Chapter 22

It was mid-May of 1981, and Leo had just treated Terrence, Angelle and Chase to a lineup of classic Jerome Kern songs at his spinet: his dream song—“All The Things You Are” from Very Warm For May; “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” from Roberta; and “The Song Is You” from Music In The Air. He was in rare form vocally, hitting the high note at the end of “All The Things You Are” without a hitch. He had disdained his usual R & H tendencies, and the results were spectacular, judging from the applause he received from his utterly relaxed friends seated around his living room sipping on their wine.

He took a couple of bows, bending from the waist in exaggerated fashion and said, “Please, no more. You’ll give me the bighead.”

“Your head is just the right size for all the talent it contains,” Angelle said. “And thanks again for finally staging this mini concert for us. We’ve been looking forward to it for a long time.”

Leo moved across the room to join Terrence on the sofa and said, “Sometimes I don’t multitask as well as I should, but tonight, Terrence and I are doing a bit of it. We have some very important information to impart, and we’re going to give you a sneak preview of our next Coalition meeting subject before we tackle the muffalettas I picked up at Central Grocery after work. In this case, we will have dinner after the concert.”

“Sounds like we’re plotting something,” Angelle said.

“No, but what we have to tell you is deadly serious.” He gestured toward Terrence. “I turn things over to our head honcho.”

Terrence dug down into his pants pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, scanned it quickly and began. “What I’m about to reveal is cutting-edge info from the Bay Area and one of my contacts out there who runs a gay organization in San Francisco similar to ours. A new disease has been identified that seems to be affecting some gay men particularly but other demographics as well, and it attacks the immune system. Or, as my friend says, compromises it so as to make it vulnerable to other opportunistic diseases. There’s some research being done, and it appears one of the main ways it’s spreading is through sexual contact.”

“Is it an STD?” Chase said. “God knows, we certainly don’t need another one of those.”

Terrence frowned and shook his head. “It appears to be more serious than that. At least two dozen men have died so far, and they were all gay. The first cases were reported several months ago in June, and since then, it’s been given a name: Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. I’ve been informed by my friend that the CDC is getting involved and that some of the networks and newsmagazines will be doing stories on it quite frequently from here on out. I think the Coalition has an obligation to make all our members aware of this new development as soon as possible and take it out of the realm of rumor and hearsay. Word is people who have traveled out to the Coast have been buzzing about it here and there in some of the clubs and discos. There appears to be a lot of denial out there.”

The alarm clearly registered in Angelle’s voice. “I have to admit I’ve heard nothing about it, since I live in a very different world. What you’ve said makes me very nervous.”

“That’s the thing,” Terrence continued. “There’s reason to believe that this new disease has already spread to other demographics by other means. My friend has made mention of needle-sharing and even blood transfusions spreading the virus. The CDC certainly doesn’t want it to become a pandemic, and they want to get to the bottom of it as soon as they can.”

“As they should,” Angelle said.

“Right. So, this is what I’ll be communicating to all of you next week at the meeting:

Those of us who are part of the gay subculture don’t have much margin for error. We are widely misunderstood, often persecuted, sometimes prosecuted and for many more years than we care to count relegated to existing underground and after midnight. We are criticized for sneaking around and socializing in bars when in most cases that is the only possible way we can meet and try to carve out some kind of life for ourselves. For some, however, that’s problematic or even dangerous, so they choose to lead double lives with elaborately arranged camouflage schemes to fit in and avoid social ostracization. Let’s face it: we aren’t introduced to each other at church socials, and there are those who think we either don’t exist or shouldn’t exist. Organizations like ours are comparatively new. There are enough risks as it is, so we cannot afford to have a deadly disease yapping at our heels as well. I believe the Coalition has a duty to keep our community up to date on this situation because our very lives may well depend upon it.

Terrence paused, looked up from the page and said, “Well? What do y’all think?”

“Beautifully expressed, even though you paint a very bleak picture. Is it too soon to consider all this as a possible Sunday piece down the road?” Angelle said, nodding in Leo’s direction.

“Good call. I can certainly see it happening,” he told her. “And you and Chase are getting in on the ground floor. So, we’ve had the music and the message, now let’s have the muffalettas, shall we?” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Any volunteers to help me? I’m not territorial at all about these things.”

Everyone pitched in, and in no time, they were all savoring the monstrous Italian meat, cheese and chopped olive sandwiches that had sustained many a New Orleanian for centuries. It was an evening that satisfied both the brain and the stomach.

One week later, Leo was having his usual trim at Long May She Wave, and Mara was holding forth with an anecdote about her cousin Diane, who was trying to lose weight by drinking water and chewing bubble game all day. “Of course, she hasn’t lost much weight because she keeps backsliding. She has goodies hidden all over her apartment, so she isn’t fooling anyone but herself. But her jaw muscles are growing by leaps and bounds. I think she could rival the bite of a gator or a great white shark.”

Everyone within earshot laughed, including George Kinsey one chair to the right—dressed in a flowing yellow and white caftan—tending to his client, a muscular young man named Eddie with a blond ponytail. In George’s case, his laughter eventually morphed into a prodigious cough.

“There you go, coughing again,” Mara said. “You should take something for that.”

“Just my eternal allergies,” George explained. “They always lie in wait for me this time of year, like a snake in the grass. I bow down to no man, but I’m afraid pollen has my number. I earnestly wish I could refuse its many invitations to take me out on the town for a good hacking. The truth is, I can be had for a good sneeze.”

Mara nodded as she worked diligently on Leo’s sideburns. “You’re so good with funny images. If you weren’t a stylist, I think you’d make a wonderful stand-up comedian.”

“Funny you should say that,” George continued. “Before I moved here from San Francisco, I briefly considered that. There are so many clubs in the city out there to try.”

“There are clubs here, you know,” Mara pointed out. “You could pursue it in your spare time, if you still wanted to.”

“And what spare time is that, pray tell?”

Mara cocked her head in his general direction. “Good point. You’re my most popular stylist.”

“No way would I trust my ponytail to anyone but the man in the caftan, as I call him,” Eddie added. “No way, no how.”

George puffed himself up. “My friend, Eddie here, speaks the truth. When I went out to spend last Christmas with my friends in San Francisco, we worked your appointment around my trip, didn’t we, dude?”

Eddie was practically beaming. “Righteously so.” Then he leaned over toward Leo and added, “My parents didn’t like it when I started wearing my hair in a ponytail. They said they thought it made me look like a queer. Their words, not mine, of course. Seems to be a word that people aren’t afraid to use no matter what, no matter when, no matter who it hurts. I happen to have a girlfriend, and she likes my hair the way it is just fine. I found Long May She Wave and George here just in time because my Dad’s barber kept trying to talk me into cutting my hair short. I could tell my Dad had been talking to him because the word buzzcut kept popping up. But, hey, George didn’t care, didja?”

“All that matters to me is pleasing my clients and making them look their best,” George said. “It’s their hair, and they have to wear it.”

“You do a bang-up job of that, too,” Mara added.

“At any rate,” George continued, “I can certainly empathize with your cousin, Mara. I’ve been fighting the battle of the bulge most of my life, and that’s why I prefer to wear these caftans of mine. They’re so forgiving of my dietary indiscretions. New Orleans is maybe the worst city in the country to try and count calories. Not that it was any easier out in San Francisco. Because the truth is, the last thing you’re expected to be when you’re gay is fat. Sounds brutal, I know, but that’s the way it goes down.”

The rest of Leo’s haircut time was spent exchanging pleasantries, occasionally punctuated by more of George’s coughing.

“You can get a good antihistamine to get that under control,” Leo said to George as he headed out. “I get allergies from time to time, too.”

“Yeah,” George called out. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

At the Coalition office a couple of days later, Terrence was reading out loud to Leo with great interest a new article he’d found in a medical journal:

… and the disease has officially been labeled AIDS at this juncture, according to the CDC. The term HIV-Positive has been officially designated as an identifying marker and is beginning to generate the sort of dread that polio and the cumbersome, restrictive iron lung accomplished earlier in the century before the Salk Vaccine became a reality. There is one theory that suggests AIDS may have originated in Africa among the general population and migrated by various means to America. There has even been the theory circulating that the virus somehow moved from monkeys into humans, though that remains completely unsubstantiated. Moreover, deaths among gay men continue to mount mostly in metropolitan areas, presenting itself through what has been informally called ‘the gay cancer,’ but is more scientifically referred to as Kaposi’s sarcoma, characterized by large, purple splotches on the skin of those affected.

It has yet to be conclusively established, however, whether AIDS can be transmitted through the air or whether it exclusively requires the exchange of bodily fluids. Physicians, nurses and hospital workers alike have all expressed concern that they might be exposing themselves to the disease just by being in the same room with patients or handling their soiled linens. At the same time, the CDC has made research into the disease one of its top priorities.

Terrence paused for a well-earned breath and looked up. “Pretty scary stuff, huh?”

Leo looked wide-eyed. “Understatement of the year.”

“I’ll bring all this up at our next Coalition meeting, of course.”

“That’s the least we can do,” Leo said, shrugging.

Leo headed home after the sobering exchange with Terrence, fixed himself a club soda and then collapsed in front of the TV, starting to surf around for something that would either soothe his spirits or be nothing short of mindless entertainment. He was simply not in the mood to think.

He happened to land for a second on one of those stations specializing in evangelical pitches—the sort that made it quite clear that the viewer’s credit card number was the only sure way to “salvation.” All that “God” required was a valid expiration date. Revulsed, he was about to change channels when an obnoxious snippet caught his attention and froze him in place.

“… and for the homosexual, AIDS is the wages of sin,” the televangelist, an older man whose gray hair sprayed ferociously into place and nearly resembling a serving of Dairy Queen soft-serve atop his head, was proclaiming.

Leo wanted to move on but found himself strangely mesmerized. It was as if some part of him needed to hear the very worst being said about people like himself. After all, there was some wisdom in knowing the enemy well enough to anticipate and fend him off.

“God has had enough of the homosexual’s crimes against nature,” the televangelist continued, all the while keeping an obsequious smile plastered on his wrinkled face. “So, He has sent AIDS to punish all who cling to such behavior. God is saying to them, ‘Enough. I will not allow you to continue these evil ways. If you continue, you will surely die, and there will be no redemption for you. You will reside in Hell, among all other sinners, even though you will surely be the worst of them all.’ For there is no worse sin in the world than for a man to lie with another man as with a woman, the Bible tells us. And as we all know, the Bible is the true word of God and must be obeyed by all or suffer eternal consequences. Let no man deny this great truth. There is only one way to obtain the salvation we all desperately need, and the existence of AIDS now conclusively proves that God has reached his limits of tolerance with us. It was hard enough on him when we disobeyed him and got cast out of the Garden of Eden that he so graciously prepared for us so that we would never have a care in the world. We cannot vex God this way and expect him to reward us in Heaven…”

Leo had reached his limit and shut the TV off, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Instinctively he knew that the worst was yet to come, and he had better get psyched up for it. For there were people who took such televangelism seriously, throwing their hard-earned money and credit card numbers after these sermons, such as they were. Furthermore, people around the country were starting to die, and the televangelists and certain other members of the cloth were having a field day rejoicing and pointing fingers, while raking in the “prayer contributions” without batting an eyelash.

Mara paid a surprise visit to Leo and Terrence at the Coalition office late one afternoon a couple of weeks later. The moment she walked through the door, Leo could see she was stressed out. Her makeup, usually the picture of perfection, was a mess. Her mascara was running, her eyes were red and puffy, as she appeared to have been crying.

“What on earth’s wrong?” Leo said, standing up and offering his chair.

Once she had settled in, she said, “I’ve just come from driving George to the airport. He had to catch a flight to San Francisco.”

“Judging by the expression on your face, that must have been quite a tearful goodbye,” Terrence said. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Mara tried to keep the emotion out of her voice but was unsuccessful. “George has… he has full-blown AIDS. That cough he’d had for so long, it was just the first stage. He went to the doctor not long after, and they ran some tests. This thing has gotten far along real fast, and the doctor explained to him how opportunistic AIDS really is. He already has Stage 3 lung cancer.”

Beyond stunned, Leo felt the same way he had when he’d received the news about Greg and Yaro—he was a bottomless pit of dark emotion clawing for the relief of daylight. It took him a few seconds to gather himself, while Terrence could only shake his head. “Oh, God. So why is he going to San Francisco?”

Mara steadied herself with a deep breath. “As George explained it to me, the doctors out there know a little more than they do anywhere else. When George said that he was from there originally, his doctor told him upfront that there wasn’t much they could do for him here. Might as well try what treatment they have out there.”

“We would have liked to have said goodbye,” Leo added. “Seen him off, just as you did.”

“Time is of the essence. And then, George said he was embarrassed to have come down with it in the first place. He said he felt like he had done something wrong.”

Leo practically spat out his words. “Oh, hell no! That’s what those preachers on the air and Anita Bryant want you to believe. That AIDS is something gay people deserve because they are evil. I wish George had given us a chance to console him at least.”

Then Mara broke down completely, the tears streaming down her face. “I don’t think any of us could do that for him. He’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulder for a long time now. He puts on a brave, funny front, but his parents kicked him out of the house when he told them about himself years ago. They’re unrelenting about it still. I asked him if he thought he should try and call them and let them know about his condition, but he said it would be useless and that he didn’t want to have to deal with a final rejection.”

Leo continued to hold onto Mara tightly, and Terrence said, “Then… the prognosis is… hopeless?”

After taking the time to gather herself, Mara said, “It would probably take a miracle.”

The three of them sat with her last statement for a while, but the silence only seemed to make things worse. AIDS had finally hit home. It was no longer just a series of words in a magazine or newspaper article. It was a flesh and blood reality with seemingly no upside.

A week or so later, Angelle popped into Leo’s office early one morning with a smug look on her face.

“I wanted you to be the second to know that my brother Jay just got the weekend weather gig at WDSU he’s had his heart set on. He’ll be starting next month, and I’m already tracking down some apartment possibilities for him. There are even a few near me. It’ll be nice living in the same city with him again. We sorta looked after each other up in Boston.”

Leo felt a faint stirring of hope within and smiled. “You say I’m the second to know. Who was the first?”

“Chase, of course.”

“Right. By the way, any change in the status of your relationship?”

“Such as?”

“Marriage on the horizon?”

“We’ve discussed our long-term goals and that sort of thing,” she said. “Pillow talk and all that, but we like things the way they are right now.”

“Whatever works. Anyway, congrats to your brother. I know how important he is to you.”

Leo noticed that Angelle had started tapping her finger on the edge of his desk as her eyes nervously moved from side-toside. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

She stilled her finger and caught his gaze. “Yes, it’s about me and my brother. We actually don’t have a biological connection. Mom and Dad adopted us both, but it’s amazing how much alike we are in so many areas. Not that I solve calculus problems to pass the time. I mean, who does that? Or that I’m all that crazy about the weather. I mostly just don’t want it to keep me from getting to work on time. No, what I mean is that Jay and I see the world the same way as an endless series of possibilities. We never see the glass as half-empty. I think we both have an optimism gene, if there is such a thing.”

Leo laughed. “Mostly, I think you have a ‘fits-right-in’ gene. It was apparent to me when I interviewed you for this job.”

“I’d like to think so.”

Leo shook his head dramatically. “I know so. The quotes you wheedle out of people blow me away. You make them feel at ease, and they tell you things they wouldn’t tell anyone else. Like that young jazz musician, Littleman Morgan, who said he’d had a dream when he was twelve about becoming the next Louis Armstrong. Then when Chase got that shot of him doing his imitation of Satchmo’s trademark smile, that piece went platinum. The work you two did together went through the roof.”

“So maybe Chase and I are married to Sunday, then,” Angelle said, tilting her head with a saucy grin.

“I’ll settle for that.”

After she’d left, Leo couldn’t help but review his boatload of memories about not fitting in at all from the very beginning and how they still dominated his thinking more than they should. Maybe it was time for a massive infusion of something different that put those feelings in their place once and for all.