a friend, if the ones who knew about Charlie didn’t hate him, and if the ones who didn’t know could be told. He hadn’t seen anyone, really, since he’d run into Teddy at the Laundromat. One evening Yale was coming out of the dentist on Broadway—an appointment he’d made in another lifetime—and Rafael from Out Loud was passing with a friend. Rafael, drunk, kissed Yale on one cheek and bit him on the other—but they hadn’t had a real conversation.
Roman kept to his normal schedule, coming in both Wednesday and Friday afternoons—and, mercifully, the first time he entered Yale’s office, Janice the cleaning lady was in there with the vacuum, making any greeting other than a silent wave impossible. Roman went about his normal business, albeit more nervously. About twice an hour, he put his forehead down on his desk, and Yale didn’t dare ask if it was over some frustration in transcribing Nora’s letters or in the grant applications Roman was assisting with, or if it was a more existential crisis, one to do with Yale himself, one to do with Roman’s own soul. In any case, Roman was the last person on earth Yale would confide in about his fear of infection.
* * *
—
On Sunday evening Yale saw Julian at Treasure Island. He could have gone to the Jewel right near Marina City, but he hated figuring out the layout of a new store. And maybe he’d been hoping to run into someone after all. Julian was buying a plastic-wrapped roast beef sandwich. He looked better than he had two weeks ago, or at least he had more color in his cheeks. He froze when he saw Yale, stood there like he’d been punched in the gut, and it wasn’t till Yale stepped closer and squeezed his shoulder that he relaxed, said hello.
“Teddy’s been feeding you,” Yale said. “You look good.”
Julian glanced down the aisle. He whispered. “Teddy’s suffocating me. Have you noticed that he never stops moving? Like, ever. And he’s in my face, like I open my eyes in the morning and there he is. Listen, don’t say anything till it’s done, but I’m getting out of here. Out of the country.”
Yale wasn’t sure he believed him—Julian was prone to overstatement—but he acted as if he did. He said, “Where?”
“I got a passport two years ago, and I never used it. Seriously, I’m not going back there. I have my stuff.” Julian turned to show Yale his backpack. “I don’t even know where I’m going. I gave up my apartment.”
“You’re not going to Thailand or something, are you? You’re going to be careful?”
“Listen,” Julian said, “I heard a rumor that you’ve got a place. What if—I just need like three nights, just to get my shit together before I leave. If I stay at Teddy’s, he’s gonna sedate me and tie me to the bed, I swear. I know you hate me right now. I know that. Why wouldn’t you hate me? I hate myself. You should—you should let me stay with you, and then you should throw me out the window. You can say no. I can’t stay with Richard again, it’s too weird there. I could pay you.”
It was humiliating how happy Yale was to say yes. Julian was almost the last person he wanted to spend time with, but it was someone, and he wouldn’t be staring at the TV alone for the next few nights. He wondered how much he’d wind up babysitting, wondered what drugs Julian had in that backpack—but it felt like a triumph to be asked. A year ago he’d have thought about germs, but he was over it. “Do you need any more of your stuff?”
“I can’t go back there. Not for a second. And you can’t tell anyone where I am, okay?”
So Julian helped Yale carry his grocery bags all the way back to River North on the El, all the way up the very fast elevator and into the apartment.
They ate pizza and drank beer at the dining table, and turned off the lights so they could look out the windows at the city. Julian said, “This is like The Jetsons. Like, a flying car should pick you up outside your window.”
It had been nearly two weeks since Julian had shaved his head, and at least you couldn’t see white patches anymore. Still, it was all wrong. His ears stuck out, his forehead looked broad and pale.