Dream Lover by Suzanne Jenkins Read Free Book Online Page B

from that spot on the boardwalk. “But I don’t want to leave!” she whined.
    The women laughed together, and Betty tugged at her colleague’s hand. “Let’s go,” Betty said. They gathered up their papers and stuffed them away. Pam, always the gracious hostess, waited patiently while the intruders prolonged their departure. Finally, they were gone and she was alone. Yet another humiliation at the hands of Jack. One more slap in the face. Thank you, Jack! Great work! I wonder how we will escape public scrutiny this time. How much more can my pride take? Her mind was running rampant as she cleaned up the cake mess from entertaining the public health pests. Her usual compassionate resolution wasn’t working. It wasn’t their fault that she was embarrassed by their questions, she reasoned. It really didn’t make any difference at all if the whole world knew what a scoundrel her late husband had been. The painful fact was that soon she was going to be forced to tell her children about the AIDS. Maybe once that task was over with, she would return to being her usual, content, optimistic self. But for now, she chose to wallow in self-pity, not caring where it took her. For once, she was giving in to something negative and painful without giving herself the usual pep talk. There was nothing she could say this time that would help.

5
    Melissa
    S omething is happening to my body and it is really scaring me. If this keeps up, I will have to go to the doctor, which I hate. I hate how the nurses look at me as if I’m a freak when I walk in. No one in that clinic asks any questions to me directly. They start every inquiry with “I wonder” or “I guess.”
    “I wonder if this could be related to your tattoos.” Or my favorite, “I guess this could be a residual effect of drug use.” No one has ever treated me for drug addiction, or tested me for it, that I know of. Their treatment of me comes from the way I look. And that pisses me off. One nurse in there is so goddamned fat that she has to walk down the hall sideways, her pannus swaying back and forth, yet she treats me like a pariah. A few years ago, she even had the nerve to comment aloud about a little weight I had gained…six pounds in a year. I went from a whopping 112 pounds sopping wet to 118. I am five foot six. I attributed the gain directly to Jack. That man couldn’t stand to be around me unless he had fed me first. We went out to dinner all the time.
    Of course, when he started to see Sandra, that stopped. I understood. Jack and I were possibly better friends than we were lovers. As lovers, we were wild, depraved, sadistic. As friends, you couldn’t ask for a better man. He made sure that I was taken care of, I can tell you that. He knew he was going to die. I don’t know how he knew it, but he did. I read the paper, so I saw the obit right off. I was devastated. He had given me an envelope with twenty thousand in cash about six weeks before he died.
    “Take this, doll, and get it in a safe place. I don’t care where you put it. You can use a bank but only for part of it, a little each month, or they start asking questions. That house you are in is safe enough.” He got me a real safe and installed it in my bathroom closet. He used a hand drill so my housemates wouldn’t hear the noise, and stuck it way in back, on the floor. That thing isn’t budging; no one will be able to get it out.
    Over the years, he gave me money and I have a nice little nest egg, thanks to Jack. Until he died, he was giving me two thousand a month. I don’t have to touch what is banked. Twenty thousand will last me a long time. It doesn’t take much to live the kind of life I live. He bought my house for me. I live in the Bronx. I love it up here. I teach anthropology at the community college. My house is within walking distance of the school and only during the worst winter snow does it feel as though it’s too far. Jack also loved the Bronx. He told me his father once