I fed the cats at 6:30 and returned to bed. Because of the constant leg pains, I hadn’t been sleeping well, and neither the muscle relaxer nor the strong pain relief was doing much to help. I’ve got to ask the doctor for different meds, I thought as I hobbled away from three happy cats enjoying their tuna.
Two hours later, I dragged myself out of bed, turned on the computer, and listened to Bach’s Advent cantatas as I dressed. Long pants or shorts? I wondered. If it’s warm enough in the apartment, I’ll wear shorts. Long pants are torture trying to work my aching legs through the twists and turns of the fabric. It’s painful and it’s an ordeal I would gladly forego on a day spent inside. I put on my socks, set the coffee water to boiling, and went into the bathroom to wash my face and comb my hair. Oh, God, I moaned, do I need a haircut.
What are you moaning about? Thatch asked me.
My hair, Thatch. Daddy looks like Bozo. I can’t afford to see my barber until the Social Security lands on the 18th. I hate being poor.
As I left the bathroom, I stepped on the kitchen rug and into a puddle of vomit. Okay, is one of you sick? I asked the three cats watching me. Annabelle? Did you throw up?
I had a hairball, she said.
That’s okay. Are you okay? Are you still sick?
I don’t think so.
She returned to her tuna and ate what remained in her dish while Thatch gobbled some kibble and I changed my socks.
While I had my first cup of coffee, I checked my emails and looked over the Facebook posts. My friend Jim Vivyan had posted on the New York City Gay Men’s Chorus Members & Alumni page a 20-minute video of photos of the 200+ members who had died from AIDS or other causes. I knew many of them from my years as the Chorus’ staff arranger between 1981 and 1998, so many wonderful men who deserved longer and happier lives.
it was time to clean up the cats’ dishes and sift the litter, so I stopped the video and headed to the kitchen. I washed the dishes and went into the bathroom with my litter bag. Yesterday’s cleanup was a mess; I ended up with dirty litter all over the floor, and I had to get out the dustbuster to clean the mess. Today was a breeze. Stella and Annabelle watched me, and as soon as the clean litter was back in place, Stella leaped into the box, lay down, and watched me. As I was tying the litter bag shut, I started to weep.
Daddy? Annabelle jumped into my lap. Daddy? Are you okay?
I held her in my arms and sobbed.
I’m okay, baby, I told her. I held her tight and continued to sob. I had been thinking of the last photo I saw before I stopped Jim’s Facebook video: Michael MacDonald, the most wonderful man who hanged by window blinds for me around 1987 or so. His partner, Neil Bickford, another Chorus member, had already died, and I remember Michael’s telling me, It’s taken Neil. I’ll be gone soon.
Holding Annabelle and followed by Stella, I showed them the video. Thatch joined us, and I told them about the friends in the photo:
Ronathan Price, an early Chorus casualty, was one of the funniest men I’ve ever known.
Jimmy Festa worked for City Opera and we often saw each other out of Chorus rehearsal as we shared a 104 busride downtown.
Martin Teitel, who directed several Chorus-sponsored musicals and brought the wonderful Ann Harada into my social circle.
Mark Riese, wonderful composer and arranger, who helped me out on a couple of job deadlines; I orchestrated one of his arrangements, “I Saw Three Ships,” when he was dying and too sick to take care of it.
Dean Johnson, wonderful writer, who directed the Chorus Chamber Choir and premiered my “Provençal Carols” and “Appalachian Carols.”
Joe Chorba, whom I never knew well, but I went to college with his brother Lou.
Shelly Post, Fred Goldhaber, Arthur Metzgar, and far too many others, along with others outside the Chorus. They included actors, writers, directors, musicians, agents: the list seemed endless. I would swear now that every week between 1985 and 1995 the Chorus sang at a memorial for a dead member, friend of the Chorus, a Chorus sponsor, or for anyone who asked.
That’s a long list, Thatch said when the video ended.
Thatcher, there are so many other friends outside the Chorus as well, I replied. I miss them all.
Who do you miss the most? Annabelle asked.
Maybe Bill Tynes, who produced The New Amsterdam Theatre Company and took me on as his orchestrator between 1981 and 1985, I said. He was such a dear friend. I think Cole Porter’s Jubilee was his gift to me, and I will be eternally grateful. I got my first professional recording job through the New Amsterdam Theatre Co., and even today I wish I could call Bill on the phone to dish a restoration or a revival. When the complete Show Boat recording was released in 1988, I so wished Bill could have heard it. I miss him a lot.
Anyone else? Thatch asked me.
Stuart White, who ran the Circle Rep Theatre Lab. We met at a party through my friend Rebecca Bondor who was studying at the Theatre Lab. The day after the party, Stuart called me and asked me to music direct a revue for the Theatre Lab students. Because the students were also acting, the revue kept getting rescheduled and I finally dropped out. Stuart was a brilliant director, and a big fan of my cabaret act “Just Good Friends.” His partner Clifford Stone was a writer with one published novel, The Great Sunflower. It was a wonderful book. There’s a peregrine falcon in it, I remember. Poor Clifford is dead now as well.
Do you have it? Annabelle asked. Can I read it?
When I feel like climbing a ladder and searching through piles of books, I’ll get it for you. I promise.
Thatch jumped off the table and ran to the kibble bowl. Stella followed.
We could use some more kibble!! Thatch called.
And water! Annabelle added.
All right, all right, Daddy’s coming, I said as I rose from my chair.
I took the dish and opened the plastic tub where I store their kibble. As I poured the kibble into their dish, Annabelle gave Thatch his duties for the day, and Stella jumped onto my foot and bit my ankle.
©2019, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 