Page 53 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“I think they’re mainly harassing me.”
“How did things go with Bernie Schaub?”
I told him everything that had happened that morning. Apparently, they’d already talked because he said, “When you finish that report he asked for, make sure to email me a copy. Okay?”
That was annoying. I’d carefully avoided mentioning the report. Now it seemed like I might actually have to write it. Crap. The last thing I wanted this job to be about was writing reports.
I said goodbye, then checked my messages. Opal, sounding desperate. When I called back, I’d barely said hello when she said, “Denny is missing.”
“Yeah, well, drug addicts do that.”
I could have offered up myself as proof but decided not to. She really didn’t need to know I’d fallen off the map once for four days. I might have gone to Vegas or maybe a poker club in Gardena, that part is fuzzy. Anyway, I was trying to pay attention to the conversation, but mostly what she was saying was, “Carl is frantic.” “Carl is terrified.” “Carl is heartbroken.”
“How long has Denny been gone?”
“Two days.”
“Look, he’s probably off partying and having sex with someone and will be for another day or so.”
Denny and I had vastly different tastes in drugs. I liked the kind that offered bliss and a long nap. He preferred the ones that compelled you to have so much sex you rubbed off patches of skin in your nether regions.
“He’ll come back when he’s ready,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Or when he runs out of drugs.”
“Can you go to a meeting? Someone there might know where Denny is.”
“It’s not Thursday.”
“There are other people in the world besides gays.”
“Yes, far too many.”
“You have to help, Henry.”
For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why I had to help. We were frenemies at best. That implied I didn’t owe her a thing.
“Fine. I’ve got an idea. I’ll call you back.”
I clicked off wondering what was wrong with me? Why had I agreed to help her? This was not going to end well.
I drove to the Turley HIV clinic, which was located in a small brick building a block or so from the HealthWeb Hospital, which was previously… Okay, you get the picture. I almost couldn’t find it. It sat next to one of the overflow parking lots for the hospital, which was also where they kept their overflow snow. Next to the tiny building was a two-story mountain of dirty snow.
I drove around looking for a parking space that didn’t have a meter and then walked the four blocks to the clinic. Of course, the place was empty. Sexually transmitted diseases seemed more a summer thing. You might be bored enough to contract them in the winter, but no one would notice them until summertime.
Todd sat at a desk in one corner. There was a plaque with his full name: TODDY MILNER. I kept running into him, so maybe I should make an effort to remember his name. Nah, whatever. He looked up and saw me.
“Hello. Nice to see you. Are you here for an HIV test?”
“No. God no. I might as well be a nun. Pickings up here are pretty slim.”
“I don’t know that I agree with that. You might have to dig a little deeper than you would in Los Angeles. Maybe don’t be so picky.”
What a thing to say to a person. I prided myself on my pickiness. I mean, fine, I’ll admit that when I was in search of Oxy I wasn’t always picky. But sober, sober I was very picky.
“Actually, I came to see you.”
“Oh, that’s great! You considered my offer? I’m off in about forty-five minutes. We could have a cup of coffee and talk about what it means to have a sponsor.”
“Oh no, no that’s not what I meant. Not at all.” I stared at his confused face for a moment, then rushed forward, “I’m friends with Opal who works at Pastiche.”
