Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

heart sank a little. “Oh, hi. Mrs. Madrigal said you came by.”
    “Yeah. I kinda wanted to talk.”
    “Oh … well, sure.”
    “Is this a good time?”
    “Now? On the phone?”
    “No. Could I come down?” Brian’s solemn tone suggested urgency. Another fight with Mary Ann, no doubt.
    “Uh … sure. Come on down.” The phrase sounded faintly ridiculous, like an instruction to game show contestants, but he’d used it a lot since his friends had moved to The Summit.
    “Thanks,” said Brian.
    Michael hit the button again. “It wasn’t him,” he told Charlie.
    “Damn.”
    “I’ve gotta go now.”
    “Keep me posted,” said Charlie.
    Brian’s smoky green eyes darted about the room, never lighting anywhere for long. His crow’s feet seemed more plentiful than ever (McCartney’s syndrome, Michael had once dubbed it), though they hardly detracted from his amazing chestnut curls and the twin-mounded rise of his sandpaper chin.
    “How ‘bout some coffee or something?” Michael asked.
    Brian took a seat on the sofa. “No, thanks.”
    “I have decaffeinated … and Red Zinger.”
    “Michael … I’m in big trouble.”
    Michael pulled up his mission oak footstool and straddled it in front of Brian’s chair. “What’s the matter?”
    Brian hesitated. “Remember Geordie Davies?”
    Michael shook his head.
    “The woman I met at the Serramonte Mall?”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “She’s got AIDS.”
    “What?”
    “She’s got AIDS, man. I saw her yesterday. She’s really sick.”
    Michael was dumbfounded. “How did she get it?”
    “I dunno. Her lover’s a junkie or something.”
    “Oh …”
    “What the fuck am I gonna tell Mary Ann?”
    Michael thought for a moment. “How often did you … see her?”
    Brian shrugged. “Six or seven times. Eight, tops.”
    “I thought you told me …”
    “O.K. I saw her more than once. It was no big deal. Neither one of us wanted a big deal.” He chewed on a knuckle. “What am I gonna tell her?”
    “Geordie?”
    “Mary Ann, for Christ’s sake!”
    “Don’t yell,” said Michael calmly.
    “We did anal stuff. Does that … you know …?”
    “You and Mary Ann?”
    “No!” Brian’s eyes blazed indignantly. “Me and Geordie.”
    “You mean … you fucked her?”
    “No.”
    Michael drew back a little. “She fucked you?”
    “Really funny, man! Really goddamn funny!”
    “Well, I don’t get it.”
    “She had these beads, O.K.?”
    “Oh.”
    Brian paused, looking down at his feet. “They weren’t very … big or anything.”
    Michael did his damnedest not to smile. “Brian … it’s not that easy for a woman to give it to a man.”
    “It’s not?”
    “No. We’ll get you tested. I know a guy at the clinic in the Castro. I’ll make an appointment for you.”
    “You can’t give them my name,” said Brian.
    “It’s just a number. Don’t worry.”
    “What sort of number?”
    “Just a number you make up.” He reached across and shook Brian’s knee. “You’ve felt O.K., haven’t you?”
    “Yeah. Mostly. I felt kind of funky a few days ago, but it seemed like the flu.”
    “Then it probably was.” Brian nodded.
    “You’re gonna be all right.”
    “I’ve never been so damn scared….”
    “I know. I’ve been through this, remember?”
    “Yeah, but … this is different.”
    “Why?”
    “Michael, there are innocents involved here.”
    “What?”
    “Mary Ann … Shawna, for Christ’s sake.”
    “Innocents, huh? Not like me. Not like Jon. Not like the fags.”
    “I didn’t mean that.”
    “Well, lay off that innocent shit. It’s a virus. Everybody is innocent.” He tried to collect himself. “I’ll call the clinic.”
    “I’m sorry if I …”
    “Forget it.”
    “I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
    “You’ll be all right,” said Michael.
    Brian looked him squarely in the eye. “I loved Jon too, you know.”
    “I know,” said Michael.

These Friendly Trees
    L IKE BOOTER, MOST BOHEMIANS ARRIVED AT THE GROVE by car from the city. The press in its endless fascination with money and power grossly exaggerated the number of Lear and Lockheed jets that landed at the Santa Rosa airport during the July encampment. Many of the members—well, some of them, anyway—were uncomplicated fellows with ordinary, workaday jobs in the city.
    They came to the Grove for release from their lives, not to plan mergers, plot takeovers or wage war. So what if the A-bomb had been brainstormed there back in 1942? That,