San Francisco, 1999
Geoffrey was having one of his bad days. His lungs hurt and the fingers from which warts had been removed were swathed in bandages and made using the telephone or computer almost impossible. He had lost weight, and his T cell count was down. He was weary of the sight of his attendants counting out his daily ration of medications, and Dr. O’Donnell had just advised him that his veins weren’t tolerating the IV treatments as well as they had been. Additionally, it was a cold and foggy afternoon with no hope of sun. He could barely see beyond his windows. Everything seemed to have lost color and flavor.
He flipped through the television channels using his bandaged left hand with some difficulty. Nothing seemed to hold his attention. He fumbled through his CD collection and finally decided that Beethoven was the only composer who could hold up to his dark and despairing mood. He settled back on the couch, waiting for the Seventh Symphony to wind about him.
He wished that he could sleep—and dream. He wished that he could imagine something, such as a visit from his long-dead uncle, Phillip. At least it would be a tale to tell Katie when next she visited him. He had just begun to doze when the doorbell rang.
“C’mon in,” he called. “It isn’t locked, but I might spit on you.”
A tall, thin, blond man entered the room very slowly. Geoff lifted himself up on one elbow and blinked. The man reminded him of the imaginary Uncle Phillip, but he was dressed in khaki slacks and a very modern dark brown leather jacket. They stared at each other for a long moment.
“Please—don’t get up.” The man gestured quickly as if to forestall any movement. “I don’t want to disturb you …”
Geoff frowned, still half asleep.
“It’s me … James.”
Geoff struggled to a sitting position and stared at the brother he had not seen in so many years. For a long time, he was silent, and James stood uneasily, shifting from foot to foot and darting his eyes around the small studio. “I know that I should have called you. I was afraid that you wouldn’t see me.”
“I don’t know what I would have done,” replied Geoff. “I honestly didn’t recognize you. What’s wrong? Did something happen to the girls?” Suddenly, he was very anxious—maybe there had been a terrible family tragedy, and James was finally forced to come to him.
“No, no, everyone is fine. I had the most recent brush with death,” explained James quickly. “May I sit down?”
“Aha, so you’ve come to look death in the face, have you? Well, here I am, old skeletal Geoff filled with deadly viruses and edging on eternity.”
James removed his leather jacket. “Not exactly. But I suppose that is part of it.”
Geoff laughed bitterly. “I appreciate your honesty. I must say that I didn’t recognize you.”
“Doc said that I had to lose weight and get some exercise after my bypass. I took him seriously.”
“Did he say that you had to grow hair too?”
James patted his new toupee with an expression of wry amusement. “That was my idea. After all, I’m a single man again.”
“Eleanor dumped you, eh?” Geoff sat back, wondering at his lack of emotional reaction to his brother’s presence.
“More or less. We both reevaluated things after my heart attack. We decided that there was not much point in continuing our marriage. It was damned expensive, but at least I don’t have to pay her bills anymore,” explained James. “May I sit down?”
“Be my guest. So—you’re doing well?” asked Geoff. “Katie and Mad tell me that you still try to build on every empty spot on Santa Barbara.”
James picked a chair across the room from his brother and sat down carefully. “They exaggerate a bit. Besides, as long as women like Kate keep dragging us off to court, we get slowed down a lot.”
“Not enough, I hear.”
“So—how are you?” asked James hesitantly.
“Sick. Sicker today than yesterday …,” began Geoff. “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t generally keep stuff in the house. Maybe a puff on a joint?”
James shook his head. “I’ve been trying clean living.”
“How mature of you.”
“It is vastly overrated.”
Geoff smiled. “You may even be developing a sense of humor, brother.”
“Eh, isn’t that the only thing that helps?” James smiled sadly.
“If it does, tell me,” said Geoff sourly. “So, here we are, the Cobham brothers of Santa Barbara. Can’t say that we’re doing as well as our sisters.”
James shrugged. “Katie is overworked and joyless. Maddie is becoming foolish over being such a celebrated author. They may be making a movie of her book.”
“She told me. She got a facelift.”
“Woman is silly.”
“Yeah, just because men like young things with smooth faces …,” began Geoff. “Well, I can’t imagine why anybody would subject themselves to pain and surgery just to look like a chimp in a wind tunnel, but she feels that it is important.”
“We all try to cheat time, I guess. Me with my toupee, Maddie with her facelift.”
“Me with my pills?” added Geoff with a slight smile.
“You with your pills, me with my bypass and false hair.”
“What fools we mortals be,” quoted Geoff. “So you’re here. Why?”
James frowned. “I needed to see you.”
“Okay, so do I get this final apology for your stupidity, or do you just want to share mortal thoughts?”
“You’re bitter.”
“You’re damned right I’m bitter. Angry. Bitter. Hostile. But you’re my brother, goddamn it! You’re my brother and you hurt me more than anybody has ever hurt me,” cried Geoff, suddenly angry. His body felt hot and suddenly energized.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry because you called me names all those years ago, or sorry that we’re now two middle-aged men who are dying and emotionally almost bankrupt?”
James sighed, “I don’t know. I came because it seemed like the right thing to do. I came to see if you needed money. I came to ask you to come back to Santa Barbara and save your sisters and your elderly aunt the struggle to get up here and look after you.”
Geoff was silent for a long while, his sunken blue eyes regarding his brother without blinking. “So … you came to ask me to come back to Santa Barbara for the convenience of the family.”
“Partly. They love you, and they always have. They love you much more than they ever did yours truly. Maybe that’s all right. Maybe that’s as it should be.”
James stood up. “Oh hell, Geoff, what can I say? You were my magnificent big brother. I was so proud of you … I wanted to be you. So charming, so popular! Then you told us, you told everybody about yourself. You were queer—er, gay. Do you know what that did to Dad? To me? The shame …”
“Okay, poor you and poor Dad. Big handsome Geoff let everybody down because he was gay. Well, I didn’t choose it, James. It is what I was … what I am. Sorry, little brother!”
Both men were silent for a time, remembering the bitter shouting matches of all those years before. Anne Cobham had died months before—and Robert Cobham, a man of conservative and rigid principles, was crushed when he realized that his own eldest son, the handsome and promising Geoffrey, was a homosexual.
“We were wrong,” said James. “We didn’t understand.”
“You still don’t.”
“Probably. Yes, quite probably I still don’t understand.”
“You and millions of others. If AIDS had been striking rich white males, we would have had a cure by now. We would have prevented the spread through blood and stupid behavior. We would have educated people. But no … let’s just let all of those faggots die, and God knows that they deserve it—” Geoff stopped his tirade, suddenly out of breath. His face changed from flushed to gray.
James rose quickly and went to stand over his brother. “Can I get you anything? Water? Pills? Something?” he asked in quick succession.
Geoff wheezed and struggled for breath, but gradually recovered his color. He pulled an inhaler from his pocket and took several puffs through his mouth. “Can you get me anything? What is the medication for bitterness?”
James wiped a light layer of sweat from his own forehead. “No, I suppose that there isn’t a medication for that.”
Both men were silent for a long time. Finally, James picked up his jacket. “I’ll be going now. You sure that you don’t need anything?”
Geoff stared at his brother for a long time, and then he turned to look out at the darkening evening. “No. Nothing at all.”