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“What did Leland say?”
“Oh, he seemed very glad. And when we saw you in the restaurant, all my spirits lifted. I had a nice time.” It sounded so poor, a “nice” time. “So we had a nice di
“When we got to the front door of the house, he put his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said, ‘All right.’ Just that. I closed my eyes and said, ‘Thank God. Thank God.’
“I went straight into the bedroom to get ready. I had a special nightgown I wanted to wear for him. Halfway across the room I looked at the bed and saw it was completely made up with new red-and-yellow sheets I’d never seen before. They had a pattern on them. Roses. Exactly like the ones he’d given me. Obviously he had made up his mind earlier and gone to the store to buy them without my knowing.
“On my pillow, that spanking new, fresh pillowcase, was a big envelope. I recognized it as one of his. The kind he used for his photographs. I was so touched by the sheets and excited about what was about to happen that I wanted to push the envelope away and get going. But I knew that far some reason he wanted me to see what was there before we began, so I sat down and took it onto my lap. He came into the room then and I thanked him for the sheets. I thanked him for being my friend and for whatever was in the envelope.
“He put his hand to his waist and bowed very deeply. It was a wonderful gesture—silly, cute, and kind of shy. I gave him a little round of applause and opened the flap.
“And screamed. What? What was this? Why was he showing it to me now? Why at all? At first I didn’t recognize myself. There was a shrunken, diseased, hairless thing propped in a white chair, its mouth open and curved down as if it was gasping for breath. The eyes were so deep back into the skull that you didn’t think they were eyes at all. I shouted at him, ‘What is this? What are these? War pictures? Why now, for God’s sake, why show them to me now?’
“Without knowing what I was doing, I let the photo slip out of my hand, but there was another, and it was worse, because then I recognized who was there. In spite of my horror I looked, then I threw down all the pictures and jumped back across the bed away from them, away from him.
“The second was clearly of me, this monstrosity, lying on my bed in the beautiful nightgown I was pla
By then Wyatt had lowered his head to his lap. I leaned down over him and put my arms over his back. I smelled his cologne and felt how tense his muscles were. I spoke almost in a whisper.
“Leland walked over and picked them off the floor. He paid no attention to me as he went through them. There must have been ten. He’d hold one out and say, ‘I think this one’s good. Shows all the delicious wrinkles in your skin. The National Enquirer would love it. “Sex Goddess Dies of AIDS! Exclusive pictures inside.” ’
“When he was done going through them and admiring his own work, he dropped them on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘That’s what you’d have looked like, Arlen, give or take a few months. Hey, remember what your favorite poet Charles Simic says? “Death has a cock that is always erect.” I stole lots of lines from him, and you thought they were so cool. Dumbass ditz.’ He lay back on the bed and yawned. I didn’t move. ‘But to tell you the truth, Arlen, the thought of fucking you and having to stick around here any longer bores me. You bore me. Call your pal Wyatt if you have any questions. He knows who I am.’ He stood up, and the last thing he said before walking out was ‘If you ever want to kill a dog, use strychnine; it’s much more vivid.’ ”
Wyatt groaned and slowly straightened up. “The moment I walked into that restaurant and saw who was with you, I almost died.” He looked at me and laughed, a real laugh, deep and full. “I wanted to meet this guy so much. The man who stole Arlen Ford’s heart. I remembered him from that one meeting, but it was all so quick that I only vaguely recalled what he looked like. But this time when I saw you, you were at the table with Philip Strayhorn.”
“It was Phil? You actually saw Phil with me?”
“Yes. And when you introduced him as Leland, he looked at me and smirked as if we were in on the joke together. I guess we always see the person from our dreams.”
“But I didn’t have dreams like you and the others!”
Wyatt shook his head as if I were missing the point. “I know. It’s worse for you because he’s been here in real life for you all along.”
“So, he kills you with a disease and me by destroying anything I’ve ever loved or believed in. He joked once about how I was always cleaning. Said I seemed to be in a constant state of getting ready for company. But I was never neat before I moved to Austria. I just wanted to keep the few things around me in order. For once. Don’t you think it’s better that way, knowing where things are? I guess I was getting my life in order so that I could give it up. But I still have a lot of questions to ask you, Wyatt.”
In an instant his face went from sadness to great anger. His normally pale cheeks flushed bright red. “What can I tell you that you don’t already know? Death’s here. What could be simpler? He’s probably in this room somewhere listening to us, but what difference does it make? To me He’s Strayhorn, to you He’s Leland whatever his last name is. The people He likes, He kills nicely. No muss, no fuss. That’s for me, you see. I wanted to know answers, so my ‘pal’ gave them to me. Result? I’m so scared, I don’t even want to get up from this couch. His answers don’t mean anything. They didn’t help me understand.
“He doesn’t like you, for some mysterious or stupid reason, so He tricked you into loving Him as you’ve never loved anyone. When you got to the point where you were willing to die for Him, really die, first He killed your dog, then He showed you your mother’s diary, then hurt your friend. As you said, everything you loved. Result? It only made you need Him more, because He was the last thing left. Am I right? Then He showed you those pictures as His coup de grace. He didn’t want to waste the time sleeping with you and infecting you, because you’re a bore. A bore!
“What other questions do you have, Arlen? Oh, that’s right, I’m the guy with answers to the big questions because I’ve talked to Death. And you think that means I know something? I know nothing. None of His answers helped because none of them applies to now, this minute, when we’re still here and alive but down to nothing. Don’t you see? He begins by giving you everything you want—love and hope, or answers when you’re scared, but none of it helps or protects you. Maybe you think it does for a while, but it doesn’t. He’s insidious. Look at us now. We’re both finished. What was that word you used, chalef?”
“That which from life to death transforms. He’s the shochet.”
“Right. Get a coffin. Write a will. It’s over.”
That afternoon while Wyatt sat with a drink in his hands and didn’t want to talk anymore, I took my bicycle and went out riding. It was something I’d often done in California when life got to be too much of a pressure cooker. I’d get on the bike and ride until I was physically exhausted and I had no more energy to worry about what I’d been worrying about. Because I’m so hyper, it sometimes took hours, but it never failed to work.