The Rainbow Conspiracy Read online

  When his taxi finally reached La Guardia and pulled up outside the American Airlines terminal, he found that the Bicentennial celebrations were in full swing and the entire building was decked out in red, white and blue. Souza marches blasted out from every loudspeaker and there was a carnival atmosphere throughout the terminal building. Clive loved visiting the States and that particular year of the Bicentennial made him sense an even closer affinity with his American cousins. Also, the deep passion that Dennis had awakened in him years earlier had made him feel eternally grateful to that ‘Land of the Free’, which had contributed to his own new sense of liberation. So, amidst the slogans, banners and razzle-dazzle, Clive had boarded his Dallas flight, AA175, and the party atmosphere continued in the plane until the first stop delivered him up in Columbus.

  Clive’s reverie was interrupted with a jolt as his black cab came to a halt outside Terminal Three. He was soon checking his luggage through to its final destination and collecting his boarding passes. Then he made his way to the Pan American passenger lounge and there, without any warning, sat Shirley. She was wearing a stylish tailored Jean Muir suit in charcoal grey over a very simple white cotton blouse, tiny gold stud earrings and had her late Auntie Flo’s mink jacket draped loosely around her shoulders, adding a degree of prosperous elegance to her entire ensemble.

  ‘Hello, Clive darling, I’m also on my way to New York. Roberta needs sorting out and you know what she’s like when she embarks on a Broadway run. At least I hope it’s a run, and a long one at that. I didn’t think you’d mind, but honestly, darling, we don’t have to sit next to each other on the plane. I’ll totally understand if you need to be alone.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous Shirley. And besides, I can sit on your lap, you know how much I hate take-offs.’

  ‘By the way, before leaving for the National last night, I took the liberty of calling Michael back and giving him your flight details.’

  ‘Oh thank you, I was going to call him from New York and let him know my arrival time in Columbus.’

  ‘He sounded utterly charming and, after expressing my condolences, I suggested that if ever he felt like a change of scene, I would be only too happy to book his flight to London and take care of all arrangements, following your instructions, of course. After all, he is family.’

  The lack of response from Clive made Shirley think that she had probably crossed the line yet again, despite her well-meant intentions. This was a common occurrence at the office, and she was just about to attempt an apology when their flight was called. Once they had boarded their plane and the self-imposed drama of the take-off was over, Clive reached down for his briefcase and took out some reading material as he heard the rattle of the drinks trolley down the aisle. They had both brought work with them to help pass the time, but as he leafed through the pages of a script, the words met his eyes but simply failed to register, and so he finally turned to his fellow passenger.

  ‘Shirley, you know I’m just not in the mood for reading this script.’

  ‘And, you know what? This contract can wait.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll show a good film?’

  But Shirley had already double-checked: ‘I’m afraid it’s The Butler.’

  So, there being no escape, a silence descended; Clive retreated back into his inner world and was reliving the dinner date he’d had with Dennis in Provincetown, that first night they’d met.

  They had left the restaurant and retraced their steps, walking slowly along Town Beach. As they approached Reveller’s Den, Clive made some trite remark about the lateness of the hour, which to his utter astonishment Dennis dismissed and invited himself in for a nightcap. This request threw Clive yet again, since he had decided the ex-marine was surely a lost cause. He remembered how he had attempted to disguise his confusion by performing a deep and exaggerated bow and then, in the most affected of English accents, pronounced: ‘Oh, you must forgive me, Mr Montrose, but I seem to have mislaid my manners. Won’t you please come in?’

  To which Dennis had responded with an equally florid American Southern drawl: ‘Why, kind sir, I’d be dalighted!’

  The wine having obviously aided their performances, they raced round to the beach, climbed the veranda steps, giggling like a pair of giddy schoolgirls, and entered Clive’s room through the back door so as not to be noticed by Ned.

  ‘There’s only whisky, I’m afraid,’ said Clive as he poured two good measures, and they once again clinked glasses, this time reversing places with Clive taking the chair, leaving the bed free for Dennis to relax and sprawl out as he drank his Scotch.

  Dennis apologised for getting so moody over dinner and went on to explain that he just couldn’t stand the word ‘faggot’. It reminded him of when he was in the marines and explained that whenever they went on leave in Boston, one of them would return with a story of how he’d picked up some gay and then robbed him after beating him up. It was like a terrible game they all played and it made him feel truly ashamed of himself. He insisted that the word brought those times back to him and made him feel angry with his younger self and, at the time, Clive had naturally accepted his apology.

  Clive’s current flashback was interrupted by the air-stewardess’s eager-to- please request to her passengers: ‘Would either of you care for another martini before lunch is served?’

  It was a needless question, and they both politely accepted the offer graciously.

  ‘Now come on. Tell me more about your Provincetown escapade with Dennis.’

  ‘You know, I was just right back there myself.’ And Clive explained that when dinner was over, Dennis came back to Reveller’s Den; he went on to admit that things between them got rather complicated.

  ‘In what way? Did you or didn’t you?’ Shirley asked.

  ‘Well,’ Clive replied, ‘after making it abundantly clear that he was not gay, Dennis suddenly leaped up, pulled me out of my chair, kissed me fully on the mouth, and pushed his tongue between my teeth. He squeezed me so hard, I thought my ribs would crack. Then he let me go almost as suddenly as he’d seized hold of me and told me I was the first man he’d ever kissed.’

  ‘You’re kidding. Did you believe him?’

  ‘Not for a moment, but I was completely nonplussed because he started to take his clothes off. So I took myself off to the bathroom and cleaned my teeth. When I came back, he’d turned out the light and was already under the covers.’

  ‘So you did get your American dream after all?’ Shirley was clapping.

  ‘Not exactly, Shirley darling. Dennis made it quite clear that although he wanted to spend the night with me, there was to be no sex.’

  ‘I know what I would have done.’

  Clive confessed that at the time he was very inexperienced about such matters and stupidly thought that Dennis would change his mind. He didn’t dare ask his new pal to leave, and simply suggested that they try to get some sleep. He then described how he had grudgingly moved over to the other side of the bed, and added that, since the two of them had only just met, he wasn’t at all sure whether his new American buddy had been deliberately putting him through some sort of third degree or whether Dennis simply just couldn’t help himself. ‘And remember, Shirley darling, back then … I was still a virgin.’ She made no response to that remark, but took another sip of her martini.

  After a slight pause, Clive continued. ‘I was very relieved when he got up early and crept out, trying hard not to disturb me. I must have dozed off after that, and the next thing I knew it was gone eleven o’clock and the sun was streaming through the crack in the curtains.’

  ‘But you did get him in the end?’ Shirley eagerly asked.

  ‘Yes, actually … eventually. I have to admit that I did lose my virginity in Provincetown to that Adonis of a man.’

  For once Shirley was speechless, but Clive clearly wasn’t.

  ‘He changed my life and there’s not much more to tell. We continued our friendship but the basis of our transatlantic relationship was
correspondence, and, I’m afraid to say, it only lasted for a couple of years. Dennis wrote wonderful letters – almost poetic, and I’ve kept every single one of them. But it wasn’t until he invited me to visit him in Columbus in ‘76 that we saw each other again. You see he’d met Michael by then, and claimed his excuse for the invitation was that he wanted to know what I thought of his choice of partner and so I went … and I haven’t been back to Columbus since and now I’m really dreading it.’

  ‘I’m sure you must be.’

  ‘Naturally I’m also very worried about this AIDS business and I’m finding it hard to get my head around it. I can’t understand why it’s hitting so many of my gay friends in America and for all I know, and because of my affair with Dennis, I may be in the firing line myself. You know something else, Shirley? I’m also beginning to think there’s something very worrying about the way it’s spreading.’

  Shirley brushed his last remark to one side and assured Clive that his doctor in Hammersmith could test him for AIDS.

  ‘Yes, of course … you’re right. We’d better make that a priority and arrange an appointment as soon as I get back to London.’

  Flight Pam Am 101 touched down smoothly and Clive had to admit that Shirley’s lively banter had helped the time just fly by and take his mind off things. Shirley, for her part, had enjoyed being taken deeper into Clive’s confidence, and she relished finding out more about his Columbus boys and what Dennis had meant to him.

  She could see how anxious Clive was, so insisted on waiting with him until his Dallas flight was called, and, knowing how much he detested fond farewells in public, she swiftly took leave of him in a businesslike manner. By the time his plane had taken off, Shirley’s taxi was already speeding towards Manhattan and, once over the 59th Street Bridge, she soon reached her destination: 242 East 72nd Street, between 1st and 2nd. Spoke Associates had shrewdly leased an apartment in that building on the East Side and it served as the headquarters for all its New York operations. The flat was very central and a great base, offering comfortable accommodation, as well as ample office space for all those company members who now needed to commute regularly between Broadway and the West End. This classy address provided Shirley with an impressive venue to meet her client the next morning: the up-and-coming actor Roberta Blackman.

  Clive continued on the second leg of his journey, which flew him non-stop to Columbus and although he hadn’t bothered to adjust his wristwatch to all the time zones he had flown through, once his plane had reached its stand he set it for 6.35 p.m., American time. He was determined to be as supportive as possible to Michael.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MICHAEL POLEDRI TUESDAY

  The rousing Bicentennial send-off from La Guardia in 1976 had fuelled Clive’s feelings of hopeful expectation. Back then, he’d positively brimmed over with excitement as his first visit to Columbus drew near and the much-anticipated reunion with his Provincetown lifeguard and the introduction to Michael became a reality. On entering the arrivals hall he was met by a sea of expectant faces, but there was no mistaking those unforgettable piercing blue eyes and that compact muscular physique waiting for him. In the intervening years, Dennis’ physical appearance hadn’t changed much apart from the fact that he seemed to have lost his long blond locks. However, what really surprised Clive was that Dennis was sporting a bright pink T-shirt, showing his torso off to great advantage, signalling that he had finally come out of the closet and wanted all the world to know it. Quite a brave statement for an elementary school teacher from the Midwest.

  Now, in 1984, although a similar sea of expectant faces greeted Clive, those bright blue eyes weren’t there to receive him. Instead it was Michael’s turn to welcome him and his gaunt, solitary figure stood there waiting. Although Clive had anticipated an emotional reunion, he was not at all prepared for his friend’s open display of grief.

  With his eyes brimming over with tears, Michael greeted Clive. ‘You know Clive, I really am happy to see you, honestly I am. It’s just that at the moment I don’t seem to be able to control myself and then I get that sinking sensation and I just go. I’m so sorry, but I simply can’t help it.’

  Clive’s body language clearly expressed what he was feeling and no words were necessary to convey the depth of the emotion he felt as they stood and hugged each other tightly. Now tears were rolling down both men’s cheeks as they held each other. Finally the moment passed, and they were able to head for the airport car park, where they stopped in front of a dark brown Ford sedan, so very unlike the vehicle Dennis had come to collect Clive in on his first visit to Columbus back in ‘76.

  That car had been Dennis’s pride and joy: a bright cherry-red hard-top convertible which, he explained, he’d bought off an old friend who’d moved out of town. At the time, he didn’t attempt to own up to how he’d managed to acquire the extra cash in order to afford it, but he later came clean about that side of his life. Back in the seventies, Clive had expected Dennis to own some big flash American job but was delighted at the sight of the sleek European Mercedes-Benz convertible that awaited him with its roof down. Clive’s enthusiasm for the car obviously delighted Dennis, who confessed he had christened his automobile Benjy, and it must be said that Benjy’s bodywork was kept in almost as pristine a condition as Dennis’s.

  Now, some eight years later, Michael was in the driving seat of a very different car, this time travelling east from the airport along the motorway that skirted downtown Columbus, with its tall concrete Manhattan-style skyscrapers looming up in the distance. Then they swung off the highway and took the exit leading to the German Village section of town and Clive finally broke the silence.

  ‘Had Dennis been in hospital for a long time?’

  ‘No, not really, but he’d been feeling awful for months. Nothing serious exactly: nothing you could actually put your finger on, just a general malaise. Then he got this bad cold that he couldn’t shake off. It was so very unlike him to be sick, so I suggested he go see Dr Levitt. Dr Levitt moved to Columbus fairly recently; he’s a charming young gay man.’

  ‘I’m afraid to say,’ admitted Michael, ‘with both of our lifestyles being as they were, we were often susceptible to getting “the clap” and so we made regular visits to see Allen Levitt for the cure. He became a good friend of ours, he’s a Reform Jew with a busy social life so he didn’t hang out with us very much. Now, with Dennis gone, he and I have got to know each other a lot better and I see much more of him.

  ‘So, tell me Michael, what did your Allen suggest when Dennis got sick and went to see him this time?’

  ‘At that point not a great deal, but he did insist on giving Dennis a thorough going over and a blood test. Then, weeks later, Den began to notice that his glands had swollen up. One time when I stayed over, he woke up in the middle of the night dripping with sweat. So I made him go back again the next morning and Allen gave him a further examination and took another blood sample.’

  ‘Call it sissy, Michael, but I have to say I detest needles.’

  ‘So did Dennis, and he loathed the idea of being sick even more.’

  ‘What happened with that blood test?’ Clive enquired.

  ‘Allen summoned both of us to his office, and told us that AIDS had been diagnosed.’

  ‘That must have come as a terrible shock.’

  ‘To start with, we just couldn’t take it all in, especially as Dr Levitt reckoned it had probably been dormant for some time.’ Michael continued, ‘In those days, neither Den nor I knew much about AIDS but, fortunately for us, Allen immediately got us an appointment to see a specialist at our local hospital here in Columbus. Dr Norris is a urologist involved in AIDS research.’

  Then after a brief silence Clive responded. ‘Poor Dennis.’

  ‘You know what Dennis was like, always so fit, working out an’ all. For him, being sick was a real downer and, in a way, I think he suffered more mentally than physically to start with. Finally Dr Norris told us that Dennis had a form of pn
eumonia, and his health deteriorated quite quickly. Shortly afterwards he was admitted to the Columbus General Hospital, where they put him on an intensive course of drugs, and, for a while, it seemed to do the trick.’

  ‘I see, so his health started to improve?’ Clive asked.

  ‘Yes, it seemed to … for a while. Later they discharged him with a whole batch of medication, which he took assiduously, and we just hoped for the best. That was the worst part about it – like living on borrowed time. A prolonged and difficult illness like AIDS can have a profound effect on you, mentally speaking, and it did start to make him feel like he was going crazy.’

  ‘It sounds as though he was very courageous, which makes me feel all the more guilty for not getting out here sooner. Michael, I just wish I had known he was so unwell.’

  ‘Honestly, Clive, there was nothing any of us could do. We just had to sit tight and wait it out. There’s such a big epidemic here in America, and I’m only just beginning to get a handle on it myself. I mean, how much do you know about AIDS? I hear that back home, you’ve only had a few cases reported.’

  Clive told Michael that he’d read only the other day that there had been about forty cases reported so far in the UK, but he understood that was quite a small number compared with the situation in the United States. He added that, while working in New York the previous year, he had become aware that a number of his gay colleagues had died of it but, at that time, it was the first he’d really heard about the damned thing. The little he’d managed to find out is that it was a relatively newly diagnosed disease and rather difficult to identify.