Chapter 31
31.
Fresca and Secrets
“When we’ve packed our dancing shoes, our magic tools, our snacks, and our favorite disco outfits, we think we are ready for any challenge. But without our brother and sister Disco Witches, we have nothing.”
—Disco Witch Manifesto #102
When the very last benefit poster was affixed to a telephone pole, the large spool of tape screeched with joy. Joe and Elena had not only successfully replaced all the torn-down posters, they’d increased the coverage by twenty percent. Every legal surface in the Pines and the Grove proclaimed that Dory Lieberman-Delagrange and a raft of celebrities would be hosting the “ACT UP NY Benefit at Asylum Harbor Bar, July 20, 1989, 2 PM to 6 PM . $25 donation. FREE DRINKS. Act Up! Fight Back! Fight AIDS!”
It seemed the perfect time for the two to celebrate by relaxing with a couple cans of Fresca. As it was past five, the beach was empty except for two Cherry Grove nudists, their jiggly bits splayed for roasting by the last wink of the sun.
“God, I’m tired.” Elena yawned, stretching out on the still-warm sand. “Hopefully the posters stay up long enough for people to see them this time.”
“They better.” Joe lifted his face to the salty breeze. Despite the circumstances, it felt great hanging out with Elena for an entire day. He looked over at her lying there with her golden-brown curls gilded Kodachrome by the setting sun. Women like Elena could be so much easier to talk to than men. There wasn’t the constant obsession to hook up with “the hottest daddy,” like there was with Ronnie. Nor was there (usually) any worry that one might be sexually attracted to the other. Elena was a complete respite from all that.
An array of squawking drew Joe’s eyes from Elena to the waves. A group of seagulls and cormorants were dodging down for sand crabs in the shiny part of the sand, their reflections making it seem as if some other bird was right under their feet, racing them to their catch.
“How can this island be so beautiful,” Joe said, “and yet at the same time inspire evil dickheads like Scotty Black and Trey Winkle?”
“It’s just the way it is.” Elena kept her eyes closed. “There are monsters and angels crawling all over this bloated sandbar. Let me tell you, Dory’s got stories. Remember the goldfish pond that the homeowners’ association put up in the harbor?”
“Oh, right,” Joe said. “Back in May. Where the wooden bench is now. It had a little fountain with plants and, like, five fish. It was cute. Why’d they replace it?”
“Classic Pines politics. The owners spent months arguing about it. This one thought it was classy, that one thought it was a waste of money, and another was angry he didn’t get to design it. Blah blah blah. You’d think they were negotiating a nuclear arms deal. Next thing you know, someone poured a gallon of detergent in it, killing all the fish and plants. Thus, the bench.”
Joe grimaced. “They actually murdered goldfish over a grudge?”
“Yep. They feel things just a little too deeply out here. It’s the same thing in fashion. At nearly every runway show, everyone’s freaking out, screaming like someone just ate a baby.”
Joe laughed.
“I mean, Jesus, it’s just a fucking dress! The homeowners out here are the same. One moment they’re Auntie Mame, and the next they’re Anthony Perkins in Psycho —especially if it’s related to a water feature or the typeface on a signpost. Not everyone is evil. But if you want to fall in love with the island, you need to separate its beauty from all that nonsense.”
Joe lay his body down next to Elena’s. He listened to the fizzy sound the sand made when his head shifted back and forth. He dug his hands and toes deep through the toasty powder until they hit the cooler, damper grit. After a bit he sensed something in Elena’s silence. “What are you thinking about?”
After a brief hesitation, she said, “Remember how you were worried that your roommates were witches?”
Joe bolted upright. “Did you hear something?”
She laughed, and without even looking, she gently pushed Joe back down. “Relax! No broomsticks seen over High Tea just yet. It’s just …” She inhaled deeply. “Since coming out here, this place has been kind of magical for me. Remember I told you how I was having these conflicted feelings about Cleigh?”
Joe turned toward her with raised eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Well …” She giggled. “It’s not conflicted anymore. In fact, we’re talking about dating for real once I get a year clean.”
“I’m really happy for you,” Joe said, and he meant it.
“But it’s not just her—it’s the fact that this is the longest I’ve been sober since I was like twelve. I’m actually excited about a future. That’s a first for me.” She smiled. “See what I mean? Magic. Of course, Lenny is a big part of the reason.”
“Lenny? What does he have to do with it?”
“You didn’t know Lenny’s my AA sponsor?” Elena asked.
“What?” Joe took a second to absorb what Elena had said, but then gasped as he got it. “Holy crap, I thought all those ‘meetings’ he was setting up were euphemisms for kinky leather parties.”
Elena grabbed at her hair in embarrassment. “I’m an ass. So much for anonymity. Forget I said that.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll forget it.” Although he knew he wouldn’t. Then he wondered whether Lenny had been a drug addict like Elena or just a run-of-the-mill drunk, like the men who drank themselves into a stupor every day at Joe’s bar. “You think you really know people,” Joe mused out loud. “And the next thing you know, they surprise you … good and bad.”
“That’s what Dory says is the best thing about life: the surprises.”
“She’s the best,” Joe said. “Know what I still can’t figure out? How did a class act like her start hanging out with a pair of house cleaners like Howie and Lenny?”
“She met them out at a club after my grandfather died. That woman loves to disco dance. Or rather she did. I think she feels guilty experiencing joy while her friends are sick or dying.”
Joe squeezed his eyes tight until the blood red glow through his eyelids turned black and the peaceful feeling drained from his body. “I wish you hadn’t said that.” He folded his arms across his eyes.
“What?” Elena said. “It’s not like she can ignore it.”
“I know,” he said. “But I have to think about that shit all the time. I wake up, I think about AIDS; I go to bed, I think about AIDS. I came out here to forget, but each week I see these faces at my bar getting sicker. Some guys that had been regulars at the beginning of the summer have stopped coming. I just know they’ve either gotten sicker or died. I hate it.”
Elena fell silent. Joe turned on his side to see why. Her eyes were closed.
“Are you mad?” he asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
After a few moments, she opened her eyes and told Joe her own sad secret—a secret she had been keeping the whole summer. She too was HIV positive, her infection the result of dirty needles she’d shared with her ex. Her words came out sharp and detached. As he listened, a sense of numbness swallowed him.
“I haven’t gotten sick yet,” she said, as if to soften the news. “The truth is, I wouldn’t even have known I had it if my junkie ex hadn’t gotten PCP pneumonia. Most women get misdiagnosed and don’t get tested until they’re really sick. I was lucky to find out early. It helped me sober up and start taking care of my health.” She looked over at Joe, who was staring down at the sand. “Sorry I didn’t tell you before. I wanted to that night you told me about losing your boyfriend, to let you know I understood. But I just wasn’t ready for the pity. Know what I mean?”
Joe nodded and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze.
“There are so many people way worse off than me out here,” she said. “By the way, you and Cleigh are the only ones who know. I haven’t even told Dory.”
Joe inhaled sharply. “You haven’t told Dory?”
“I know, I know.” Elena shook her head, more to herself than Joe. “I will—just not yet. But not telling you had become this block to our friendship, and I don’t want that. I really care about you, Joe.”
Joe felt as if he were sinking into quicksand while people all around him were stretching out their arms trying to save him. The only problem was, his saviors were drowning in their own quicksand. Will everyone I love die of this fucking disease? He remembered when Elliot had first told him. He wore that same expression Elena had right then—like a scared little child, staring at the sea, frightened that her friend might no longer love her. What was Joe supposed to say to someone who’d told him they had a disease that would probably kill them? That would cause the majority of the world to fear them?
“I care about you too,” Joe said. “I hate that you have it. I’m sorry—I know it’s selfish of me, but …” He screamed loudly out to the ocean: “I hate it!”
The two nudists in the distance sat up and looked over. A flock of seagulls down at the shore flew off, angrily squawking.
“Me too,” Elena said, and looked at him, unsure. “Is this gonna make it hard for us to be friends?”
Joe’s head felt heavy with conflicting thoughts, including the option to just start digging into the sand until he never had to see another human being who would break his heart. He scootched closer to Elena and gently tapped her sandy foot with his own. “No way,” he said. “But I’m telling you now: I’m not going to let you get sick. You need to stay healthy until there’s a cure. Promise?”
It was a pointless request, and Joe knew it. But he felt like he had to say it to Elena, to the beach, to the sea. He needed to say something to dampen the roar of his helplessness.
“I can’t promise, but I’ll try,” Elena said. “I do have this feeling that if you, Cleigh, and Dory hold onto my soul tightly enough, then maybe I won’t be able to die.”
Joe leaned in and kissed Elena lightly on her forehead, her nose, her lips. “Remember that,” he whispered.