Beach Reading

by Abramson, Mark

  He needed a drink. Or did he need more water? He had been drinking water, hadn’t he? Yes, it was cool and liquid and very blue… or was it the glass that was blue? Tim thought he might die of thirst and now he was standing outside a bar. Men smoked cigarettes near the doorway. Tim looked at his watch. It was just past five. There was plenty of time to do whatever he had planned, if only he could remember what it was.

  “Hey, you got a light, man?” someone asked. Tim reached inside his breast pocket. Even though he didn’t smoke cigarettes, he often carried a lighter or matches for a joint. His pocket felt full. There were matches, all right, and a couple of joints, too. Now he remembered when the old lady pressed them into his hand. Vanessa, that was her name, but she was nothing like his grandmother. It didn’t matter now. Tim handed the matches to the scruffy man.

  “Where’d you get them matches, man?” he asked Tim. “The Trench hasn’t been there for at least twenty years! That place was hella wild—just up the street there.” He pointed, but Tim wasn’t sure where. “The Club Baths was in that gray one on the corner of 8th and Howard and the Trench yewsta be on the other side farther up towards Market.” Tim was distracted when he thought he heard a helicopter again, but he couldn’t see it.

  “I don’t know,” Tim said. “Someone gave them to me, I guess. I can’t remember.”

  “You sure don’t look old enough t’have been to the Trench, man. Uncut night was my favorite—cheap beer and lots of hot sleazy guys. Man, we’d get so stoned…”

  Tim shook his head at the word stoned and put the matches back in his pocket. He stepped through black curtains and waited for his eyes to adjust. He saw threads of red Christmas lights across the ceiling. He worked his way past pool players and found a stool at the corner of the bar. Candle wax dripped everywhere. Tim wondered why someone didn’t clean it up.

  Loud music enveloped him. It beat the traffic noise outside and the thwapping sound of the helicopter that reminded him of a police sweep. He no longer pictured the mirrored ball… or was it only hiding in some corner of his mind? Tim concentrated on breathing, be-ing, and he tried to act normal, even though he sensed that normal didn’t matter much here. The bartender appeared, hairy and shirtless with a crooked smile. “…getcha, stud?” was all Tim could make out. He wanted to come down a little, but he wasn’t sure which direction that was… where he was. It had to be somewhere in San Francisco. He had never been this stoned in Minneapolis.

  “Screwdriver,” Tim said. “Please.” He never drank screwdrivers, but orange juice sounded healthy, even though the drink was mostly vodka. He felt for his pocket and had another moment of panic. He’d lost the hundred-dollar bill. Hell, he couldn’t even find the pocket. It had to be there… not the one with the matches. Yes, now he found it.

  The bartender reached under a drawer to make change. Tim put $90 back in his pocket and pushed the rest of the money across the bar. It was a good tip, but he thought of the old saying: what goes around comes around. Tim’s own tips had been generous today and it was easier to leave it all than it was to count. The bartender grinned and clanged a dinner bell. Tim hated that noise. “Buy you a drink, Trench boy?” It was the man who had borrowed the matches outside.

  “Thanks, no, I got one,” Tim said.

  “How about a shot, then?” he asked. “Tequila? Jaeger?”

  “No thanks… I’m fine, really.” Tim looked down and the man wasn’t wearing pants. Tim was sure the man had pants on when they were outside, but now he was sitting on his pants, which were draped across his barstool. He wore shoes with Velcro straps and he was stroking himself with one hand while he held his beer in the other. That was all the man had on—a black leather jacket and tennis shoes with Velcro straps.

  Tim blinked and got to his feet. “No thanks,” he said again to the half-naked man. He asked the bartender, “What’s the name of this bar, anyway?”

  “This place is called the ‘Hole in the Wall,’ hon,” the bartender said.

  “Thanks,” Tim said and walked toward the faded daylight streaking in through dirty front windows. He found a seat on the bench beside the pool table. A handsome man of about forty-five was shooting pool very poorly with a fat boy who wasn’t much better at it. Now Tim remembered that he’d been here once with Jason, but it was late at night. His eyes didn’t need to adjust that time. They had parked Jason’s car right in front, but Tim wasn’t paying attention to where they were. He thought he remembered this place being further south in the Mission district. He and Jason had gone to El Rio earlier and stopped for a drink at Esta Noche, but Jason was driving. Tim never would have found the Hole in the Wall again except by accident.

  He didn’t want to think about Jason now. He didn’t want to be here, either. He finished his screwdriver and returned the empty glass to the bar. As someone who worked in a restaurant, Tim couldn’t leave an empty glass for someone to have to pick up later. He should use the toilet before he left. He didn’t want to be arrested for indecent exposure between parked cars on Folsom Street in broad daylight. He entered a doorway and found the narrow room with a trough. Tim closed his eyes as he opened his fly, heard the sound as piss hit porcelain and he felt the pressure ease. He was a skydiver in freefall, nowhere near ready to pull the chute until the last drops slowed to a stop. This was almost better than sex. “Man, you must have been holding that for hours!” It was the Velcro-shoe man beside him, still with no pants. Tim spun around and headed out. He was still buttoning his fly as he reached sunlight.

  It was much too bright, but Tim was relieved to be outside. He walked a block up Folsom Street and turned left toward Harrison. There was someplace he planned to go today, but he couldn’t remember it now. It must not have been important. That’s how things usually worked. If there was something important he would be doing it, not wandering around as stoned as this.

  Then that sound returned, but Tim couldn’t see the helicopter. He was on the patio of the Lone Star Saloon and he didn’t remember how he got here. He was glad to see Mavis, the Tarot card reader in her usual spot and many large men who took up twice the space he did. Tim held a bottle of beer in his hand and raised it to his lips. Cigar smoke choked him and the cold beer soothed his throat.

  Then the air was filled with sparkling light. Tim thought silver glitter was falling from the sky. Conversations stopped and the mirror ball lowered. It eclipsed the sky above the Lone Star’s patio. It hovered and spun, dazzled and fanned the crowd before it lifted up again and moved on. The biplane was an after-climax and the sign was too close to read it anyway. Men went back to their talk and their drinks and their smokes. Tim heard a deep laugh and then a loud voice saying something about a party, but now he remembered he was on his way to the Eagle. He just didn’t know why.

  Corey... that was the boy’s name. It all started coming back, but Tim was in no shape for some kind of sexual performance, even for money. He’d entertained the idea earlier, but now he was too stoned. Besides, the kid wasn’t his type. He was cute and Tim was flattered, but there were plenty of guys in town who would screw for money. Tim hardly felt qualified to compete with the pros. Still, if the poor kid expected him to show up, Tim could at least buy him a birthday drink with some of that hundred dollar tip from his rich Uncle Fred.

  Where was his cap? Tim saw his reflection in the window of a truck on Harrison Street. The intensity of his stoned state was abating, but he wished he had his cap. He must have dropped it when he was with the old lady. He shook his head. It was too late to go back there now. The Eagle was in sight.

  Like many places in San Francisco, the Eagle Tavern reminded Tim of Jason. Tim knew better than to dwell on the past, but if he hadn’t known Jason was at work at Arts right now, Tim wouldn’t have gone near the Eagle. He would have avoided the Lone Star too, for fear of seeing Jason with another guy.

  There had been lots of guys before Jason, but most of them were just sex. The only other one who really affected him was David Anderson back in High School
and he was Tim’s first. When Tim started seeing Jason the contrast between the two of them finally appeared as vast as it was. In High School he and the coach were always sneaking around and sometimes the danger of getting caught seemed like part of the excitement for Dave. With Jason, on the other hand, it felt like they were showing off. Between Dave and Tim there had been a mutual need. Between Jason and Tim there was desire and a sense of sex being downright fun.

  Tim remembered how it felt to ride around in the convertible and pull up outside a bar with Jason. Swarthy bikers would get off their machines like cowboys climbing down off their horses, legs spread so wide they might be just learning to walk. Even the butchest ones would turn to look at Jason in his red Thunderbird with the top down. And they would look at Tim too, of course. On the rare occasions when the two of them had a night off together to go dancing, other guys on the dance floor stepped back to make room. It was as if there was a spotlight on the two of them when they were together.

  Now that Tim was alone he felt invisible. It wasn’t a lack of confidence. He liked himself. He wasn’t afraid to look in the mirror on the worst mornings. The difference was… people noticed them when he was with Jason. People wanted to see who the lucky guy was that Jason had chosen. They wondered what Tim had that they lacked. They wanted to imagine themselves in Tim’s shoes. No, when he really thought about it Tim had to admit that what they wanted was to find a way into Jason’s pants.

  Tim worked his way across the Eagle patio. People were lining up for a buffet, but as stoned as he was, the smell of sauerkraut didn’t appeal to Tim’s munchies. Some of the hotdogs on the grill were charred and shriveled. Some had broken. They reminded Tim that he should pick up condoms before heading home.

  Now, he had both pot and condoms on his mental tally of things that were running low on Collingwood Street. He should find a pen and start a list, but some things you just remember. If groceries popped into his head, cream and coffee or bread and butter, English muffins and strawberry jam, those he would have to write down. Tim always forgot the basics. He could use the last coffee filter and not remember until the following morning with a hangover. The kitchen floor was always cold under his bare feet as he folded a paper towel to fit the basket of his Mr. Coffee machine. The supermarket and Walgreens were just down the street, but he would have to put on clothes to go there.

  Tim remembered where he was now and worked his way across the patio. The bartender there gave him a big smile like he recognized Tim. Maybe he was a customer at Arts or… “Where’s Jason?” the bartender asked. “I’m surprised he dares to let you out of his sight, Hot Stuff!”

  It was just as Tim feared. He hadn’t been to the Eagle in a month or two, but it was always with Jason. “He’s working tonight at Arts,” Tim answered. “How about a Heineken?”

  “Sure… that first one’s on me.” The bartender set the beer in front of Tim with a wink. “So you’re out on your own, huh?”

  Tim smiled and winked back, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for a dollar bill, but he had to change a bigger bill to leave a tip. He tried to cross the line of men waiting for the outdoor trough and he got jostled by some drunks. One of them scowled and whined, “Hey, the line starts back there!” Tim ignored him and kept on walking.

  “Hey, stud!” Someone else tugged at Tim’s sleeve. It was one of those four guys from brunch. He was taller than Tim remembered. “It’s about time you got here. Frederick almost gave up on you and hired someone else for Corey’s birthday present.”

  Tim looked down at his elbow until the man let go of him. It was a move he’d seen Jason make in this kind of situation. “I’m not in the business…” Tim raised his glare from his elbow to look the guy straight in the eye, “… of being told what to do.” The man shrunk back and Tim let a smile come to one corner of his mouth. If he couldn’t be with Jason, maybe he could act like him, although Jason would have taken the guy up on his offer of getting paid to be a birthday present. Jason wasn’t a hustler either, but he’d make sure the kid got his money’s worth and Jason would enjoy the adventure. Tim was almost stoned enough to do it, too. The tightness around his head was gone. The edginess had evaporated, but his mind and body were fluid enough to still play this game. “Where is the birthday boy?” Tim asked.

  “They’re inside. We were shooting pool, but it was too busy. The lines for the toilet got in the way of our shots. I came out here to use this one, but it’s almost as crowded. At least there’s some fresh air. It smells like someone dropped a bottle of poppers by the pool table.”

  “They probably did.” Tim smiled. Jason would be friendlier now that he had the upper hand. “My name is Tim Snow. I don’t think I caught yours.”

  “Donald,” the man said. “My partner is Jerry. We… um…do business with Frederick. Corey is his nephew.”

  “Seeya, Donald.” Tim stepped back a moment and then let the crowd’s next wave of motion carry him across the Eagle patio toward the side door. If he was going to play the part, he needed more ammunition. Tim stepped up to the main bar and held up a crisp twenty. He’d also learned from Jason how to get a busy bartender’s attention without making a sound. “Do you have any chilled vodka?”

  “Just Stoly.”

  “Great! I’ll have a double shot and another Heineken.” A beer bottle at his hip would look good. If he smoked, this would be the time to light up, but he was in California, anyway. The laws were so strict these days you could hardly smoke outdoors. Tim reached the wide steps at the back of the bar in time to see Corey slouched over the pool table. Frederick was shaking his finger in the boy’s blank face. The other man named Jerry leaned into Corey’s chest like a linebacker and hoisted him over one shoulder. He carried the dead weight down the stairs over the heads of the crowd and out the door.

  Tim saw an open bar stool and sat down to finish his beer. “So much for my new career in hustling,” he laughed to himself, “and so much for my becoming just like Jason.”

  Tim looked up at the TV and wondered why it wasn’t showing pornography, but the thought only reminded him of how stoned he was. This was a bar, not a sex club. There was a game on, but nobody was watching. A deodorant commercial showed two guys in a shower scene and then wearing towels in a locker room. The guy on the bar stool next to Tim smelled like he needed a shower too. It was time to head back toward the Castro.

  Tim walked up Harrison Street toward the Lone Star, thinking he might go look for his cap at the place where that woman was staying with her brother. The address must be on the invitation she gave him, but he couldn’t find that either. Damn, it was his favorite baseball cap, too. Tim turned left on 11th Street but he didn’t see Clementina. Maybe it didn’t run this far south. He kept walking all the way to Market Street and it seemed like hours had passed. One of the old Italian streetcars pulled to the stop at Van Ness. Tim was a runner in high school, but right now his feet were lead weights in leather boots. The light changed long before Tim got to the corner and the streetcar clanged off toward Castro Street and the end of the line.

  He zipped his jacket up to his neck and stumbled toward the stairs in front of the stony fortress of the Bank of America. Tim wanted to be home or at least back in his own neighborhood, but he would wait underground away from the wind. The helicopter was still out there somewhere. Tim imagined he could hear it beyond the wisps of fog that scurried past him. Soon that cool white blanket would be pulled down from Twin Peaks across the jagged skyline of steeples and streetlamps to tuck the whole city into bed for the night.

  Chapter 4

  Underground, the crowd pressed onto the K-Ingleside car. Some people must have been waiting a long time. Tim wedged into a spot at the end of the car and grabbed for a place to hold on between the jeweled fingers of a middle-aged lady and the glove of a shorter man reading a Chinese newspaper. Tim noticed a girl who looked familiar. She sat beside a boy who fondled her earlobe with chubby fingers. His hairy arm was slung around her shoulder and he was pierced in
so many places he reminded Tim of his co-worker Jake. Tattoos snaked between his knuckles and Tim wondered how he would ever find a job or make himself presentable on his wedding day, but it was the girl Tim really noticed.

  “Beth,” Tim said under his breath. The doors closed and the streetcar jerked to a start. Passengers swore and apologized for stepped-on toes. Tim held on tight and stared at the girl. He only had two stops to go—Church and Castro. It wasn’t Beth, but she was about the same age Beth had been when they first met. Tim smiled and wondered what had become of his old friend. The girl on the streetcar had a scar from the corner of her mouth to her left ear. She didn’t look much like Beth except for the scar. Beth had straight black hair. This girl’s was curly blonde with purple streaks. It might be black naturally, but Tim didn’t think so. Besides, this girl wasn’t old enough to order a drink and Beth was closer to Tim’s age, nearing thirty by now.

  The scar didn’t show very much while the girl listened to her boyfriend whisper in her ear. It was when she talked that her face formed a crease around it. When she laughed, her face became disfigured in a way that no amount of make-up could help, but at the same time her laughter made her beautiful. She was exactly like Beth.

  Tim met Beth in high school after he moved in with his Aunt Ruth and Uncle Dan. He had to go to a different school than the one where all hell broke loose with the track coach. Beth had recently transferred to Edina from Chicago, so they were both new. She lived with her paternal grandmother after her mother’s boyfriend scarred Beth’s face in an attempted rape.

  Tim didn’t have any physical flaws, but Beth recognized that he was scarred, too. The two friends felt familiar to each other right away. Tim’s scars weren’t apparent to anyone else except his Aunt Ruth who knew his whole story. Tim wanted to put his arms around this girl on the subway and tell her that everything would work out okay, but he just stared. Even though he was stoned he knew it was rude to stare but he couldn’t help it.