In all truly great relationships – be that with a lover, a blood family member of a close friend – there comes a moment when you realise just how fragile love and trust (the keys to such relationships) are. Once sullied, things can never be the same, and so those moments become pivotal life altering events – the place you look back on and say to yourself: ’That’s when everything changed… That’s when our relationship died…’

As we stood there in Michael’s room at the Alfred Hospital, I looked upon Tish and felt a sickening certainty that we – Desi, Tish and myself – had arrived at such a moment.

“I guess we now know where Michael got the pills from, eh?” I was bristling with both sarcasm and self-righteous rage. “In your industry, it’d be like an all-you-can-eat buffet!”

Tish shook her head. “Don’t, Puck,” she said, looking up at me, her eyes fierce with pain.

“Tish…?” There was an imploring quality to Desi’s voice, her eyes round and wet with tears of dread.

“You’ve made it pretty clear that you’re all for Michael’s right to die,” I said bluntly to Tish. “So how did it happen? Did he come to you, ask you to steal drugs from the hospital? Did you help him stockpile them over weeks and weeks…?” I asked. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Tish!” I threw my hands up in the air. “How can you go through this whole thing with us? With Desi, Alexander and me…? How can you stand being such a fucking hypocrite, when you’ve known all along that –“

“I was at the flat on Sunday,” Tish snapped at me angrily, but then she regained her composure. “But it’s not what you’re thinking…”

Desi glanced at me questioningly, but I was too deeply entrenched in my own doubt and anger to give up any ground to Tish. “Go on,” I urged her.

“It’s… it’s hard to talk about,” Tish stammered. “Michael was the only one I could discuss it with… “

“Discuss what?” asked Desi, moving closer to Tish.

Tish drew in a deep breath, looking at us both. “I swear to you: I did not know he was planning this,” she said solemnly. “He seemed fine on Sunday, when I got there. Actually, he was in really good spirits… he was calm, happy… the best he’s been in ages,” she remarked. “Of course,” she glanced over her shoulder at Michael, lying in the bed. “That makes sense now… He knew it was the end; believed it was the end, at least, so he felt relieved… free.”

“So what happened?” I asked, pushing her to elaborate. And so Tish told us ho she had dropped by Michael’s apartment in the early evening, around six o’clock. Alexander had been out at the time, she informed us. Michael had seemed surprised to see her, but pleased, too, and more than happy to have a chat.

“I’ve… been going through some stuff.” Tish looked uncomfortable. “Didn’t know who to talk to about it… Then, awhile ago, Michael said something at The Depot one night, and it was pretty obvious he’d picked up on it and so we got to talking,” she said, remaining cryptic. “It’s not that I didn’t want you guys to know… I just… I just wasn’t sure how to tell you…or how you’d react…”

“Tell us what?” asked Desi.

Tish swallowed hard. “Well… I’ve met someone,” she announced, and I looked at her blankly.

“You’ve met someone?” I echoed her.

“Yeah…” she said, nodding shyly.

Desi broke into a huge smile. “But baby, that is fantastic news!” she cried. “It’s like the best news ever! You so deserve to have some wonderful guy sweep you off your feet and treat you like a princess!”

Tish glanced at her nervously and gave a curious, half-smile. But suddenly I understood – a moment of clarity settled upon me, followed quickly be a deep sense of shame and regret.

“So who is he?” Desi inquired. “What’s he do? Where’d did you meet?”

Tish met my eyes and I was convinced that we shared our understanding of the situation. I waited for her to speak.

“Um… we met at work actually,” Tish replied. “Different wards, though,” she hastened to add. “And… well... you see... um… he’s and ‘she’… Um, to be honest, it’s a bit more complicated than that: she’s a ‘she’ that used to be a ‘he’… but now he’s a ‘she’… if you get me?”

Desi stood there for a moment, her head titled to one side as she considered the prolific and slightly confounding use of pronouns. “Wow,” she remarked at last, with raised eyebrows, falling quiet for a moment or two. “So when did we get to meet her?” She went on to ask brightly, the large smile returning to her face.

Tish looked visibly relieved, and I found myself grinning, too. I stepped towards her and put my arms around her, holding her as close as I could.

“I am so sorry,” I said. “So sorry for the stupid, fucked up things I said.”

“Forget it,” she urged me, matching the strength of my embrace. “I should’ve been up front about this … I felt so bad about keeping it from you guys, about lying when you asked about Michael and stuff…”

“Hey, no, you forget it,” I cried. “I’m the one who’s been a total arsehole,” I confessed.

“Yes,” Desi jumped in. “Yes, he has Tish, it’s true, I saw it all.”

“Hey, shut up you,” I turned on her playfully. “Just remember, you’ve now been demoted to the role of The Token Breeder…” I pointed out, and Desi pondered this piece of information with a serious expression on her pretty face, while I returned my attention to Tish. I smile at her, then kissed her on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart. Your complimentary rainbow flag is in the mail.”

“Thanks,” she whispered into my ear and squeezed me tight.

“Huh... that’s hardly fair,” Desi said, frowning. “How come we don’t get a flag?” Tish and I smiled at her and rolled our eyes, then Tish put her arm out to Desi, drawing her into our embrace.

“Never mind, hun” Tish said soothingly. “We’ll share our flag with you.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “That’s what it’s all about, after all.”

Conversation focused mainly on the new girl who had entered her life; her name was Christine and she was a couple of years older than Tish, and worked in pediatrics. They’d known each other for a couple of years, but only had a casual acquaintance relationship that existed solely at the workplace, where they occasionally ran into one another. But a recent work function had changed all that.

Aided by too many shots of Black Sambuca, Christine and Tish, who’d been seated at the same table, had spent much of the night talking and laughing. One thing led to another, and so Tish found herself waking up at Christine’s apartment in Northcote.

Desi and I relished every morsel of information dragged out of Dykedom’s newest intern, while keeping Tish’s glass of champagne from ever becoming empty. After 2 hours or so, the three of us were rolling about the floor of my living room in a rather drunken state and giggling.

Unfortunately, we had to cut short our soiree, for time was marching ever onwards, and soon I’d have to think about preparing for the party at Nicky’s place.

We parted company in an orgy of hugs and kisses and vows of buying Tish the ‘must have’ dyke accessory for her next birthday – namely a bull dog. She pulled a face of distaste and replied: “I’m really more of a pussy girl,” she declared, then her eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, while Desi and I burst into laughter. “Oh my God. I don’t believe I just said that… I am so out of here,” Tish groaned, grabbing Desi by the hand and dragging her out the front door, still cackling.

He apologised profusely, telling me how he’d got caught up at the lab and was left running late. I told him not to sweat it, and that he could take his time getting ready.

“Did you get a chance to see Michael?” I asked him.

“Um… no,” he shook his head, which hung low in apparent expression of awkwardness. “Was running so late… just didn’t get time,” he explained. “I’ll see him tomorrow,” he added. “Have there been any developments?” he asked.

I told him about the blood test results, but explained that his condition was otherwise unchanged. It didn’t seem appropriate, at the time, to mention the matter of the petechial hemorrhaging, particular, as we could not be completely certain that was indeed what it was.

“Better go get yourself gorgeous,” I urged Alexander and he nodded with a slight smile, then hurried back down to his room and I heard his bedroom door close.

I went into the living room, carrying Brian’s gift, wrapped in gold foil and topped off with light gold curling ribbon and a rather jaunty bow. I did a lazy circuit in front of the 1960’s style mantelpiece that dominated the living room, smiling as I looked upon the collection of photographs Michael had framed and on display.

But then I found myself wandering down the hallway and returning to his bedroom. I peered in from the doorway. It was precisely as Nicky and I had left it. Only instead of Bindi, the cat, being curled up on the foot of the bed, all three animals had congregated there. They lifted their heads, one by one, to assess me as I stepped into the bedroom. A quick pat and/or scratch behind the ear of each feline was enough to assuage them, and so the resumed their snoozing.

I don’t know what I expected to find in Michael’s room. Certainly, nothing new leapt out at me. But may be all I was looking for was a feeling, some echo of himself that Michael had left behind that would go some way in revealing why he had tried to take his own life.

I was once more standing by his desk, looking down at the floor, at the muddied footprints – long since dried out – that Leo Clarke had undoubtedly tracked into the room. Looking towards Michael’s bed, my mind formed a vision.

I could see Michael lying there, stretched out in his clothes – the Oscar the Grouch T-shirt he’d so loved and a pair of charcoal coloured cargo pants. Leo Clarke, tall, dark and broad of shoulder and barrel chested, stood by the bed, gazing down at his ex-lover. And then he reached across Michael’s unconscious, utterly vulnerable form, taking up the pillow beside him. With gentle gestures, Leo climbed onto the bed, sitting astride Michael, resting on Michael’s lower abdomen, holding the pillow before him in both hands.

I could picture Leo placing the pillow over Michael’s face; a hesitant action, at first, but soon it became more urgent, determined and harder, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the pillow and pressed it against Michael’s face.

How had Michael – unconscious – reacted to the attack? Did his body resist? Fight?

I turned away from the bed and the nightmarish images it inspired and absently picked up the set of house keys from Michael’s desk. I held them up, examining the Disney’s Tigger toy hanging off the key ring. I pressed the head of the toy and it issued an electronic boing!

I grinned; a bittersweet smile, and reflected on how much amusement such a simple item had given Michael. And it occurred to me that he should have his keys with him. Indeed, next time I went in, I’d be sure to show him Tigger and squeeze the head for him. After all, didn’t they say some patients, when unconscious, can hear what’s going on around them? And that sometimes familiar sounds and smells can bring them back?

I slipped the keys into my pocket, looked around the room once more and then returned to the living room, taking a seat on the sofa while waiting for Alexander to finish readying himself.

At the door to the penthouse, we were greeted by an extremely handsome guy in his mid-twenties wearing nothing more than a teeny-tiny pair of bright, white hipster shorts, as well as a pair of snow coloured, feathered angel wings. As we stepped into the foyer he flashed a perfect, $10,000 dollar smile and offered us a glass of French champagne, while another even more handsome and chiseled looking guy – identically attired – gestured to take the gift I was carrying and place onto a nearby table that was already overflowing with prettily wrapped parcels.

But I elected to hang onto my gift, wanting to hand it to Brian personally. We did, however, accept the champagne and so moved into the extensive living room

Nicky and his stylists had certainly out done themselves; pure white silk bunting dressed the entire apartment, with huge, gorgeous candles mounted on lovely golden holders and candelabras. We spied additional well-muscled young men in provocative angel costumes, with more bulges protruding from their bodies than you could poke a stick at … or, if you were so inclined your tongue. They floated about, carrying trays of canapés and wine, and the air was lightly perfumed from the remarkable floral displays of white roses, lilies, chrysanthemums and orchids – amongst numerous others.

Leading Alexander through the crowd, I located Brain Henstridge, the man of the hour. Average in height, Brian was in his late 40’s with a shock of curly dark hair, heavily salted with silver. A heavyset man, he possessed a handsome and intelligent face made all the more appealing by his large and intense blue eyes.

He was the centre of attention amongst a group of men of around his own age, with whom he appeared to be sharing a joke as they watched the scantily clad ‘angels’ move to and fro, bearing various trays of drink and food.

Upon seeing me, Brian offered a smile. “Puck, how are you?”

I grinned in return, gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek and wished him a happy birthday. He thanked me, then stood back and threw open his arms in an expansive gesture. “Welcome to heaven!” he cried.

I looked around the penthouse, noting the semi-nude angel boys, and replied: “Well, at least Nicky’s version of it anyway,” and gave Brian a rueful look. I handed him the gift in my hand. “Happy birthday, matey.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said with an appreciative smile. “You really shouldn’t have…”

“Oh yeah I should’ve,” I countered, sensing Alexander standing nervously at my side. “In fact, I probably should’ve got you this ages ago.”

Brian handed his glass of champagne to one of the other men in the assembly and took to unwrapping the gift. He tore through the paper carefully, as though performing a life-and-death operation, and then he was holding up his gift for all too see.

I’d settled on a rather delightful baby pink, velvet dog collar, complete with faux diamond studs and matching leash. It was large enough to restrain a Great Dane or something similar. Brian looked at me quizzically, his pals equally perplexed.

I shrugged. “People are always saying you need to keep Nicky on a leash….”

Brian broke into a deep belly laugh.

“Hope you like it,” I said with a crooked grin.

“It’s wonderful, Puck, thanks,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll come in handy…”

“Well, yes, now that you mention it, I’m sure you and Nicky can find a few uses for it.” The remark earned a few ribald comments and chuckles from the gathering.

“Puck!” Nicky’s voice hissed from behind like an enraged viper. I turned round quickly and faced him as he descended upon me, a glass of champagne in his hand. He seized me by the arm, ostensibly hijacking me from the group, without explanation and took me to a private corner in the next room.

“You brought Alexander?” he cried, his eyes bright with annoyance.

“Well, yeah, sure. Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, his tone soaked in sarcasm. “What part of ‘invitation only’ was unclear?” he demanded.

“Oh c’mon, Nicky,” I said in a reasonable manner. “With everything that’s happened, I really didn’t think it would matter,” I said to him. “Just didn’t like the idea of him sitting around in that apartment on his own, y’know…?” I explained, offering a helpless shrug.

But Nicky just rolled his eyes, determined to be indignant. “Whatever!” He snapped and punctuated the remark with a fanciful and dismissive wave of his left hand.

“What exactly do you have against the guy?” I asked him pointedly, growing annoyed with his selfishness.

Nicky pulled a face and shrugged. ”Nothing. Alexander’s fine. He’ll make a wonderful standard lamp for the living room. Except that he’s a little dim,” he threw in waspishly.

I couldn’t help but grin slightly, but I shook my head at him. “He’s a bright guy, Nicky. He’s doing his Ph.D. for Christ’s sake.”

Nicky’s lips formed a perfect pout that withered into an insolent sneer. “Oh give me a break!” He cried. “You know as well as I do – a bunch of fucking letters after your name doesn’t make you smart,” he said. “I mean, look at Brian,” he suggested. “He’s like one of the best surgeons in his field. He’s got plaques and degrees from everywhere, and a whole friggin’ alphabet after his name,” Nicky told me. “And me...? I left high school at 14. But you and I both know which one of us is smarter…”

I chose to ignore the question, figuring it was rhetorical anyway. Instead, I glanced around the room and asked him: “So… where is Alexander anyway…?”

“Pff,” Nicky scoffed. “Who gives a flying blow job? Probably in the bathroom throwing up – that is his favourite party trick after all, isn’t it?” he asked nastily, alluding to Alexander’s somewhat nervous disposition that sometimes became so gut twisting (in social settings) that he would throw up from sheer anxiety. It seemed particularly cruel of Nicky of him to bring it up.

“Nicky, you can be such an uber-bitch sometimes,” I informed him.

“Yeah well, I figure it’s about time someone challenged Tabitha Turlington for that title,” he shot back, referring to one of the Melbourne drag scene’s best known (and only occasionally reviled) performers. Tabitha was also considered the long running ‘Queen of the Barbed Wire Tongue’.

I laughed somewhat skeptically. “Y’know Tabby will rake your eye out with her Stiletto if you even try to pinch her tiara…?”

He just grinned at me wickedly, a glint in his blue eyes, and smiled. “Bring it on.”

The room seem to shrink and the physical distance contracted, as if our bodies shard the same space. He wore a simple, plain black T-shirt and black trousers, which highlighted his naturally olive complexion. He scanned the room, spied me and smiled warmly, but then his attention was taken by Nicky who grabbed him by the elbow and ushered him toward Brian.

I broke off from the group of people I was talking with and made for the balcony door. Outside, I drank in the warm, fresh breeze of the night and stood amongst the fairy lights that had been added to the balcony for the evening’s festivities.

One or two other smokers shared the large balcony with me, but I huddled in my own corner, desperately reaching for my packet of fags and lighting up promptly. I leaned over the balcony, exhaling a plume of smoke and stared at the lights of the towers of the city, listening to the traffic that rolled past on the busy street below.

An arm snaked over my shoulder, the attached hand bearing a crystal flute that glowed with thousands of tiny bubbles of champagne. I could feel him pressed lightly against me. I stood up, taking the glass and turned to face Drew with a faint smile on my face. “Thanks,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, grinning, his eyes glowing in the soft light. He raised his glass to me. “What should we toast?” he asked.

I shrugged uncooperatively. “Not sure I’m much in the mood for toasting,” I confessed.

His expression shifted, showing concern. “I know you’re worried about Michael; that you’ve got a lot going on,” he said. “But there’s always something to be grateful for.”

I didn’t know what to say in response, so tried changing the subject. “You look nice.” I immediately realised that that was probably not the best thing I could’ve come up with, and inwardly groaned.

He smiled again and I thought I saw his complexion darken, as though he were blushing. “Thanks,” he said gently. “And you… you look…” He paused, shook his head as though utterly lost, then said: “You look like you should be kissed.” He leant forward, lips slightly parted, his growing proximity making my knees lose all strength.

The warm touch of his lips was brief but carried a lifetime of love in it, and I shuddered all over before breaking the kiss.

“Are we in a good place, Puck?” he asked me. “Or is this thing with Caroline too much for you…? Because if it is, I’ll walk away from her, if that’s what you want…”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want you doing anything like that,” I told him. “I don’t want you doing anything that doesn’t feel right for you. But at the same time, I’ve gotta’ tell you: I just don’t get it. I don’t understand how you can stand to be in the same room with her…”

“Caroline and I have been friends since we were 5 years old,” He said. “That’s 25 years, Puck,” he told me. “You just don’t turn you back on something like that,” he went on. “I can’t anyway. And yeah, I know what she did was wrong and stupid and mean… but there’s more to Caroline than one stupid mistake.”

I looked up at him sharply. “It was more than one mistake, Drew,” I told him. “She kept that lie alive for years. She manipulated us and abused our trust in her every day of our friendship.”

He sighed. “Guess we see things differently,” he realised.

“Yeah… guess we do,” I nodded.

“May be now’s not the right time –“

“… The right time for what? Us?” I asked him, growing hostile and frustrated.

“No, I meant that may be now – here – is not the best time to get into this,” he replied with infuriating patience and sense of reason; why couldn’t he get angry? Show some of the frustration and resentment I felt?

“May be you’re right,” I replied, nodding thoughtfully. “May be the right time for us was years ago…? But we missed the boat?” I offered. I turned away from him, flicking my cigarette off the balcony and watching as it did a slow arc, dropping into the night-clad street below.

I turned back to the door, pushing my way past Drew in silence as I left him on the balcony, alone.

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