In that same month, one cool afternoon, Sean was sitting in the coffee room at the law firm where he worked, catching up on the latest reports on the Iraqi war. The gay lawyer he had befriended approached and said, "Can you talk a minute?"

At a ground level café, out of earshot of coworkers, the lawyer said, "I was in Europe on business for the past month. I didn't know until yesterday that Terrence died."

"Yeah, he died three weeks ago."

"It was AIDS?"

"Yes. I never told you about what happened with him?"

Sean related how the department supervisor had sent a message to Terrence, telling him that if he had AIDS, he was willing to pay Terrence to stay away.

Sean said Terrence had told him this, personally.

While Terrence sought legal advice, eventually the law firm's top administrator reversed the supervisor's proposal, telling Terrence he could return whenever he felt up to it.

The fact was, Terrence remained too ill to return. And then he died.

The lawyer listened, then changed the subject. "One more thing," he said. "You heard the latest about SX-Roth Pharmaceuticals?"

"You mean about their AIDS case?" asked Sean.

"Well, I mean, they're donating some seed money to a couple of community-based groups for AIDS."

Sean was surprised and said, "Well, it's the least they could do, given how they've ripped off the community with their price-gouging. Are you following their case, here?"

"No," said the lawyer. "I cover other clients." The lawyer then explained that SX-Roth was channeling the money through a new community group. "We've just formed," he told Sean.

"We?"

"Some of us are members of other AIDS groups, too. We got together and incorporated last month."

"Oh," said Sean, surprised.

"You see, we think activism has its limits. We want to focus on ways to work within the system."

"Does the new group know you work for this law firm?" said Sean.

"Yes."

"Do they know SX-Roth is a client?"

"Don't insult me, Sean. I was up front with them from the start. And as I say, I have nothing to do with SX-Roth as a client."

The lawyer named various wealthy professionals in the AIDS movement, some from the coalition. They were members of this new group.

"Sounds almost like a think tank," reflected Sean. "I hope you don't bleed the coalition of its membership."

"We're small. We're not taking anybody away from anything. You have to admit, the coalition's going through an identity crisis," said the lawyer.

Sean thought this lawyer was about to invite him to join, but no, the lawyer just wanted to find out if Sean or any of his friends had heard about the new group.

That night, on his way home, Sean was in a funk. What the lawyer said was true: the coalition definitely was going through an identity crisis, but the start of this tiny think tank made Sean feel even worse. It sounded exclusive, elitist, wealthy. Sean didn't like coming off sounding like a leftist, but whenever the super-rich got involved in AIDS street activism, (as they sometimes did), they seemed to throw the movement's priorities out of whack. And they were disempowering, too. While walking, he saw a familiar face.

"Hi," said the young man. "You're Sean, right?"

"Right. I see you all the time at the coalition, but I don't know your name."

"Reggie. My lover, Nathan and I see you at meetings all the time, too." The fragile gold of the day was disappearing into the blue night. "I remember you because you did that home health care stuff," Reggie added.

"I needed to take a break from it, though," said Sean. "So I turned it over to another committee. Then some activists from the outside began to network with them. I think they're starting up a group of professionals who deliver home health care strictly to PWAs."

"They didn't force you off the issue, did they?"

"No. I think they were just out of my league. They were experienced and polished. I was an amateur. Makes me wonder sometimes where guys like me are supposed to go to do activism."

Sean needed to get home to Gabe.

Reggie said, "My lover's had ups and downs with activists, too. But right now, things are looking really good for him, so we're happy. He's been invited to be on an advisory committee for one of those drug trials they're trying to design. It's for that new class of drugs -"

"The L-drugs?"

"No. Protease inhibitors." Sean had barely heard of those drugs, before. Suddenly, Reggie changed the subject. "By the way, did you hear that one of our members got beat up real bad by cops last night?"

"Who?"

Reggie gave him a few details, but didn't know much, himself.

Sean went home and asked Gabe if he knew anything about the police attack. Gabe had heard the whole story and was shaken.

Sean listened, without moving a muscle.

Some coalition members had gone unannounced to a precinct to protest an earlier case of police violence. At this spontaneous demo, the cops singled out one of the coalition members, arrested him, and falsely accused him of becoming violent. (A videotape showed how false their accusations were.) They beat the activist with their nightsticks. He was in and out of consciousness during the torture, then taken to a hospital, where he underwent a battery of tests.

Sean felt faint listening to the report.

"How is he, now?"

"Permanent damage," said Gabe. "His intellectual faculties aren't impaired, but he keeps going into seizures."

Sean felt a wave of nausea. Gabe's eyes teared up. They didn't know the victim, well, but they knew who he was.