anyway. After I have Christine do a Pap smear – and we’ll also do some blood work – I’m going to put you on a medication to help suppress the virus and a painkiller for your itching and discomfort. Within a few days you’ll be as good as new.”
Max doubted that, doubted it a whole lot.
Flemming picked up his clipboard and started to leave the examination room. At the door, he turned back, smiled and said, “By the way, just as a precautionary measure, if you’ve been having unprotected sex you might want to think about an HIV test.”
“HIV?” Max could barely move his lips to say it, frightened to fucking hell. “Why? You think I have-”
“No, no, I’m not suggesting that at all. I’m just saying it’s best to err on the side of caution. Many people who have herpes also tend to be HIV-positive. That isn’t to say that you’re likely to be HIV-positive. But, given that you have already contracted one sexually transmitted disease, it might be a good idea to check for others.”
“Yeah well, I think I’d like to hold off on an AIDS test,” Max said.
“Are you sure?” Dr. Flemming said. “The sooner you know-”
“I’m not taking the goddamn test.”
Later, riding in a cab to his office, Max could barely breathe. There was no way in hell he was ever going to take an AIDS test. It scared him enough to have to call for his blood work from his cardiologist – he couldn’t imagine making a phone call to find out if he’d been sentenced to death.
Max had heard somewhere that the first sign of AIDS is sometimes lumps on the lymph nodes. Max wasn’t sure where the lymph nodes were, but he thought they were somewhere on his throat. Feeling around, he was convinced that he had lumps.
He screamed silently, Fucking lumps!
When he arrived at his office he hadn’t calmed down much. He marched past the receptionist’s desk toward Angela and said loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “Excuse me, could you come into my office with me, please? I need to dictate a letter.”
When Angela came into the office Max asked her to close the door behind her. Then, after she sat down with her pad, he said in a low, but serious voice, “Thanks for giving me herpes, you stupid bitch.”
Angela seemed surprised, but Max was pretty sure she was acting.
She said, “Herpes? What the hell?”
“You don’t have to deny it anymore – I just came back from my doctor. Irritation my ass. You knew you had herpes and you didn’t even tell me.”
“You went to a doctor? When?”
“This morning. Come on, I don’t have time for this bullshit. Just admit it.”
“Are you sure he isn’t making a mistake? I mean how can he tell without a blood test?”
“They don’t take a blood test, they take a Pap smear, but it’s herpes all right. He’s treated tons of cases before.”
“Well, I didn’t…” Angela lowered her voice and continued, “I didn’t give it to you.”
“Then where did I get it, a fucking toilet seat?” Max noticed that the left side of her face looked slightly purple, said, “What the hell happened to you?”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Angela said. “My roommate opened the bathroom door last night and it hit me. I’ll live.”
But Max, not paying attention, said, “Well, if I didn’t catch it from you, you got it now, so you better go see a doctor and pretty damn soon.”
“Maybe your feckin’ whore of a wife gave it to you,” Angela said.
Her temper was coming out and the fire in her eyes was ferocious.
“My wife?”
“Yeah. How do you know she wasn’t doing it with some bollix behind your back?”
Max considered this for a moment. Deirdre having an affair? It seemed crazy. Then he imagined Kamal naked, on top of her, and a sick feeling started to build in his stomach. Kamal was the only other man he knew about who’d had any sort of contact with Deirdre and he remembered how unusually upset he’d been to hear about her death. But that was crazy. He’d never heard Kamal even talk about a woman before and, besides, he was almost positive the guy putted from the rough.
“That’s crazy,” Max said. “No guy would’ve been interested in Deirdre and besides – you have to have sex to get herpes and Deirdre and I didn’t exactly have an active sex life.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Angela said. “If you don’t believe me it’s your feckin’ problem, not mine.”
There was quiet knock on the door. Max said, “What is it?”
The receptionist who was temping this week poked her head into the office. She said to Max, “There’s a man here to see you.”
“A man?” Max said, looking at Angela. “I don’t have any appointments this morning, do I?”
Angela shook her head. Max said to the girl, “Did he say what his name was?”
“No. But he said it’s very important that he speak to you.”
“It’s probably a fucking salesman. Tell him to leave his business card and we’ll get back to him if we’re interested.”
“He said he’s not a salesman.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“I think he’s telling the truth. He’s in a wheelchair. He said he won’t leave till he sees you.”
“A wheelchair? Jesus H., he’s probably working for some handicapped charity. He’s-” A wheelchair. Jesus fuck. Max looked at Angela, then quickly looked away and said, “I’ll go see him.”
Max went toward the front of the office, rubbing the back of his neck to help ease his suddenly pounding headache. He managed not to scratch his groin but, Jesus Christ, he wanted to.
The man in the wheelchair was waiting near the reception desk. He had a thick black beard and dark, serious eyes. He was a big guy, stocky, looked Italian or maybe Spanish. Was it the same guy? Max wasn’t sure. The retard at the hotel had been in shadow. But two guys in wheelchairs showing up in one week? What were the odds?
Max said, “Can I help you with something?”
The man extended his hand, said, “You certainly can. Name’s Bobby Rosa.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“I want to talk to you and I got a hunch you’re gonna want to listen.”
It was the same guy, all right. Wanting to break the bastard’s teeth, Max said, “Look, I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re lucky I don’t get you fired for what you did. I would’ve but we felt sorry for you because you’re retarded.”
Bobby smiled proudly. “You really thought I was retarded, huh?”
Shit, Max thought. If the guy wasn’t a retard maybe he wasn’t a housekeeper either.
Looking around, Bobby said, “Nice place you got here. You must have, what, ten thousand square feet? What kind of rent you pay?”
Max looked over at the temp who seemed to be busy typing. Lowering his voice and stepping away from the reception desk, Max said, “Look, if you don’t get the hell out of here right now, I’m going to get someone to take you out. Got that?”
Bobby said, “You got a good set of balls on you for a little guy. It’s no wonder you’re such a successful businessman.”
Max said, “You want me to call the cops, I’ll call the cops.”
“You’re not gonna call anybody.” They were both talking in low mutters now, but the fucking temp was probably listening to every word. Still, it’d look worse if Max asked her to leave them alone, wouldn’t it?
“Yeah?” Max said, leaning close to Bobby’s ear. “And why won’t I?”
“Because,” Bobby said, “I have some pictures here that I doubt you’re gonna want the cops to see.”
Max noticed now, for the first time, the manila envelope on Bobby’s lap.
“Why don’t you come into my office?” he said.
Max went right to the bar and started making a stiff vodka tonic, his groin itching like hell. Bobby wheeled in behind him, stayed by the door.
Without looking at Bobby, Max said, “Now what the fuck are you talking about, pictures? Is this some bullshit joke ’cause if it is, I’m not laughing.”
