don’t mean I
gave
it to him. I’m fine, and anyway, I’m not, we don’t …”
Kate makes prayer-hands, peers down at him. “You don’t make love to him?”
“No, I don’t make love to him.”
Kate hisses out some breath, begins a hesitant descent back into her chair.
Matt says, “It’s more like he got sick because I
wasn’t
there.”
“I see,” says Kate, though there’s no way she can. “Sorry, I’m just a little jumpy at the moment.”
“I’m such an idiot,” says Matt.
Kate musters a quarter of a smile, half a smile. “That’s okay.”
“Really,” says Matt. “Cross my heart”—he does—“and hope to die. I’m not into men. Anyway, I play it so safe it’s a joke.”
“Ah,” says Kate. “Because you know, you could have fooled me.” She does a little something with her hips that says, That was you last night, wasn’t it?
Matt nervously guffaws. “Touché.”
“So let’s say we’re even,” says Kate. “Now, your friend. Tell me about him. Is he all right?”
“Sort of.”
“I have a cousin? The new drugs are incredible.”
“Yeah.”
Kate frowns. “But you don’t sound convinced.”
“Well see, that’s the loopy part. He’s not … Zane’s not taking them.” Kate’s got her big eyes going full bore now. It makes Matt want to keep talking, keep feeding that fascination or whatever it is. Glandular condition most likely. “It’s a protest thing, at least that’s what I think it is.”
“A protest against?”
“The fact that other people can’t get treatment. In Africa and places like that. India.”
“Well, that should get him some attention. Refusing treatment, that’s kind of brilliant.”
“Yeah. The press would be all over him, I suppose, if he were ever to let on.”
“What do you mean? He hasn’t
told
anybody?”
“Yep. Nope. He’s keeping it a secret.”
Wasps? Bees? It’s one or the other—bees?—that die once they’ve stung you. If you’re going to die anyway, wouldn’t you want to get your sting in first? That time Matt thought about snuffing himself (pills and a plastic bag, he actually started to get things organized), it occurred to him to wonder, what sting? What would he be dying
for?
No good answer, which is one reason he decided not to pop the pills, pull the bag over his head. That plus the plan had already worked, in a way. Just contemplating the thing had given him a liberating whiff of I-lessness. Maybe that’ll do it for Zane too?
Kate says, “But that’s crazy. That’s like … that’s like he’s going on a hunger strike and he’s not letting anybody see him
starve.
”
“Yeah, good one. I’m going to use that.” The folks at the far end of the lounge have acquired drinks now, neon martinis—pink, green, tangerine—and are making sure everybody knows just how spunky and spontaneous they are. “See, Zane’s kind of … you’d have to know him.”
Shanumi sipping on a soda. Shanumi ducking through the plank door of her shack, a child’s floppy body in her arms …
“So why don’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?”
“About Zane.”
“Oh. Well, he has two different eyes. I mean his eyes are two different colours.”
“I see. So that’s why he’s doing this?”
Matt shrugs.
“But you’re going to talk him out of it.”
“Yeah.”
“Even if it’s what he really wants? I’m going through something like that, and—”
“Yeah, even if it’s what he really wants.”
Kate makes a little ticking noise as she processes this. “How?”
“I’m going to kill him.” Hey, not a bad idea. “He goes on the meds or I shoot him.”
“You have a gun?”
“He goes on the meds or I shove him off a bridge.”
“Zane,” says Kate. She seems to be trying it on with her tongue. “Like Zane Grey? The cowboy guy?”
“His dad was a buff. Plus he’s Jewish, lucky bastard.”
“Lucky?”
“Bastard.
Plus
he’s gay,
plus
he’s dying.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, it turns out to
gave
it to him. I’m fine, and anyway, I’m not, we don’t …”
Kate makes prayer-hands, peers down at him. “You don’t make love to him?”
“No, I don’t make love to him.”
Kate hisses out some breath, begins a hesitant descent back into her chair.
Matt says, “It’s more like he got sick because I
wasn’t
there.”
“I see,” says Kate, though there’s no way she can. “Sorry, I’m just a little jumpy at the moment.”
“I’m such an idiot,” says Matt.
Kate musters a quarter of a smile, half a smile. “That’s okay.”
“Really,” says Matt. “Cross my heart”—he does—“and hope to die. I’m not into men. Anyway, I play it so safe it’s a joke.”
“Ah,” says Kate. “Because you know, you could have fooled me.” She does a little something with her hips that says, That was you last night, wasn’t it?
Matt nervously guffaws. “Touché.”
“So let’s say we’re even,” says Kate. “Now, your friend. Tell me about him. Is he all right?”
“Sort of.”
“I have a cousin? The new drugs are incredible.”
“Yeah.”
Kate frowns. “But you don’t sound convinced.”
“Well see, that’s the loopy part. He’s not … Zane’s not taking them.” Kate’s got her big eyes going full bore now. It makes Matt want to keep talking, keep feeding that fascination or whatever it is. Glandular condition most likely. “It’s a protest thing, at least that’s what I think it is.”
“A protest against?”
“The fact that other people can’t get treatment. In Africa and places like that. India.”
“Well, that should get him some attention. Refusing treatment, that’s kind of brilliant.”
“Yeah. The press would be all over him, I suppose, if he were ever to let on.”
“What do you mean? He hasn’t
told
anybody?”
“Yep. Nope. He’s keeping it a secret.”
Wasps? Bees? It’s one or the other—bees?—that die once they’ve stung you. If you’re going to die anyway, wouldn’t you want to get your sting in first? That time Matt thought about snuffing himself (pills and a plastic bag, he actually started to get things organized), it occurred to him to wonder, what sting? What would he be dying
for?
No good answer, which is one reason he decided not to pop the pills, pull the bag over his head. That plus the plan had already worked, in a way. Just contemplating the thing had given him a liberating whiff of I-lessness. Maybe that’ll do it for Zane too?
Kate says, “But that’s crazy. That’s like … that’s like he’s going on a hunger strike and he’s not letting anybody see him
starve.
”
“Yeah, good one. I’m going to use that.” The folks at the far end of the lounge have acquired drinks now, neon martinis—pink, green, tangerine—and are making sure everybody knows just how spunky and spontaneous they are. “See, Zane’s kind of … you’d have to know him.”
Shanumi sipping on a soda. Shanumi ducking through the plank door of her shack, a child’s floppy body in her arms …
“So why don’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?”
“About Zane.”
“Oh. Well, he has two different eyes. I mean his eyes are two different colours.”
“I see. So that’s why he’s doing this?”
Matt shrugs.
“But you’re going to talk him out of it.”
“Yeah.”
“Even if it’s what he really wants? I’m going through something like that, and—”
“Yeah, even if it’s what he really wants.”
Kate makes a little ticking noise as she processes this. “How?”
“I’m going to kill him.” Hey, not a bad idea. “He goes on the meds or I shoot him.”
“You have a gun?”
“He goes on the meds or I shove him off a bridge.”
“Zane,” says Kate. She seems to be trying it on with her tongue. “Like Zane Grey? The cowboy guy?”
“His dad was a buff. Plus he’s Jewish, lucky bastard.”
“Lucky?”
“Bastard.
Plus
he’s gay,
plus
he’s dying.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, it turns out to
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