Wedding Season
Book 5
in the
Beach Reading Series
Mark Abramson
Published by Lethe Press at Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 by Mark Abramson.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief citation or review, without the written permission of Lethe Press.
www.lethepressbooks.com
lethepress@aol.com
Book Design by Toby Johnson
Cover Photograph by Chris Knight, Left Coast Scenes
Lighting by Doug Salin and Celso Dulay
Cover Model: Daniel Atwood
Author Photograph: David Bruner
www.davidkbruner.com
With special thanks to Giovanni De Grande for translating the rantings of Rosa Rivera into Italian.
Mark Abramson
San Francisco
April 6, 2011
Published as a trade paperback original
by Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Avenue, Maple Shade, NJ 08052.
First U.S. edition, 2011
ISBN 1-59021-143-X ISBN-13 978-1-59021-143-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Abramson, Mark, 1952-
Wedding season / Mark Abramson. -- 1st U.S. ed.
p. cm. -- (Beach reading series ; bk. 5)
ISBN-13: 978-1-59021-143-4
ISBN-10: 1-59021-143-X
1. Snow, Tim (Fictitious character)--Fiction. 2. Gay men--California--San Francisco--Fiction. 3. Family secrets--Fiction. 4. Castro (San Francisco, Calif.)--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3601.B758W43 2011
813’.6--dc22
2011016032
Praise for the Beach Reading series
“Bret Harte…helped found the literary convention of local color while living on the California coast. 150 years later, Mark Abramson…makes his own contribution to that rich tradition by applying his verbal pointillé to San Francisco… Clever and sexy with a ton of heart (and Harte).”
Instinct Magazine
“Part of the appeal of…the series is that Abramson sticks close to the reality of San Francisco—the Castro, in particular. He writes what he knows, drawing on his experiences in the community and as a waiter-bartender. Local readers can recognize the stores and bars they frequent; Abramson even features a few San Francisco celebs in cameos.
“The idea is to draw readers into a world they know. The series is both familiar and escapist. It’s aggressively unpretentious, because that is the kind of book Abramson wants to read.”
Louis Peitzman, San Francisco Chronicle
“…the author creates one heck of a suspenseful page turner, featuring the characters already endeared to those of us who read the earlier books in the series. (While reading them all in order is not a must, as Abramson provides sufficient detail for ‘newbies’ to catch up on what they need to know, I do indeed recommend reading them all, as this is absolutely the best gay mystery series to come along in at least a decade!) As always, the writing takes you to the Castro instantly, and you can almost smell the sourdough bread!”
Bob Lind, Echo Magazine
“Abramson can tie more complicated knots and entangling nets than a 19th-Century sailor, his catch prolific and entertaining... ‘Beach’ is a state of mind, and Beach Reading can be done as enjoyably under an electric throw by the fireside as slathered in SP 40 by the lapping waves.”
E.B. Boatner, Lavender Magazine
“Back in the 1970s, in the age of Harvey Milk and the singer Sylvester, a young man named Mark Abramson moved from his native [Minnesota] to San Francisco. There he became part of a generation of gay men who populated Castro Street and changed gay life forever, joining people such as John Preston, Randy Shilts and Al Parker (all of whom he befriended).
“Mark Abramson’s love for San Francisco is most evident in his “Beach Reading” series; a gay valentine to the City by the Bay that promises to be the best book series of its kind since Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City.”
Jesse Monteagudo, AfterElton.com
Also by Mark Abramson
Beach Reading
Cold Serial Murder
Russian River Rat
Snowman
Disclaimer
Despite any resemblance to living and/ or historical figures, all characters appearing or mentioned in Wedding Season are fictional except: Martha Stewart, Officer Jane Warner, Edith Piaf, Tim Lincecum, Nancy Sinatra, Madalyn Murray O’Hair, Lieutenant Governor Gavin Newsom, Rikki Streicher, Rosie O’Donnell, Madonna, The Reverend Cecil Williams, Joan Crawford, Stanlee Gatti, The Carpenters, Felice Picano, Tammy Faye Bakker, Supervisor Scott Weiner, Albert DeSalvo, The Scissor Sisters, Chaz Bono, President Barack Obama, Donna Sachet, Betty Ford, Armistead Maupin, Joan Collins, Anderson Cooper, Dianne Feinstein, Edith Head, The San Francisco Giants, Leah Garchik, Judy Garland, Danielle Steele, David Sedaris, Andrew Cunanan, Christine Jorgensen, Gladys Bumps, Cher, Jan Wahl, Bob Hope, Henry Tannenbaum, Pat Montclaire, John Preston, John Wayne Gacy, Maggie Gallagher, The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, Woody, the nudist/ waiter.
Table of Contents
Praise for the Beach Reading series
Chapter 1 of California Dreaming
Chapter 1
Church bells clanged and organ music thundered like the waves of a crashing sea. Tim Snow had looked forward to this day, his Aunt Ruth’s wedding to Sam Connor. The ceremony would start any moment. He looked around and saw dozens of familiar, smiling faces seated at the Castro Theatre. Only… the Castro lacked a center aisle for the bride to enter on her father’s arm and stroll out with her new husband and a beaming smile. And the entire room was far too bright to be a theater; the sun sent yellow shafts of light through stained glass windows onto the faces of women in flowered hats and men in suits and ties.
Tim stood at the altar beside Sam and his son Adam, the handsome fashion model from Chicago. The music changed and the organist reset the stop to sound a one-note trumpet fanfare. Now Tim wondered if they were in Grace Cathedral. It would suit Sam’s style to be married at the top of Nob Hill, but Aunt Ruth would take a lot of convincing for anything so fancy.
A lone bridesmaid appeared, limped a few steps up the aisle and staggered. She grabbed the arm of a pew to right herself but reeled and fell. A middle-aged man in a blue suit tried to help her up, but she spat at him and pushed him away. Tim recognized his mother, blind drunk, but he was as helpless as anyone else to do anything about it. She dropped her bouquet and crawled toward the altar, drooling like a rabid dog. Her foot caught on the flowers, tore them apart and left a trail of crushed petals down the aisle. Tim’s face turned red with rage. Everyone must wonder why this pathetic woman was here. Someone would figure out that the bride, Ruth Taylor, only had one sister and since Ruth was Tim’s aunt that could only mean that this drunken woman must be… Tim would never admit it! He would deny that he knew her, that he’d ever laid eyes on her!
Now he turned his anger toward Aunt Ruth, who hadn’t yet appeared. She should have known better. Why hadn’t she warned Tim that his mother was invited? She should have known that her drunken sister would make a fool of herself and ruin Ruth and Sam’s big day—.
“—Hey! Wake up, Tim. Are you okay, babe?” Nick was looking down at him, shaking him.
Tim murmured, “Yeah, yeah…”
They both lay back down and Tim felt Nick wrap one strong arm around him, as warm and comforting as ever, and soon they were fast asleep again.
Now Tim watched the wedding scene from above. The organ music still played, but his mother was gone and it was peaceful again. Waves lapped at a nearby shore and Tim could hear seagulls and a distant foghorn. Maybe this was Adam’s wedding to Alexandra, but there was no ocean in Chicago. The organ’s notes turned into the sound of the sea again and faded away this time. Now the congregation was dressed in pastels. Men and women wore big flowered hats. Now he understood. Some of the men were in drag.
It was a wedding alright, but it was at Arts restaurant on Castro Street. The place was ten times bigger in Tim’s dream than in reality. Phil was playing the piano, naked, and there was no massive pipe organ if you didn’t count the one between Phil’s legs. He wasn’t completely naked, either. He had on that silly bow tie and collar he wore on special occasions with starched cuffs and silver cufflinks and probably black patent leather shoes, although Tim couldn’t see Phil’s feet. Tim moaned again—
— and felt Nick touching him, shaking him until he came to.
“Huh?” Tim blinked. “Where am I? What’s going on?”
“You’re right here safe beside me, Snowman. You were just having another dream.”
Tim was used to wild dreams, a common side effect of the HIV drugs he took every day. He didn’t mind the dreams, as long as the drugs kept working, keeping his viral load undetectable and his T-cells were over 500 at last count. Most people had lots worse things than dreams to worry about; Tim knew there were lots worse things than HIV, too.
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost seven thirty, time to get up. I was awake, anyway. It’s time for us to pack up and head home pretty soon. You were mumbling about a wedding and then you mentioned Phil and something about an earthquake. I thought I’d better try to wake you ’cause you don’t usually talk in your sleep. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Thanks.” Tim sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah… I’m okay… just a little headache. It wasn’t such a bad dream except the part when my mother was shit-faced and ruining Aunt Ruth’s wedding. I don’t remember any earthquake. The whole thing was so weird and then I wasn’t sure who was getting married. It might have been someone else. There were all these drag queens at Arts in big hats like Easter bonnets and lots of other people. I knew most of them.”
“Do you want to go for a run on the beach? It might clear your head and we could work up an appetite for breakfast before we head back to the city.”
“Head back…? What beach? Is that the ocean I hear? I thought I was listening to a pipe organ. Where are we?”
Nick lifted the palm of his hand to Tim’s forehead. “It doesn’t feel like you have a fever, but maybe you’re a little warm. We’re in a cabin south of Carmel. We were driving back up the coast from L.A., just taking our time and you said you wanted to stop here and spend our last night on the road. Don’t you remember? We were planning to be back in San Francisco by this afternoon or this evening, but it doesn’t matter to me. If you’re not feeling well, we can stay here longer… at least until you feel better.”
“Oh, sure I remember. I’m feeling okay now. Don’t worry. It was just a dream.”
”So… you were dreaming about a wedding, huh? Do you think it might have been our wedding? Yours and mine?
“Sam and Aunt Ruth were getting married,” Tim said, ignoring Nick’s attempt to get closer to him. ”At first I thought it was in the Castro Theatre, but then I realized it was broad daylight and it would have been dark in there. Then it seemed like it was in some huge, cavernous place like Grace Cathedral or maybe St. Mary’s or that big white one in Minneapolis just north of Loring Park.”
“I think I detect a change of subject.” Nick pulled away. “I was talking about you and me—”
“I remember last night and the night before and that place we pulled over in the car above the ocean and watched the sunset… You know, Nick, sometimes I think you and I do honeymoons so well that we should just stick to what we’re good at. Why do we need to talk about getting married?”
“You remember all that, do you?” Nick slid in closer again and put one arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Maybe we should go for a run.”
“Yes, I remember now and I know a better way to work up an appetite than running.” Tim pushed Nick back down on the bed. He kicked off the covers and climbed on top of him, straddling his chest. Then he leaned in close to nuzzle his neck and kiss him on the mouth. “Does it make me a top if I sit on it?”
“I’m not into labels, Snowman… just don’t stop.”
By the time they opened the door of the cabin the sun was high in the sky. They pulled on shorts and went for a barefoot run on the sandy beach and then took a shower together and finished packing. Check-out time was posted at 10AM but there was no one else around when they were ready to go. Tim dropped their room key through the mail slot of the locked office door. Maybe the proprietors were away on an errand.
They pulled over once to put the top up on the Thunderbird because a bank of white fog was piling in over the city. By the time they got home it would be cold enough to light the fireplace in Tim’s living room on Hancock Street. Nick took a turn behind the wheel as they headed up California’s Highway 1 toward Pacifica. Nick was happier than he’d been in a long time and he knew better than to press Tim again about any further commitments. Tim was right. They were very good at honeymoons. Weddings could wait.
Chapter 2
Ruth pulled a scarf over her head before she started the car. She felt dowdy in it, but no one would see her. She simply had to call Rene and beg him to fit her in while she was in the city. As she pulled out of Sam’s driveway she felt not only dowdy but anxious and overwhelmed. All the way back to San Francisco from Hillsborough, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a wrong decision, simply taken a wrong turn somewhere in her life or not been paying close enough attention to the signs all around her. She adored Sam. He was the best thing to come along since… She couldn’t even remember the last best thing.
Sam was kind and gentle and handsome, a real silver fox, and they made each other laugh. He was crazy about her and he’d asked her to marry him and when it came right down to it… yes… she loved him very much. On top of that, although she hated to admit it, he was by far the wealthiest man she’d ever dated. She certainly wasn’t after his money, but… oh… Why on earth did things have to be so confusing?
As soon as she set foot inside her apartment on Collingwood Street in the Castro district, Ruth felt better. Her cat Bartholomew gave her an angry glare and yowled at her for having been away so long. “What is it boy? Hasn’t Teresa been feeding you enough?” She reached down to stroke the usually affectionate feline until he arched his back and let her pick him up. “Oof, you’re heavy!” She cradled him in both arms all the way to the kitchen and he finally started to purr again.
That was another thing; Sam wasn’t much of a cat person. He wasn’t exactly allergic to them, but whenever he stayed overnight with Ruth, he and Bartholomew kept a polite distance from each other. Sam had also made the mistake of mentioning her apartment in the past tense. It was over dinner just the other night. She’d tried making salmon the way Arturo taught her—hot skillet, not too much oil, not too long on either side—and it came out moist and perfect. She was so proud of herself when she savored the first flakey bite and then Sam had said something about how this apartment used to be so convenient for her when she worked at Arts, as if she didn’t work there at all any more.
Her schedule at the restaurant was minimal these days, but the apartment was another matter. She couldn’t imagine giving up this place. This was where her nephew Tim lived for years. This was where she’d spent her first few weeks in San Francisco the summer she decided to pack up her life in Minnesota and move out here. “But I have such wonderful memories here,” she’d told Sam that evening over salmon. “You can’t expect me to give all that up when we get married.”
Ruth sat down on the edge of her bed and kicked off her shoes, remembering their conversation. “Don’t you think someone else might need the apartment?” Sam tried to appeal to her thoughtful side, what he called her ‘care about the world’ nature.
“It’s not as if there’s any shortage of apartments in San Francisco these days, Sam. I see vacancy signs on every other block in the Castro. If and when Arturo and Artie ever needed that apartment, they would tell me. Besides, haven’t you and I created some nice memories of our own here, Sam?” That was when Ruth reached across the table and ran the tip of her index finger up the side of his neck and around his earlobe. She still knew how to change the subject and make a man come around. “Eat your salmon, darling, and we’ll have dessert later.”
Now that she was home again, Ruth scrounged through her closet for something to wear to work. Between Sam’s place and hers she didn’t know where anything was these days. She had clothes everywhere. She’d neglected to do laundry before she left the city on Monday or during the time she was at Sam’s house. Delia, the cook and head housekeeper, would have been happy to wash out a few things for her, but Ruth wouldn’t hear of it.
That was another thing; where would she fit in with Delia after Ruth and Sam got married? Delia was the mother of Sam’s only son Adam and she’d been running that big old house all these years, planning the menus, doing the shopping and most of the cooking. She was in charge of the rest of the household staff too, the other maids who came in to help serve whenever Sam had guests and to keep the place spotless. Delia was happily married to Sam’s gardener, Frank, but it still seemed like a sticky situation. Ruth had agreed to marry Sam, but he’d said she would be “queen of the manor” and Ruth wasn’t sure about the domestic arrangements. Besides, she’d told him there were already enough queens in her life, what with working in a gay bar and restaurant on Castro Street. She didn’t want to be the queen of anything!
Ruth loathed confrontations of any kind. The only thing she didn’t like about bartending was when normally pleasant people drank too much and got into a tiff about something. She hated it even more when she had an argument with someone she cared about. She almost never argued with Tim, but there was such a close tie between them they could practically read each other’s minds.
Having an argument with Sam was equally foreign to Ruth, but there’d been tensions this week and it all boiled down to a wedding, what should be a happy occasion, and the problem wasn’t even their wedding. Sam insisted that Ruth come to Chicago for the wedding of his son Adam to Alexandra, a beautiful woman he’d met in his modeling career. Once Sam got something stuck in his head, he could obsess about it until it drove Ruth crazy. As good as she was at changing the subject, Sam was set on this plan and he kept bringing it up.
Chicago was a long ways off, but there were elaborate wedding plans underway already. Sam insisted that since Frank was escorting Delia to the wedding, it would perfectly natural for Ruth to be there, too. The ceremony was to be held in a big African-American church and Ruth was sure she’d feel out of place with the parents of both the bride and groom there. The reception would be grand, too. Ruth didn’t want to impose. All these thoughts were spinning through her brain as she got dressed for work. If Ruth and Sam were going to argue about Adam and Alexandra’s wedding, she dreaded the day when they started making serious plans about their own!
Artie had the bar nearly set up for the dinner shift before Ruth got there. He’d been tending bar for nearly as many years as he’d been entertaining in drag. Both of them came naturally to him, but there was more money in tending bar these days and it was more comfortable in boy-clothes. Hell, as co-owner with his husband Arturo, Artie could wear whatever he wanted. He could tell something was bothering Ruth as soon as she arrived at Arts restaurant. “What is it, Ruth? Is Sam having cold feet about getting hitched? Or is it you that’s having second thoughts?”
“It’s not that so much, Artie,” Ruth started cutting limes for the Saturday dinner shift. There were only a handful of early customers at the front end of the bar and a few at tables. One couple was lingering over dessert and apparently talking business after a late lunch at a window table. Artie stood at the end of the bar near the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee, waiting for it to get busy enough to come behind the bar and help out.
“Sam and I have hardly talked about our wedding plans. We’ve started to once or twice, but we haven’t even set a date. What’s the hurry?” Ruth knew if it were just her and Sam there wouldn’t be any problems at all. “We want to keep it simple, just a few close friends and immediate family. Tim and Nick, of course, and we want you and Arturo to be there, along with Jane and Ben and the kids, naturally… the neighbors on Collingwood.” Even that list sounded like too many when she named them off out loud.
“Arturo and I were hoping you and Sam might get married here at the restaurant,” Artie said. “He wants to cater the whole nine yards and have an open bar for your guests. I even talked him into closing for the whole day and we’ll really do it up. Nick could decorate the place with potted trees and flowering plants and do some big arrangements, not to mention your bridal bouquet. We wanted to make it our wedding gift to you both. Arturo will be so disappointed.”
“My goodness, it sounds like you and Arturo put more thought into our wedding plans than we have.” Ruth hoped to nip this discussion in the bud, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful. “That’s awfully sweet of everyone, Artie, but like I said, we haven’t even set a date yet and I don’t know when we will. Sam is out of town again. We were thinking of Christmastime at one point, but…”
“Oh, a Christmas wedding would be perfect! I’d love to decorate the place all in red and white and green!” Artie beamed. “If you don’t want to have the ceremony itself here, you’ve got to at least let us throw a party in your honor.”
“Oh… Artie! I just don’t know…” Ruth felt herself starting to clam up and hold everything inside, even when it might do her good to talk about it. This just didn’t seem like the time or place. Maybe she could sit down with Tim sometime, or have a nice visit with her upstairs neighbor Teresa one of these days. Ruth missed having more women friends to talk things over. All these gay men in her life were charming, but they were more interested in the latest gossip on Castro Street or South of Market than in having a good heart-to-heart.
As far as her wedding to Sam was concerned, an elopement or a quiet little ceremony down at City Hall sounded like just the ticket. There were so many people’s feelings to be considered all of a sudden. “Maybe a party afterward would be nice, Artie. I just don’t know when. There’s so much to straighten out, first. We’ll have to wait and see…” Her nephew Tim approached the waiters’ station with an order for two dry martinis. “What do you think, Tim? Artie wants to throw a party here for Sam and me when we get married.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Aunt Ruth. In fact, I think you’ve almost got to.” Tim started to remember his dream again. “Unless you’re planning to have it at Grace Cathedral or the Castro Theatre, your friends would be crushed if they didn’t get to help you celebrate!”
“The Castro Theatre?” Ruth laughed. “That’s hardly what we had in mind. We’re thinking small and simple and intimate. After all, it’s a second marriage for both of us. The only thing we’ve decided on is that his grandchildren should be involved. Sarah is the perfect age to be a flower girl and little Samuel Timothy Larson could be an adorable ring bearer, although he’s still awfully small. That’s all the more reason to wait until he grows some more. It all sounds too formal to me, but I’d love to see those two kids dressed up for the photographs at the foot of the staircase at Sam’s house… or maybe in the rose garden. Getting married in the rose garden would mean waiting for just the perfect time of year, but what’s the hurry anyway? Maybe next June, a year from this summer...”
“I just have one stipulation, if I may…” Tim was serious all of a sudden.
“What is it?”
“I know it might sound silly, but I had this really weird dream the other morning just before Nick and I came back to town and… ,” he trailed off.
“I’m well aware of your dreams, Tim,” Ruth encouraged him to finish his thoughts. She knew how often his dreams held more meaning than Tim could understand. They’d even helped her solve his ex-boyfriend Jason’s murder. Ruth’s mother, Tim’s grandmother, had been known for her dreams, too, although in those days people didn’t like to listen to that kind of talk. “What was your dream about, dear? What did you want to stipulate about my marriage to Sam?”
“It’s not about your marriage.” Tim clicked the end of his pen with his thumb. “It’s about the ceremony… what I mean is… Aunt Ruth… you don’t intend to invite my mother, do you? I know she’s your only sister, but she was in my dream and it was a disaster.”
“You were having a dream about my wedding?” Ruth asked. “My, my!”
“I’m not sure. It was somebody’s wedding. It could have been yours and Sam’s. Nick got worried and shook me and woke me up before it ended. It might not have been yours, I suppose, but my mother was there and she was stinking drunk and she ruined everything.”
“I’ve hardly thought about your mother lately. Yes, she’s my only sister, so I try to keep in touch. There’s a small part of me that still believes in miracles. I know how poorly your parents treated you, but I try not to give up on people. I wrote her a letter quite a while ago. She doesn’t have e-mail.”
“What did you write her about?”
Ruth thought for a moment. “Let me see… I must have mentioned Sam. I may have said that your health was good and that you’d inherited Jason’s house on Hancock Street. Of course I did. That’s why I told her she could write me at your old address from now on, not that she ever sent a letter there before. Anyway, I haven’t ever heard back from her.”
“Good!” Tim walked away, satisfied with her answer and his tray of drinks, and Jake approached the bar to order a pair of Ramos fizzes for the couple in the window still going over some contracts.
Ruth separated an egg and dropped the white into the blender. “Oh, Artie… it’s all too much. You know what Tim said to me the other day? He said we should just skip the wedding and go on the honeymoon.”
Artie laughed. “He would! He and Nick must have had a nice trip down the coast and back. He’s been smiling ever since he came back to work. That boy has had his share of honeymoons over the years and no one has ever managed to slip a ring on his finger.”
Jake said, “No, the rings they wear are always somewhat lower on the anatomy… and I don’t mean he’s gotten anything pierced, Ruth. Don’t worry; he would have told me or at least asked for my advice about it.”
Ruth wasn’t sure what Jake meant by ‘somewhat lower,’ so she just smiled and flipped the switch on the blender, cutting off any further conversation for a moment. She no sooner finished Jake’s drink order than a party of eight walked in the door and the phone started ringing. “Artie, I think I need you now. Get the telephone, would you? I’ll greet the newcomers.” Ruth headed toward the front end of the bar and the stools were soon filled with customers. Artie was grinning from ear to ear when he hung up the phone.
“Who was that, Artie?” Ruth asked. “Good news?”
“You’ll never guess who’s coming in for dinner tomorrow night! Oh, my God! You’re not working, are you? I need you, Ruth. I’ll have to redo the whole schedule.”
”No, you don’t have me down for a double; I think Scott’s working, though.”
“Well, I need you to work and everyone had better be on their best behavior, that’s all I’ve got to say. I’ll call Scott and tell him to get a haircut by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Who’s coming in for dinner, Artie?”
“Rosa Rivera, that’s who!” Artie shouted, but Ruth looked blank. “Don’t you watch television, Ruth? She’s all the rage. She has that show called Let’s Make it Happen on cable access. I can’t believe you don’t know her, Ruth! And I can’t believe she’s coming here to Arts! The publicity will be fabulous! I should call the gay papers, at least. I’ll have to get a fabulous arrangement for behind the bar and fresh flowers on all the tables. Wait ’til I tell Arturo!”
Tim headed toward the front where more new customers were looking over the menu and Ruth got his attention. “Tim… have you ever heard of this Rosa Riviera person?”
“Oh sure, she’s a camp. She’s got some kind of TV show, but I’ve only watched bits and pieces. I think it’s on late at night. Last Halloween a bunch of guys on Castro Street went dressed in drag as her.”
”Tim says he knows Rosa Riviera, Artie,” Ruth tried to sound encouraging.
“It’s Rivera, not Riviera and of course he knows her. Everyone does!” Artie was jotting down notes on a piece of paper. Next he relayed the big news to Jake, who’d have to work the brunch shift tomorrow instead of dinner. Tim and James would work the dinner shift with Ruth and Scott behind the bar and Phil at the piano. As liberal as he was, Artie didn’t want Rosa Rivera’s first impression of Arts to be their heavily tattooed and pierced waiter, Jake. “You know… Rosa Rivera is fast outgrowing her cable access show. She’s even had spots on the KRON weekend morning show between Jan Wahl and Henry Tannenbaum.”
“Wow, that’s hitting the big time!” Jake snorted and Artie glared at him.
“I don’t watch a lot of television. What does she do, exactly?” Ruth asked.
“You name it! Cooking, fashion, arts and crafts… remember back when Martha Stewart was in prison? If only Rosa had been around then, she could have stepped right in and filled her shoes. And she does it all with such a cosmopolitan flair. She’s going places, you mark my words! I’ve never seen her in person, but I watch when they repeat her show late at night sometimes when I get home from work.”
“How exciting, Artie,” Ruth tried to feign some enthusiasm, although she had never heard of this woman.
“Tim, you’re going to have to wait on her table,” Artie said.
“I’m not even on the schedule for dinner tomorrow, Artie,” Tim complained. “I’m supposed to work Sunday brunch with Jake, like always.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to switch. Jake and Patrick can do brunch and you and James can work dinner. I wish we had more ethnic employees to show off besides James. Ruth, you simply must be here to work with Scott behind the bar.”
“That’s fine with me, Artie. Sam’s going away on business again anyway, so I was already planning to stay in the city this week. I don’t have any other obligations.” She stopped to think as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She’d planned to get her hair done, if Rene could squeeze her in sometime. She also had a ton of laundry to do, and some letters to write. There was nothing she had to do on Sunday evening, though, and she was starting to get curious about this woman that Artie was so enamored with. “Is Rivera a Spanish name?”
“I think she’s Italian. She has the most darling accent. Well, you’ll meet her tomorrow and we can find out. I’ll take the night off from behind the bar so I can act as host. I don’t know what I should wear! I’ll be a nervous wreck, I’m sure.”
“You’ll be fine, Artie.”
“Ruth, can you watch the bar by yourself for a minute? I’ve got to run back to the office and redo the schedule and make a few phone calls. It’s going to cost me a fortune to get the flowers I want on such short notice. Maybe I can reach Nick to help me.”
“He’s at my place, Artie,” Tim said.
“Good. Then I’ve got to go see what Arturo has planned for the specials tomorrow night. They’d better be fabulous! Oh, I’ve got a million things to do and I’m sure I won’t sleep a wink tonight. Gawd, I wish she’d given us more notice. I can’t believe Rosa Rivera is going to be here tomorrow in person!”
Chapter 3
Tim crept up the stairs on Hancock Street and slipped his key into the lock. He didn’t want to wake Nick, so rather than turning on the tap in the kitchen he grabbed a bottle of water to wash down the pills he’d already laid out. “How was work, Snowman?” Nick yawned. He’d fallen asleep with the television volume turned low, but he was awake now. The light from the screen played across Nick’s bare chest and shoulders. Now that Tim was home, he was happy to keep him company, if nothing more. The musical guests on Saturday Night Live were beginning their second number, which signaled that it was nearly the end of the program.
“It was okay… fairly busy.” Tim slipped out of his shoes and unbuckled his belt. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry. Have you been asleep long?”
“It’s okay. Not long. I lasted through most of the evening news. There wasn’t much news, really, but it’s supposed to be warmer weather tomorrow and through most of the week.”
“I think I’ll take a quick shower. I feel kinda sticky.”
“Oh, it’s Scissor Sisters. They’re supposed to be gay, or at least some of them are. A friend of mine went to see them perform at the Warfield last time they were in town and he raved about them.”
“Do you mean one of your employees?”
“No…” Nick reached for the remote to turn up the volume. “I have some friends outside of work, you know, but this one also happens to be a client.” Nick didn’t mean to sound bitchy, but he was still groggy and Tim was talking while he wanted to hear the TV.
Tim didn’t know why he was questioning Nick. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him. Tim felt better in the shower, letting his tensions run down the drain with the soapy water. Still, it was strange to think of Nick having friends Tim didn’t know about after all this time. He had friends with whom he discussed pop music groups? He never talked about music with Tim, but then Tim didn’t pay much attention to the latest fads in music or movie stars or politics or celebrity gossip. Nick was always more aware of what went on in the world than he was.
At least Tim was never bored when Nick was around. They were spending ‘quality time’ together these days, as the pop-psychologists on the TV talk shows might say, not that Tim wasted time watching talk shows, either. Tim spent most of his days off during the mid-week up at Nick’s house overlooking the Russian River. And Nick timed his drive down from Monte Rio on Friday nights to arrive in San Francisco when Tim was getting off work at Arts. They might stop for a drink at one of the Castro bars afterward, but they were usually eager to go back to Tim’s house on Hancock Street and climb into bed. Some nights they pretended it was their first time and some nights they did it on the kitchen table or in the bathtub or the living room in front of the fireplace. Some nights it even felt like their first time, but not lately… not since they’d been back from L.A. Nick usually stayed until Monday morning, but that cut it close for his work, since he did the bank deposits from the nursery on Mondays. Fortunately, most of the traffic was heading into the city at the hour when Nick headed out over the Golden Gate Bridge.
Tim was about to turn off the shower when he saw Nick standing at the toilet. “Wow, you must have been holding that for a while. Been drinking beer?” Tim reached for a towel.
“Don’t turn the water off, babe. I was coming in to join you.”
Tim stepped out of the shower and gave Nick a quick kiss. “I’ll meet you in bed, okay?” Tim knew that a lot of guys envied him. Nick was a great looking guy. He was fun and smart and sexy and successful, and he was good to Tim. They were crazy about each other, but every once in a while a small part of Tim missed the old days, the lonely days, the exciting days when he had no one to answer to.
“Don’t fall asleep before I get there.”
Sometimes Tim just wanted to go out and trash around and sometimes he just wanted to be alone. It seemed like a stupid thing to complain about and Tim wasn’t really complaining. He was just frustrated by the sameness of his life these days. There was comfort in coming home to find Nick asleep in his bed, but sometimes Tim just wanted to curl up and crash. Tonight he was tired and now Nick was wide awake. Tim almost hoped that if Nick wanted sex tonight, they could hurry up and get it over with and get some sleep.
Their car trip to L.A. was fun, but it felt like a sexual marathon. It had been great, Tim had to admit, but enough was enough. They’d spent hours in the car talking about plans for the house on Hancock that he’d inherited from Jason. Some projects Tim could do by himself, even if they took months. They would add to the value of the place if he ever wanted to sell it, though Tim couldn’t imagine that day would ever come.
Property values were something Nick would consider more than Tim would. Nick could picture Tim selling the house someday to move up north to the Russian River where they would live happily ever after in marital bliss among the rustic redwoods. Nick was all about growing old together. Tim didn’t like the idea of getting old at all.
Nick must have changed the channel after Saturday Night Live. There was a movie on now, but it was one Tim had already seen. He flipped through the channels past a lot of infomercials and landed on a station playing music. He didn’t care. Now Nick was singing in the shower and Tim was fighting sleep. His mind floated off in a dozen directions, the evening at work at Arts, his Aunt Ruth’s upcoming marriage to Sam, his recent dream about a wedding, customers at the restaurant discussing politics, whether the Giants would win another World Series next year and whether the 49-ers would ever get to play in another Superbowl or complaining about their lousy neighbors planting trees or building another story onto their houses to block what little view they had left.