When the Right One Comes Along

Chapter 2: Night Sweats

Chapter 2: Night Sweats

The afternoon fog rolled in, fast and dense. Philip looked out the large window above his desk and barely made out the outline of the library and campus buildings adjacent to the individualized learning center where his office was located. In a moment of fancy he imagined himself a captain, standing on the prow of his ship cutting through the waves, the shore obliterated by a heavy veil of mist. Or maybe a lighthouse keeper, winding his way up a narrow staircase to check on the mirrors in the lantern room. He saw himself older in middle age, or perhaps slightly beyond, sitting before a fire, an open book in his lap, a Great Dane resting at his feet while a Rachmaninoff concerto played in the background. Could he live any of these quiet and solitary existences? He thought not. Life was too precious a gift not to share it with someone.

It was late in the day, the beginning of another weekend, and he’d just finished up his last student appointment for the day when his phone rang.

“Is this Mr. Rochester?” Jonathan couldn’t hide his amusement and said this in a half-laughing, half-joking manner.

“It is,” Philip said. “What’s up?”

“Do you have any plans for tonight? I was thinking—“

“I hadn’t any to speak of.”

“Jesus, Philip, cut out the high brow. Just say, ‘I don’t have any plans.’”

“Uh—huh. I don’t.”

“Good. Can you handle Mexican for dinner?”

“You mean that little place on Grenada next to the adult book store?”

“Is that where that store is?”

Philip ignored him, knowing Jonathan spent many an afternoon cruising the individual booths. “I’m just about done here. Meet you at six.”

* * * *

“You barely ate anything,” Philip said.

“I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.” Jonathan pushed the Spanish rice around with his fork. He’d managed a tortilla, and most of the beans but left the rice and half of the chile relleno on his plate. By contrast, Philip was looking over the dessert menu with anticipation. “I’m worried about you.”

“Why? Just a little touch of the flu, remember?”

“Yes,” Philip said. “That was over a week ago. Did you see a doctor?”

“What for? They’ll just overcharge for the visit and give me some pills. This will work itself out of my system and I’ll be fine. I need to give it time.” Jonathan drank some ice water. “I could use another glass.”

Philip signaled for the waiter and watched while he refilled Jonathan’s tumbler, then brought back the bill.

“Let me feel your head.” Philip put out his hand.

“No way.”

“You must have a fever,” Philip said.

“Stop mothering me. I don’t need it.” Jonathan pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and laid it on the table. “That should take care of mine.”

“I was going to treat,” Philip said.

“Why? Because you want to get into my pants or because you just feel sorry for me?”

“Neither. Because we’re becoming friends. Good friends, I hope.”

Jonathan fiddled with the money on the table. “I can make Hamilton disappear. Did I ever show you that trick?” He started to fold the bill in half.

“Stop. I’ve seen it.” Then, “Why won’t you let me pay? I have a good job.”

“And so do I,” Jonathan said. “I’m very secure financially.”

Philip didn’t think working as a clerk in an obscure little health store that sold wheat germ and sprouts was secure. He thought everyone, given the opportunity, should be a college graduate and not settle in life when it came to employment unless it offered retirement benefits and a solid future. But he let it pass. He sat back in his chair with a hurt expression on his face.

Jonathan reached over and grabbed his hand. “I don’t mean to be nasty. I like you, Phil. I really do but I hate it when people get too concerned, too possessive about me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“You’re getting there.”

“Okay. Have it your way.” Philip reached into his pocket and matched the money on the table. “We’re done here.”

They were walking to their cars when Jonathan put his arm around Philip’s shoulder. “Let’s don’t be angry over a silly thing like this.”

“Caring for a friend’s health and well-being is a silly thing?”

Jonathan gave his shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Take care,” then he headed for the bookstore and left his friend standing in the parking lot, thinking maybe the solitary life wasn’t so bad after all.

* * * *

Philip met Jonathan again on Saturday night. This time for a seven P.M. showing of the new Whoopi Goldberg. They shared a large box of popcorn and were midway into The Color Purple, when Jonathan whispered he was leaving.

“What do you mean? Philip said.

“Leave, depart, go. I’ve had enough. What else can these poor women endure?” Jonathan left his seat and Philip followed him out into the lobby.

“Come on, Jon, it’s a good film. Going to win lots of awards. Let’s finish it.” Philip had read the book and had assigned it to his students as an essay topic. He was looking forward to the end of Celie’s suffering when she was joyfully reunited with her sister.

Philip followed Jonathan outside. He was putting on his jacket when Philip saw the large wet stain across his back. “What’s that?”

“It was hot in there,” Jonathan said. “The night air feels good.”

“It’s September. And it’s damn cold. What’s going on with you?”

“The flu. Fevers and chills,” Jonathan said. “I should have stayed home.”

“Promise you’ll see a doctor if this persists.”

“I’m not promising anything. I’ll be fine. Just push the fluids and stay in. Don’t worry, Phil. My God, you just don’t give up.”

“Okay, but I’m checking on you tomorrow.” Philip turned in the direction where he’d parked the car. “Go home now and take good care of yourself,” he said, without looking back. Then under his breath, “You’re important to me, damn it!” Was he coming on strong, too possessive and overly concerned as Jonathan had said earlier? Had Philip crossed a line with his friend? He hadn’t known Jonathan long, months actually, not quite a year. Philip understood Jonathan prided himself on his independence, much more so than himself. Philip wasn’t a loner. He wanted someone to complete him, someone who was concerned and, yes, just a little possessive. As he started for home, he promised he’d stop attributing to others his own wants and needs. He wasn’t willing to lose his only friend.

* * * *

Later, Philip curled up in his favorite chair and watched the 11 o’clock news from San Francisco. The usual misery of the human race paraded before him: the daily quota of crime along with an update on the recent discovery of the wreck of the Titanic in the Atlantic. Then a short clip of President Reagan briefly speaking about the vicious disease, AIDS, that was infecting and killing thousands in the large cities, many of whom were young gay men like himself.

Philip wondered if this was a first. Reagan and AIDS. He was sure the president hadn’t mentioned AIDS in the past, and he’d never heard him do so in a public address on TV. He switched off the set, then went into the kitchen and emptied his unfinished glass of wine into the sink. Philip had never known anyone personally who was infected with AIDS. He couldn’t remember seeing major reports or warnings either in the local paper, no stats of incidence or deaths in his small community, other than bulletins issued from public health about the need to use condoms and have safe s*x. AIDS seemed like an abstraction to him. Was he that insolated from the gay community and what was happening in the world? Philip went to bed with an uneasy feeling, but the week’s work had taken its toll and within minutes, he was asleep.