All Maps Are Fiction Page 2

  “Boss, your father started spinning when you put in laser cutting machines, told the sales guys they didn’t have to wear ties, and installed that cool coffee machine.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.”

  As he leafed through the missed-calls slips he thought about software upgrades, preventive maintenance and stagnant sales. The last slip in the pile caused him to stop in his tracks. Why a call from the clinic? He had been there only a few hours before. At the top of this one Katie had marked urgent. He turned and went back to the receptionist.

  “Ah, Katie, this call from Doctor Hechtua’s office. Did they say, ah, why it might be urgent, or is that just you editorializing a bit on the call slip?”

  “Nope to both questions. Some lady who called said that doctor whatshisname told her it was urgent. You’re not going to get sick and die before you sign this week’s pay checks are you?”

  “Remind me to take you out of my will,” he said and headed back out the door.

  Aston slowed as she rolled up to the automatic doors of the CVS store and jumped off the board as the doors made a swooshing sound behind her. She glanced over at an elderly woman behind the counter. As usual, the woman scowled and squinted over the rim of her glasses.

  “Young lady,” the woman said as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “didn’t you read the sign on the door regarding skateboarding in here?”

  Aston smiled and turned toward the back of the store. “No, I guess I missed that one. I was looking at the one about shoes and shirts. Not to worry, I’ll leave my shirt on until I leave.”

  Aston leaned over the counter and looked in the pharmacy department, searching for her friend, Diane. “Hey Di, where you hiding?”

  Diane came from a backroom. “What’s up? You aren’t due for any refills for a couple weeks. And don’t tell me this is about money.”

  “Ya know, Diane, if this drug-dealing gig doesn’t work out for you, you might consider going into the fortune telling business. Better hours and you’ll get to hold a lot of people’s greasy palms.”

  “Oh, you make it sound so inviting. How’ve you been?”

  Aston explained her dilemma with the broken skateboard motor. “Nothing forty bucks can’t fix. Just until those piss ants I made the political posters for pay me.”

  Diane searched for her purse under the counter and pulled out two twenty dollar bills.

  “Okay, I trust you. But you have to stop creating new graphic designs for politicians. Just use the old signs you made last year. It’s always the same issues with them.”

  “Thanks. You know how it is, I have to do work for whoever eventually pays me. Life would be a hell of a lot more simple if I could find some rich dude who would keep me in a life style that I’d like to get accustomed to.”

  “Any candidates?”

  “Not hardly. I’m thinking of putting together one of those Nigerian Princess schemes to raise some cash.”

  “Might be safer to go looking for buried pirate treasure.”

  “Yeah, warmer too since they’re always buried on a Caribbean island someplace.”

  “You wouldn’t like it, Aston. Too much sand. No place to board.”

  “Right about that. How’s your love life?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Diane said and leaned forward on the counter and lowered her voice. “I met this really cool reporter guy last week over at Sharpies. Looks promising.”

  “Alright,” Aston said and offered her friend a high-five. “But I’d think twice about any guy I’d pick up at that bar.”

  “Not to worry. I get an employee discount on condoms, ya know.”

  Aston waved and dropped her skateboard to the floor as a customer approached the counter.

  Diane straightened and said, “Remember Miss, no skateboarding in the store.”

  Without looking back, Aston raised the middle finger of her right hand and coasted toward the door.

  Eric couldn’t decide which smell offended him more, the waiting room or the hallway. He felt the legs of his black plastic chair threaten to collapse as he tipped back and rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He struggled to get into order all that had already happened this day. Early this morning he had been in this dreary doctor’s office, listening to a colorless voice, unemotionally deliver unbelievable news that he was deathly ill. Then, for the first time in his life, he’d been in a gun shop. Then met a crazy girl—

  “Eric Yates?” The nurse’s voice cut into his daydream.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, let’s get some info, honey. Step on the scale—”

  “Is this really necessary? You’re going to check my weight, height, and no doubt my blood pressure, when I was just in here a few hours ago?”

  “Rules is rules, young man,” she said, as she tapped her clipboard against an ample thigh.

  Eric studied the nurse and decided she had to be at least five years younger than he. While she scribbled information into his chart, he tried to create a jigsaw puzzle image from the water stains on the hallway’s ceiling and wall.

  “When you’re done studying the results of our latest plumbing problem, Doctor Hechtua is ready for you in his office. You remember?” she said and pointed with her chin.

  Eric turned and started to walk toward a dark door at the end of the hall. He hesitated. “Hey, didn’t they offer you a class in bedside manners in nursing school?”

  “Say what?”

  The aroma of oily linoleum replaced the antiseptic smell that permeated the waiting room as he walked down the hallway. The doctor’s office door appeared to be the only thing in the building not smeared with fingerprints of some sort. Eric, afraid to touch the door handle, entered by leaning his shoulder against the door without knocking. Sun came through a clouded window behind the dark-haired, dark-skinned man. The halo appearance it created tempted Eric to call him Doctor Jesus.

  Doctor Hechtua peered over his reader glasses and, without a word, pointed at the only chair in the room.

  Eric listened to the tap, tap, tap. He watched the doctor’s eyes scan his computer screen and wondered if the doctor was checking medical records or involved in a computer game.

  “Okay, ah, Eric, the complete test results are back. Like I said earlier, your options are limited. We need to talk through a few things. Did you bring me that list of your sex partners of the past six months I asked about, earlier?”

  “Oh, I’m feeling fine, doc. How are you?”

  “Okay, right, a plan of attack. We’re going to win this battle, and, in case you were wondering, I’ve never lost a patient—”

  “Yet. Not lost a patient, yet.”

  Eric saw wrinkles appear on Doctor Hechtua’s forehead as the man’s eyebrows came together. He squinted at Eric through narrowed eyes, released a long breath and turned from the computer screen. His reader glasses made a soft clinking sound as he dropped them on to pile of pencils on the desk. “Yeah, let me amend that: I haven’t lost a patient with a positive attitude, yet. And you are not going to be my first.”

  “Right. Maybe we should start with hello. And I’d prefer you use my new name, Noah.”

  Doctor Hechtua turned back to the computer and scrolled through the page. “Ah, my records must be off. We list your name as—”

  “Okay, just use Eric.”

  “Right, Eric. The lab and some of my colleagues concur, we’ve come up with a doable medication regimen. We’ll stay away from the heavy stuff, if we can. What we have here is a new medication. It might slow you down, at first, but in a couple of months your body will be up to speed and you’re on your way to a full life.”

  Eric leaned forward to better watch the doctor scribble some sort of code on a small piece of paper.

  “I think we should talk a bit here, doc,” Eric said as he watched. “Prec
isely, what is it that I’ve got? This morning you said some serious things and gave me some damned scary pamphlets. I need more information before I can make any kind of decision.”

  The doctor looked at him, eyebrows arched. “Ah, I thought we had this discussion. Your latest blood test came back from the lab confirming what I told you—what I suspected from the earlier tests. You’ve contracted HIV-1.”

  “AIDS, right?”

  “Well, not exactly. HIV-1 is the virus that causes AIDS. It’s about your immune system deficiency really. What you’ll be taking doesn’t cure HIV-1, or AIDS. Nothing does.”

  “Wait. What? What good is it?”

  Doctor Hechtua leaned back in his chair, glanced at his wristwatch and picked up his reader glasses. “What we’ll do is improve, or boost your immune system. We’ll reduce the amount of HIV-1 in your blood until we reach, and maintain, undetectable levels.”

  Eric turned in his chair. “Then I’ll be cured.”

  “No. As I said, there is no cure. We want you to live as healthy a life as possible. When we get you to the point where HIV-1 is undetectable, it lowers the risk of you passing the virus on, during safe sex, by as much as ninety percent, for example. Still—”

  “Shit. In other words, I’m still dead.”

  “No, not necessarily.” The doctor pulled a small, brown paper bag from the top drawer. “You don’t want to skip or miss any days while taking this medication. If you do miss, there could be a viral overload increase and your CD4+ cell count could go down.”

  “Huh? And what if—”

  “What happens is, your immune system is weakened. Any treatment options we might attempt in the future would be limited, at best. That means any HIV drug resistance could be passed on to others.”

  The doctor pulled a small bottle of brown pills from the bag and placed it on the desk blotter. Eric leaned forward again and held it up to the light to examine the contents. “Looks like pieces of rat shit.”

  “Not exactly. Listen, you must cultivate a more positive attitude if we’re going to beat this thing—and we will. There are plenty of other meds we can try if this does not get the HIV under control. Brymtuzi is new but has plenty of excellent reviews. It’s worked wonders with others and I want to get you going as quickly as possible.”

  The sun had moved more to the doctor’s left side, making the man’s nose more prominent. Eric thought he no longer appeared so much like Jesus, just a tired, overworked doctor. “Okay Doc, should we talk about side effects?”

  “Let me just say, side effects do include anything bad you might experience, or your body feels—anything unpleasant that you can think of—from nausea to a strange rash—is possible. Your liver and kidneys appear to be in excellent shape. I’m not worried, Eric. You’ll do okay. Remember, don’t miss your daily dose.”

  “Yeah. What’s this stuff going to cost me?”

  “I forgot, you’re a business guy. Always looking at the bottom line, aren’t you? Your medical insurance is excellent, which, when last I checked, should cover most of the cost.”

  “How much?”

  “Currently, a thirty-tablet supply costs about thirty-six hundred dollars.”

  Eric’s first reaction was to laugh, which came out as a series of puffs. “For one fucking month? Shit, no wonder so many people die of AIDS. Really? A month?”

  “Well, yes. But it’s not the most expensive. And if you buy a ninety-day supply, the cost does go down, slightly. That should appeal to you.”

  “For the rest of my life?”

  “Until we think you’re out of the woods—”

  “But you said there’s no cure.”

  “True. Well, Eric, I have a week’s supply here for you to get you started, along with this prescription,” he said, as he handed Eric the slip of paper. “Best of luck. We’d like to see you back in here for tests on a regular weekly basis, so we can see what kind of progress we’re making.”

  Doctor Hechtua stood and moved to Eric’s side of the desk. “Remember, take one a day and you’ll be fine.”

  “I’m already fine. I feel great. I don’t need some pill that costs more than a hundred dollars a pop.”

  “I’m afraid you do. All the tests we did on your blood indicate the early stages of HIV. Best of luck to you, Eric,” he said as he moved to open the office door, then hesitated. “Oh, did you bring that list of your sex partners? We’ll have to test them too. We call it contact tracing.”

  “Doc, I told you, I didn’t catch whatever it is you think I’ve got from any sex partner. I told you, a woman I’m dating, past tense, dated, works at the zoo. I went to pick her up for a date a week or so ago, and she wanted to show me a new monkey they’re recently acquired. I got too close to the cage and the bastard bit me on the finger. I went to the ER to make sure I didn’t have rabies and they sent the blood sample to you guys. Now you’re telling me I have AIDS.”

  Doctor Hechtua smiled, looked at the floor, then at Eric. “It’s HIV, Eric, not AIDS. But, if that’s your story, stick with it. Meanwhile, don’t have unprotected sex with anyone, or any thing.”

  Eric sat in his car looking at the small brown bottle of what appeared to be rat shit. This is not going to turn out well, he thought. As he reached over to pull on the right arm straps of the four-point seat harness, he noticed a well-dressed woman taking a large brief case from the trunk of her car. She looked over at him and smiled. He smiled back and thought, yeah buster, those days are over for you. Time for another trip to the gun store.

  Eric waited in the parking lot until he was certain no customers were in Gale’s Guns & Tackle shop. A bell above the door announced his entry. The uneven wood floor creaked as he walked across the room, hands in his pockets and looked down, bewildered by display of handguns snug in their glass enclosures. A female store clerk, a large handgun strapped to her hip, moved from behind the cash register to the spot in back of the counter opposite where Eric stopped. He kept his eyes fixed on the Sig Sauer P938, so the label on the box named it.

  “Hi there. Back again, are ya? I’m Gale. Saw ya in here earlier. What can I do ya for? Don’t recall your name.”

  “Ah, hi Gale. Oh, I was thinking about a gun, you know, like I told the guy earlier, just for target shooting.”

  “Well, that’s a fairly good choice you’re looking at. Kind of expensive if you’re just getting into the sport, however. I’ve got a couple others that might work just as well at about half the price.”

  “How much is this one?”

  “On sale this week for six hundred dollars, and I’ll toss in the cleaning kit.”

  Eric let his eyes drift to several similar guns in the case next to the Sig Sauer. “I like the looks of this one,” he said, studying the darkened, distressed finish of the gun.

  The ring full of keys tethered to Gale’s belt, made bell-like sounds until she found the one she needed to open the case. As she pulled the gun from its pedestal she said, “Well, this is a nice piece, that’s for sure. It’s centerfire, reliable and, if you’re so inclined, easy to conceal. It’s a single-action design and has a stainless steel slide.”

  Eric reached out to take the gun from her. She’s speaking a foreign language, he thought. The textured grips felt cool on his hand. He swallowed, hard. “Ah, okay, I’ll take it. Say, do I need a license to buy this?”

  “Nope, this is Ohio, a state that knows how to protect the Second Amendment. We’re open carry and no waiting period, if you’re over eighteen, which you appear to be. The only permit you’d require is if you plan to carry it as a concealed weapon.”

  “Ah, no. I’m going to use it for target shooting on my friend’s farm. Tin cans and stuff. Maybe paper targets. I’m not sure.”

  “I think we’re all good here, then. This is a lot of firepower for busting up tin cans,” Gale said as she removed the gun’s box from the case and reac
hed out for Eric to give back the gun. “You’re not a felon, are you? You look like a businessman to me.”

  Eric smiled. “Yep, I’m a businessman, not a bank robber.”

  “You’ll need some ammunition, too. I’d suggest—”

  “Right, bullets. Give me some of those, too.”

  Gale looked at him but did not smile. “Full box? You know mister, I didn’t catch your name—you might consider taking our gun-safety classes. It teaches you how to handle a piece like this, and a lot more important information. We meet the second Tuesday of the month. We have a gallery in the basement.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. And the name’s Eric. My friend has a lot of experience with handguns and I shot one at his place last week, so I know a little bit,” he said, looking across the room. “But you’re right. I should take that safety class.”

  He walked around the shop and picked at the paraphernalia available for shooters while Gale finished the paperwork required for the purchase. “Lot of things I should think about to go with the gun, isn’t there?”

  “Yes sir. I’d start with a holster, ear muffs and shooter’s glasses if I was you.”

  “Right. Well, maybe next week I’ll come back. You know, see what my friend recommends.”

  “Okay Eric, you’re good to go, Visa says you’ve got the dough. I’m sure you’ll enjoy this gun from the first shot to the last. You have a good day now, and don’t be a stranger when it comes to needing anything about guns.”

  “Right. I’ll be back,” he said and lifted the bag from the counter. It felt much heavier than he expected.

  In the car he set the heavy bag on the passenger seat next to the bottle of pills Doctor Hechtua had given him. He rubbed his palms on his trousers and pushed his hair back along the side of his head. He took several deep breaths and twisted his head back and forth. Questions raced through his mind, and he laughed when he thought of the most important one; he never asked Gale how to load the gun. “You’re gonna make a great killer,” he said to his image in the rearview mirror. He licked his lips and looked at the bag with the Gale’s Guns & Tackle logo. He returned to his image in the mirror. “Maybe this is not the best idea you’ve had in a while,” he said. He turned to look at his image in the near-side mirror. “Well, you’ve at least taken the first step. What happens next, happens.”