Читать книгу All The Young Men - Ruth Coker Burks - Страница 12

Chapter Six

It was a Friday morning in April 1987, and one minute I very much cared that Allison asked for two Eggos and then didn’t even eat half of one—and then I didn’t.

I caught the first words from a morning news show on in the living room. Princess Diana had visited a newly opened AIDS ward in London the day before. I stood in front of the television, then kneeled to get closer. “The Princess of Wales showed not the slightest apprehension about her visit to Middlesex Hospital and its new AIDS ward,” said the British correspondent, the same one they always had on to talk about how Diana and Prince Charles were in a royal soap opera. “All the speculation had centered on whether she would wear gloves when shaking hands with the staff and nine patients of the new ward.”

“She didn’t wear gloves,” I whispered, watching her walk, so tall and beautiful in a knee-length blue dress with long sleeves. She shook hands with all nine patients in the ward. A whole ward devoted to AIDS, I thought. She stayed more than an hour but was not filmed with any of the patients. “They were worried about public exposure,” said the correspondent. They were worried, not her. Someone they interviewed from the hospital said the princess sat on the beds of patients when they couldn’t stand.

They flashed to a picture of her, seated and smiling, facing someone we could see only from behind. “Only this patient agreed to a still photograph with the princess, and then only with his back to the camera.” The slender neck, the dark, thinning hair. He looked like one of my guys. I wondered how long he had. Diana’s smile was broad, just on the edge of looking forced, so I could tell she knew he didn’t have long. She could feel his frailty in her hand.

Then the news moved on, but I stood there. Maybe things were changing. Allison yelled from the kitchen. “I’m not hungry.”

“It’s fine,” I said, walking, taking sure strides like Diana’s. “Let’s get ready.”

I picked out a blue dress for work and double-checked Allison’s backpack. Her daddy would be getting her at school, and I always sent her best clothes along. I crammed them into her little school bag so she didn’t look like a little ragamuffin every Friday.

Work was busy, but lately everyone had been showing around more sightseers than buyers. I got only one couple, in their fifties and sweating, even though it was just seventy-eight degrees. During the tour I could tell they each wanted to say yes, but neither wanted to be responsible if it was a mistake. I needed this sale, and I thought I had them on the way back to the sales office to sign the papers. But when I motioned for them to sit, she started to and he didn’t.

“I need time to pray about it,” he said. I saw her face fall, and she leaned on the chair like she never had any intention of sitting. This girl Roxanne who I couldn’t stand was next to me. I didn’t have to look to know she was smirking.

“I would think so,” I said, matter-of-fact, like it was a necessary formality. “Are you Christian?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Well, so am I,” I said. “Would you pray with me now?”

“Right here?” she asked.

I took their hands and I knelt, right there in the sales office in front of all the other time-share staffers. The couple had no choice but to join me.

“Well, Lord, here it is. You brought these fine people here, and we ask that you guide Harry as he makes this important decision. In Jesus’s name we pray.”

“Amen,” they said, moving slightly, as if to get up. I remained silent and rooted to the ground, so they did too.

After a long beat, I whispered, “Did you hear that?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“That’s God’s voice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s God telling you, ‘You better take a break and take a vacation.’ Because the only other way He tells you is when you have a heart attack.”

They laughed and bought. Hallelujah, they bought. How could they argue with the Word of God? Roxanne shot me daggers until Sandy came over.

“Roxanne,” she said, all smiles. “That dress you’re wearing, it’s so—comfortable. And Ruthie, your dress.”

“Thank you,” I said. Roxanne huffed off to judge someone else.

“Let’s take it out,” she said. “Don’t waste such a nice look on work.”

“I can maybe meet you out later,” I said. “I need to run some errands. Where will you be?”

“The Arlington, but hopefully not for long,” she said. She looked down at my contract. “But if you do catch me out there, drinks are on you.”

“Praise the Lord,” I said.

My errands were actually just one, and it was stopping by a house out on Highway 70 West.

Bonnerdale was about twenty miles west of Hot Springs, and when I drove up to the address I had, I was surprised to find it was a fairly nice house. It was probably one of the nicer ones spared back in 1935 when they tore down neighborhoods to build the highway.

A tall, sinewy man was leaning on a weathered pickup out front with the hood up, his jean shorts cut as close as Daisy Duke’s. He was wearing black work boots, and a cigarette dangled from his lip. He took a long drag on it as he turned to watch me get out.

“Tim?”

“Who’s asking?” He had light hair and dark eyes. His sandy blond hair was sheared off, and he had a tiny little mustache. He was wearing a cologne that was so loud, I could smell it as I was coming up the driveway.

“I’m Ruth,” I said, going to shake his hand. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Oh,” he said, relaxing and taking another drag off his cigarette. “Yeah, I’m Tim Gentry. You’re prettier than I thought you’d be.”

“I could say the same for you,” I said, pointing to his shorts. He let out a laugh, did the smallest dip, almost a curtsy. A hillbilly dandy.

“Nice truck,” I said.

“Not mine,” he said. “We were just working on it. The drive belt is loose. Well, he is fixing it.” He turned to the house. “Jimmy,” he yelled to the house. “We got company.”

He was at the screen door almost immediately, shorter but tougher looking than Tim. A Budweiser in his hand like it could be a weapon. He had a mop of thick, curly dark hair, with just a little salt in it. He had grease on his shirt.

“Jimmy, this is the lady,” Tim said.

He softened, only a little. “You wanna come in?”

“That would be nice,” I said, moving to shake his hand. “I’m Ruth Coker Burks.”

“Jim Kelly,” he said, still formal, like I was from the government.

They were living with Tim’s parents, who were watching a game show in the living room. Tim’s dad was almost in his eighties, and he made no effort to hide that he was staring a hole through my dress, and it didn’t matter much, because his wife was sitting on the couch suddenly trying hard to not look drunk. I shook their hands, Princess Ruth greeting everyone. When you went into somebody else’s world, you had to enjoy how their life was, not bring your world into theirs.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” I said. “I know you’re working on the truck.”

“Right,” said Jim. He gestured to Tim, cocking his head, meaning we should follow him outside. I wasn’t sure if that was the end of the visit, but Tim grabbed a plaid vinyl lawn chair and brought it over to face the hood. He opened the door of the truck and sat in the driver’s seat, leaning back like he was in a lounge chair.

“Do they know?” I asked.

“Oh, sure,” Tim said.

“I’m glad you could tell them,” I said. I went into intake mode, getting all the vitals. Tim and Jim were doing odd jobs to get by, fixing cars for people who couldn’t afford a real mechanic, working at convenience stores. The kind of jobs you could come and go through.

They’d been together a few years, meeting in Gainesville and then moving up here to live with Tim’s parents. Tim had started a heavy-duty love affair with heroin down in Florida, but had quit when he moved back home. Tim told me he got a real bad flu, which I assumed was pneumonia, but I let him talk. He went to AMI for it and tested positive. Then Jim tested positive too.

“Timmy said you help people,” Jim said, starting to relax as he tipped back his beer and then went to work on the truck.

“I do.”

“What can you do?”

“Well, for one, I can get you social security,” I said. “Get you some income.” They nodded, so I got out my little planner to get their information. “I am also trying to figure out why some people get this,” I said. “How, I mean.”

“You know, I don’t know how I got it,” Tim said, seeming genuinely mystified. “Because I always slept with nice-looking men who wore suits.”

“A suit will do it, right?” I said.

“Always,” Jim agreed. There was a sudden drawl to his voice.

“The South just jumped out in your voice,” I said. “Where are you from, Jim?”

“Perryville,” he said, like he hated to admit it. Perryville was about fifty miles north of Hot Springs in the middle of nowhere. It’s five square miles of not many people living as far from each other as possible.

“How’d you get to Florida?” I asked. It’s hard enough to get to Perryville, and it’s even harder to get out.

“Navy.”

“That’ll do it.”

“Babe,” Jim said, then threw Tim the keys. By now I was invested. The truck hummed, not great, but not bad either.

“No more squeak,” Jim said. He closed the hood and did a slight bow as I clapped. Tim moved to sit on the hood, crossing his long legs. We stayed out talking until the sun set purple and pink across the sky. These were like the good old bad boys I grew up with, not hurting anybody but always up to something. When I left, I promised to be back with forms to get them services.

I drove over to the Arlington Hotel feeling like I’d made new friends and excited to see my old friend Sandy. I never got over how grand the Arlington was; everything about it was big. The lobby was more like a palace court, and it looked the same as when it opened, on New Year’s Eve in 1924. Sure, it was haunted, but so was a lot of Hot Springs.

I found Sandy at the lobby bar and stood back a minute to watch her in the wild. She sat with her back arched in an impossibly unnatural pose, scanning the bar. Sandy’s floral dress blended with the huge mural of flowers over the bar. It was like a nature documentary with the female of the species being the aggressor.

“Is this seat taken?” I said in a low voice, sidling up to her.

“I’m waiting on somebody,” Sandy said. “He’s taller than you and very rich.” She laughed. “Wait, I forgot you’re buying. You’ll do.” She turned to find the bartender, who was already waiting. She feigned surprise at her luck. “Oh! We’re all here, how perfect. She’s buying me a vodka soda.”

“And a club soda with lime.”

“What time do you have to be back at the convent?”

“I’m easing into the night,” I said.

“Well, Sister, maybe we can find you someone to sneak in.”

Our bartender brought us our drinks and asked if I wanted to open a tab.

“Yes, she does,” said Sandy. “And don’t be a stranger.”

We clinked glasses. “To friendship,” I said. “Thank you for putting Roxanne in her place for me today.”

“Oh, I’d do that even if I didn’t love you, Ruthie. She’s a bitch.”

We caught up on office gossip. Sandy wasn’t selling enough, but now I felt like it wasn’t her fault for not putting more effort in. There were just fewer people buying. “There’s no chickens left on the side of the road,” I said.

“What are you talking about chickens?”

“You can tell how good or bad the economy is by how many dead chickens you see on the side of the road. They jump off the trucks, and you see ’em if things are good. If it’s bad, there aren’t any because people have stopped to take ’em home and eat ’em.”

“I haven’t been seeing chickens,” she said.

“See?”

“Well, when I die, that’s when the credit card will be paid off,” Sandy said. She took a long draw on her drink and scanned the room. “I’m going to need someone to drive me home.”

“I can.”

“Um, no.”

The next round, I ordered a vodka soda too. “I can’t let you drink alone,” I said. We clinked glasses, and as we drank, I loosened up a little. I thought how much I wanted to tell her about the work I was doing. I still felt I couldn’t. So, when Sandy started in again on me needing to find a man, I felt the need to at least say that truth.

“You think I don’t want someone? Not just for Allison but for me? All I want sometimes is to be a wife and be in the Junior League.”

“You’ve got the haircut for it.”

“Doesn’t work, though.”

We sighed. I still had hope.

When I finished my drink, Sandy knew I was heading out. She didn’t try to stop me, because I think she was ready to focus on finding Mr. Tonight. We went to the ladies’ room, and since it was empty but for us, I took my chance.

“Sandy, I want you to start protecting yourself,” I said as she primped in the mirror, reapplying lipstick. “I am not going to harp on this, but AIDS is real, and you need to be careful because you could get this disease.”

Sandy rolled her eyes, but I continued. “You need to use a condom every time. It’s not just gay men, no matter what they’re saying.” She looked mortified.

“Shush,” she said. “Dear Buzzkill Magazine, have I got a story for you—”

“I’m serious,” I said, opening my purse. “I am giving you these.” I had a stash of condoms I’d bought for my guys to have.

“Oh Lord.”

I wasn’t going to harp on it, because nobody wants a friend to do that. But I had to.

“Why do you have condoms?” she asked.

“Let’s say hope,” I said, with a laugh. “You never know what’s gonna happen.”

We walked out, and she pretended not to notice a table of men looking at her, not realizing they were the prey.