Significant Others by Armistead Maupin

something’s up.” He gave Michael an admonitory look. “Don’t make a pun out of that.”
    “You’ve never gone for ten days without doing it?”
    “No.”
    “Well, I’m impressed.”
    Brian didn’t laugh. Michael’s flip tone was beginning to get on his nerves.
    “What about rubbers?” asked Michael.
    “We never use them,” said Brian.
    “Well, start. Tell her you think they’re a safer form of birth control.”
    “Michael,” he said, faintly annoyed. “I’m sterile, remember?”
    “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Michael seemed to ponder this for a while before slipping into a reasonable facsimile of Dr. Ruth’s Teutonic twitter. “Well … what about something in a nice decorative model … with whirligigs on the end?”
    Brian laughed in spite of himself. “You bastard.”
    “Tell her,” said Michael.
    “No. Not yet.”
    “Sooner or later you’re gonna have to. Sooner is always better than later.”
    “No it isn’t. Why should she suffer for the next ten days?”
    “Because you’re suffering. And she’s your wife.”
    Michael’s logic annoyed him. “And I’ve been a great husband, haven’t I?”
    “Look, Brian … if you don’t tell her now …”
    “Forget it, all right? I have to do this my way.”
    “Fine,” said Michael.
    Twenty minutes later, Michael dropped him off in front of The Summit. The doorman fired off a friendly “Yo,” but Brian scarcely heard him as he made his wooden way to the elevator.
    Could he fake it for ten days? Carry on his life as if nothing were wrong?
    Making his ascent, he stood stock still and tried to read his body’s signals. There was a heaviness in his limbs which may or may not have been there earlier. Some of the soreness seemed localized, a dim ember of pain lodged in a corner of his gut.
    This could be anything, of course. Indigestion or a flare-up of his old gastritis. Hell, maybe it was the flu, after all. His headache seemed to have gone away.
    The elevator opened at the twenty-third floor. He stepped out into the foyer to confront the insufferable Cap Sorenson, his face plastered with a shit-eating grin. “How’s it hanging, Hawkins?”
    “Pretty good,” he said, adopting a similar hail-fellow tone. “Pretty good.”
    They changed places, Cap holding the door to get in the final word. “I closed that deal I told you about.”
    “Great.”
    “Forget great,” said Cap. “We’re talking megabucks this time.”
    Brian nodded. The elevator had its own way at last, obliterating Cap’s idiot smirk.
    He let himself into the apartment, moving to the window like someone walking underwater. The sun had swooped in low from the west, turning white buildings to gold: shimmering ingots against the blue. Far beneath him, the tangled foliage of Barbary Lane cast dusty purple shadows across the bricks of Mrs. Madrigal’s courtyard.
    Mary Ann emerged from the bathroom. “I wondered where you were.”
    What was she doing here? Hadn’t she planned on working late tonight? “Oh,” he said. “Michael and I drove out to the beach. Where’s Nguyet? She was here when I …”
    “I let her go home. I thought she could use an afternoon off.”
    “Oh.”
    She added: “I took off early myself. Just said to hell with it. Feels good.” She rocked on her heels several times, a curious light in her eyes. “Guess what.”
    “What?”
    “You’re never gonna believe this.”
    He looked around, unsettled, distracted. “Where’s Puppy?”
    She frowned at him. “Will you let me tell this? She’s riding her Tuff Trike at the Sorensons'.”
    He tried to look apologetic. “What’s up?”
    “Well … here’s a hint.” She paused, then sang: “Dah-dah-dah-dah-dah- dah … dah-dah-dah-dah-dah- dah .”
    It made no sense to him whatsoever.
    “C’mon,” she prodded. “I know you know it. It’s theme music.”
    He shrugged.
    “Oh, Brian.” She sang again: “En-ter-tain-ment To-niiight … En-ter-tain-ment To-niiight.”
    “Right,” he said.