Page 52 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

Joe pulled his hands from his face and looked directly into Howie’s eyes. “Can I ask you something? Even if it upsets you?”

“Sure. I’m an open-ish book.” A whirlpool of nerves swooped through Howie’s digestive tract.

“That day I injured my leg? I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I went into your room.”

“We know,” Howie said. “The blood spatter was like a subway map.”

“Well …” Joe hesitated. “There’s that big photo of Max dressed in drag on your wall—her ominous something?”

“Yes. Eartha Delights and Her Ominous Bush. It’s Max’s alter ego—his elevated spiritual, drag-queen self. When he dresses up as her, he believes he has special powers.” Howie swallowed hard, not yet wanting to reveal that he too had “special powers”—or at leastused to. “Why are you asking?”

“Max is important to you, isn’t he?” Joe widened his eyes at Howie. “I mean, really important?”

Howie pulled his robe around himself, as if he felt a draft. What exactly was Joe trying to get at? How much had he seen in the house? Was this the reason for Joe’s distance these past weeks? Iftheir friendship was to progress, perhaps it was time to have the discussion. “What do you want to know, Joe?”

Joe bit his lip. “That photo of Eartha Delights … when I looked in her eyes. It was like she made me so angry and sad and … I heard things. Voices and music and …” Joe took a deep breath, seemingly unable to articulate more but clearly wanting an answer.

What had Joe experienced? Was it possible Max, even in his delirium, had been able to connect with Joe via some sort of telepathy? It made no sense, since Joe wasn’t in the coven. Still, Howie would need to check with Max (as soon as he was well enough) to see if he had experienced anything unusual that day. But for now, Howie would need to be very careful in his explanation so as not to scare Joe. As much as he hated doing it. Howie would need to lie.

“What you experienced is totally understandable,” Howie began gently. “You’ve been through such a great tragedy at far too young an age. Plus, you’ve been uprooted and flung onto this incredibly insane and intense gay island. Now take all of that and combine it with the adrenaline from, well, knowingly sneaking into our private space. That’s like a hurricane in your head. It’s natural you’d think you heard voices when you looked at Max’s future reliquary. We created it so it would evoke profound feelings, and you’re a very empathetic young man, Joe. I’d be more troubled if youdidn’thear voices and music. Frankly, that photo of Eartha inspires so many people to experience outrageous things. You should see how many of my tricks look up at her in the middle of the night and run screaming from my room.” Howie chuckled. “At least that’s what they tell me is the reason.” He placed his hand warmly on Joe’s shoulder. “You didn’t see or hear ghosts, Joe, and you’re not going crazy.”

Joe sniffled. “Thanks. By the way, that photo and frame are beautiful … what did you call it?”

“It’s a reliquary,” Howie said. “A place where we’ll keep Max’s ashes when he’s gone. He and I have been working on it ever since he found out he had AIDS. He wanted to be part of creating it, leaving those he loved something to visit and celebrate his glorious life.”

“I notice how you look at him in some of the photos,” Joe said. “Did you used to date?”

“A long time ago,” Howie said, relieved that Joe seemed to buy his explanation. “Though not in the usual hetero-Hollywood misrepresentation of love. The physical part of our love was brief, but we love each other in a much more expansive way. We’ve both had lots of other lovers since, of course. He and Heshy have been together for nearly twenty years. And Lenny and I are … well … whatever we are. But Max remains the most important person in my life—in all our lives, really. He was the linchpin in our entire friend group when everyone was still alive. He’s the one who brought us all together and called us ‘an army of lovers’—battling to spread joy and love on every dance floor. That was back in the sixties in P-town. Later, Lenny and I followed him here to 44 and¼Picketty Ruff. He taught us everything that made our lives most valuable. Of course, there were many more of us back in the day—all collected from dance floors or one-night stands.” Howie smiled, thinking of the coven at its most populated and fertile. But then he remembered, and darkness filled his eyes. “Over the last eight years, AIDS has taken eighty-two of us.”

“Lenny mentioned that,” Joe said, his eyes softening as he looked down. “I can’t imagine. I’m so sorry.”

Howie nodded. “Max’s army of lovers has dwindled to just five. If he dies …” Howie felt his tear ducts itch. He squeezed his eyes shut so he could finish his sentence. “So much of what gave my life meaning will be gone. I am who I am because of him.” Howie could no longer hold it in. He placed the watering can down and clasped his hand across his face.

A moment later he felt Joe’s arms around him, hugging him long and hard. “I get it now,” Joe said. “I’m really sorry about Max. And I’m sorry I went into your room. I shouldn’t have, and it won’t happen again.”

“It’s all right, Joe. That’s how we become better friends. We fail, we forgive. There is no real friendship without failure. Are we okay now?”

“Definitely.” Joe released the hug and picked up the blue flier from the table. “Count me in to bartend at the ACT UP benefit. I’ll be happy to donate my tips too.”

“Wonderful,” Howie said, wiping his nose with the hem of his robe. “I’m sure Dory will very much appreciate it.”

For a split second it appeared like Joe might have had something more he wanted to say, but then he folded up the flier and put it in his back pocket. “I gotta go get ready for this party. Later, Howie. Thanks for the talk.” And he was gone.

“Finally,” Howie whispered to himself. Joe was opening up. But still, all the joy that had previously filled Howie’s gut had vanished, and so had all the show tune–singing mourning doves. He stood alone on the back deck. The only sound he heard was the whispering of the mulberry tree, and then, as if it had been waiting for his attention, one long, foreboding hoot of a great horned owl—the same one he had heard haunting the Meat Rack earlier in the season. An omen of death had returned.

29.Trey Winkle

“Disco Witches are terrible at discerning good dicks from bad dicks. Our hearts, while large, can be stupid about love.”

—Disco Witch Manifesto #9

Ronnie and Joe walked east along Fire Island Boulevard to get to Trey Winkle’s brand-new, ridiculously expensive beach house on Ocean and Sky. It was the invite-only, cocktail-party event of the season that everyone was dying to attend. This was why Ronnie and Joe had just purchased brand new clothes from one of the exorbitantly overpriced Pines boutiques. On top of their identical pairs of Guess acid-wash jeans, Joe wore a mint-blue Ralph Lauren polo, while Ronnie’s just-pumped pectorals threatened to rip the seams of a pastel-pink Izod. From a distance the two men resembled a pair of muscular blueberry and strawberry acid-washed ice-cream cones.

“Trey better like this new outfit,” Joe grumbled. “It cost me a week’s tips.”

Despite his complaints, Joe liked how the new expensive clothes felt, and appreciated that Ronnie had invited him to the ritzy party. Being a worker on Fire Island had been making him feel like a second-class citizen. It was fun to pretend he was just one of the wealthy summer people, able to walk into a fancy store and not think about the price of a shirt or shoes and just buy them because,hey, he liked them. But then the next moment, he felt annoyed again about buying something he really couldn’t afford.

“Why was your rich boyfriend so adamant about pastel colors again?” Joe asked. “I hate light-colored shirts. I never make it a month before they’re stained. Navy blue is way safer.”

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