The World of the End (27 page)

“So you’re not together?”

“Not at all,” Marian said victoriously. “I cut all ties with that idiot. Spent too much time with him as it is. Invested too much energy in pathetic attempts to convince myself that the two of us were destined to be together. You meet tens, maybe hundreds of men in your life, and you think that based on the bad experiences you’ve amassed over the years you’ll know how to recognize something good when it comes along. At least that’s what I thought when I was with him. I didn’t give marriage a second thought, didn’t even think in those terms, but when he asked me to marry him, I had this feeling that we’d be immune to what the stats had to say about the institution of marriage. I was sure we were different, special, two intelligent self-aware people who knew exactly what they were getting themselves into. Turns out self awareness and love have little in common. We started out over the moon and ended up ass over teakettle.”

Her voice became sweet and childish, her face placid. “With Ormus it will be a totally different story. He won’t break my heart. He’ll know when to end it, if God forbid…”

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

“On the contrary, Ann. The mere recognition that every story has a beginning, middle, and end has a calming effect on me. I think that’s the lesson I learned during my years with the bastard. Instead of stretching things well beyond their natural lifespan, a common couples’ mistake, I now know when to put a full stop at the end of a relationship. But enough about me,” Marian said, pointing at Ann. “I’ve been gushing for hours, but what about you? Do you have someone in your life?”

Ann shook her head quickly, trying to bat the idea away before it stuck.

“And the actor’s brother…?”

“We’re friends.”

“Just friends?”

“Hmm…”

Marian, sensing Ann’s unease, decided to ease off the subject. Much to Ann’s surprise, Marian smiled and pounded the table once for effect. “Okay, the blab session’s over. I have a little something for you.”

Ann’s eyes widened at the sight of the small square box wrapped in shiny purple paper.

“Well, are you going to open it?” Marian asked.

“You shouldn’t have…,” Ann murmured, her cheeks flushed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Marian said, waving away her awkwardness, “it’s the least I could do. I really hope you like it. You can always exchange it if you don’t. There’s a receipt in the box.”

Ann tore the paper daintily, trying to hide her excitement. She hadn’t received a present from anyone since the old lady had bequeathed her the house. Ann peered at the black velvet box, immobile, and would have continued to stare had Marian not urged her along. Hesitantly, she pried open the box and emitted a partially muffled shriek.

“Take it out,” Marian whispered.

Ann picked up the thin gold chain with the diamond-shaped ruby, holding it loosely, between thumb and forefinger, as though it belonged to someone else.

“You hate it,” Marian said.

Ann didn’t say a thing, still examining the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen, trying to cast aside the inexplicable feelings of guilt the present had aroused.

“Well, say something. If you don’t like it, you can always exchange it. The store is on…”

“I’m sorry,” Ann said, swirling the chain back into the box and pushing it toward Marian, “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

Marian gave her a baiting smile. “My life isn’t worth the price of a small necklace?” Ann was tempted to say that
her
life wasn’t worth the price of the necklace, but instead explained that she didn’t accept gifts, particularly not ones of value.

“Well, this time make an exception. You earned this,” Marian said, her voice rising.

“I’m sorry,” Ann said, “I can’t.”

“You aren’t being offered a choice,” Marian said, giggling over her consternation and pushing the gift back in Ann’s direction.

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Ann said, making a show of pushing the box back across the table.

“Ann, you’re starting to act really weird,” Marian said. “It’s not some fourteen-carat rock. It’s a simple token of my appreciation. It will never change the fact that I will always feel indebted to you.”

“You don’t owe me a thing!” Ann said, pounding the table, rattling the glassware and drawing the attention of the other diners.

Marian, looking hurt, rose to her feet, fished through her wallet, pulled out three one-hundred-shekel bills, smacked them down on the table, and signaled for the waiter.

“What are you doing?” Ann asked.

“None of your business!” Marian said, shouldering her pocketbook. She took the jewelry box, lodged it in the nurse’s lap, and made for the exit.

It took Ann a long moment to react. By the time she caught up to the reporter, she was on the sidewalk, hailing an approaching taxi. Ann reached her, panting and upset, and tried to shove the little black box back into Marian’s bag.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Marian shouted, snatching back her bag. The violence of the movement ripped the thin shoulder strap and sent the contents of her pocketbook tumbling onto the sidewalk.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Marian muttered as she gathered her things, pushing away Ann’s hand as she made a last-gasp attempt to get rid of the gift. Hugging her bag to her chest, Marian got into the cab and slammed the door. Ann, not wanting to meet the reporter’s eyes, kept her gaze on the sidewalk, where she found a small makeup kit. As she picked it up, she noticed another item that had dropped from the bag. She picked up the facedown picture, looked at it indifferently, and felt shock descend on her like a drug. Still staring at the picture, she felt her legs fold under her and, seated on the sidewalk, she started to whimper.

A cop on foot patrol asked her if she was okay, finally snapping her out of her shock. She nodded, picked herself up off the curb, and started to stumble down the avenue, ignoring the wispy chain that slipped through her fingers and into the outstretched hand of a weary homeless person, who could not believe his luck when he awoke.

22

Gaymorrah

On the twelfth day of his death, Ben woke up from dreamless sleep to a morning comprised of equal parts fear and excitement. He was happy to meet up with the most flamboyant of the Mendelssohns, whom he missed sorely since the latter had succumbed to the terrible disease. Ben recalled Uncle David saying that he always knew the untamable workings of his sexual appetite would ruin him, but never, in his wildest dreams, did he imagine that a woman would snuff out the eternal flame of his erotic escapades.

Amidst a stormy sex life of daily conquests, David dared go without protection a single time, and that was because he didn’t think that the strange and foreign gender, which never aroused him before, could pose a danger. One night, during a wild vacation in Ibiza, inebriated and snubbed earlier by a Spanish hedonist, the man-slayer felt an unnatural excitement in his loins when the beautiful Finnish tourist laid a hand on him. The pill that she slipped under his tongue before dragging him off to her bed didn’t hurt either, and he, in a daze, went at it till his consciousness waned.

Two months after the last of his friends’ rolling laughter had died down, once they’d finished asking him to retell of the peculiar encounter at every get-together, David opened the paper and spotted a picture of the Finnish prostitute. The article detailed how the HIV-positive hooker went on a rampage, determined to punish the stronger sex collectively, instead of settling the score with the one who “gave” it to her. The headline, “Cold-blooded Killer,” took on a chilling new meaning, and David swore off the fruit of life for an entire month. The test results were unequivocal and brought with them the realization that the party was over, or at least restricted to a small segment of the population, since, despite his soaring libido, David had a black-and-white conscience and was unwilling to endanger the healthy. David kept up an active, albeit limited sex life and began to tell his confidantes that he thought perhaps it was high time to find his long-lost Jonathan. The search for a soul mate stood in direct contrast with one of the central pillars of his outlook on life: that men, of all stripes, sizes, and colors, were to be enjoyed equally. Consequently, seeking out a single lover drained him of his ardor for the sexual act. A few months before the disease surprisingly raided his body and developed into a life-claiming case of pneumonia, he told his nephew, Ben, that, merciless virus notwithstanding, it was clear to him that he was next in line. “The Mendelssohn curse, you know.” When he died, on a glorious fall day, his friends carried out his final wish and conducted a funeral procession that passed by the six sports apparel stores he owned. His close friend, Doron, spoke in a wavering voice and said that David’s last words before leaving this world were “Back to the closet.”

But Ben was well aware of the implications of going to seek out his wild uncle. David Mendelssohn was the last close family member on his list. Having grown familiar with failure, Ben knew the chance of finding any valuable clues about Marian’s whereabouts was negligible, especially as David lived in a county of men who preferred their own kind. His mother encouraged him not to lose hope, saying that if there was one place where a woman would certainly stick out, it was there.

Traveling to Gaymorrah was discomforting. The onslaught of offers he received from the fleet of hungry eyes made him squirm in his seat. It only got worse once he turned around and told one of his potential suitors that he was sorry but he went for women. Three dead ringers for Jimmy Somerville shattered the silence on the multi by bursting into a rousing rendition of “Woman In Love,” sweeping up the rest of the passengers, who rocked the vehicle with their ridicule-laced pathos.

Fortunately, the journey came to a close before they finished their torturous falsetto rendition of the tales of the romantic lady. Ben surveyed his surroundings in complete shock. The multi’s last stop was on the summit of a mountain, beneath which stretched a wide-shouldered, colorful valley brimming with activity. Ben gave silent thanks for the change in surroundings and fell in line with the rest of the people traipsing down the clover-colored hill. A few moments later, Ben’s enthusiasm for the view died down, and he opened his eyes wide at the sight of the simple pink closet, in the center of the vast lawn. Ben got up on his tiptoes to try and see why guys were waiting in line to go through a door guarded by two fiercely muscular men when it was clear that the pastoral valley continued on well beyond the threshold. Within an hour he reached the front of the line and the hulk on the right was addressing him. He spit out a confused “What?’ and listened to the bored voice say, “Welcome to Gaymorrah. It’s my pleasure to announce that you’re on the doorstep of the largest gay county in the Other World. Not far behind you, you’ll find the Sexually Baffled Arena, where you can hang out with groups of still-undecided guys and have a go at your first male-male sexual experience, in the event that you did not have a normal adolescence. If you want into the closet, let me have your left wrist please.”

Ben offered up his left hand and then looked closely at the navy blue
XY
that the guard had stamped on the inside of his arm. As the doors opened, the guard gave Ben a gentle tug and pulled him inside, into the immense darkness, not giving him a moment to get his bearings. Ben saw the doors close behind him, realized he was by himself in the closet, but couldn’t figure out where all those ahead of him in line had gone. Totally confounded, Ben felt a slight shudder in his leg and, as the floor dropped beneath him, he screamed, understanding, only midway through the freefall, that the closet was actually an elevator.

After a three-minute plunge through terra incognita, the lift came to a stop. Before Ben’s eyes had a chance to adjust to the dark, the ground beneath him opened again, only this time he felt a strange pushing motion, moving him, like a suitcase on a vigorous conveyor belt, into another, parallel elevator shaft. He sailed up through the dark, came to a stop, and walked out of another pink door. His exit was applauded by his fellow passengers, who were waiting for their procrastinating friends.

Ben overcame his initial embarrassment and stared half amused, half bewildered at the line of identical circles that continued on to the horizon of the populous city. He spent two long minutes blinking at the erect stone phallus at the center of the nearest circle as it sprayed a fine mist of water from its open end onto the nearby citizens, who were engaged in animated conversations at the foot of the long-nosed totem pole, their upper bodies sprinkled with aqua as they worshiped the sun, courtesy of their godgets. An older man walking in the opposite direction fixed Ben with an unequivocal stare and said, “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie.”

In response, Ben asked him if he could direct him someplace.

“Sure, where do you need to go?”

“To the
Gaily Male,
” he said.

“Oh, that’s simple,” the old man said, sucking his finger and pointing down the long avenue of phallic symbols that cut across the line of the imaginary horizon. “Keep going straight till you hit the third fountain. Make a left and you’ll see it.”

Ben made it to the right building in a matter of minutes. He passed on the elevators, preferring the enlivening jaunt up the stairs, at the end of which he found a wholly ordinary newsroom. Hardworking types typed away furiously on their obedient laptops, while some hollered into their telefingers, and others raced between the towering stacks of paper on the desks, yelling like brokers on the commodity market floor, flinging bits of information into the densely packed room, items ranging from blatant gossip about celebrity hookups and breakups to sorrow-filled announcements about those who died a second time over, by accident, suicide, or murder.

Ben tried to avoid any unwarranted attention, crossing the room quickly, seeking out the desk manned by his uncle. Finally, he caught sight of the tall man with the closely cropped black hair, the slanted green eyes, the long thin nose, and the square jaw beneath the thick lips that were the focus of plenty of jokes. Judging by the singsong in his voice and the pandering of his smile as he spoke on his telefinger, he was on his way to yet another conquest. Only once Ben stood right in front of him and smiled warmly, did David notice him.