An Idol for Others (60 page)

“I think you just want an excuse to wear that scarf. It’s very becoming, darling.” Tom had a doctor friend and called him and managed to fit an appointment into their busy day. The appointment was for right after lunch, and he and Tom had had a bottle of wine, so he cheerfully obliged when the doctor, a youngish earnest man, told him to take off his shirt. He paid little attention while the doctor fiddled with equipment and palpated his neck and shoulders and listened to his heart and did something painful to his sore with some sort of instrument. It seemed an overly conscientious approach to a shaving cut, but Walter had never been seriously sick and rarely went to doctors, so he accepted it as part of the usual routine.

“Can’t you just give me something to dry it up?” he asked finally.

“I should think so. However, we might as well be thorough since you’re here. When you come tomorrow, I’ll recommend something.”

“Tomorrow? I can’t possibly come tomorrow. I’m about to start rehearsing a show. I’m swamped.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve read about it. Tom’s a remarkable writer. You’re starting soon, are you? Splendid. Well, I guess you can manage to get away for half an hour.”

“It’s not convenient. If I call you, couldn’t you tell me what I should do for it? Naturally, I’d consider it a regular consultation.”

“That’s not the problem.” The doctor was putting a bandage on his neck. “I think I’ll have to insist on seeing you. There’s some infection there. I’m going to have a few tests run. You come in tomorrow, and we’ll get you fixed up.”

“What time?”

“Well, let’s see. We better make it 11:30.”

“That couldn’t be worse. Can’t it be earlier, before the day starts rolling?”

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t depend on me. I’m afraid I can’t count on the results any earlier. No, you be here at 11:30, and I’ll let you go just as fast as I can.”

“What’re the tests
for
?”

“Who knows? We’ll have to wait and see what the detectives at the lab find out. You may have anemia, for all I know.”

“What’s anemia got to do with a cut neck?”

The doctor laughed briefly. “Absolutely nothing. I was just mentioning one of any number of possibilities. You’re a remarkable physical specimen. I’m sure we’ll pull you through, whatever it is.”

Walter recognized the medical witticism and laughed on cue and left. Tom waited outside in his car.

“That seemed to take forever,” Walter said as he climbed in beside him. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“Newton’s not a laugh a minute, but he’s good. Did he give you something?”

“He’s going to. He says it’s infected. He’s doing some tests, and tomorrow he’ll prescribe something. He wants me back at 11:30.”

“Oh, well. We have to take care of Mole. We’ve got to get a move on.” They went through their crowded schedule and stayed in the city for dinner. Before they were finished, their eyes were lingering urgently on each other, making food a distraction. As soon as they were home, they made a hilarious rush for bed.

“How had we better handle this?” Walter wondered out loud while they were driving into the city in the morning. “Maybe I should’ve brought my car. No. We’ll go about our business, and when the time comes I’ll grab a cab. Your doctor friend said something about half an hour. I’ll catch up to you about noon. That’s when we’re due at Harold’s. It’ll be the first time we’ve been apart for half an hour for weeks. Do you think we’ll manage?”

“No. Can’t I come with you?”

“I’d like you to, but we’d better act like tough businessmen. We’ve got to get all these odds and ends settled before rehearsals start. We won’t be able to leave each other’s side for a minute then.”

“That’s the way I’ll write lots of plays, and we’ll stay in rehearsal forever.” He dropped a hand from the wheel and held Walter’s. “It’s fun being Siamese twins, darling.”

“Bliss, Tommy.”

The young doctor seemed a trifle absentminded when Walter showed up for his appointment. He expected him to remove the bandage and look at the sore, but he waved him to a chair and sat behind his desk. He drummed his fingers on its surface for a moment and then swiveled around and checked a desk calendar scrawled with notes.

“We’ve got a problem here,” he said without looking at Walter. “Frankly, I was almost sure of it yesterday. There’s no point beating about the bush. We’ve got a big problem.”

Walter felt his feet go cold. Pins and needles started to climb his legs. “You mean, there’s something wrong with me?” he asked lightly.

“I’m afraid there is,” the doctor said. “I’m not very good at this. Let’s start by telling you what it’s called. People like to put names on things. What you have there is called a malignant melanoma. Does that mean anything to you?”

A barrier went up in Walter’s mind. It couldn’t happen to him. He obviously hadn’t understood what the doctor was saying. He smiled slightly. “One word sounds familiar. You aren’t by any chance trying to tell me that I have cancer, are you?”

The doctor swung around to face him. “I’m always pleased when the patient can say the word. These days there’s no need to cloak it in mystery.”

There was a beat of silence while Walter grasped the fact that the denial he had been expecting was not to be forthcoming. Visions of Tom filled his mind. The floor tilted. His hand shot out to steady himself on the edge of the desk. His mind blacked out for an instant. He found himself sitting back in the chair, looking at nothing. The barrier was still fairly intact. This was happening to somebody else. He was responsible for the victim. He had to make him function.

“Now what?” he asked in his own voice, competent and decisive.

“Time is of the essence. I’ve arranged for you to go into the hospital this afternoon. I’m turning you over to specialists. We have some very fine men out here. I think you’ll find San Francisco is right up in front in every field. They’re taking a special interest in your case, naturally. You’re very much in the public eye, what you might call a celebrity.”

“You mean, my obituary will get a big play in the papers?”

The doctor smiled thinly. “That’s the spirit, but we mustn’t get morbid about this. There’s every reason to hope that an operation will fix you up. You’ll have it this evening or early tomorrow morning. The sooner the better.”

His heart stopped. His blood was ice in his veins. Tommy hovered over him, holding his hand, pleading with his eyes. Walter passed a hand over his forehead. Now was the time to come to the aid of the victim. He had to function for him. “What kind of operation?” he asked coolly.

“I’m in no particular position to go into details. I don’t know how far it’s spread. The usual procedure is to cut into the area and remove all the diseased cells.” He moved his hand from his neck to the end of his shoulder. “If they’re able to get all of it, you’re sitting pretty.”

Sitting pretty
, a voice screamed within him. I’m dying. I’m being taken away from Tommy. Sitting pretty. But that was the victim misbehaving, understandably upset. Walter struggled with him and overcame him. “I’m sorry we don’t know each other better, doctor. I don’t know how far I can trust you, and I suppose you have professional ethics to consider–the psychological effect on the vic … on the patient, and all that sort of thing. Can you believe that I’m much less concerned for myself than I am for others who are going to be profoundly affected by this? I have to make decisions that may literally destroy at least one other person. You can help me avoid that. Can I trust you to answer my questions truthfully?” He studied the doctor intently so that no flicker of his expression would escape him.

The doctor met his eyes directly. “You seem to me a man who can take the truth. I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you. OK. How good are the chances that the operation will be successful?”

“Excellent. With the reservation that we’re dealing with something that we don’t know a great deal about.”

“Fine. Is it possible to know, when it’s over, whether it has been successful?”

“It’s possible to make a good guess on a short-term basis. We don’t speak of cures in these cases.
Remission
is the word. We’ll know pretty well if all the diseased cells have been removed. That would be considered a success. If there’s no recurrence of the cancer for five years, we could hope that the remission would be of a more or less permanent nature.”

“Five years?”

“The specialists can give you the statistics. I’m speaking generally.”

“And if it’s not a success, is it over with quickly?”

“In a matter of months–one, three–maybe as much as a year, there would be symptoms of recurrence. In your case the spread would probably be to the eyes or the chest, but there’re other possibilities. It could take several years.”

“My eyes? You mean I could lose my sight?”

“You must understand, very radical surgery is involved. A man can’t let himself die. It’s too painful. Everything must be done to save his life, or we go into the very tricky area of murder. I don’t presume to give you advice, but I can tell you what every medical man would say–in your case, the only certainty is that there are no certainties. Now I think we should make the final arrangements for your entering the hospital. I can’t emphasize enough the importance of time.”

“Just a minute, doctor. This may sound mad, but what if I don’t do anything at all? What if I just ignore it?”

The doctor shrugged. “In a matter of days you’d be in such pain that you wouldn’t be able to go on. You’d be dead before you could get your show on.”

Talking about it quietly made it seem more ordinary to Walter and also less real. He was definitely discussing the victim’s case, not his. His mind had even been able to leap forward and consider some practical problems. “What time is it?” he asked.

The doctor looked at his watch. “Ten to 12.”

“Will you make a call for me? I’m not sure I can speak to anybody at the moment.” He drew out a notebook and gave the doctor the number. “Tom should still be at the lawyers’. Don’t ask for him. I don’t want him to know the message comes from you. Just tell them I’ve been held up and I’ll meet Tom at our office at 2.”

The doctor made the call, and Walter could tell from his end of the conversation that Tom was there. The doctor hung up and looked at the instrument for a moment. “I don’t generally ask personal questions, but I think we’ll agree that this is serious enough for me to waive conventions. Are you and Tom in love with each other?”

“Yes.” Years of shame were dispelled with a proud monosyllable.

“And you don’t want him to know?”

“He mustn’t.” His breath caught. His chest heaved. Tears rushed to his eyes. In an instant he and the victim were one. He bowed his head and kneaded his forehead and tried to force his breathing back to normal through the heaving of his chest. He couldn’t break down now. He had too much to do. The doctor stood in front of him and put a glass on the edge of the desk near him. Walter was able to lift it to his lips and smelled whisky and drained half of it. He sat back with a shudder.

“Sorry,” he said.

The doctor returned to his chair. “I don’t know your motives, but I always respect my patients’ wishes in these cases. What you’re suggesting is impossible, Walter. I’m willing to lie, but you’re going to be in a hospital, where everybody will know. You’re going to have a very serious operation. You may lose an arm. I don’t think that’s likely, but it’s a possibility. Tom will have to know. I want you to be prepared because you won’t be in any state for emotional strain for some time.”

“Then I better get the hell out of town.” As soon as he said it, he knew what he had to do. He didn’t know how he could do it, but he had to.

“What do you have in mind?” the doctor asked.

“I’ll think of an excuse and go to New York. Can I trust you not to tell him? He may put two and two together and try to get it out of you.”

“Doctors have plenty of experience of talking without saying anything. You can trust me. You’ll be losing valuable hours. Professionally speaking, I strongly advise against it.”

“Advice noted.”

“But you’re going anyway. You have people there who’ll arrange for your arrival? I’m sure they’ll put you into the hands of the best men. I suggest you have them call me. I can give them a reading of our findings. It might save a little time. Are you all right now? Finish that whisky. I want you to get moving. You should be on a plane in no more than a couple of hours.”

“That may be pushing it a bit, but I should be there–let’s see. Yes, I should be able to get there about midnight their time.”

“They’ll undoubtedly want you to go straight to a hospital.” The doctor handed Walter his card. “I’ll be expecting a call. I’ll cancel my arrangements here.” He rose and came out from behind the desk. Walter pulled himself up–a bit shaky, but he could manage. The doctor shook his hand. “Good luck. There’s every reason to hope that you have many good years ahead of you.”

Walter moved automatically. He walked down a street and found a cab and asked to be taken to the St. Francis. He hadn’t got the hotels here straight. It was the first name that occurred to him. He had to be somewhere he could think and be alone and make phone calls. Take things one at a time.

Tom. He couldn’t see Tom. The thought of it made his chest begin to heave.
You’re not going to see him
, he told himself hastily. He couldn’t look at him without breaking down. Could he leave word that he’d been suddenly called back to New York and would let him know later when he would be back? Keep him dangling, waiting, hoping, wondering, his life at a standstill? Better for Tom’s sake to make the break clean and final. He wasn’t going to let him watch him die. That was the one thing he had known from the moment the fatal word had been spoken. They had been together barely four months. Months or years of agonized suspense was too great a price to pay for such brief happiness. His body repelled him; it was rotten with mortality. He couldn’t demand Tom’s devotion while it was being hacked and maimed. At best they would always be shadowed by the knowledge that their time might be cut off at any moment.

Tom’s deep caressing voice spoke to him:
You can’t leave me. We’re the same person. I have the right to share this with you
.