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.""Don't tell me you're a fan of corporate America, the fat-cat titans of our exploitive free-enterprisesystem.""I'm telling you that wearing that shirt -- for the reasons you state -- is a dumbass thing to do.Pridelessand self-destructive."Carrie Plourde took her drink from Bo and said, "Listen, it's time to eat.The chili's ready.""Okay.Okay, then.I'll take the damn thing off." Carrie's house was cool, its furnace laboring to neutralize the omnipresent chill of the early March evening, but Bo stood up and in a single motion lifted thesailcloth jersey over his head.Then he flipped it to the hardwood floor and sat back down, hugging hisnaked chest and glowering at Libby.How's that grab you? he wondered, aware that he was nearly asgaunt as a malnutrition victim and that his liver-colored KS lesions stood out against his pale flesh like dirtclumps on a marble floor.Don't ever accuse me of self-hatred, or I may just organize a march ofAIDS-afflicted nudists to prove what a wrongheaded oversimplifier you are."Am I the only one in this house who's hungry?""I am," Libby replied, looking up at Carrie."You mean I haven't ruined your appetite? The sight of noxious sores and protruding ribs doesn't offendyour aesthetic sense?""It'd be thoughtful if you put something on, Bo.""Want to pick it out? If you're going to scrub my Sanforized clothes in Freud, why not just be mywardrobe mistress too?""Okay.I will."Carrie moved toward the dining room with her drink."I'm going to set the table and bring the Crockpotin from the kitchen.""I bought Bo a gift at that import place," Libby said, standing up, "but it's still in your car.Mind if I go getit?""Go ahead.It's unlocked." Libby looked down at Bo hugging his own naked torso."Stay like that, okay?I'll be right back."What the hell? Bo thought, beginning to shiver.On Ned's tape, Dooley Wilson -- the piano player Sam inthe film Casablanca -- was crooning "As Time Goes By".How long am I supposed to sit here? Howlong am I supposed to keep on breathing?How about it, God? Am I doomed -- as time goes by -- to finish out my life with an opinionated cowgirl?With a gal who abhors honest cynicism?* * *Carrie looked across the table at Bo.He was a vision.The shirt that his cousin Libby had bought for himat Bali Hi Imports reminded her of an oil-rig fire blazing against a night sky in the tropics.It tented Bo, itsshort sleeves releasing his elbows and forearms as if they were guy poles.The gift of this shirt had ended the argument between them, and Carrie was grateful.What if Bo andLibby had kept sniping at each other? Libby might've gotten fed up and left, and Bo might've dug in hisheels and stayed -- even with his rent at Savannah Glen paid through the month and Colorado wistfullybeckoning."Good chili," Libby said."Could use some carrots.""Dump in a vitamin-A capsule." Bo pulled a bottle of vitamins from his pants pocket, emptied somecapsules onto his palm, stirred them about with a finger, and chose one -- which he then expertly crackedand whose contents he sprinkled onto his chili.He rolled a similar-looking capsule toward Libby."Here."Libby picked it up and noncommittally did the same.Weird.But they'll be gone tomorrow, Carrie reminded herself.Annie Oakley and my live-in Poinsettia Fairy.I'llhave my house back, and it's highly likely -- inevitable, in fact -- that Bo'll die out there without my everseeing him again.Can I handle that? Well, sure.But I don't like it, and I'm not delighted with myself forrelishing his departure.He was by far the best ad talent at CCG, and Jimbo Watling's going to miss thepoor twinky.More than I will."Mmmmm," Bo said."I bet I'm the only PWA in the world" -- PWA stood for Person With AIDS --"eating chili and wearing a Hawaiian shirt."Much more than I will, thought Carrie.In the front room, Bo's jam box was playing the Benny Goodmanorchestra's heartbreaking rendition of "Goodbye." * * *Bo was sleeping in Carrie's study, the room that she had given him after he abandoned his hostileapartment complex.Except that he wasn't sleeping.He was pitching and yawing like a T-33 in the handsof a rookie pilot.At last, he sat up and peered through the gloom at the glowing dial of his clock radio: 2:27.Aloud he said, "There's no law against driving at night." He dressed, pulling a rugger's sweater on over hisnew Hawaiian shirt, and walked through the house into the living room.Lib was asleep on the couchwhere, upon her arrival, he had been sipping a Bloody Mary and listening to Muggsy Spanier'sRagtimers."Elizabeth.Cousin Quarrels.""Nnnnn," Libby protested."Let's leave tonight.Now.My car's in good shape, and I can get packed in thirty minutes."Libby's eyes widened.She shoved Bo's hand aside, swinging her legs free of the covers, kicked ablanket to the floor.She was wearing long johns rather than pajamas, but so what? Surely, she thought,muzzily trying to orient herself, Bo had seen a woman in long johns before."Cousin Quarrels," he said, "we're wasting time."She regarded him with annoyed disbelief."You need to talk to your doctor and settle things with yourboss.Can't this wait?"Bo shook his head.He clearly felt that waiting until morning would constitute a lethal variety ofprocrastination."I've got unfinished business in Colorado.My mom and dad.My brother.As thebromide goes, I've been living a lie, but -- God help me, Libby -- I don't intend to die one."Libby was struck by the importunate look on Bo's sallow face."All right," she said."Do what you haveto."Immediately, Bo dialed Dr.Tedrow's unlisted number, passed Libby the receiver, and had her proffer hisgroggy physician an evaluation of the hospital in Huerfano and the competence of its staff.Dr.Tedrow,although obviously disturbed by this unexpected development, promised to forward Bo's treatmentrecords to the Sangre de Cristo Medical Center.So long as Bo continued biweekly vinblastinechemotherapy there, he would probably do as well in Colorado as he had been doing in Atlanta.After the telephone call, Bo said, "Why don't you get dressed? I'm going to wake up Carrie and roundup some of my things."Twenty minutes later, having loaded Bo's Mazda with suitcases and hang-ups, Libby and Bo huggedCarrie goodbye and backed out of her narrow drive on the first leg of their journey west.* * *Elm-peopled neighborhoods flowed around them.Traffic lights melted like acrylics on the windshield.They made an initial stop at Chattahoochee CommuniGrafix, where Bo dashed in to pick up some of hisart supplies and -- as Lib could not help noticing -- all the personal items on his desk.Then they rode down to the intersection below Bali Hi Imports, where the only filling station open wasthe one in whose men's room Libby had earlier set out her display of miniature unicorns.She wasrelieved to see that a new attendant -- a slender kid in spotless overalls -- was on duty.While this kid was filling the Mazda's tank, Libby told Bo that she had to use the rest room."Again? You went at Carrie's.You went at CCG.Are we going to stop at every gas station fromAnniston to Amarillo?""It was the ale, okay? I won't be a minute." Libby left the car and asked the attendant for the key to thewomen's room.He told her -- just as she had expected -- that she could use the men's; the lady's wasout of commission.A moment later, she stepped into the claustrophobic rankness of the men's room [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.""Don't tell me you're a fan of corporate America, the fat-cat titans of our exploitive free-enterprisesystem.""I'm telling you that wearing that shirt -- for the reasons you state -- is a dumbass thing to do.Pridelessand self-destructive."Carrie Plourde took her drink from Bo and said, "Listen, it's time to eat.The chili's ready.""Okay.Okay, then.I'll take the damn thing off." Carrie's house was cool, its furnace laboring to neutralize the omnipresent chill of the early March evening, but Bo stood up and in a single motion lifted thesailcloth jersey over his head.Then he flipped it to the hardwood floor and sat back down, hugging hisnaked chest and glowering at Libby.How's that grab you? he wondered, aware that he was nearly asgaunt as a malnutrition victim and that his liver-colored KS lesions stood out against his pale flesh like dirtclumps on a marble floor.Don't ever accuse me of self-hatred, or I may just organize a march ofAIDS-afflicted nudists to prove what a wrongheaded oversimplifier you are."Am I the only one in this house who's hungry?""I am," Libby replied, looking up at Carrie."You mean I haven't ruined your appetite? The sight of noxious sores and protruding ribs doesn't offendyour aesthetic sense?""It'd be thoughtful if you put something on, Bo.""Want to pick it out? If you're going to scrub my Sanforized clothes in Freud, why not just be mywardrobe mistress too?""Okay.I will."Carrie moved toward the dining room with her drink."I'm going to set the table and bring the Crockpotin from the kitchen.""I bought Bo a gift at that import place," Libby said, standing up, "but it's still in your car.Mind if I go getit?""Go ahead.It's unlocked." Libby looked down at Bo hugging his own naked torso."Stay like that, okay?I'll be right back."What the hell? Bo thought, beginning to shiver.On Ned's tape, Dooley Wilson -- the piano player Sam inthe film Casablanca -- was crooning "As Time Goes By".How long am I supposed to sit here? Howlong am I supposed to keep on breathing?How about it, God? Am I doomed -- as time goes by -- to finish out my life with an opinionated cowgirl?With a gal who abhors honest cynicism?* * *Carrie looked across the table at Bo.He was a vision.The shirt that his cousin Libby had bought for himat Bali Hi Imports reminded her of an oil-rig fire blazing against a night sky in the tropics.It tented Bo, itsshort sleeves releasing his elbows and forearms as if they were guy poles.The gift of this shirt had ended the argument between them, and Carrie was grateful.What if Bo andLibby had kept sniping at each other? Libby might've gotten fed up and left, and Bo might've dug in hisheels and stayed -- even with his rent at Savannah Glen paid through the month and Colorado wistfullybeckoning."Good chili," Libby said."Could use some carrots.""Dump in a vitamin-A capsule." Bo pulled a bottle of vitamins from his pants pocket, emptied somecapsules onto his palm, stirred them about with a finger, and chose one -- which he then expertly crackedand whose contents he sprinkled onto his chili.He rolled a similar-looking capsule toward Libby."Here."Libby picked it up and noncommittally did the same.Weird.But they'll be gone tomorrow, Carrie reminded herself.Annie Oakley and my live-in Poinsettia Fairy.I'llhave my house back, and it's highly likely -- inevitable, in fact -- that Bo'll die out there without my everseeing him again.Can I handle that? Well, sure.But I don't like it, and I'm not delighted with myself forrelishing his departure.He was by far the best ad talent at CCG, and Jimbo Watling's going to miss thepoor twinky.More than I will."Mmmmm," Bo said."I bet I'm the only PWA in the world" -- PWA stood for Person With AIDS --"eating chili and wearing a Hawaiian shirt."Much more than I will, thought Carrie.In the front room, Bo's jam box was playing the Benny Goodmanorchestra's heartbreaking rendition of "Goodbye." * * *Bo was sleeping in Carrie's study, the room that she had given him after he abandoned his hostileapartment complex.Except that he wasn't sleeping.He was pitching and yawing like a T-33 in the handsof a rookie pilot.At last, he sat up and peered through the gloom at the glowing dial of his clock radio: 2:27.Aloud he said, "There's no law against driving at night." He dressed, pulling a rugger's sweater on over hisnew Hawaiian shirt, and walked through the house into the living room.Lib was asleep on the couchwhere, upon her arrival, he had been sipping a Bloody Mary and listening to Muggsy Spanier'sRagtimers."Elizabeth.Cousin Quarrels.""Nnnnn," Libby protested."Let's leave tonight.Now.My car's in good shape, and I can get packed in thirty minutes."Libby's eyes widened.She shoved Bo's hand aside, swinging her legs free of the covers, kicked ablanket to the floor.She was wearing long johns rather than pajamas, but so what? Surely, she thought,muzzily trying to orient herself, Bo had seen a woman in long johns before."Cousin Quarrels," he said, "we're wasting time."She regarded him with annoyed disbelief."You need to talk to your doctor and settle things with yourboss.Can't this wait?"Bo shook his head.He clearly felt that waiting until morning would constitute a lethal variety ofprocrastination."I've got unfinished business in Colorado.My mom and dad.My brother.As thebromide goes, I've been living a lie, but -- God help me, Libby -- I don't intend to die one."Libby was struck by the importunate look on Bo's sallow face."All right," she said."Do what you haveto."Immediately, Bo dialed Dr.Tedrow's unlisted number, passed Libby the receiver, and had her proffer hisgroggy physician an evaluation of the hospital in Huerfano and the competence of its staff.Dr.Tedrow,although obviously disturbed by this unexpected development, promised to forward Bo's treatmentrecords to the Sangre de Cristo Medical Center.So long as Bo continued biweekly vinblastinechemotherapy there, he would probably do as well in Colorado as he had been doing in Atlanta.After the telephone call, Bo said, "Why don't you get dressed? I'm going to wake up Carrie and roundup some of my things."Twenty minutes later, having loaded Bo's Mazda with suitcases and hang-ups, Libby and Bo huggedCarrie goodbye and backed out of her narrow drive on the first leg of their journey west.* * *Elm-peopled neighborhoods flowed around them.Traffic lights melted like acrylics on the windshield.They made an initial stop at Chattahoochee CommuniGrafix, where Bo dashed in to pick up some of hisart supplies and -- as Lib could not help noticing -- all the personal items on his desk.Then they rode down to the intersection below Bali Hi Imports, where the only filling station open wasthe one in whose men's room Libby had earlier set out her display of miniature unicorns.She wasrelieved to see that a new attendant -- a slender kid in spotless overalls -- was on duty.While this kid was filling the Mazda's tank, Libby told Bo that she had to use the rest room."Again? You went at Carrie's.You went at CCG.Are we going to stop at every gas station fromAnniston to Amarillo?""It was the ale, okay? I won't be a minute." Libby left the car and asked the attendant for the key to thewomen's room.He told her -- just as she had expected -- that she could use the men's; the lady's wasout of commission.A moment later, she stepped into the claustrophobic rankness of the men's room [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]