January 8, 2011 by Mark Lidstone

Georgia

“My wife Georgia”, my voice cracked at first but loosened up, “she’s very sick”, I paused a moment, “she’s dying”. I know it sounded cliché, like some sappy romance novel or date night movie, but when you think about it, really think about it, are money and fame really worth the price of your soul? Only one thing is really: love.

He stopped stirring and slowly lifted his finger. He raised it eye level and stared at it, watching the scotch drip onto the table.

“And what, exactly, is wrong with her?” He wasn’t even looking at me now, just at his finger. I stared along with him.

“AIDS”, I choked on the word. His eyes shifted to mine.

“Sorry?” He asked with a hint of amusement. He could tell this was killing me.

“She has AIDS”.  I stared intently at my glass of water, watching the condensation run down the sides. I knew what he was getting at, what he wanted me to talk about. I didn’t know if I could get it out.

“Go on”, his eyes moved to the small puddle of scotch that had dripped onto the table.  He ran his fingers through it, playing with it.

“You already know what I’m going to say” my voice trembled, “can we just skip this and negotiate a deal. The entire topic is rather painful”. He choked out a laugh.

“Have you forgotten who I am? What I do? Did you expect me to come all the way out here to give you a hug, tell you everything would be alright and cure your wife?” He took out a silk handkerchief and wiped the spattered liquid from the table. “That wouldn’t make for a very interesting story now would it?”. He smirked.