[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.In Duluth, right? My health insurance has another sixteen months to run—as long as I keep up the COBRA payments.”“Jesus, Wade.Aren’t there events and meets that’ll pay appearance fees?”“Shit.”“What about USA Gymnastics and USOC?”Wade scratched his elbow.The skin on his arms looked loose anddry.“Man, I don’t have the energy, not for a world-class routine.I almost broke a wrist on the rings a month ago.And my coach at Tech, he took a job in Arkansas.”“Look, Wade,” I said.“I’m sorry about this shit you’re going through.What can I do?”“For me? You can go set off a bomb in the steam room at that fag-goty club of yours.So you don’t fuck up somebody else’s life.”I’m a reporter, I thought.I can take this.I can listen, ask questions and report the answers.It’s my job.This man and I connected—yeah,briefl y, but the bond got as hot as I could ever imagine.He’s fi nished now and he doesn’t know truth from turpentine.He’s on an upswing this morning.Be decent.Treat him with respect.But nail your facts, Mr.Journalist.Stay on task and nail your facts.“You came on to me, Wade.And I liked it, I liked it a lot.We both liked it.Until, well, when it got unsafe.”“You got jealous of me and Celeste, didn’t you, faggot? Fag Henry, edits the faggot paper, worse than Bob Fucking Faggot Costas.Spit my cream out, shit! Couldn’t make anybody happy with that ugly skinned dick you got.”And here comes the downswing.Is this a drug hangover? Some kind of dementia? Or was I so lonely and dick crazy last year I didn’t listen?“Come on, Wade, you liked it—me—at the time.I thought we could, well, I hoped we could have spent more time together.”“I don’t think so, man.Actually, you’re the one who never told the truth.Actually, you were, like, just one more star fucker—except you wanted to write me up instead of let me fuck you.Th ey warnedme against your kind.And I made an exception.” He reached for the257Hot off the Pressesbathrobe and slipped an arm inside it.“My mistake.Look what happened.Cost me gold.”I slipped the tickets and note back into the envelope.“Do you want these?”“Take the damned things and go.”“How long have you known?” I whispered.“That you’re posi-tive?”He pulled the robe on and tied it at the waist.“Get your butt out of my place or I’m calling the police.I’m fi ne.Just totally fi ne.Now move.”CHAPTER 23SHAMEAnn Kaplan turned her head away after reading the photocopied note from Bill Leach.“He told me he was asking a few close friends to increase their donations.There was never any discus-sion of a separate party.”We were seated in her office at St.John’s House.The framed “AIDSHero” profi le from Outlines hung on the wall along with citations from AID Atlanta, the Atlanta Medical Association and the Centers for Disease Control.“I take it you were there,” she continued, her voice fl at and low.“And you wouldn’t be here now unless something happened.” She handed back the note.“Drugs, I suppose? Crystal meth? GBH? Designer grass? I’ve seen it all, at one time or another.Th e residents…”Her voice trailed off.“One of the waiters passed around a tray of pills and smokes.I don’t know what the stuff was.Some guests got high on the way over.”Ann smiled.“Well, that’s certainly a relief.”“Not exactly.They got there ready to party.And there was a sexshow.Do you know what fi sting is?”“Spare me not, Henry.That was the show?”“One of the acts.Unprotected oral and anal intercourse on stage as well as in general among the drunk, stoned guests.Rimming.”Elliott Mackle260Ann stood up.She was a slim, handsome woman with thick gray hair cut short and no makeup except lipstick.“Obviously St.John’s House had nothing to do with the sort of behavior you describe.We had no knowledge of it, even unofficially.And I have to ask, thoughI’m distressed to hear about men acting so foolishly, why you’re telling me all this.You’re not going to write about it.”I pulled the press release out of my pocket.“Some of the guests were at both parties.”When Ann shook her head, I named the married IBM exec, the Tech professor, Big Sarge Fletcher, Father McCloud and Ibo Williams.“And our genial host, of course, with his pants down.”Ann made a face.“Big Sarge, Father Ronnie, Ibo and I did not indulge,” I added.“But we all witnessed enough brain-dead stupidity to sink the Titanic fi ve times over.”Ann began to pace.“Witnessed, you say? You wouldn’t print any of these names.That would be—don’t they call it ‘outing’? After all, this was a private aff air.”“Anybody could buy a ticket.But that’s not the point—or the only point.The Mayor’s son was there, stoned and being sexually unsafe with another man hardly an hour after his daddy showered blessings upon all [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]