Like a Love Story(86)

“I hate it too,” I say.

We look at each other in silence for a long beat, saying nothing, letting all our hatred and fear bring us closer to each other.

“It’ll be over someday,” Judy says. “I know it will.” I can tell what she’s thinking. That it may not be over in time to save Stephen. But she doesn’t linger in sadness. She shifts her tone and jokes, “And then you’ll take his pants off.”

I laugh and add, “Oh, I won’t take his pants off. I’ll tear them off. With my teeth. Like a tiger that’s just been unleashed from zoo captivity.”

She laughs again. God, I love her laugh. I love the way she makes me feel, like I matter. She has always made me feel that way. “And imagine all those years of anticipation built up inside him,” she says. “It’ll be the most insane sex of all time.”

“Hopefully it won’t be years,” I say. “Maybe it’ll just be a few more months.”

“You think?” she asks. “You think the CDC or the NIH has the cure and is just sitting on it?”

“I have to believe that,” I say. “I just have to.”

“I know you do,” she says. “I do, too. I just . . .” She looks deep inside me, like she can see my soul. “Sometimes I lose hope, Art.”

Stephen is in the air now. His presence and his absence. We both know Stephen must be in really bad shape if he didn’t come to Maryland. He orchestrated our reunion perfectly. I just hope it’s not one of his final acts of goodness. I need him to keep fighting, keep adding more goodness to the world.

“I know,” I say. I hold her hand, squeeze it tight, trying hard to transmit hope to her.

“Change the subject,” she says, her voice quivering. “Please.”

“What about you?” I ask quickly. “No new men at all now that you’re a popular girl?”

“Oh, come on, I am not a popular girl,” she says, a little embarrassed by the description. “And I don’t want to be. I’ll always be a proud freak.” After a pause, her face reddens and she adds, “But, um, I might have hooked up with Reza’s stepbrother.”

“What?” I squeal, clapping my hands together. “No seriously, WHAT?!”

“And he may have called me since because he wants to do it again,” she says.

“I’m sorry, but I need ALL the details. How did this even happen?”

“Well, I was a little drunk, so . . .” She’s blushing even harder now.

“You gorgeous hussy,” I say, and she laughs. “Do you like him?”

“No!” she says quickly. “But it was fun. That’s okay, right?”

“Fun is definitely okay,” I say. “You deserve fun.”

“And he’s one hundred percent straight,” she says. “Which was a refreshing change for me.”

“You deserve straight, too.” I look at her with new eyes. She’s still Judy, but she does seem different. More confident. More grown-up.

We both finish our croissants. “You’re the first person I told that Saadi story to.”

“What about your new best friend Annabel?” I ask, instantly regretting the snide tone.

“She’s cooler than you think,” she says, defensive. “Still, I haven’t known her as long as you. It’s not the same, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say.

“Anyway, please tell no one. Especially not Reza. I don’t want it to be awkward for him.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding.

“I think I’ve earned the right to have a few secrets of my own,” she says, pointedly.

I put up my hands. “You have absolutely earned that right.”

I realize this is it. We’re friends again. We tell each other secrets once more. We trust each other. It’ll never be me and her against the world the way it used to be. Too much has happened. I have a boyfriend now. And she has her girlfriends. But me and her, we’re good again. We’re us again.

“It’s not always gonna be easy, is it?” she asks.

“What?” I ask.

“Us,” she says. “Friendship.”

“It’s like what Stephen said about Joan Crawford in his notecard,” I say. “That she was like Sisyphus pushing that boulder up a hill, except what she was pushing was the idea of ‘Joan Crawford.’”

“I’m not sure I follow,” she says.

“She survived—that’s the whole point of her. Nothing came easy to her. You could always see her working for everything she had. And every time they tried to kill her, she came back. I guess what I’m saying is that . . . easy is overrated. We’ll put the work in, and we’ll survive.”

Judy laughs. She can’t stop.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“It’s just . . .” But she still can’t stop the laughter. Finally, she catches her breath. “You’ve literally turned into Stephen,” she says. “You used Joan Crawford’s career as a metaphor for the survival of our friendship.”

“If the shoe fits,” I say. “We had our flapper phase and our MGM glory years. We just survived our box office poison days, and we’re about to get signed to Warner Brothers. Watch out, ’cause there’s an Oscar and a troglodyte in our future.”