theexamination. I take one of the White Satyr books off the shelf, a poetry collection called Red, Crimson, Carmine . The author is Joseph Benton.
“I didn’t know you were a poet.” I smile, paging through the brittle, yellowing pages.
“There’s a poet in all of us,” Benton waxes.
“Not me.” I sigh. “Can’t write to save my life.”
“Different vocabularies,” Benton argues. “I use words, you use color.”
Color as vocabulary. I like it. I’ve always tried to give my colors meaning within the context of a specific work. Now, through Mr. Benton, I see them as nouns, adverbs, adjectives. Awesome.
Benton glances at the cover of the book in my hands. He sighs. “That was the last thing I published before White Satyr folded.”
“Why’d you shut down?” I ask.
Benton looks wistful. “My heart really wasn’t in it after I lost Arthur in ’89. By then, most of the Collective was gone. By the late Eighties, with things as they were, I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be around.”
I’m not sure what he means but I’m afraid to ask. I’ve only heard Mr. Benton mention Arthur, his former partner, a few times before. I feel bad that I’ve dredged this up.
Erik zips shut his medical bag and claps me on the back. “I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Benton. You stay on yourmeds, keep up with the yoga, and stop missing appointments and I know two local artists who’ll let you photograph their work so you can publish it.”
Benton shakes both of our hands. “You got a deal, boys. Wait and see.”
“Remember,” Erik tells Benton as we step out of the apartment, “this doesn’t take the place of an exam with Dr. Friese. I only did this ’cause I worry about you. Make a new appointment and get your blood work done by the end of the week or you’re in big, big trouble, mister.”
Benton crosses his heart and raises his hand, palm out. “Promise.”
Erik and I speed away in the Jeep. Now that it’s just the two of us, I can ask.
“What did Mr. Benton mean when he said ‘Things like they were back in the late Eighties’?”
Erik places his hand on my knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “The epidemic was going strong back then and there still weren’t a lot of advances in HIV treatment. Mr. Benton watched his friends die, then Arthur. Mr. Benton found out he was positive the day after Arthur’s funeral. I’m sure the future looked pretty bleak for him back then.”
Epidemic. Treatment. I’ve been dating a nurse for a year and I’m only just now starting to figure out what he does. And what Mr. Benton went through. Learning somegay history might not be so bad. Even if it is from Sable.
“We all set for dinner on Tuesday with Shan?”
Erik’s trying hard to make it sound like a casual question. Why do I feel like it’s a test?
If it is, I pass. “Yeppers. She can’t wait to meet you.”
His shoulders relax. He was expecting an excuse. For once, I’m glad to disappoint him. But one test wasn’t enough.
“Aren’t you moving Davis to the RYC on Tuesday?”
I’d forgotten I mentioned that. “Uh … yeah.”
“Need an extra pair of hands?”
“Thanks,” I say, waving my hand like it’s nothing. “But Davis doesn’t own much. It won’t take long.”
I stay cool. I sound breezy. He nods. Mission accomplished. A Davis and Erik meeting has been averted. For now.
The King of Evasions changes the subject with finesse. “So you think Mr. Benton might really publish a book with our work in it?”
Erik’s face is noncommittal, distant. “Resurrecting White Satyr would be good for him. He needs something to focus on, to be happy about. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. He doesn’t take care of himself like he should. I worry about him.”
I reach over and squeeze his knee. That’s another reason I love Erik: He’s figured out exactly what he’ssupposed to be doing and it’s not just a life-sucking nine-to-five. I really don’t know if I can make a career in
“I didn’t know you were a poet.” I smile, paging through the brittle, yellowing pages.
“There’s a poet in all of us,” Benton waxes.
“Not me.” I sigh. “Can’t write to save my life.”
“Different vocabularies,” Benton argues. “I use words, you use color.”
Color as vocabulary. I like it. I’ve always tried to give my colors meaning within the context of a specific work. Now, through Mr. Benton, I see them as nouns, adverbs, adjectives. Awesome.
Benton glances at the cover of the book in my hands. He sighs. “That was the last thing I published before White Satyr folded.”
“Why’d you shut down?” I ask.
Benton looks wistful. “My heart really wasn’t in it after I lost Arthur in ’89. By then, most of the Collective was gone. By the late Eighties, with things as they were, I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be around.”
I’m not sure what he means but I’m afraid to ask. I’ve only heard Mr. Benton mention Arthur, his former partner, a few times before. I feel bad that I’ve dredged this up.
Erik zips shut his medical bag and claps me on the back. “I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Benton. You stay on yourmeds, keep up with the yoga, and stop missing appointments and I know two local artists who’ll let you photograph their work so you can publish it.”
Benton shakes both of our hands. “You got a deal, boys. Wait and see.”
“Remember,” Erik tells Benton as we step out of the apartment, “this doesn’t take the place of an exam with Dr. Friese. I only did this ’cause I worry about you. Make a new appointment and get your blood work done by the end of the week or you’re in big, big trouble, mister.”
Benton crosses his heart and raises his hand, palm out. “Promise.”
Erik and I speed away in the Jeep. Now that it’s just the two of us, I can ask.
“What did Mr. Benton mean when he said ‘Things like they were back in the late Eighties’?”
Erik places his hand on my knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “The epidemic was going strong back then and there still weren’t a lot of advances in HIV treatment. Mr. Benton watched his friends die, then Arthur. Mr. Benton found out he was positive the day after Arthur’s funeral. I’m sure the future looked pretty bleak for him back then.”
Epidemic. Treatment. I’ve been dating a nurse for a year and I’m only just now starting to figure out what he does. And what Mr. Benton went through. Learning somegay history might not be so bad. Even if it is from Sable.
“We all set for dinner on Tuesday with Shan?”
Erik’s trying hard to make it sound like a casual question. Why do I feel like it’s a test?
If it is, I pass. “Yeppers. She can’t wait to meet you.”
His shoulders relax. He was expecting an excuse. For once, I’m glad to disappoint him. But one test wasn’t enough.
“Aren’t you moving Davis to the RYC on Tuesday?”
I’d forgotten I mentioned that. “Uh … yeah.”
“Need an extra pair of hands?”
“Thanks,” I say, waving my hand like it’s nothing. “But Davis doesn’t own much. It won’t take long.”
I stay cool. I sound breezy. He nods. Mission accomplished. A Davis and Erik meeting has been averted. For now.
The King of Evasions changes the subject with finesse. “So you think Mr. Benton might really publish a book with our work in it?”
Erik’s face is noncommittal, distant. “Resurrecting White Satyr would be good for him. He needs something to focus on, to be happy about. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. He doesn’t take care of himself like he should. I worry about him.”
I reach over and squeeze his knee. That’s another reason I love Erik: He’s figured out exactly what he’ssupposed to be doing and it’s not just a life-sucking nine-to-five. I really don’t know if I can make a career in
Similar Books
