James gives her a cockeyed look and says, Mine. Why?

Becky laughs and says, Of course it was; I thought it sounded melodramatic.

This at least makes him smile. Then our plate of clams arrives, and Becky says something snarky about her mom, and we pretend everything is back to normal.

Becky leaves first.

James has had a little too much whiskey.

So have I, because he’s been pouring half his drinks into my Coke.

What is it that you’re so scared of? I ask him.

He shakes his glass and stares at the ice cubes crashing together. Everything, he says, under his breath. Then, before I can process it, Come on, let’s get out of here.

It’s a relief to go to The Echo the next weekend and try to forget the world. Someone has a Polaroid camera, and the whole night, people line up to have their pictures taken for a buck, with the money being donated to Gay Men’s Health Crisis (GMHC). I feel like I haven’t seen Gabriel in a lifetime, and I can’t get enough of the sound of his voice, his scent, his fingers on the back of my neck.

We wait our turn, swaying back and forth to Modern English singing, “I Melt With You.” I’m high on the whole night, with Gabriel’s arms wrapped around me, and the lights and the music and my hands in the air. I feel like I can fly. I feel defiant.

Then it’s our turn and we stand in front of the camera, and I can’t stop laughing until Gabriel leans in and sings along to the music about how there’s nothing we won’t do and stopping the world to melt together and then I’m not sure how to breathe.

I float home on a trail of his words.

But then realize I don’t have the photo with me.

Damn.

Blood Makes Noise opens, and the next morning, we run to the newsstand at the corner of 86th and Broadway and wait for the papers to be delivered so we can read the reviews.

James is wired and talking about how twelve blocks of the garment district near Macy’s have no power and won’t until next week and how all the cops have been pulled over there and Mayor Koch has invited any fabric buyers for market week to a party at Gracie Mansion if they stick around.

I tune him out and watch as Becky rummages around in the coin return of the pay phone and pulls out a quarter. James stops talking and shakes his head in disgust. Really, kitten, he says, I’d happily give you money if it will keep you from sticking your hands in there.

She’s about to reply when the newspaper delivery truck pulls up.

The three of us freeze in mirror poses as the papers land on the curb with a loud thunk. We stay frozen as the clerk cuts the twine around the bundles with a pocket knife. As he pulls yesterday’s old paper off the shelves and replaces them with today’s.