Page 23 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
Had she heard my conversation with Edward? She might have. There was basically a threadbare piece of cloth hanging between us. Crap. I mean, not crap. Screw her. She had to know I was gay. I mean, I did tell her, and I haven’t exactly been hiding it. She knew. Right?
I dug Emerald’s plastic keys out of the diaper bag, and waved them in front of her. She paused the sobbing, took them, threw them on the floor, then began crying again. I picked them up, they’d need to be washed, and while I was down there, I realized she needed to be changed.
“I’m going to go change the baby,” I told my grandmother as I grabbed the car seat and the diaper bag.
In the men’s room, as I was washing the keys with a little soap—not a lot, I didn’t want her swallowing a lot of soap any more than I wanted her swallowing whatever lived on a hospitalfloor—while I was doing that I thought,What the fuck am I doing here?
Two years before, well, maybe eighteen months. During pride month 2002, I went out to West Hollywood every night for eleven days straight and did not pay a single door cover, did not pay for a single cocktail or any of the various and sundry pills I popped into my mouth. Now, I know that’s not Nobel Peace Prize-worthy, but itisan accomplishment. One that I’m rather proud of. One that I’m afraid I might never repeat if I don’t get back to Los Angeles soon. Young gay men have a shelf life and I could feel my expiration date approaching. But instead of enjoying my moment, I was holding a dirty disposable diaper in my hand with my nasty, broken grandmother in the other room.
It was wrong. All wrong.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nana Cole’s hip was not broken. She did have significant arthritis in her spine and pelvis, and she’d likely compressed a nerve in the fall—we’d have to do an MRI to be sure and if she didn’t improve in a few days that’s what we’d do.
Oh, goody.
She was given steroids, muscle relaxants and Tylenol. I think Edward might have given her some Oxy if he didn’t think I was likely to steal it. But I wouldn’t have stolen it. I’m almost certain.
When we got home, I settled Nana Cole on the sofa in the living room, where she spent the weekend and planned to stay until further notice. Of course, I tried to call my mother. Repeatedly. Her mother had injured herself. She’d want to know that, wouldn’t she? She didn’t answer. She never answered, it wasn’t the first time I called and her mailbox had been full since early December.
Interestingly, my cell phone was still working. Since I was on my mother’s plan, that meant she was paying the bill. And that she was receiving the bill. She’d let Verizon know where she was, but not me.
Right before Thanksgiving, I’d gone to the Verizon store and attempted to get some information. I explained that my mother had lost her phone and she wanted me to see if they could find it for her. Could they check its location? The sales guy explained that they couldn’t give out that information without a court order.
“You mean, you can’t even tell me that when I’m standing right here?”
“Why would you need me to tell you that?”
Then he offered to give us an upgrade on my mother’s phone. I declined and tried a different approach. “We haven’t gotten our bill this month. Could I verify the address on the account?”
He looked at the screen and said, “Go ahead.”
“What address do you have?”
“What address should we have?”
“I don’t know what address my mother gave you.”
“I can’t tellyouthe address on the account. You can tellmewhat the address should be, and I can tell you if it’s correct. If it’s not correct your mother will have to change it herself.”
“So, you think my mother doesn’t want me to know where she is but she’s still paying for my phone?”
This was actually the truth, but he didn’t know that.
“What about the calls? You send a list of what calls were made every month. Can you print that out for me?”
We each had 2000 free minutes every month. Over sixteen hours. They had to provide a list of calls so we could see that we weren’t being overcharged. If I could see the calls my mother was making I might be able to figure out where she was. For instance, if she ordered a pizza there’d be a record of that call, and I could call the pizza place and ask where they were.
“We can send your mother a copy of the bill if she’s lost it.” When I didn’t answer, he said, “I can move your line to anindividual account. It will be at a higher price, and we’ll need to run a credit check.”
“No, thank you.”
On Sunday morning, Nana Cole watched the religious programs on TV, since there was no way she was going to church. If you’re a normal person, like me, you go out on a Saturday night, and your Sunday morning hangover protects you from TV preachers. Of course, I had no protection other than my iPod and a kitchen that needed cleaning. After lunch, Nana Cole’s friends began showing up and I was eventually able to go upstairs… and lessen my anxiety.
When my phone rang at eight-thirty Monday morning I’d already been run ragged. Emerald had been fussy since five-thirty. They say babies can pick up on stress in the air—do they say that? God, I’m not even sure anymore. It certainly seemed like she knew something was up. Friday night we’d been at the ER until after nine and she’d stayed awake the whole time. Then Nana Cole had been snippy all weekend.
Anyway, my cell phone was ringing. I finally answered it. Ham. “Can you get to Three Friends ASAP?” Honestly, it sounded like he was still in that park. Hopefully a park somewhere warmer than Masons Bay.
