Anna sighed, exasperated. "Why can't you and your father hold a conversation in the same room? It would mean you wouldn't have to shout like this."

Marvin knocked and came in when Anna said it was all right. "Let's go, sweet beet."

"Where are we going?"

"First we're going to take the bus into the garage. When and if it's done in time, we have an appointment to look at an apartment."

"You do?" Anna asked. Marvin being who he was, Anna hadn't antic.i.p.ated that the question of living arrangements would come up again unless she said something.

"Why?" Flynn asked. "Isn't this our home?"

Anna rushed in. "Tell you what. Forget all that for now. Why don't you and Flynnie take a break? I have to be at the hospital to help run a group, but you can drop me off and use my car for the day."

She couldn't read Marvin's look. Some mixture of curiosity, triumph, and suspicion. "The Little Mermaid is playing at a theater near where I have to be."

"Oh, far out! Groovy and wavy gravy, baby," Flynn said. She adjusted her goggles and navigated to the bathroom with 20/400 vision. There was an invisible Seeing Eye dog that went with this setting. His name was Jumbo. He wagged and huffed in front of her, always stepping out of the way just in time.

Marvin looked back at Anna, who shrugged. "Why not?" Anna said. "Stay a few more weeks. I'm just getting to know Flynn."

"Are you sure? Because that would be fabulous. I have two job interviews this week. In a month my finances will be much better."

"Job interviews? Really?" She sat up, ran a comb through her hair.

"Just adjunct teaching gigs at community colleges, but they'll pay the bills."

"Groovy," Anna said, and flashed a peace sign. "Wavy gravy, baby."

Marvin laughed. "Isn't she something?"

Anna said, "Indeed." She looked through her closet for something to wear. Nothing seemed right today. She wanted to dress a little nicer than she usually did, since this Sat.u.r.day was her last as the official co-leader of the group. Nick had found an intern to step in. Finally. And as promised, her lab was outfitted with not only state-of-the-art microscopes, but also a new centrifuge, and rare specimen slides of the Hantavirus, monkey pox, and both stages of rabies. She wasn't sorry that her duties were over, but she would miss the perks that went along with Nick's grat.i.tude.

She searched for something bright. Color helped to keep her alert when she hadn't slept well. The red Missoni jacket was elegant, but red was always wrong for meetings like this. Too inflammatory, too b.l.o.o.d.y and gladiatorial. She finally opted for her long-stored pink suit. Only in the car, when it was too late to change, did it occur to her that she was over-dressed. She'd been thinking only of color.

There were conditions, and the two of them were not a couple, Stuart had insisted to Jack and to himself. It was strictly out of human charity that Stuart agreed to let Jack move back in after being released from the hospital. He had very nearly died, pneumonia compromising his respiratory system to the point where his lungs had collapsed three times. Jack's stay was temporary, just until he stabilized. In the meantime, one of the conditions was that he attend a support group. "I don't need a support group," Jack had said.

"Well, I do," Stuart said. In truth, the support group was for Jack, for the time when he needed friends and people to care for him.

The two of them walked into the meeting fifteen minutes late, into a group of dying f.a.gs and pathetic, afflicted breeders, by Jack's lights. Jesus in j.a.pan, this was going to be without end. They were in the dayroom of the psychiatric wing, a strange s.p.a.ce filled with scraggly geraniums and stained furniture. The walls were dingy, yellowish from the good old days when they let the loonies light up. The upholstery and carpets smelled faintly of stale tobacco. Jack wished smoking were still permitted, not because he wanted to, but because at least here, in a room full of the dying, they should all be allowed to abandon the absurd illusion of health.

Because Jack and Stuart were late, the only empty chairs faced into the circle. He would have much preferred to face the window so the sun was in his eyes and everyone around him was in varying degrees of shadow. If not for the obvious h.e.l.l of dying alone in substandard housing-well, anything less than Egyptian cotton bedding and cut-pile Saxony carpets was substandard, wasn't it?-Jack would have refused this condition, the absurd weepy woe-is-me gut-spilling collection of sorry a.s.ses. He'd have probably won on this one, since it was the Hector issue that was the biggie. At the time he'd been so sick that he gave into everything on Stuart's list, the main three items being to cease all contact with other men; to respect Stuart's home by cleaning up after himself; and to attend a support group meeting. There were two meetings, Stuart had told him, one more informal than the other, which did Jack prefer? He chose Sat.u.r.day.

He'd have to make a deal with Stuart, because he would not come here again. The f.a.g hags were bad enough, the single women in their thirties who worked in hip professions like advertising or internet consulting and came with their Best Gay Friend Who Was Like A Brother! But the place was being overrun by breeders, like the pair coming in now, a fiftyish woman in a pink Chanel-type suit and a drop-dead gorgeous man, probably her son. He wore a wedding band, though these days that didn't mean much. She was a tough broad, he saw right away. Her eyes made no apologies as she scanned the room for chairs, her power suit and jewelry like a banner of her wealth and superiority. At least the f.a.g hags dressed the part of liberal free spirits in long gypsy skirts and loose-fitting blouses of unbleached cotton. To look at the group, Jack thought now, you'd think the whole sorry lot of them aspired to tour with Fleetwood Mac. But this b.i.t.c.h, the mother of Mr. Beautiful-the thought that she might be his wife was too horrific to consider; if it turned out to be true, Jack would b.l.o.o.d.y her nose in the parking lot-moved around the room and rearranged chairs like she owned the place. Jack was aware of Stuart's eyes on him as he checked out the new gorgeous man-beautiful bone structure, bright dark eyes and silky ponytailed hair that he knew must smell of something wonderful like sandalwood or bay rum. Jack tried to keep his expression neutral. He cut his eyes away.

"Sorry I'm late, gang," Anna said.

b.a.l.l.sy, Jack thought. He glared at the pink-suited woman. What arrogance. The diamond ring on her finger could light planes to the runway.

The young group facilitator, a social worker who looked fresh out of someplace like Emerson College was calling the meeting to order. She meant well, Jack knew, but nevertheless with her fresh-scrubbed farmgirl face looked as if she'd never put her lips around anything stronger than cherry popsicles. "I count four new faces today. So let me welcome you to the Mood Team," she started. "I'm Christine, and I've been working with AIDS patients and their families for ten years."

Jack snorted. "Ten years? Did you start in junior high school?"

Christine ignored him. "And I'd like to introduce our co-leader, Anna Brinkman, who has worked in the health care industry for thirty years."

"Now that I believe," Jack said.

Anna turned to look at the man who had spoken. He was handsome, with bright greenish-brown eyes that looked a little glazed with fever. His partner-at least that's who Anna a.s.sumed the cherubic-faced man was-looked sad and defeated. Nick had told her and Christine that because the virus often attacked the brain first, dramatic changes in mood or personality could be one of the earliest symptoms of AIDS. Anna suspected that wasn't the case with this man; the lines around his mouth and forehead were too deeply set for displeasure and fury to be something new.

He returned Anna's gaze with a look of such pure hatred that her heart skipped a beat. His eyes took in her suit, her shoes. She looked away. She wished she'd dressed differently. What had she been thinking? She looked like somebody's Francophile grandma. She was even wearing Chanel No. 5, for G.o.d's sake.

"Just a few things before we start," Christine said. "I've planned a dance for next Sat.u.r.day, ballroom and swing. The Mood Swings, which I'm hoping to make a regular bi-monthly event. So, come even if you don't know how to do swing or ballroom. Especially if you don't. I'm hoping somebody in the group will volunteer to teach the basic steps, so if someone has expertise in any area of formal dance, please see me after cla.s.s."

"I can foxtrot and tango."

Jack turned. It was the gorgeous newcomer, sitting just two seats away from him now. Jack had never seen such perfect cheekbones, smooth and high and sculpted, without the shadowy hollows beneath or the underslung lower jaw that often went with such a face. Jack thought about a trip to Florence, the first time he laid eyes on Michelangelo's David. His initial impression was the artist must have executed his masterpiece from some imaginary ideal, that no ordinary mortal could have such perfectly symmetrical features. This man could have served as Michelangelo's model. Or was it just his fever making the man into such delicious delirium? Jack felt the stirrings of desire, despite the sharp pains in his lungs, his weakness and aching muscles.

Anna turned to Marvin, glared at him. What was he doing? He was supposed to be a silent presence. When she caught his eye he smiled and shrugged. At the last minute, Flynn had changed her mind about seeing a movie and asked to spend the day with Greta instead. Marvin said he'd like to accompany her to the hospital to watch her work. She said yes, but only if he made himself invisible, which he hadn't, which he clearly could never be.

"That's great," Christine said, and nodded to Marvin. "See me after the meeting. Also, as I mentioned last week, this is Anna's last official meeting with us. We have an intern from Boston General coming aboard. So, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank her."

The group applauded. Anna nodded, then motioned for Christine to carry on. "Okay, since we have some newcomers here, why don't we start by introducing ourselves and saying a little bit about why we're here."

Anna let her attention wander during the introductions-now from Edward, a man in his fifties whose disease was full-blown. He reminded Anna a little of Nathan Lane, and he'd become one of her favorites; he was always in good spirits despite being recently dumped by his partner of twenty-five years. There was something almost epic in the equanimity with which he was facing this disease. Edward had worked as a civil rights attorney, and now had live-in help. Some days, the men's illness penetrated more deeply into her psyche than others. Most times, she could look at it philosophically, believe that her contribution to the whole process was to listen. But other times Anna felt like she couldn't bear it, wanted to stay a few steps behind those who walked shoulder-to-shoulder with their own mortality every day. Then there were days, and today was threatening to become one of them, where she couldn't get her mind around how horrible this all was. Not the disease so much, but the pariahs it made people into, the hate groups who targeted AIDS sufferers. On the windshield of her car two Sat.u.r.days ago was a pink handbill proclaiming "Jesus Hates f.a.gs." She could usually dismiss this kind of small-minded ignorance but only if she didn't remember particular people like Edward. As long as she lived, she would never understand hate in the name of religion. Human beings were the only animals that judged other members of their species by qualities other than behavior or contribution. Elephants ostracized rogue cows. Chimps kicked out violent males. Wolves that didn't adhere to the order and follow the pack leader were killed. Only the human animal killed or enslaved its own for the color of skin, s.e.xual preference, or how it experienced the idea of a G.o.d.

It was one of those days. She thought of her granddaughter and Greta, wondered what they were doing now. Greta and Mike had been approved as adoptive parents and their new daughter would be living with them as soon as the social worker's a.s.sessment was complete-just about the time Greta's baby was due. It was feast or famine, and Greta's plate was loaded. Anna was thrilled for her friend, had already bought Greta a crib and a youth bed for the two children coming into her life. Handmade blankets from Greece, two entire wardrobes from Lilly Pulitzer, and a crib that was fit for royalty. Anna tried to remember the name of Greta's new daughter. She was one of the children in the stack of folders that day, a four-year-old. Rashida? No, that was the girl of mixed race. This one was the pale, ash-blond child. Anyway, except for Flynn, all little girls were pretty much the same in Anna's eyes.

Anna made herself listen. The partner of the man who had stared at her so hatefully was speaking now. "I'm Stuart, partner of Jack, who has the virus. I'm negative."

"Just to clarify," Anna said. "It's not necessary to disclose HIV status unless you want to. It's a state law, and hospital policy, that one's status is to remain private unless an individual chooses to reveal it."

Michael, partner of the man with the blue sock obsession, "That's stupid. Why can't we ask questions that would help us understand someone? Can't we just a.s.sume that everyone here is positive or with someone who is positive?"

"No," Anna said, "you can't." She turned back to Mr. Bitter, partner of Stuart.

"I'm Jack. I'm sick. I'm here because Stuart made it a condition of taking me back in. I don't believe in this sort of thing. I don't think it's anybody's G.o.dd.a.m.n business how I feel or how I got sick."

"Jack," Christine said, "do you want to explore your feelings of anger?"

"f.u.c.k no."

Christine colored and nodded. "Okay."

Anna tried to keep her eyes off the man-Jack-who had spoken. She felt pure nastiness coming from him, aimed at her more than Christine.

A man Anna didn't recognize spoke now. His advanced sickness made his age impossible to guess, but she knew he wasn't as old as the disease made him look. The ties from his hospital gown stuck out from the neck of his sweater, and beneath the lap blanket his legs were purple with sores. She averted her eyes, took deep breaths, compa.s.sion a flimsy rotten board that gave way the instant she ventured out to him. Anna wondered why he was at this meeting. The chairs on either side of him were empty. He must be a bed patient here, someone brought in from the hospice wing. Maybe Christine herself had brought him over. The man was clearly suffering from dementia, muttering something incomprehensible.

By the time the introductions circled around to Anna-was she supposed to introduce herself again, even after being identified as the group's co-leader?-her head pounded, every scent and sound heightened and excruciating. The smell of old clothes, of Betadine and bleach, the roar of traffic outside and the raspy breath of the man next to her. She was one impulse away from going to find him a bronchiodilator.

Christine looked at her expectantly so she said, "I'm Anna, as noted earlier. I've been the co-leader of the Mood Team for the past couple of months." She nodded and smiled to show she was finished.

"And?" Jack said.

"And?" Anna repeated.

"That's it? What is your personal relationship to this illness? What do you know of it from the inside-out?"

"I'm a medical professional," Anna said.

"Oh, I see," Jack said. "And your son?" His eyes flickered toward Marvin, whose own eyes were settled on the tender face of Christine. "Is there a reason he's here? Or is this Take Your Son to Support Group Day?"

Anna snapped her head in Christine's direction, but Christine seemed to be having a moment with Marvin, Anna saw to her astonishment and fury. "Now, look," Anna said. "I want to change the tenor of this meeting." Christine's eyes slid from Marvin's face to hers, a sleepy sated look. "Let's redefine our objectives."

"Yee-ha!" Jack said, twirling an imaginary la.s.so.

Anna ignored him. She directed her attention to Christine, who was blatantly flirting with her daughter's husband instead of doing her job. "Christine, maybe you want to explain for the benefit of our new members, how this meeting aims to foster the skills and support necessary to live with this disease, and to help others in the way they manage it?"

Christine looked at her and blinked slowly. "Could you repeat that?"

There was laughter all around, loudest from Jack.

"Anna, do you want to explore your feelings of anger?" Jack said.

She looked at him levelly and smiled as sweetly as she could. "f.u.c.k no."

More laughter.

"Yes, amen sister," Jack said.

"So then." Anna raised an eyebrow at Christine, who looked back at her as if she'd lost her mind. "So, let's redefine the goals of this gathering."

A woman in the corner spoke. Anna turned. Elizabeth, who had gotten the disease from her female lover's ex-partner, a bi-s.e.xual male, whom the women had asked to father their child. Elizabeth ended up losing her baby, losing her partner, and getting AIDS. She was angry, as was to be expected, but had a way of contradicting or challenging everything Anna said. Not at every meeting, but enough so that Anna had come to expect it. Elizabeth changed her look a lot. One week she wore flowered Sunday-go-to-meeting dresses, the next, tank tops that displayed her tattoos of Chinese characters. Her hair was so short you could scrub pots with it. Today, she wore ordinary Levi's, a white T-shirt, and a lavender velvet hat. "Anna, with all due respect, I'm feeling some hostility from you that I never have before," Elizabeth said. "I respectfully request that you excuse yourself from the meeting."

"Anna is the co-leader," Jack said.

"Oh, like I don't know that," Elizabeth said. "Excuse me, but I've been here from the beginning, and I think you're causing the problems, mister."

"Hold it!" Anna said. "No accusations, Elizabeth. But, yes, you're right, I lost my temper and I shouldn't have. Let's try to move on." Anna glanced over at Jack.

"Perhaps this should be worked out in a different setting," Elizabeth said, both to Anna and Jack. "Negativity, even in small doses, is injurious to everyone."

Anna felt her temper flare, as though she might lost control, something that hadn't happened in years. What was wrong with Elizabeth today? And what had happened to Christine? The girl was usually as solid as a brick.

"Let's move on," Anna said. "Unless you want to add something else, Elizabeth." Out of the corner of her eye, Anna saw Marvin's hands moving like caged birds. He was spreading his fingers out, then together, out, then together in the way her grandmother used to open a hairnet.

"This is a support group. We are here to share," Elizabeth said.

"Yes," Anna said, "you're right. Except we don't do that by letting accusations fly."

"Yes. Amen, again, sister," Jack said. He was beginning to like this broad.

"But if one member of the group makes us uncomfortable, shouldn't we be able to ask him to leave?"

"No," Anna said, "That's not for you to decide."

Michael, partner of Alan, who had had the blue sock fight with his partner at the very first meeting said, "And is it your decision?" He looked at Anna.

"Yes, it is. Mine and Christine's."

At the mention of her name, Christine said, "Yes. Anna and I are here to keep the lines of communication open and flowing."

Jack snorted. "It looks like your communication is flowing, all right. Right to Anna's son."

"You're hateful!" Elizabeth said. "I'm sick to death of your sarcasm."

"Sweetheart, you're sick to death anyway."

"Why don't you and Anna go and have a drink next door? The two of you can trade vitriol to your heart's content."

"My heart's content," Jack repeated, laughing. "My heart is not content. The contents of my heart are incontinent. The invalid was found to be invalid."

"All right," Christine said. "Can we at least get back to introductions? After that, we can take the meeting in whatever direction you all want, but I'd at least like to know everyone's name."

"f.u.c.k it," Jack said. "f.u.c.k it all to h.e.l.l."

"Jack, stop!" Stuart said. "Be quiet."

Jack threw up his hands. "Fine. I'm done sharing."

The group fell silent. Christine turned to Marvin, who was seated next to Anna. He spoke now. "I'm Marvin Blender, Anna's son-in-law. I'm a sculptor in three mediums. I have a daughter, Flynn. We're visiting Anna from Alaska, hoping to mend all broken fences and share quality time. I love to tango."

"It takes two," Jack said, and smiled. "How did you get the goods?"

"What?" Marvin said.

"How did you contract the virus?"

"Oh, I don't have-"

Stuart spoke up. "No fair, Jack. You don't want to share anything about how you got it, so you can't in good conscience ask someone else this."

"Nothing's good about my conscience, darling, which is why we're here, isn't it?" He patted Stuart's knee.

"Uh, well, anyway I don't-"

"Don't answer," Anna said. She turned to Jack. "I thought I made it clear that asking about someone's health history was unacceptable."

Jack leveled his look at Anna and fell silent. He shrugged.

Anna resolved to keep quiet for the rest of the meeting. This was terrible. All of it. The illusion that this meeting supported or helped anything. The indignity of the deaths most of them faced. Nick told her early on to emphasize living with AIDS, not dying from it, but that was absurd. The war was over the second the virus entered the body. There was no exhausted surrender after a valiant fight; this was immediate occupation after an unfair siege. Anna thought back to the last days of Hugh's death, the extended trips to the house in Maine because he wanted to die there, soothed by the crash of the surf against rocks, the sea breeze wafting in at night. He'd died well, she supposed, which was to say quickly and without undue suffering. This, she thought, looking around now and smelling something sharply intestinal, was not how it was supposed to be. She turned to glance at the man in the wheelchair who was hiding his face in his hands. Others had smelled it, too. The nasty man, Jack, caught her eye and looked away.