Maybe the Moon

big deal? If you like him, why don’t you say so?”
    “Because it’s tacky.”
    “Oh, and those blind dates of yours aren’t.”
    She pouted into her magazine for a moment, then looked up again. “You aren’t writing that, are you?”
    “Writing what?”
    “About me and Mike.”
    “What’s to write? Anyway, it’s none of your business.”
    She looked down again.
    “I can tell he likes you,” I said. “I could tell it that night. If you let him get away, it’s your own fault.”
    “Same to you,” she said.

27
    S PEAK OF THE DEVIL . J EFF JUST RETURNED WITH ONE OF THE trashier tabloids, fresh from the checkout counter at Ralph’s, the front cover of which is dominated by a stock shot of Jeremy and Mr. Woods and the headline: MR. WOODS KID TARGET OF UGLY GAY SMEAR . Inside, next to a recent picture of Callum, is the news that “fanatical gay activists” have been circulating “vicious rumors” about the homosexuality of the former child star, but that “megabucks superagent Leonard Lord” had “categorically denied” the truth of those rumors. “Callum Duff is all man,” Leonard was quoted as saying.
    Jeff saw me grin when I got to that part. “Can you fucking believe that?”
    “He’s too smart to say that,” I said.
    “I’m sure he didn’t.”
    I asked him if he thought Leonard had called the tabloid or vice versa.
    “I don’t think they even talked to each other. This was just the safest way to break the story—as an indignant denial. It lets ’em reaffirm the awfulness of being queer and dish the dirt at the same time. And Leonard can’t do shit about it.”
    “Why not?”
    “What’s he gonna do? Deny that he denied it?”
    I asked him what he thought would happen now.
    “Oh…the so-called responsible press will feel sorry for Callum and run lots of items about the special girl in his life, whoever the lucky dyke starlet happens to be, and it’ll all be fine, because there are no queers in Hollywood.” He collapsed into the chair with a sigh and peered into the paper sack he’d brought with him. “Can you be arrested for smuggling jelly doughnuts into a cardiac ward?”
    I must admit, I hadn’t thought he’d actually bring them. “Be still, my heart.”
    “Yeah, exactly,” he said.
    “How many?”
    “One,” he said, handing it to me. “And take it slow.”
    I nibbled away at what I thought to be a reasonable rate. “What else is in there?”
    “Well…Big Ed, for one.”
    I laughed. “You’re lying.”
    He smiled at me. “No.”
    “You nasty thing. What else?”
    “Just some magazines. How’s the diary going?”
    “OK.” Since this seemed as good a time as any, I added: “I need to ask a favor, Jeff.”
    “What?”
    “Would you deliver it for me? To Philip Blenheim?”
    “The diary?”
    “Yeah.”
    “When?”
    “When I’m finished,” I told him pointedly.
    Jeff blinked at me for a moment, absorbing the implications of that. “OK,” he said finally.
    “You’ll have to transcribe it first. I don’t want him having the only copy.”
    He nodded.
    “And don’t edit.”
    “Yes, Your Majesty.”
    I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
    “Is that it?” he asked.
    “That’s it.”
    “You aren’t planning to…finish it anytime soon, are you?”
    I told him I didn’t know.

28
    I ’ VE BECOME E XHIBIT A AROUND HERE . T HERE ARE MORE AND more doctors all the time, a Great Wall of clipboards surrounding the bed. Whether this was provoked by my present condition or my lifelong one, I couldn’t begin to tell you. They smile a lot and take notes and leave, often returning with eager reinforcements in a matter of minutes. Everyone has remarked on this, even Mrs. Haywood, the tight-lipped southern lady in the next cubicle, who can barely contain her resentment over all the attention I’ve received. I’ve been gracious about this so far, but I’m on the verge of telling her to fuck herself.
    Renee arrived this morning with Mike Gunderson in tow. She finally worked up the nerve to call him, and they had their first quasi date last night—dinner in the hospital cafeteria. She was so pleased with herself. She looked the way a cat looks when it drops an impressive corpse on its owner’s doorstep. Which is not to say our Mike is even slightly inert. He exudes a vigorous midwestern earnestness that Renee interprets as “a great personality.” I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
    Last night, while Renee and Mike were at dinner, Jeff came by