Afterlife - Douglas Clegg [45]
And finally, she told Joe about Hut’s death.
6
“Oh my God, Julie. Julie,” he said. He brought his chair around the small round table and wrapped his arms around her. She wept into his shoulder, forgetting the world of the coffeehouse, forgetting anything but the comfort he offered. “My poor baby,” he whispered.
7
Her tears dry, she drank some of the cappuccino. “God, you’d think I’d be all cried out by now. It’s been months.”
“Tears are one of those self-renewing resources. And it’s only been a few months. Healing takes time.” He pushed a small plate with a big black and white cookie on it toward her. “Hungee?” It was their joke word from years ago.
She broke off a piece of the cookie, and took a bite. “Mmm. Reminds me of all our adventures.”
“Most of which are best forgotten.”
“Oh, Joe. I feel…I feel like I’ve lost my soul or something.”
“Well, I think your soul’s intact. It’s your mind that’s a bit scattered.” He had his head down a bit and looked up to her with those warm brown eyes that seemed both playful and a little sad to her, like a boy playing peek-a-boo.
“I’m sorry I’ve been distant. All these years.”
“It’s okay. It’s only been a few years, really. I saw you when Livy was what—two and a half? It wasn’t that long ago. Life takes over,” he said. “Rick and I are practically hermits since we tied the knot. If he didn’t get me volunteering at the Center, I’d probably just live in my little office.”
“I bought one of your books today,” she brightened. She brought the package from Shakespeare & Company up, opening it.
“Ooh, which one?”
She drew out the book. Dr. Notorious. On the cover, the torso of a young man, and just a sliver of his chin.
“I hate that cover,” Joe said. “The book is about a guy in the 19th century who goes to the South Pacific— after becoming sickened by European society, where he was a doctor. He falls in love on the islands, and then has to choose between his love for a man and his duty to his culture, to his family. And they put a twenty-yearold gym bunny right out of the New York City Sports Club on the cover to sell it. I could write a book about measles, and they’d put a cute guy’s butt on the front of the book. But, that’s show biz, as they say.”
“Speaking of show biz—you sold a book to the movies?”
“Sure. Everyone does. They pay you a few grand and you get to say maybe it’ll be a movie. But Hollywood is never making that movie, believe me. When my friend Chris Bram wrote Father of Frankenstein it got turned into the great movie, Gods and Monsters. Why? Because it’s a great story that people can relate to, whether it’s about being gay or not. Me, I sell them View from the Pier and they will never make that movie because no actor is going to want to play a guy who knows he’s gay, falls in love with a guy, and then stays in a marriage to destroy his wife and children and the guy he loves. It’s too…dark, I guess. Even my editor called it unsympathetic, and she liked it. You can’t make a movie about that and expect to sell tickets.”
“Sure they will. It sounds wonderful. Joe, I’m so happy for you, for all this. And I can’t wait to read this one. I haven’t kept up with your career as much as I should’ve.”
He shrugged. “It’s not exactly a career. What’s the other book?”
“It’s some psychic book. My mother pushed it on me, and in a weak moment I ordered it.”
“You believe in that stuff?”
“Not really.”
“I do,” he said. “Since my dad died. The day he died, I dreamed that he came to me and told me that he loved me. He had never said it before. Not in real life. He was a military bruiser, basically. He didn’t want to have a kid like me. Even when I was on the football team in high school, he thought I was too soft. He blamed mom’s family—because there was another gay guy—my uncle. He said it ran in families. But in the dream, he said he loved me.”
“Oh.”
“No, not ‘oh.’ When I woke up, I saw him. I saw him as clear as day. He was at the foot