Lush Life

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LUSH LIFE

by

Ritch Christopher

Chapter Ten

"HOW DO YOU KEEP THE MUSIC PLAYING?"

"How do you keep the music playing?

How do you make it last?

How do you keep the song from fading

Too fast?

How do you lose yourself to someone?

And never lose your way?

How do you not run out of new things to say?

And since we know we're always changing

How can it be the same?

And tell me how, year after year,

You're sure your heart will fall apart

Each time you hear his name?

I know the way I feel for you is now or never;

The more I love, the more that I'm afraid

That in your eyes I may not see forever...

Forever...

If we can be the best of lovers,

Yet be the best of friends,

If we can try with everyday to make it better,

With any luck, then I suppose

The music never ends."

From the motion picture, "Best Friends"

Lyrics by Alan and Marilyn Bergman

Music by Michel Legrand

Copyright 1982

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The hospital rules and regs for Cook County were very specific and strict when it came to discharge guidelines. Dave's diagnosis permitted him to stay in a county facility for five days and no longer. His physical condition had improved and, with a few days of bed rest, his wounds were healing nicely. He was alert and oriented times four, but still had a depressed negative attitude when he was asked personal questions by the hospital doctors and nurses. He had revealed none of his past to them, nor had he offered an explanation for the injuries and post-op scars in his colon and rectum. He felt it was the hospital staff's job to heal him, not write a book about his personal history.

A young male social worker from hospital social services was assigned to create a discharge plan for Dave. His name was Phil and was obviously gay, an assumed prerequisite for male MSW's, just as it is for male hairdressers. Phil was in his mid-twenties, not very attractive, rather plain looking and had a noticeable sibilant lisp which made him seem even more effeminate. Phil had a huge task finding Dave a place to stay, especially since Dave's medical history listed no relatives and speculation that he was not from the Chicago area, but from New York.

The clothes from the mission that Dave had worn when he was admitted to the ER had been cut off him. So Dave had no money, no clothes, no prospect for housing, he was unable to qualify for food stamps in such a short period of time and it was also against the County rules to discharge him to the streets, which meant Phil had to work a miracle in a matter of less than a week.

Since he assumed that Phil was gay, Dave was nicer to him than anyone else who had tried to help him. Dave was almost friendly to Phil, realizing Phil's hopeless plight; he also knew that he was a pain in Phil's ass, metaphorically speaking.

On the fourth of Dave's five days, Phil came by for the third time, hoping something could be resolved. If Phil couldn't come up with a plan, then he could be written up by his supervisor with a letter to be added to Phil's personal file. So it was very important for Phil as well as Dave that a plan should be in place ASAP.

"So Wesley, are you ready to tell me your last name? All that's written on your chart is Wes Doe. I don't suppose you're related to John, are you?" Phil said, halfway joking.

"Very funny," Dave snarled.

"You know you're being discharged tomorrow and I have to find you some clothes."

"Do you know if they're having a sale at Hilfiger's or Oscar de la Renta's? I wear a 30 waist, 31 length in a pair of pants and if you go by Gucci's, I wear a ten and a half shoe."

"Now who's being funny?"

"Hell, I've got nothing, might as well ask for the moon."

"Wes, I wish you would tell me more about yourself. You're not a bum or an ordinary street person. You kept yourself well-groomed until recently. I wish you would tell me what happened. How did you end up in this hospital?"

"Isn't that written on my chart? The Chicago police brought me here."

"Only after they found you drunk on the back seat of a bus which had come from New York City."

"Keep going, Dr. Watson, you're on to something!"

"Wes, listen! Can I be honest with you?"

"Sure, if you CAN be honest."

"I could lose my job if I don't complete your discharge plan...and I need my job. I hate to expound on you, my patient, but I worked my way through college to get my Master's degree and it took me nearly six months to find a place that would hire me."

"Why was that, if I may be so bold?"

"Wes, listen to the way I talk. I sound like a woman, don't I?"

"Not really...no."

"I can look good for a job interview, but as soon as I open my mouth, my lisp creates such a wind, I could blow a toupee off if the interviewer was wearing one. It's a dead giveaway! Sure, I'm gay, but I sound like a queen...a lisping faggot...and no one wants a social worker who talks the way I do."

"You're being too hard on yourself, Phil. I don't think it's as bad as all that."

"I'm so afraid of losing my position at this hospital and right now, your being uncooperative is a definite risk to my keeping it."

Dave felt sorry for Phil. This was the first time in almost two weeks, he'd thought of someone's problems other than his own. Phil was on the verge of tears and Dave reluctantly decided to help him with some honest information.

"All right, Phil, I'll tell you a few things about myself, but not all. Will that help?"

"I suppose. You could start by telling me your real name."

"It's...it's Dave...Dave Banks and I live in Greenwich Village, New York City."

"Thank you...I really mean it! Do you have a family...a wife maybe?

"No, I don't have a wife...OR a girlfriend. I grew up in California but both my folks are dead. I have no living blood relatives that I know about and that's the honest-to-God's truth."

"Are you flat broke or do you have a bank account anywhere...New York?"

"I'll tell you, but keep it on the Q.T. or I won't help you any more. This fucking place will take every cent I have to pay for what little they've done for me here. Now can I trust you?"

"Yes, only whatever you tell me, say it quietly so no one else will hear."

"I had my wallet and credit cards stolen a couple of weeks ago. I got into some trouble with the NYPD, but I think that's all straightened out. I have no I.D. or otherwise I'd've already called my bank and had some money wired to me. Do you have access to the Internet?"

"Sure."

"If I give you my bank account I.D. and my password, is there some place I can have some money sent to me without the greedy hospital bastards finding out about it?"

"I'd be breaking a rule, but I could say you're staying at my address and the money could be sent to my account. Which bank do you use?"

"First Bank of Manhattan," Dave said, then added, "Now, look, I know your job depends on my getting discharged, so whatever I say to you remains between the two of us. Is that understood?"

"Completely."

"Then give me a piece of paper and I'll write my account number and password on it...but no one, and I mean NO ONE, can see it except you."

"That's understood."

"And don't let anyone know my real name. OK?"

"Are you running away from someone, Dave?"

"Yeah, but not for the reason you think! That's part of what I'll keep secret."

"Answer me this...are you some kind of a felon?"

"No, and I'm not dangerous either. I've hurt no one physically. I couldn't if I wanted to. I...I'm a mild-mannered musician...no more, no less."

"That's a comfort to hear!"

"Phil, what I really need is something only you can help me with."

"That's part of my job. What can I do for you?"

"I need you to have about a thousand dollars sent to me from my bank and I need you to buy me some clothes. Shit! I don't care, go to Wal-Mart and buy something cheap off a rack. I need everything...shirts, pants, socks, shoes, underwear, and a jacket maybe. You're about the same size as I, so you'll know what size to buy."

"What about a place to stay?"

"Hell, if I get my money, I'll check into a hotel and make a few phone calls and report my missing credit cards. I think American Express can issue me a new one in a day or two, then I can charge anything else I need...food, clothing, hotel...whatever. Now does my idea help you with my discharge plan?"

"Yes, only I can't write on your chart what you just said. I'll have to falsify your new address and your money situation."

"Write anything you want and if anyone should ever ask, I'll tell them that everything you wrote was what I told you. However, I don't think anyone WILL ever ask because if I go to California as I originally planned, I won't ever see this place or anyone in it, ever again."

"I...I'll do it," Phil said, with great trepidation for he was actually shaking with nerves at what he just agreed to do. If word got out that he'd falsified a hospital document, especially a made-up discharge plan, Phil would not only lose his job, he'd probably be barred from any future occupation which required him to use medical records.

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After getting home from Birdland, Clay and Scott were tired and slept soundly all night long. They would've slept late if the phone hadn't rung at 7:00 AM. Clay stumbled out of bed, he was nude but didn't reach for a robe, and made his way into the living room to catch the phone on the ninth ring.

"Hello?" Clay answered with a rasp voice. His throat had a morning dryness.

"So, how's Dave?" the voice asked Clay.

"What?"

"I asked how Dave was?"

"Who is this?" Clay asked, a bit aggravated.

"Who do you think it is?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know...and it's too fucking early for bad jokes!"

"It's your favorite 'boy next door' trumpeter."

"Benny?"

"What's up, Doc?"

"Why are you calling so early? Where the hell are you?"

"I...uh, just finished my rounds in the shower. I'm at the 'Y' in Jersey."

"Benny, why did you ask about Dave? Did he come by the Inn last night?"

"Nope, but I assumed he was back. That's the only reason I could think of that would keep you from coming to the Inn last night. I just called to see how he was, but primarily to see if I still had my job at the Inn. I know Jay wants him back and that means 'curtains' to my career there."

"Well, no, for your information, he didn't come back. I haven't seen him!"

"Then where DID you go? Must've been some place special."

"I...I went to a movie and later to Birdland."

"Oh, you wanted to hear the big boys play, not us rank amateurs."

"I...I just wanted a change. It was getting too painful to sit at the Inn night after night waiting for Dave to show up."

"I presume you didn't go to the movies and Birdland by yourself?"

"It's really none of your business, but no, I didn't go by myself!"

"Oh, so then you took the 'boy next door' from Florida, huh?"

"Yes, Scott went with me."

"And then you came back to the apartment; loaded the CD carousel and you and the Florida 'boy next door' hit the sack together. Is that what happened?"

"I won't answer that!"

"Tell me, did it seem like old times for you two? Did he suck you the way he used to? Does he give better head than me?"

"Benny, I'm not quite awake and I won't play your foolish game. I'm gonna hang up."

"Wait! Wait! Wait! Hold on, Doc! You haven't said if you'll have lunch with me?"

"No, I won't!"

"Then how about dinner tonight?...just the two of us. Let John Phillip Sousa, the band director, stay home and eat a Swanson's TV dinner while the two of us get together and talk over a few things."

"What things?"

"Oh, about what you and I started the other night and where it might lead once Florida boy leaves and Dave hasn't come back yet."

"You're out of your fucking mind!"

"Come on, Doc! Don't tell me I didn't give you the best blow job of your life the other night! I'll bet you've jerked off a hundred times thinking about it! I'm the best and you know it!"

"It wasn't all that great, asshole! I'm afraid my cock was too big to fit into your embrasure."

"My, aren't you sassy early in the morning!"

"Benny, I don't want to talk any more. You awoke me from a good sleep...the first one I've had in a couple of weeks and I'm going back to bed."

"The Florida boy must be good! I suppose he's still there in the same bed where we had sex together."

"That, too, is none of your fucking business!"

"Why don't I come by before work and we can have a threesome? Florida boy and I can take turns blowing you and you can see for yourself who's better. Besides, if you DID like him better, maybe I could pick up a few pointers from his technique."

"No, I don't want you showing up here unannounced...and you're certainly not invited."

"Jesus! You've lived here less than a month and you already act like a true New Yorker...no hospitality whatsoever! Congratulations! Rudeness becomes you in your new habitat!"

"Okay, I'm ending this conversation and please don't call here again!"

"Will I see you at the Inn tonight?"

"Definitely not!"

"I'll call you later in the day when you're in a better mood."

Clay slammed the phone down. "GOD DAMN IT! FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

Clay's loud conversation with Benny had awakened Scott and he had come into the living room to hear Clay's anger.

"Wow! Who the fuck was that?"

"Oh, God!" Clay said. "Did I wake you?"

"Me and everyone else on the block. Who called this early?"

"That fucking Benny from the Rustic Inn."

"What did he want? Is something wrong? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"Only with me...and he's in a shit load of trouble with me."

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry I woke you. I was planning on coming back to bed, but I'm so fucking riled up now, I don't think I could go back to sleep!"

The phone rang again.

"FUCK!" Clay screamed.

The annoying phone rang ten more rings.

"Aren't you going to answer it?" Scott asked.

"May as well---he'll just keep calling if I don't!" Clay picked up the phone once again and shouted, "LISTEN, FUCKHEAD! I'm not answering this phone again! I'm gonna hang up and take the receiver off the hook and DON'T CALL ME AGAIN, YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKER!!!"

"Clay?" the voice said.

"WHAT?"

"This is Ed from Cole Institute..."

"Jesus Christ, Dr. Ed, I'm...I'm so sorry...I had no idea..."

"I'm just glad it wasn't I that you're so angry with. Are you having some kind of a problem?"

"Oh, this jerk keeps calling me and I can't get rid of him."

"Well, calm down and get ready to hear some good news."

"What good news, Dr. Ed?"

"I received your friend Scott's FedEx and I sent his blood sample down to our lab here. I don't know if you remember Donnie who works down there..."

"Yes, I remember him well."

"Donnie spent the whole night with Scott's blood work, trying to find what HIV medicine we have that would have the strongest effect and at five this morning, he found what I'd hoped. We have several new vaccines and anti-virus meds and, after running the same test three times, one particular drug knocked Scott's HIV through the roof. If it works as well on Scott's immune system as it did in a test tube, we might have found a temporary, if not permanent, cure for him."

"My God," Clay exclaimed. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! I mean, that's wonderful news."

"I thought you might need something to start your day out right."

"There's only one thing better I can think of..."

"You mean about Dave?"

"Yes."

"Still no word?"

"No."

"Then what I told you should be extremely good news to Scott."

"He's standing here beside me now."

"Clay, I need your address and I'll send a box of this new drug to you today. I'll write a list of instructions concerning diet, exercise, counteractions, and reactions. Start him on the medicine today. It's too new to be in the PDR, but I'll send you a copy of everything I know about it. I want you to call me every day and give me a report on Scott's progress. I don't know how soon it'll take its full effect on him. Just monitor him closely and we'll discuss him every time you call."

With much excitement, Clay gave Ed Dave's home address and thanked him a dozen times before hanging up and turning around to give Scott the good news. Clay ran to Scott, hugged him, picked him up and whirled his body around twice shouting, "Wheeeeee!"

"Clay! Clay! Clay!" Scott shouted, trying his best to get Clay to set him down on his feet. "Have you gone nuts? First, Benny calls and you're ready to declare World War Three and then Doctor Ed calls and you're jumping for joy!"

"It's you who should be jumping, my good friend! That was Doctor Ed from Cole. He received your blood work yesterday afternoon and they ran tests on it all night...and buddy boy, it looks like you're going to get well."

"So fast? I mean, you're not joking? Cole found a cure for me overnight?"

"Not everyone gets the same good news as you, but once in a while, a miracle occurs at Cole...and this time it was your turn!"

Scott broke into tears. "I...I just can't believe it!"

"Now, listen, it doesn't mean that you're going to be virus-free. It's like people with TB, the germ never completely leaves the body. It'll always show up in a CBC, as will your HIV. You'll still have to be careful with sex...one-hundred percent safe."

"I'd do that anyway."

"And for a while at least, you'll still be contagious. I mean, other people can still get infected by you...but as far as your immune system is concerned, you won't have to worry about catching a cold...or anything else. Your immune system will be immune to every day common germs or illnesses."

"I wish I knew how to call my wife and kids and tell them."

"No more boyfriends? No more gay life?"

"I didn't say that. It took a long time, Clay, but I'm convinced now that I really am gay...not even bi...totally gay."

"Well, three cheers for the home team!"

"My God! I'm so happy...and all because of you."

"It was Doctor Ed and Cole who did it, not I."

"Yeah, but if I hadn't been so all fired up to see you one more time... and if you hadn't been friendly enough to help me, none of this would've happened."

"All a matter of fate and good timing."

"Clay, please don't reply to what I'm about to say...and please don't take it the wrong way."

"Okay, I won't."

"But I wish there could be an 'us'...you and me, together forever, because I love you more right now than I ever loved my wife or anyone else."

"I said I wouldn't reply and I'll keep my word, but you know what I would've said."

"Dave?"

"Uh huh."

The two best friends stood silently, standing in the middle of the living room, and their eyes communicated a three act play with an unhappy ending.

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Phil told the Social Service director that he needed to take the afternoon off to go by the Goodwill and pick up a few clothing items for Dave. Also, he wanted to check around some of nicer flop (Phil's word) houses to see if Dave would fit in with the rest of the residents. Realizing how important Dave's discharge was to the hospital as well as Phil's attempt to do his job properly, the SSD agreed.

Phil knew that he couldn't walk into a bank with only Dave's account and pin numbers and make a money transfer without an I.D. Even if he'd had Dave's ATM card, there was only a $250.00 withdrawal maximum. So he hurried home to use his personal computer. Phil's roommate and lover, Rod, was not home, so Phil was free to keep his and Dave's underhanded shenanigans a secret.

It was a simple maneuver once Phil logged on to Dave's bank. He clicked on 'money transfer' using Phil's numbers and registered $1,000 to go into Phil's own account by routing Phil's bank as the recipient, using the speedy transfer option and in just a matter of minutes, the money was already into Phil's checking account. So all he had to do now was go to his bank and make a $1,000 cash withdrawal, another easy step quickly accomplished.

With step one completed, Phil went to Sears and bought two pairs of slacks, two button-up sport shirts, three tee shirts, a half dozen pairs of underwear and socks, and size 10 1/2 black loafer shoes, plus a zip-up bag of cheap luggage. The entire purchase came to less than $200.00. Step two, completed. This still left Dave $800.00 for hotel or rent money and food until Dave could re-establish his credit cards.

Phil was a county hospital employee and felt a mite of guilt for stiffing the hospital bill when he saw online that Dave had over $35,000 in his savings account. But, hell, Phil was already in the process of committing a minor crime and a hospital infraction and IF no one found out, Phil's job was secure and Dave was once again a free man.

While he was at home, Phil used the Yellow Pages to shop for inexpensive hotel rooms and made a list to give to Dave. That would be step three and mission accomplished...as long as he got away with it. Then he went back to the hospital to fill out the necessary discharge papers. On the line which said, 'Discharged to________', Phil said to a friend's house and wrote down a phony address. Actually, he used the address next door to Rod and him. Rod was due to be off from work the next day and Dave could go there to pick up his extra clothes and his $800.00. Phil knew that his lover would lie for him and would stay home to wait for Dave's arrival.

The following day, everything went according to schedule. Dave was discharged and Phil's job remained secure. Phil gave Dave some money with instructions to take a cab to Phil's apartment. When Dave arrived, Rod asked no questions and handed Dave the suitcase full of clothes and an envelope with his money.

Dave, being on his own, felt the need for a drink, but thought better about it and looked at the hotel list and took a second cab to the first place, the Hotel Broad worth, which was one jump above being a dump, but the room had air-conditioning and free TV for only $75.00 per night. Dave knew he wouldn't be staying more than a night or two until he could take a bus or plane to California.

Dave's attitude had changed for the better. Although he missed Clay, heart and soul, in Chicago he could be totally anonymous. He knew no one there and no eyes could bore down on him as being a rape victim. His anal area was healing but still was sore. The hospital pharmacy had discharged him with some pain killers to use PRN and a week's supply of prophylactic antibiotics.

After getting settled in his small secluded hotel room, Dave decided he was hungry...for the first time in over two weeks. He began to walk up and down the Chicago streets looking for a place to have a nice meal. He didn't know how far he'd walked but in the middle of the next block he saw a sign saying, 'AFM Local 10', the musician's union, which he entered out of sheer curiosity. He looked at the message board which usually had odd jobs advertised by various clubs, bands, or groups looking for spot-job musicians and some long-term gigs. A couple of places were looking for a lead saxophone player of the 'old school' of music. One was for an Arthur Murray dance party which made Dave grimace just thinking about it. Guys who had been around a long time called this a 'boom-chink' gig because every tune began with the same tempo with the same piano intro...boom-chink...boon-chink...boom-chink...BULL SHIT! That kind of job was a boring way for a musician to make a living; but he guessed someone had to do it...but, definitely not Dave. It wasn't his bag. Nothing on the posting board grabbed Dave's interest so he decided to leave to continue his quest for food.

As he started out the door of the union hall, he recognized a familiar face. It was John Williams, former conductor of the Boston Pops and composer of umpteen movie soundtracks with at least a dozen Oscars to his credit. Dave gave Williams a friendly nod as they passed. Williams took two more steps, then stopped and turned.

"Say, aren't you Dave Banks?" John called after Dave..

"Yessir!" Dave replied, turning. "I didn't think you'd know me."

"How could I ever forget one of the best sax players I ever heard?"

"I...I only played one concert with you at the Hollywood Bowl. God, that was years ago. How in the world could you remember me?"

"I might have forgotten you personally, but I could never forget your sound."

"Thank you, sir."

"Are you playing somewhere here in Chicago?"

"No, sir, I'm just passing through...on my way to the West Coast."

"Do you have something lined up out there?"

"Uh, nothing definite."

"Listen, I've just finished writing a score for a documentary, not one of my bigger pieces, but I'll be recording it in Burbank in a couple of weeks. I've scored some great sax solos if you would be interested AND if you think you could arrange your schedule to be in Burbank some time next week."

"I...I don't know. You see, I haven't really been looking for a gig. To tell you the truth, I left my ax in New York."

"Is yours the only saxophone you can play?"

"Well...no!"

"Then come on out and meet me there. There'll be a lot of pick-up guys who'll be looking for a short term roommate. You won't have any trouble finding a place to stay...and as for a saxophone...I'm sure there's one lying around there some place...and if money's a problem...well, playing lead sax for a complete score...I'd say you'd clear about ten thousand."

"God, that's awful tempting!"

"Then, let me be the devil and tempt you into saying 'yes'."

"All right, I'll do it!"

"You still play as well as you always did?"

"Better!"

"Ho ho, if that were possible...! Here, let me give you my agent's name and phone number. Call him as soon as you get to Burbank and he'll give you a rehearsal schedule."

Dave took the card and read it.

"What's the documentary about?"

"You'll love it! The producer/director took some clips of Judy Garland, from her days with MGM to her films at Warner's, plus a few never-before-seen segments of her Carnegie Hall concert and even some shots from her last club dates in Europe. You'll know every song in the score. I've just written segue music to tie all the songs together."

"I...I don't know what to say."

"Just say 'yes' and we'll both be happy."

"I think I just said it!"

"Then I'll see you there next week!"

"Yes sir! I'll be there!"

They said good-bye and parted. Dave was on cloud ten, he'd skipped nine again, as he had when he first met Clay. Clay...oh, God, if Dave could only call him and tell him the good news! But that would mean explaining why he ran away and talking about his rape. He COULDN'T call Clay...ever again.

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"Listen, Scott! I got a great idea!" Clay said, enthusiastically.

"Uh oh..."

"Let's go out and celebrate your good news...dinner...a Broadway show! You know I've never seen one, have you?"

"I've seen a couple of tryouts in Boston before they came to New York."

"Tell you what! I should've gone to the Stop-EZ yesterday and picked up some eggs and milk. Why don't I run down now and get what I need and bring home copy of the Times and after breakfast, we'll look at the theatre section, see what's playing and pick out something we'll both like."

"Sounds like a winner, only don't you want me to come with you...for the exercise?"

"No, no, I don't know what time your FedEx with your meds'll get here. I want to you stay and sign for them. The package will be delivered to me, so just scribble a bunch of chicken scratches and pretend they're my signature. Hell, everyone knows that doctors can't write."

"Your handwriting used to be beautiful in high school."

"Yeah but a couple of degrees under your belt and your handwriting becomes unrecognizable."

Clay ran into the bedroom, put on a pair of jeans--fuck the underwear--a black tee shirt, loafers with no socks, and a light-weight windbreaker. At the same time, Clay threw Scott one of his jogging outfits to cover his nakedness. Then he ran toward the door, but suddenly turned back and hurried to Scott and grabbed both sides of Scott's head and planted a big motherly kiss on Scott's forehead, "MmmmmmmWAH!" a la Carol Burnette. "I'll be right back!" He ran back to the door and left.

Dr. Ed's message had thrilled Scott more than he'd let Clay see. Maybe his life wasn't over after all. If the new medication DID work. 'Oh, God! It just HAS to!' Scott whispered in a silent prayer.

While Clay was gone to the store, Scott took it on himself to make the bed and tidy up the apartment. Yesterday's dishes were still in the sink. Scott had never really played 'housewife' before and couldn't understand why so many women fussed about it--house work was fun! After making the bed, he dived into the sink to wash the plates, pots and pans, only stopping to kill a New York roach bug with his foot. He had used too much liquid dish detergent and was covered in white bubbly suds almost to his biceps when the phone rang.

Scott uttered, "Shit" and continued to direct similar remarks at the phone as he walked toward it, trying to wipe the suds from his hands, "You've certainly been a busy little fucker this morning, haven't you?"

Scott picked up the receiver, almost dropping it with his soap-slippery fingers.

"Hello?" Scott said.

No one replied.

"Hello?"

Still no answer.

"HELLO!" Scott raised his voice several decibels.

Click! The caller hung up!

Scott assumed it was someone calling for Clay or even Dave, since it WAS Dave's phone. He replaced the receiver on its cradle and went back to the kitchen to finish his washing chore.

Three minutes later, the phone rang again. This time Scott replaced his uttered, 'shit' with an audible, "Fuck!"

"Hello?"

As before, no reply.

"Is there a bad connection? Can you hear me and I can't hear you?"

Nothing but silence.

"For the last time...HELLO!"

Click!....just like the first call...

'Is someone playing brain games?' Scott thought to himself. 'Maybe whoever's calling doesn't recognize my voice and he thinks he reached the wrong number. Oh my God! What if it's Dave trying to call Clay? Oh shit!'

Scott finished the dishes and thought he could help Clay with breakfast by making a pot of coffee. He rummaged through several cabinets before finding the Folgers...decaf, no less! He removed the lid and began counting spoonfuls, thinking, 'I'll drink around three cups and so will Clay, so six scoops of coffee should be aplenty...three, four, five..."

The phone rang once more.

"GOD DAMN IT!" Dave rushed to the phone and yelled, "HELLO!!!"

Once again, the caller said nothing.

"Dave? Is this you calling Clay? I'm his old neighbor from Florida, actually Boston, so if it's you...please say so..."

There was a momentary silence and then Scott heard a solo trumpet begin to play, 'The Boy Next Door'.

"Oh, God, it's you, Benny. What do you want?"

Of course, Benny didn't reply because he was playing his horn.

"CLAY ISN'T HERE, BENNY!" Scott yelled. "Oh, fuck it!" Scott slammed down the receiver just as Clay had earlier, just as Clay came in with a bag of groceries and a New York Times under his arm.

"Whoa! Hey!" Clay said to Scott. "Who the fuck was that?"

"It was Benny..."

"Fuck! What did he want?"

"He wanted to serenade you with his trumpet!"

"What?"

Scott told Clay about the three mysterious calls and about the last with the trumpet.

"That son-of-a-bitch! He's mad because I didn't show up at the Rustic Inn last night for the first time ever."

"Is he stalking you with his calls?"

"Could be...but maybe it's just his way of letting me know that I should be at the Inn tonight."

"Are you...we going?"

"Nope! Our night on the town doesn't include a stop at the Inn. Here's the paper, go to the theatre section and see what shows are playing."

"Don't theatre tickets cost a lot of money?"

"Not one-hundredth of one-percent compared to your HIV medication. Don't worry about money. I have lots in the bank and I start my new job come Monday. Now I've got to go start breakfast."

Clay went into the kitchen as Scott sat on the living room sofa trying to find the theatre section of the Times.

"I found it!" Scott called to Clay.

"Good! Try to pick a musical if you can...but not one of the modern rock ones. If we're gonna spend good money on good tickets, I want it to have good music!"

"Hey, did you know 'Meet Me In St. Louis' had been turned into a musical?"

"No, I didn't."

"There's an ad for it here. It says music and lyrics by Ralph Blane and Hugh Martin. It's got to be the same as the old Judy Garland movie...the one we watched a thousand times with your dad."

"Is there a box office number? Call 'em and see if we can get two good orchestra seats for tonight!"

"Are you sure that's what you want to see? You didn't let me read you the complete show list."

"'St. Louis' sounds fine to me...if it does to you."

"I think I'd love it. At least it's good music and both of us know the score backwards and forwards."

"Then call for tickets."

Scott reached for the phone which was sitting right beside him and it rang. Scott waited for Clay to answer as Clay rushed back into the living room. They both shared a look of fear and anger between them. Clay's hand trembled as he picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"What's up, Doc?"

"DAMMIT, BENNY! What the fuck do you want?"

"I just wanted to see if our lunch date was still on...also where to meet...what time?"

"Benny, have you been drinking or are you using pot or something?"

"No, Doc, you wanna write me a prescription?"

"How about some arsenic?"

"That's too bitter...just like the way you sound. Bitter."

"Benny, I don't want to hurt your feelings. I just want you to stop calling here...and don't even THINK about coming here."

"You sound sexy when you're angry. Sorry, I borrowed that line from an old movie, but it is apropos."

"Good-bye, Benny! I'll see you later...MUCH later!"

"You bringing Florida boy to the Inn tonight?"

"No, we've made other plans."

"Want me to come by after I get off?...say around two A.M.? I'd like to get to know your Florida 'boy next door' a little better...CORRECTION...a LOT better, if you get my meaning."

"I'm afraid he'd turn you down much harder than I!"

Benny assumed a baby-like voice and said, "Come on, Docky. Little Benny has a tummy ache and I need you to rub it and make it all better..."

"Benny?...FUCK YOU!" Clay screamed, almost breaking the phone as he crashed it into its cradle.

"How long has he been calling you like this?" Scott asked.

"It just started today. Night before last when he saw you with me at the Inn, he was friendly, kind, warm,...gentle."

"Then he's jealous of me, huh?"

"It would seem so."

"Wanna put his ass in gear and let's us go to the Inn after the play so we can hold hands and act lovey-dovey? That would drive him out of his mind!"

"I don't think that's a good idea. I don't think Benny is dangerous but I don't want to run the risk of pushing him off the edge."

"Are you expecting any more calls?"

"Uh...only hoping for one from Dave."

"Well, just the same, take the damned thing off its hook for the rest of the day."

"Good idea."

"Now let me go finish making the coffee while you start cooking."

"You forgot to call about the theatre seats."

"Okay, I'll do that first...THEN I'll finish making the coffee."

Using a credit card which Clay had handed him, Scott phoned the theatre and bought and paid for two ninth-row orchestra seats for "Meet Me In St. Louis", the musical, and asked that the tickets be left at the box office. Then he left the phone receiver lying on the table to ward off any more unwanted calls from Benny.

He made the coffee and poured two cups as soon as he and Clay sat down to eat. Clay took a sip from his cup and sprayed it all over the table.

"Damn! Scott, this stuff is strong enough to pour itself! If I could patent it, it could cure paralysis!"

"Pretty bad, huh, even for a first time?"

"I don't have to ask, but how did you get through four years of college, get married and have two kids without EVER making a pot of coffee?"

"I don't know. There were no fucking instructions on the side of the can. Hell, in college I used to make instant coffee...one spoonful per cup."

"Don't try to drink any more. I'll pour it in the sink IF it doesn't clog the drain and make a fresh, WEAKER pot."

They both had a good laugh at Scott's first adventure into domesticity.

After breakfast, with the dishes once again clean, Clay and Scott spent the rest of the day lounging around the apartment and taking turns picking favorite CD's from Dave's collection. Around four o'clock FedEx delivered a large package containing a two-month supply of Scott's new drugs from Cole and Ed had practically written an entire book of instructions and details on how to administer the meds to Scott. After reading them thoroughly, Clay decided to wait until the next day to begin Scott's new regimen, especially since Scott and he were going out to dinner and would probably eat many items on the menu which Ed had deemed taboo.

At 5:30, they showered, independently, and dressed, then heading uptown via the subway, getting off at 42nd Street. They walked up Eighth Avenue to 44th Street and Clay asked, "Wanna go 'tourist'?"

"And do what?"

"We can eat at Downey's or at Sardis..."

"Sardis! We might get to see some stars there."

So it was off to Sardis where a line was waiting to be seated. The maitre'd asked Clay's name to add to the list and Clay emphasized, "DOCTOR Clayton Lawson" and give the man a twenty dollar bill. Then it was only ten minutes before Clay's name was called and he and Scott found themselves seated at a table for two.

Scott almost got a stiff neck looking around at every table, trying to see some famous person. He and Clay were enthralled with the hundreds of celebrity caricatures in frames on every wall. The pictures spanned the entire history of Broadway. Scott was disappointed by not being able to recognize a single famous face in the crowd. Dinner was delicious, but expensive. Both of them had ordered light dinners from the menu, but still, with tax and tip, their check was $130.00.

Excitedly, the two friends walked to the theatre, picked up the tickets and walked into the huge auditorium, gazing at the frescos and murals on the ceiling with all the decor trimmed in gold-leaf. The theatre was about three quarters filled when the house lights dimmed and the conductor stepped up to begin the overture. The orchestra, though small, had a full and wonderful sound as it jumped from one Blane/Martin tune to the next. After the third or fourth 'St. Louis' tidbit, the orchestra played two long chords and segued into 'The Boy Next Door'. How could Dave had forgotten that? His thoughts ran back to Dave and then to Scott and Clay caught himself before reaching to hold Scott's hand.

The show was fantastic...both acts...much different from the Garland movie, but the plot and songs were the same...plus a half dozen new tunes which had not been included in the MGM movie version. At curtain call, the audience stood applauding until hands were bright red. Afterward, Scott and Clay walked two blocks to Joe Allen's for drinks and an impromptu show with professional singers and comics. The guys stayed until Joe Allen's closed and then walked over to Broadway and Times Square to see the bright lights and catch a cab to go back to the Village.

The night had been perfect for both of them. It was indeed a proper celebration for Scott's good news. Clay tipped the cab driver ten bucks when they arrived at the apartment. Scott was still singing, 'The Trolley Song' as they walked up the steps to the door.

There was a note stuck on the door and Clay took it down and read, "Sorry I missed you, but don't worry, I'll see you tomorrow! Love, 'B'. Clay felt his body grow rigid with anger as he wadded up the piece of paper and shoved it into his pants pocket.

"Benny?" Scott asked.

"Who else?" Clay replied.

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(To be continued in chapter eleven of "Lush Life". Remember, this story will end with chapter twelve.)