Page 34 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

Once they were gone, Joe could no longer contain his anger. “How can you suck up to guys like that?”

“Look, I know,” Ronnie said with a shrug. “They’re total douchebags. But I’m trying to make friends—forbothour benefits. If you wanna be on Scotty Black’s good side, you gotta be on the Graveyard Girls’ good side.”

“But all that bullshit about Howie burning down that club? That’s some first-rate defamation shit, if you ask me.”

“Whatever.” Ronnie raised his eyebrows and pointed to the back fence. “But it proves my gut reaction about Howie and Lenny wasn’t totally wrong. Something is off with those guys.”

19.The First High Holy Day

“A good night of dancing is not measured in hearts stolen, but in how many lives have been made larger. (Of course, one can do both with the perfect outfit.)”

—Disco Witch Manifesto #27

By the Friday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend, every inch of the Pines hummed with young holiday revelers, all shamelessly attired in the tightest go-go shorts or Speedos, and little else. Howie had told Joe that Memorial Day was the first of Fire Island’s four high holy days, the second being the “invasion” on July Fourth; the third being the Morning Party, a fundraiser for Gay Men’s Health Crisis in mid-August; and the last being Labor Day, the official end of the summer season.

In the weeks since his encounter with the Graveyard Girls, Joe had neither seen nor heard anything to worry him further about Howie and Lenny. Mostly, people spoke fondly of his housemates. Ronnie was the only one who talked smack about them—at least to Joe’s face. Sure, Howie and Lenny were quirky as hell, but they were also very kind and were always feeding Joe and trying to teach him things. These older, overly caring oddballs were a nice balance to all the young hot guys on the island who could be snooty, especially when they found out Joe was a bartender.

Meanwhile, the bar was doing far better in the early season than both Dory and Vince had predicted. If things kept upreasonably well, they thought they could keep Scotty Black from trying to take the bar over—at least anytime soon. And the cherry on top of everything was Vince had told Joe he could end his Saturday shift early and attend the Promethean’s opening party. “The bar will be slow anyway that night,” Vince said. “You go, have a night out dancing, and, please Jesus, get laid for once, would ya?”

Joe was thrilled. Beyond it being his first weekend night off on Fire Island, he thought he might maybe—just maybe—run into that Gladiator Man. For the first time in a long time, everything seemed to be looking up. That is, until he returned to 44 and¼Picketty Ruff and found Howie out on the back deck at the other end of the twenty-foot spiral telephone cord, looking very upset.

“Oh no,” Howie moaned to whomever he was speaking with. “Are they sure?”

Joe strained to decipher the one-sided conversation, which mostly consisted of sighs, head shakes, and grunts of disappointment. Something was really wrong.

“Sure. Sure. Right,” Howie said as the call edged toward an ending. “Thanks, Heshy. I know. I know. I know. I guess right now all we can do is burn some sage and offer it up. Keep us posted, dear.” He slowly walked back into the kitchen, hung up the phone, and stared at it hanging in its cradle as if it were a dying kitten.

“What happened?” Joe asked gently.

“That was Max’s boyfriend.” Howie’s eyes welled. “They found a lesion on Max’s brain.”

Howie’s huge body collapsed into a kitchen chair as his face filled with a look of hopelessness. Seeing him that way caused Joe’s mind to flash onto dark memories he longed to forget—the day Elliot had been diagnosed with thrush, then Kaposi sarcoma, then the lymphoma scare. The incessant doctors’ appointments, the obsessive scouring of newspapers and medical journals for any scintilla of hope. How foolish Joe had been to think that by coming out to Fire Island he’d be able to forget. How could he? Almost every day, he’d hear people talk of friends who were sick or dying. Every day, men with AIDS would sit at his bar, nursing their drinks, with clothes hanging off their bodies like scrawny kids playing dress up. Seeing their gaunt gray faces, powdery lips, and sunkenscared eyes, Joe would tell himself,Elliot never looked that sick toward the end. Elliot never suffered like that.But the longer he lived on the island and the more he saw the anguished faces of men like Howie, the harder it was to believe all the lies Joe was telling himself. This disease was not gentle, nor straightforward, nor did it allow some handsome, noble death. It was out there, aiming for you and all those you would or could love.

“I’m so sorry,” Joe said. It was all he could say.

“Thank you.” Howie wiped his eyes with the hem of his robe. “But I do have some good news to sprinkle on this misery pie. In a moment of lucidity, Max spoke to Heshy. He agreed that you can stay in the attic the whole summer if you like. Heshy says Max is beside himself to meet you. Of course, that could be the lesions talking …” Howie feigned a laugh. “No. Of course, he really wants you here. We all do.”

A surge of warmth hugged Joe’s heart. “Thank you, and please thank Max for me too.”

“I’m still hoping you’ll be able to thank him yourself. Either way, you’re a Picketty Ruff boy now.” Howie rustled Joe’s wavy hair, but a second later, Howie’s smile vanished, and like he had several times over the previous weeks, he looked at Joe in that odd way, with his eyelids almost squeezed shut.

“Is something up?” Joe asked. “You keep looking at me funny.”

Howie opened his eyes back to normal. “Just be careful this weekend, okay? The high holy days can be tricky, no matter who you are.”

Joe squinched his nose. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s just things may tempt you out there—delicious and dangerous things. You can always talk to me and Lenny about it. We won’t judge. Okay?”

“I’ll be careful,” Joe said, assuming Howie was talking about safer sex.

“And if you wouldn’t mind, please keep us posted of your whereabouts. I know that sounds like I’m a silly old worrywart, but, well, I am.” He smiled sadly. “I’d better go find Lenny and tell him the news about Max.”

Howie trudged out the screen door, a look of grave concern on his face.

“A Picketty Ruff boy now.”The hairs on Joe’s neck stiffened. Those had been the Graveyard Girls’ words just before they told him about that bar in Rehoboth burning down.

Saturday afternoon, Joe awoke with his head still swimming with faint images of a dream. He couldn’t remember the details except for it having to do with people running from a spreading fire. Like most dreams, Joe was left with more of a feeling—in this case a dire desperation, a longing to save people, and a fear of being consumed by flames himself. The Graveyard Girls had gotten back into his head about Howie and Lenny.

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