catch the eye of another unaccompanied gentleman, then repair to a wonderfully louche establishment across the street and hope his prospect would follow. If not, he’d just stay there and get drunk. “We were all so deep in the closet back then,” he said, “we had marks from the coat hangers. You’d have thought Joan Crawford was our mother.” After he’d finished, they went around the room instead of asking for a show of hands. By the time it was my turn, I’d already said everything I had to say, albeit in the privacy of my own mind. “My name’s Matt,” I said, “and I’m an alcoholic. I really enjoyed your qualification. I think I’ll just listen tonight.”
A little later a voice I knew said, “I’m really glad I got here tonight.
It’s not a regular meeting of mine, but I see a few familiar faces here.
And I got a lot out of your story. My name’s Abie and I’m an alcoholic.” He went on to talk about having to put in long hours lately, and missing meetings, and how he had to remember that his sobriety has to come first. “If I lose that, then I lose everything that goes with it,” he said.
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard a few thousand times over the years, but it didn’t hurt me any to hear it again.
He caught up with me on the way out. “My first time here,” he said.
“I didn’t even know it was a special-interest meeting.”
“Men over forty.”
“I knew that part from the listing in the book. What I didn’t know is everybody was gay.”
“Not everybody was.”
“Except for thee and me,” he said, and grinned. “I don’t mind gay All the Flowers Are Dying
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people, in fact I enjoy the energy in a room full of gay men. But I wasn’t expecting it.”
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I thought.
“Matt? I was surprised when you didn’t share tonight.”
“Well, I’m not in the same class with William the Silent,” I said, “but I don’t feel compelled to say something just because it’s my turn.”
“Except you looked as though you had something you wanted to get out.”
“Oh?”
“Like you had something gnawing at you.” He touched my shoulder.
“You want to go get some coffee?”
“I had two cups here tonight. I think that’s enough coffee for me.”
“Something to eat, then.”
“I don’t think so, Abie.”
“My first sponsor used to say we were people who couldn’t afford the luxury of keeping things to ourselves.”
“It’s probably a good thing he wasn’t in the CIA, then.”
“I suppose, but the point—”
“I think I get the point.”
He stepped back, frowning, and pinched his upper lip, a physical tic I’d seen him make before. “Look, I didn’t mean any harm,” he said. “I guess you’d rather be alone tonight.”
I didn’t tell him otherwise.
I took another cab, and got one with loud Arab music on the radio. I told the driver to turn it down. He looked at me, and I guess he saw something on my face that kept him from arguing. He turned it down and off, and we rode home in a welcome if stony silence.
The pinochle game was still in progress when I walked in the door. I asked who was winning, and Elaine made a face and pointed across the table. “He swears he never played the game before,” she said, “and it hurts me to think such a sweet young man could lie like a rug.”
“Never did,” he said.
“Then how come you could sit there and beat my brains out?”
“You just a good teacher, is all.”
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“That must be it.” She gathered the cards. “Go home. You’re an angel for keeping me company, even if you didn’t have the decency to let me win. Wait a minute. Are you hungry? Do you want a cookie?” He shook his head.
“You sure? I baked them myself, using the name ‘Mrs. Fields.’ ” He shook his head again, and she gave him a hug and let him go.
She put the cards away and went to the window again, the one that no longer had a view of the towers. She sighed and turned from it to me and said, “I’ve been thinking. She had other friends besides me. No one else was as close, but there were other women she’d meet for lunch, or talk to on the phone.”
“There’d have to be.”
“She might have let something slip about this guy. I mean, she told me he drinks Scotch and has a mustache.
