The Rainbow Conspiracy Read online

  ‘No of course not,’ his host replied. ‘I’ve made some for myself anyway.’

  ‘I’m going to get straight under that shower and I’ll be right down in a shake of a lamb’s tail!’

  ‘In the shake of a what? I dunno, you Brits with your quaint expressions. I’ll fix you some ham and eggs.’

  ‘Actually Michael, I’m really not feeling very hungry. Coffee and toast will do me just fine.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ Michael shouted back, already halfway down the stairs.

  As Clive showered, he remembered that Dennis telling him that after that summer in Provincetown, he had finally come out and gone wild and had been completely frank about what he was up to. Dennis had become totally uninhibited and started whoring his way around Columbus and had built up quite a clientele, mostly closeted married men to start with, but as word got around the clubs, his popularity grew and so did his bank balance. He had become aware of how much he turned men on, what the nature of that attraction could lead to and, more importantly, how much his newly acquired clients were prepared to pay for his favours.

  Dennis explained to Clive he’d managed to buy Benjy from his friend Gordon with his extra earnings, and that was also how he’d been able to supplement his schoolteacher’s salary. It had not been easy for Michael to accept Dennis’s other profession, and Clive later found out that it was Steve Leggard who apparently had helped salvage their relationship. Dennis had even mentioned Steve in one of his many letters to Clive, and had described how it was through his guidance and support that Steve had been able to convince Michael that Dennis really valued and loved his partner. After spending just a few days with his Dennis and Michael, their affection for each other had become obvious to Clive and there was absolutely no doubt in Clive’s mind about how strong their relationship had become. Steve Leggard, using all his skills as a social worker, had been able to persuade Michael that sex for Dennis was like having a glass of wine and that he simply had to get used to his lover’s consumption level and just look upon the whoring as a job, which finally, and with his friend’s help, Michael was able to do.

  Clive, putting all such memories aside, quickly showered, got dressed, and then went downstairs to join Michael in the kitchen. However, he found him on the phone.

  ‘Won’t be a minute, Clive – please help yourself to coffee,’ whispered Michael, covering the receiver. ‘Yes, Allen, I have an appointment with Doctor Norris on Friday morning.’ Then he turned to Clive again: ‘Milk’s in the refrigerator … No, Allen, that’s very kind of you, but I have a very old friend of Dennis’s over from England staying with me, and he’s being a real help at the moment.’

  Clive poured his coffee, added one lump of sugar, got the milk and then went and sat at the kitchen table opposite Michael.

  ‘You bet! I’ll call when I get back from the hospital. Bye, Allen, bye.’ Then Michael turned to Clive. ‘Sorry, but I’ve already had my cereal. Are you sure you don’t want some eggs?’

  ‘Really, toast’s just fine,’ insisted Clive. ‘You go ahead. I like a man who eats a hearty breakfast.’

  ‘I can’t put away what Dennis used to eat. I suppose you could say that his appetite was enormous in more ways than one.’

  Clive found it difficult to respond to that one, and sat silently sipping his coffee.

  ‘That was Dennis’s doctor, by the way,’ Michael continued. ‘Allen Levitt.’

  ‘Yes, I remember now, he was that doctor you used to go to for regular check-ups. He treated Den for AIDS.’

  ‘He’s been most concerned about me too.’

  ‘I’d really like to meet him.’

  ‘That can be easily arranged. He’s absolutely charming and so committed to his work. I know you’ll like him, but I wanted you to meet Steve first.’

  ‘Yes, of course. And I do remember Dennis mentioning Steve in one of his letters, but not Dr Levitt.’

  ‘No, possibly not. As I told you, Allen only arrived in Columbus about twelve months ago.’

  ‘And I do need to catch up with all that’s been going on … I’m afraid I’ve been such a terribly bad correspondent of late.’

  ‘Clive, don’t be silly – I know how busy you are. Listen, Steve is one of my oldest and closest friends. He was sure helpful to me when I first met Den, and he continues to be such a rock, I just don’t know what I’d do without him!’

  ‘Friends are so important. Which reminds me – may I make a quick call to my PA in New York? Shirley’s working with one of our clients, who’s appearing on Broadway at the moment, and I believe she called you and told you my travel details.’

  ‘Yes, I had a nice chat with her and she sounded real charming. Clive, please just go ahead and use the phone as much as you want. Don’t be shy.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll get her to call me straight back. I promised I’d let her know I arrived safely.’

  ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and use the phone in my bedroom?’

  ‘Thank you. You see, Shirley and I have become very close friends and I’m sure she’ll want to know how things are with you, too.’ Clive took his coffee with him, climbed the open staircase and, as he entered Dennis’s old bedroom, he found himself thinking about Dr Levitt and the blood test he’d given Dennis. Then he double-checked the Spoke Associates’ New York number and soon put a call through to Shirley.

  ‘Good morning, Clive darling. I’ve been thinking about you. How’s it all going? Can you talk?’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact I’m calling from an upstairs bedroom. Michael’s in a bit of a state, which is hardly surprising. Shirl, he looks terrible.’

  ‘Is he ill too?’

  ‘He hasn’t come clean about that yet although he was told by his doctor that because his partner had it, there was a strong likelihood that Dennis had passed it on to him.’

  ‘And what is that Spoke intuition telling you?’

  ‘I think he may have it, and I’m really finding that hard to handle.’

  ‘Oh Clive darling, I’m so sorry. I guess you have to be strong for both your sakes. Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to fly down there?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got enough to deal with in New York. How is Roberta behaving, by the way, and have you got her sorted?’

  ‘Oh yes! Don’t worry about her. I’ve found her a very nice apartment on the Upper West Side, convenient for rehearsals and near to St James’s Theatre, for when the show opens. She’s doing fine at the moment and behaving herself so far. Clive, give me your phone number in case we get cut off.’

  ‘You remind me of Laurel Gotleib.’

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘My old friend Laurel, who I met in New York. Those were exactly the words she used when I called her from Alexandria Colony Court South on my first visit here. By the way, that’s where we’re staying: in Dennis’s old house. Michael thought we’d be more comfortable here, as there are two bedrooms.’

  ‘I see. And what’s the number there?’

  ‘It’s 738-1383: I’m not sure what the area code is. Could you call me back?’

  And in no time at all, Shirley was quick to get back to Clive. ‘By the way, your area code in Columbus is 614. So who is this Laurel Gotleib, then?’

  Clive explained that he had first met Laurel in the sixties, during his student days, on his first trip to New York. Laurel had been a kind of den-mother to a whole set of gay men she’d introduced him to. She was a larger-than-life character with a heart of gold, and totally dependable. He always knew he could turn to her in an emergency and she certainly proved her worth on the day of the African violet incident on his first visit to Columbus. He told Shirley all about the morning he and Dennis were having breakfast in the garden, when Dennis had suddenly got up from the table, rushed to the other side of the patio and was clearly upset about something. His marine announced that the African violet was in full bloom, so Clive followed him over and started to admire the pretty little plant. That made Dennis turn on him in a fury, ann
ouncing that whenever it flowered it was an ill omen and always brought bad luck, and he listed a series of calamities that had coincided with its flowering, including the death of his friend Gordon, his mother’s car crash, and him failing some exams.

  Dennis always presented Clive with such a mixture of contradictions: here was a great strapping fellow of above-average intelligence, scared shitless by the flowering of an African violet. Clive couldn’t understand how he could possibly believe in such superstitious nonsense, but Dennis truly saw the plant as a danger signal and their disagreement grew into a full-blown row. They both walked away from the plant at the same time, but Dennis turned towards him in such a way that Clive thought he was going to punch him. Clive’s instinct was to get out of his reach: so he turned round quickly, ducked, and opened the sliding door back into the house. Dennis immediately followed him but seemed to falter as he crashed into a chair, lurched forward and fell to the floor, clutching at his forehead with his free hand.

  Dennis’s speech began to slur and Clive noticed that the right side of his friend’s face had suddenly contracted. He remembered his first aid, and with all the strength he could muster, placed Dennis onto the stairs so that his head was higher than the rest of his body, enabling the blood to flow away from the brain. By now Dennis appeared to have lost consciousness, which panicked Clive even more, so he decided to call an ambulance. In London he would have dialled 999, but in Columbus he hadn’t a clue what number to ring and realised he was losing valuable time, so he phoned Laurel in New York, who told him to call the operator and ask for the number of the local ambulance service.

  ‘And so what happened. Did the ambulance come quickly?’ asked Shirley.

  ‘In no time at all two men arrived, looking more like policemen than medics. I explained that I was visiting and that it was the house owner who had been taken ill. After giving Dennis a quick examination, they started to give me the third degree and claimed that I wasn’t telling them the truth about what had been going on, and implied we’d got into a fight.’

  ‘But that’s absurd – and besides, you wanted to get Dennis to a hospital, and quick.’

  ‘Shirley, that’s exactly what I told them, but they got all shirty with me and accused me of telling them that they weren’t doing their job properly.’

  ‘Which of course simply wasn’t the case.’

  They then noticed the nude etching of Dennis on the wall; the one from the weekly life drawing class he used to model for. That threw them into hysterical laughter and they started caterwauling, mincing about and accusing him and Dennis of being a pair of fairies.

  ‘So what on earth did you do?’

  ‘What could I do? I protested that Dennis could be dying, and pleaded with them to get him to a hospital. Then one of them said: “He don’t need no hospital, sir. After what’s been going on here, he deserves the jailhouse, more like… You both do!”’

  ‘You must have been at your wits’ end with Dennis lying there unconscious.’

  ‘The more assertive I became, the more they poked fun at us and made jokes about what happens when two sissies get into a fight and slug each other.’

  ‘That’s appalling! So then what happened?’

  ‘I pleaded with them to help me and they finally offered to move Dennis onto the sofa, sarcastically telling me that I could nurse him better there. They briefly examined Dennis one more time, gave me a jar of aspirin, told me to give him a couple when he came round and then they simply marched out.’

  ‘The whole episode sounds unreal. What a couple of bigots.’

  It certainly shattered any illusions Clive may have had back in the seventies about how gay-friendly Americans were in the provinces – and that was long before AIDS. He told Shirley that he soon came to his senses and finally found the Poledris’ number in Dennis’s personal telephone book and got through to Michael’s parents. By the time Michael got back home, Dennis was looking a lot better and Michael told Clive that Dennis was prone to a mild form of epilepsy and that it wasn’t the first time he’d had such an attack. To be on the safe side, Michael called a cab, woke Dennis up and took him to the hospital for a check-up. Then once they had left, Clive called Laurel back.

  She told him that he should do what her dead mother would have advised – may she rest in peace: ‘Honeybee, If you’ve had a bad shock, you should always take a piss!’

  ‘Jewish mothers always know best,’ agreed Shirley.

  CHAPTER SIX

  STEVE LEGGARD WEDNESDAY

  ‘That will be Steve,’ Michael yelled out. ‘Clive, will you let him in, please?’

  So, finally, there stood Michael’s dear friend, and as his lips parted to speak, they revealed the most perfect set of pure-white porcelain teeth imaginable. Steve Leggard appeared to be in his late thirties, taller than Clive and thick set with a slightly greying full head of blond hair cut fairly close to his rather podgy tanned face. He wore a wonderful smile and his bright blue eyes greeted Clive most enthusiastically.

  ‘Hi! You must be Clive. I’m so very glad to meet you.’ And they shook hands rather formally as Clive welcomed Steve warmly into Dennis’s house. ‘I do hope you don’t consider this an intrusion – this being your first day here and all – but I just couldn’t wait to—’

  ‘Not at all, it’s a pleasure to meet you too, but I’ve rather lost track of what day of the week it really is and—’

  ‘Actually, Clive, if you really want to know, it’s Wednesday,’ Michael yelled out from the kitchen.

  ‘Whatever the damn day is, Michael,’ Clive yelled back, ‘I’m so very happy your friend Steve was able to come to lunch today. Then, turning back to the newly arrived guest, he added, ‘I know what a support you’ve been to Michael and what a good friend you were to Dennis.’

  With the preliminaries over, Clive took Steve’s navy blue overcoat, and ushered him into where the chef was preparing lunch.

  ‘Now, Steve darling, we’re sipping our martinis.’ And Michael went over to give his dear old friend a hug. ‘Won’t you join us?’

  ‘Mmm! They look delicious. I’d love one.’

  ‘I’m rather hoping it will help me wake up a bit,’ joked Clive.

  ‘I’ve never known a Manhattan fail,’ and as he went to toast them, Steve came in quickly with: ‘And here’s mud in your eye!’ delivered in a Bette Davis drawl, making the other two men giggle.

  ‘Now, why don’t you two get the hell out of my kitchen,’ ordered Michael, ‘and go into the parlour and get really acquainted.’

  They did as bidden and obediently withdrew into the front room. The central heating was blazing away and Steve removed the jacket of his pale grey suit with a flourish, revealing his matching waistcoat, now leaving both men in their shirtsleeves. As they made themselves comfortable on the long sofa and sipped their martinis, Clive, who was used to advising his clients, couldn’t help but think that if his new acquaintance were to lose a stone in weight, his love handles would vanish, and he would appear much more sexy.

  Clive initiated the conversation. ‘Michael tells me you’re a social worker, but I don’t know what that actually means you do here in the United States.’

  ‘Well, I work for an agency that finds employment for people who are either physically or mentally impaired. There are about a dozen such organisations in Ohio State alone, and they’re all privately run. Ours is called Columbus Cares.’

  ‘Does that mean you receive no financial support from your government?’

  ‘Absolutely right. We all have full non-profit-making, charitable status.’

  ‘I see. So tell me more about your set-up.’

  ‘Well,’ Steve continued, ‘folk with these sorts of difficulties get referred to us by medical teams, and then we try to find them the kind of employment that’s appropriate to their situation.’

  ‘So what kind of work can they do?’

  ‘All sorts, really. It depends upon what our clients – as we call them – are actually capable
of doing. I suppose it’s mostly manual activities: it can vary from packaging articles to assembling very simple mechanical products. We run workshops and training sessions to assist them, supervised by our staff members, and we try to improve our clients’ opportunities of employment.’

  ‘I’m so desperately ignorant about this kind of important work,’ Clive admitted.

  ‘Oh, don’t apologise, most people haven’t got a clue about what our organisation gets up to.’

  ‘It sounds like quite a big operation.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is. I’m the assistant director and at present we have over three hundred people involved in our enterprise, including staff as well as clients.’ After taking another sip of his martini, Steve added, ‘My particular responsibility is to try to persuade local businessmen to provide employment opportunities for as many people as possible.’

  ‘Sounds like a full-time job in itself.’

  ‘I certainly think it is, but sometimes I feel I have a hard time convincing my boss.’

  ‘What’s he like?’ Clive enquired.

  ‘My boss? Oh I guess Bill’s all right: middle-aged, married with three children and what I would call a liberal Republican. He doesn’t know about my private life of course, and if he did, I should think I’d be out on my ass.’

  Avoiding being drawn by that last remark, Clive asked, ‘I suppose you have to work quite closely together?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I share the job with somebody else,’ Steve volunteered. ‘Jane Matthews functions more like Bill’s personal assistant.’

  ‘You know, Steve, I have a wonderful PA back in London, Shirley Morris. She’s simply terrific and I’m so very lucky to have her on board, I can tell you.’ Then changing tack, Clive asked, ‘How long have you been in your current job?’

  ‘I’ll be going into my third year this September coming,’ Steve proudly stated.

  ‘Not very long, then?’

  ‘No. I guess not. It just feels like it,’ Steve smiled back.

  Then, as Michael came in to tell them to sit at the table and that lunch was ready, he contributed to the banter: ‘Clive, darling, Steve’s a workaholic – he never stops! And you know, in his spare time, he’s also a key player at our Men’s Center.’