We didn't talk the next morning until Judith said, "I went on-line last night. The test is more than 99 percent accurate."Shit. She didn't have a clue."But only half a percent of white women are infected. About half of all their positives are wrong! Didn't Schadenfreude say anything about that? That the fast test is just a screen?"She stormed from the room, and we didn't talk again until it was time to go.(So it's just a screen. So? It's still 99 percent accurate. What if Judith really is infected? What if I am? When did it happen? When for her? When for me? Could I have given it to her? How? It was impossible, wasn't it? Could I have got it from her? Questions, questions, questions.)Then I thought again of George 's schlong and Judith's mouth. It almost pushed the thoughts of AIDS out of my head.Almost.Dr. Schadenfreude was unctuous and non-judgmental and very careful not to be obvious that he thought I was at fault. "You probably know that almost all cases of infection come from. She stood before me, facing me. “You called.” “How much do you need to pee?” “More than anything else in the world, but you haven’t told me I can go.” “You can go here, now. Under the table.” We both watched as Grace squatted under the wooden table, trying and failing to remain hidden from the crowd surrounding us. She hitched up her dress to round her waist and pulled her panties to one side. We both watched and waited, and I found myself wondering just how we’d reached this stage in our relationship, where she was willing to pee for me whenever I asked. I met Grace when we were both eighteen, two months before my birthday. I spotted her at a nightclub, she shone out like a star, drawing me in like a moth, I had no control over it. We had a perfect night together, and then I woke up the next morning to find the bed soaking wet and her gone. She must have been drunk I reasoned, wet the bed then too embarrassed to stay, she’d snuck out. Or so I thought. On my birthday night out I.
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