Look Away Silence (32 page)

“Leftovers,” he announced.

Everyone laughed. Hank leaned in as if to tell a
secret.

“I never serve it until it’s leftovers,” he said. “I
use a special blend of cheese — ricotta, two eggs and mozzarella
with salt and pepper to taste. In fact,
black
pepper is a
part of the secret.” He winked, punctuated by an ivory grin. “Then
after it’s baked, I let it cool and then reheat it. Leftovers.
Something happens with the gluten when it’s baked twice. That’s the
big secret.”

“Mmmm, mmmm,” Matt said. “Slice me a piece of that
Italian casserole.”

Hank bowed. “I’s do so in a leetle bit, but the
magic she still works now and I’s never meddle with de magic.”

“Stop that,” Matt said. “I’ll have some pie in the
meanwhile.”

“I made a Strata Salad,” Ginger announced.

Leslie frowned.

“She was going to make some Greek puff pastry
dish.”

“Spanakopita.”

“Spam, what?” Matt asked. “Sounds good.”

“Greek Spinach pastries.”

“Zounds healthy,” Rudi said.

“Both going in and coming out,” Leslie said,
receiving a Lesbian pinch. “Ouch, that hurts.”

“No S & M at this party,” Matt quipped.

He was full of the old Harry today, which delighted
me.

“The Strata is safer,” Leslie said. “Nothing cooked.
It’s assembled.”

“Sounds yummy,” Mary said.

“Beans,” Jasper said, hold up a crock. “Old family
recipe.”

“Does it need to cook?” I asked. “Because Hank’s
leftovers are still in the oven.”

“They be good leftovers, they be.”

I arched my brow. I didn’t think I could take a full
day of his Jamaican clown act. He took the hint.

“Hot or cold,” Jasper said. “Bean magic works
always.”

“I bet,” Matt said.

“Ginger,” Leslie commanded. “No beans for you.”

“Drinks! Eats! Help yourselves,” I proclaimed.

The party began. Chatter and errant conversation,
all trying to engage Matt. That was the point of this shindig
anyway, and it was working. He responded well to it, but I remember
at one point standing over Hank’s secret deep-dish lasagna watching
Matt chatter with Mary and the other gals. I shuddered. From this
distance, he reminded me of an old frowsy uncle, draped in shawls
and a cowboy hat, half his former size and a quarter of his former
vigor. He was melting into the couch like ice cream in the sun. I
stifled a tear, not to poop the party. Instead, I put on some Bette
Midler.

“Das ist der Divine Miss M,” Rudi said. “I loved
Bitches
.”

We all knew what he meant, but refused to correct
him. Even our resident lawyer let it go.

“The critics hated it,” Ginger said. “So why does
everyone I meet say they loved it? I don’t understand this at
all.”

“It’s jealousy, you know,” Leslie said.

“I couldn’t watch it,” Mary added. “I found it so
sad.” She shivered. “Why do we need to talk about that picture
anyway?”

“Why not?” Leslie said.

“Why, indeed,” I said.

If I had known that the act of playing the Divine
Miss M would lead to a discussion of a three-hanky film, I would
have put on Michael Jackson.

“No, go on,” Matt said. “I saw
Beaches
. It
was great. Loved the Titslinger scene. That kid who played Bette,
the younger, she caught every nuance of the older Miss M. She
almost stole the show.”

“No. She didn’t,” Ginger said. “No one could have
stolen the show away from Bette.”

“Not even droopy Barbara Hershey,” Leslie said,
“with the disease of the month.”

“That’s a good one,” Matt said. “The disease of the
month.”

“Pleaze,” Rudi added. “Can’t we change zie
zubjekt?”

Jasper cocked his head.

“We can,” he said. “I mean, it’s depressing and we
are trying to be . . .”

I gave Jasper a stare, and then glanced at Rudi. Odd
moment that.

“Vhy don’t ve talk about a comedy movie,” Rudi
suggested. “Maybe, like zie Boyz in zer Band or zumding like
dat.”

“Well there’s an upbeat movie for you,” I said. This
conversation was rasping now. “Why not
Torch Song Trilogy
or
As Is
, while we’re at it?”

Silence. There was no conversation now. Everyone
stared at me, and then at Matt, who shrugged.

“Get some food, all of you,” Matt said. “And
Pumpkin, I think I could manage a little of Jasper’s old fashion,
family recipe baked beans.”

“Just what you need with the AZT — little exploding
pop-tarts covered in molasses and bacon. Stick to Ginger’s
salad.”

I dished him a nice plateful of the Strata Salad and
the conversation restarted — no more weepy movie talk. Just back to
a fritter of chitchat mixed with light politics and religion —
safer subjects.

“Are these whole peas?” Matt asked, searching
through the Strata.

“Yep. And Muenster cheese,” Ginger said, some pride
in her voice as if she had personally knew the cow that gave up the
curd.

“A regular Martha Stewart,” Leslie said.

“Martha who?” Martin asked.

“You haven’t seen her?”

“Is that the woman that goes into her garden to pick
the lettuce and makes her own pots and pans before you can cook?”
Mary asked.

“What a hoot,” Matt said. “I’m afraid we don’t watch
too much TV.”

“She’s a fad,” Leslie said. “Won’t last the
season!”

“Anyway, if you guys want the recipe,” Ginger said.
“I’ll print it out.”

“Pumpkin,” Matt said.

“How about some pie,” I suggested. “You can only
have so much of the salad.” I turned to Ginger. “Digesting greens
can be tough now.”

The things you learn when you need to learn them. I
hadn’t known a green bean from a parsnip until I needed to navigate
them through Matt’s plumbing.

“Sorry to hear that,” Ginger said. “If I had known .
. .”

“No,” Matt said. “I don’t ask to be babied. My
Pumpkin does enough babying for ten and sometimes spanks me when no
one’s around.”

“I do not.”

“And I love it,” he smirked, but then frowned. “But
I need to say something to you all. Gather ‘round.”

This didn’t bode well and was impromptu. However, if
Matt was going to poop his own party that was his affair. I had a
nice ice cream cake in the freezer, which couldn’t be returned.
However, if he wanted to have it crown a pity party, that was his
business.

“You are my closest friends,” he said, scanning the
company, unwittingly setting his glance on Rudi, who must have felt
excluded from the remark. But no matter.

“Here we go, folks,” I said. “He’s going to poop his
own party”

“Hush, Martin,” Leslie said.

“Do you have something to say, Newt?”

“Let’s hear it,” Ginger said. “I don’t like long
speeches. Someone turn Bette off. Rudi?”

Rudi eased over to the stereo, and then clicked the
power switch. Matt sighed. He took his hat off. That had a chilling
effect. He wore the hat to keep some sense of identity — a man in a
cowboy hat equaling Matt Kieler. However with it off, with his
scraggly hair, once thickly raven and curled, now thin and wispy,
his only claim to Matthood were those eyes, and it was those eyes
that formed his comments now.

“This plague hasn’t put me down yet,” he said. Mary
stirred, holding his wrist. “It may just do that. It’s trying real
hard, but my little army and me are fighting hard. But now I’ve
developed something that’s going to make it tougher.
Retinitis.”

“Shit,” Ginger said.

“What’s that?” Mary asked.

“Sight degeneration,” Leslie answered.

“You’re . . .”

“Going blind, sister dear. Not yet, but there’s
nothing that can stop it. It’s bad enough that the meds keep me
puking and shitting. Now I won’t even be able to see my way to the
bathroom. Glamorous, eh?”

“Well, Matt,” I said. “I think we should go back to
discussing weepy movies. You’ve managed to poop this party.”

“Not really, Pumpkin. When am I ever going to have
such a gathering again?”

Chill. The thought was in the air — on everyone’s
mind. I could see it on their faces.

“But speaking about poop . . .”

I had been stirring some resuscitating mayonnaise
into the potato salad, when he made this second announcement. Matt
pushed up and made it to his feet. Hank helped him keep his
balance, and then guided him to the bathroom door. The party was
near an end now. I glanced toward my cowboy.

“Do you need my help?”

“I’ll call you if I shit on the wall,” he said,
disappearing into the bathroom. Hank turned, and then shrugged. I
wended my way to the sofa literally plopping down between Mary and
Ginger. They both bobbed in my wake. I continued to stir the potato
salad, and then began unconsciously to eat it with the serving
spoon.

“Maybe we ought to leave,” Ginger said, signaling to
the others.

“Leave?” I said. “No, it’s a party. It’s our last
party. He wanted to see you all together before he couldn’t see you
at all. Leave? No. Never leave.”

I glanced from face to face, and then scolded them
with the spoon.

“No one is leaving,” I said. There was meanness in
my voice. I knew it. They didn’t deserve this tone, but no one does
who hears the soul barking. “You know, I considered leaving. Yes, I
was going to leave. Do you think I’m made of steel? Metal
underwear? I’m young and vibrant. And Matt got this thing from
Luis. He never even told me about it.”

Ginger clutched my wrist — a tight clutch that made
me wince. Was she trying to see if I was an iron maiden,
perhaps?

“What makes you all think that I’m not human? I feel
betrayed. Stunned. But how could I leave him? He’s my cowboy — my
blue-eyed flower. And now his eyes . . . well, he needs me more
than ever. He’ll say he doesn’t, but he does. He needs me to feed
him and wipe up after him, to hold his hand when he sits by the
window and cries his heart out. He won’t cry for anyone else. Just
for me. And he needs to cry. Who else would remember his med
schedule? Hank is invaluable, but in the end, it’s me he needs.
He’d never take the crap if it weren’t for me. And who drives him
to the park, so he doesn’t grow old and moldy in here?”

Mary hugged me. I just protected the potato salad. I
stared out at some blank place on the opposite wall.

“In the dark recesses of the sleepless night, I
massage his feet to ease the pain so he can get some sleep. They
are gorgeous feet; and I lock my fingers between his toes and rub
them like a child’s. You know, if I didn’t do that, he’d never
sleep. He needs me, he does. And I can only hold on, because I need
him too.” I pushed Mary away and shook off Ginger’s hold. I waved
the spoon about, tears flowing freely.

“I also need you. All of you. Leave? Thinking of
leaving? If you leave me, you leave us.”

I dropped the spoon and set the salad aside. The
party was over, but the guests gathered around me.

Matt returned on Hank’s arm. Hank gazed at me with a
blend of respect and dismay. I needed to get a grip. I didn’t want
any of this to turn to pity and especially pity from my cowboy.

“How did you do?” I asked. “You okay?”

I stood, relinquishing the place of honor. I
resettled the hat on his head and the blanket about his lap.

“Yep,” Matt said. “But . . . I’m real tired
now.”

Weren’t we all?

“Martin, maybe we should . . .” Ginger suggested
avoiding the
L
word.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” I said. “Matt, you
should lie down.”

“Yes, Pumpkin. You’re right. But I’d like to look at
y’all once more, while I can.”

Matt turned to Ginger; and before she could object,
he placed his hands on her face.

“Ginger snap!” he said. “Such a broad face. You know
I can’t go to the B&B next summer. Even if I were still here,
all your cats would give me the shits and kill me. Think of that.
Killed by pussies. There, there. Lesbians don’t cry.”

“Shit they don’t,” Ginger stammered.

“And you, Les, the Lez,” he said. Leslie stooped
letting Matt feel her face. “You know, if they ever write a book
about those who love, you’d be the center spread picture. The world
could learn a lot about the meaning of the word from you. Let me
feel your face. Ah! Ah! I feel it. I feel the warmth of the New
Birch sun. I feel in your eyes the gentle breeze from the river at
dawn. And I love you, which is something I’ve never said to a woman
before.”

“When it comes to love, Matt,” she whimpered,
“You’re no slouch yourself.”

He turned to Mary, who was already a weepy mess.

“Well, when I say I’ve never said
I love you
to another woman, I guess I lied, sis. Sweet baby sister. Don’t you
cry. I’ll be here for a long time yet. It’s my eyes that are dying.
I’ll be in the darkness. That’s why I want to fill my mind with the
sunlight of your smile. When I touch your face, I touch my
own.”

He hugged her and she was overwhelmed.

“Hank. Where be you?”

“I’s here, if you think you needs to be touchin’
this here face.”

Matt reached up and rubbed his fingers on Hank’s
ebony luster.

“You’re my buddy,” Matt said. “You bring joy to my
waking hours and support to my Pumpkin, which is like touching me
twice. Your heart is a good one. A strong one.”

“Not so strong,” Hank said.

“And my fingers are wet now with your tears. But
they are like balm to me. Balm and healing strength. Come. Give us
a kiss.”

They embraced. Then, Matt signaled for Jasper, who
silently lent Matt his face.

“What strong features.”

“Goofy, you mean,” Jasper said. “Big nose, odd chin,
bug eyes and popped ears.”

“No, sir. These are the features of classic beauty,
because your heart comes through and there’s just not enough room
for the concern you’ve shown, so it’s got to pop out
somewhere.”