help him, he wanted them to stay that way. He had seen what the disease was doing to his lover and he didn’t want to wake up one morning to find a little purple lesion on his skin or develop a dry, hacking cough that wouldn’t go away. Hell, even now, if he woke up in the middle of the night sweating, he worried it was the night sweats that heralded HIV infection.

Besides, he wasn’t being selfish in wanting to stay healthy. That was for Adam’s sake as much as his own. Sullivan turned and looked at the man he loved so much, sitting on the couch, smoking, with the remote in his hand, flipping through TV channels and seemingly unaware of the turmoil going on in Sullivan’s head, only a few feet away.

He loved the crazy guy with the sharp tongue, the propensity to wear drag and to shock people, loved him with all his heart. Sullivan wanted to stay healthy to take care of Adam. He gnawed his lower lip to keep the tears at bay as he thought that Adam would surely get worse… and that he would need someone strong and able to care for him.

Enough of thoughts like this! Sullivan turned back to looking out at the rain, which was slowing, as it always did—quickly. Soon enough, the late afternoon sun would be out and the asphalt would be steaming. In the summer, it happened every day.

“So, you want I should fix us some supper? How does grilled cheese and tomato soup sound?” Sullivan thought comfort food might tempt Adam.

Adam didn’t take his gaze away from the TV; he had settled on MTV, where Sinead O’Connor, in tight close-up, was singing plaintively how “Nothing Compares to You.”

“I think I’ll just have a liquid dinner tonight. There’s still a pitcher of Mai Tais in the fridge.”

“Oh, Adam. You know you can do better than that. At least try an Ensure.”

“Oh, Sullivan. Don’t mother me.”

Sullivan went into the kitchen, where he pulled out a can of Campbell’s soup from the pantry and a loaf of bread, margarine, and a pack of Kraft American slices from the refrigerator. Even if he didn’t touch a bite of it, Adam was going to have a dinner in front of him tonight. Sullivan wasn’t about to let him go without that option.