“I didn’t know you had a suite!” Tim shouted as he ran to the window. “What a great view! Don’t you want to sleep here on your last night in San Francisco?”
“Whatever you want is fine with me, Tim,” Corey said. “I mean—this is already paid for, but I’d like to see your apartment, too. You could still show me around the Castro, right?”
“Sure, but I don’t have any view except the houses across Collingwood Street and my patio in the back off the kitchen,” Tim said. “This place is amazing! I thought you just had an ordinary hotel room. Where are Donald and Jerry staying?”
“They have connecting rooms down on the 25th floor. I was supposed to use one of them if I brought someone back with me so that they’d be right next-door, but I guess they trust you. My uncle and I were staying up here together, but he’s already checked out and gone on to L.A. I’ll see him in D.C. next week.”
“But you said Donald and Jerry were going to Denver, right?”
“Yeah… so?”
“The hired goons trust you to fly back there alone? What happens when you get to D.C.?”
“I’ll finish graduate school… Oh, you mean that. Uncle Fred will have a car meet me at the airport,” Corey explained. “You should come and visit sometime. We could have fun.”
“I can’t imagine living like that.” Tim sat down while he watched Corey toss a toothbrush into a leather bag. “What does your family do in the government?”
“What are you talking about… the government?”
“I thought you said…”
“I live in D.C. because I go to school there, but my family isn’t with the government in Washington,” Corey said.
“What’s your last name?”.
“Am I making you nervous, Tim?”
“Just tell me your last name.”
“Donatelli. Uncle Fred’s last name is Iverson. He’s Swedish. My mother was his sister.”
“I never heard of either name.”
“I’m half Italian and half Swedish, okay? What’s your last name, Tim?”
“Snow, but I still don’t understand why he thinks there’s so much danger around you…”
“There isn’t. My Uncle has a lot of money, okay? Uncle Fred breeds race horses and he’s a little eccentric. He was my mother’s protective older brother and he didn’t approve of his sister marrying my father. Then he never believed my parents’ death in Paris was an accident and he transferred his fears for her onto me.”
“Ooh… just like Princess Diana,” Tim whispered.
Corey threw a pillow at him. “He loves me very much, that’s all. Can we get out of here and change the subject, please?”
“First let me take a leak, okay? I’ve never used the bathroom in a suite before.”
“Can I help?”
“Sure, kid,” Tim said with a grin. “But you’re too young to be that kinky, aren’t you?”
They boarded a red vintage streetcar in front of the Virgin music store and sat in the wide rear seat where they could hold hands and act silly all the way down Market Street. Tim felt like it was his own first visit to San Francisco. He pointed out City Hall and other landmarks along the way. “There’s the BLT Center on the corner!”
“The… what… center?” Corey asked.
“Oh, that’s just what Jake calls it, the BLT Center, like a BLT sandwich. It’s really called… let me think… LGBT, I think. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered… am I forgetting anyone?”
“I don’t know.” Corey looked dazed and Tim kissed him.
Within a few minutes they were on the sidewalk nearing the Castro Theatre where a huge crowd was gathered outside. “What’s going on here?” Corey asked.
“I’m not sure.” They had to walk out into the street to get past the cameramen. Tim pointed and said to Corey,”That’s Jan Wahl. She’s a local TV personality. Oh… and the other one is Dame Edna. He’s supposedly a straight married guy from Australia, but he goes in drag as this character of a housewife turned megastar. The guys in the background are from the Gay Men’s Chorus. I saw an ad in the B.A.R. about Dame Edna appearing with the chorus. They must be shooting a promo for it.”
“Which one is the drag queen?” Corey asked.
“The tall one in the funny glasses,” Tim replied. “The one in the hat is Jan Wahl. She’s a real woman on Channel 4, very gay-friendly.”
At the corner of 18th and Castro three men dressed as psychedelic nuns handed out flyers in front of the Bank of America. “There is so much going on here,” Corey said. “Is it always like this?”
“Those are just the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. This is nothing. Today’s only Tuesday. Weren’t you out here on the street on Sunday?”
“Yeah, but we left the restaurant right after brunch and then we took the limousine straight down to that place called the Eagle.”
They crossed Castro Street at 18th toward Harvey’s on the corner. Tim was about to explain to Corey that the bar was named for Harvey Milk and begin another history lesson, but he stopped in the middle of the intersection and looked back. Tim could have sworn that he saw David Anderson out of the corner of his eye. It was only for a split second. Then the man ducked into a cab at the bus stop and it took off turning right down 18th Street. “What’s wrong? Who are you looking at?” Corey asked.
“Nobody… it just looked like someone I used to know, but maybe not. Come on.” The sidewalk traffic thinned as they walked south and Tim’s fingers slid around the back of Corey’s neck. They kissed again.
While Corey used the bathroom, Tim checked his e-mail. Someone had sent him a private message on dudesurfer.com, but that could wait. A bird in the hand was worth more than the slim possibility that a computer date would be as good as advertised. Tim read the profile anyway, out of habit. He logged off the web-site and found Corey in the kitchen studying the photographs on the refrigerator. One showed Tim in longer hair next to a black Mustang in front of a building with monumental pillars. Another shot of Tim in the same clothes showed him posing next to the statue of The Thinker by Rodin, but Corey had no idea where it was taken. One showed Tim with his arm around a handsome black man with Half Dome in the background. Corey recognized that spot from Ansel Adams’ photographs of Yosemite. Corey laughed at Tim in Mickey Mouse ears in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle at Disneyland. “There you are,” Tim said. “Are you getting hungry for dinner?”
“Sure, pretty soon,” said Corey,” but who’s the lady with you in this picture, Tim?”
“That’s my Aunt Ruth I was telling you about. That was taken at a picnic by Minnehaha Falls in Minneapolis back when I was in high school. Hey, there’s one of me at a track meet.”
“That’s you?” Corey asked. “You’re so hot!” Corey made the word “so,” into three syllables and stretched out “hot” so that it lasted for two.
If Corey’s youth didn’t fit with Tim’s usual taste in men, he had to admit that ‘the kid,’ as he thought of him, was adorable. “So, you think I was hot in high school, huh?”
“Well… I mean…Tim, you still are, but I never knew you were a jock, too. Hey, most of these recent pictures are with the same guy. He’s really hot, too. Who is he?”
“That’s Jason,” Tim said. “He’s a bartender at Arts. We work together.”
“You guys look like more than just co-workers here. Woof!” Corey was eyeing a photograph of the two men arm-in-arm wearing swimsuits.
“That was taken up north of here at the Russian River shortly after Jason and I first met. We dated for a while.”
“You sure have a lot of memories on your refrigerator. I don’t have nearly as many pictures of myself.”
“You will when you get to be my age,” Tim said and as soon as the words left his mouth he realized how old he sounded. He laughed at himself and exaggerated the effect by adding, “Give yourself another decade or two. I have drawers full of albums of sepia prints in the bedroom.”
“Sepia?”
“Neve
r mind!”
“I’d like to see them sometime, especially the jock ones. I’d like to see Jason, too.”
“Maybe later… he’s working tonight, but I think it’s time to make some new memories,” Tim said. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you hungry?
“Yeah, but dinner can wait. Which way is your bedroom?”
Chapter 8
Tim had his faults, but being late was not one of them, especially where his job was concerned. His Aunt Ruth might say, “Punctuality is built into our genetic make-up from generations of ancestors having to allow extra time for travel through the deep winter snows.” If anyone asked Tim he would just say, “I’d rather be early than rushed.”
So Artie was worried when Tim didn’t show up at the usual time on Wednesday. Jake had set up all the tables in the dining room by himself and Artie already had a few customers at the bar. Arturo stepped out of the kitchen, wiped his hands on his apron and asked, “Where’s Tim?”
“We don’t know,” Artie and Jake said in unison, as if they had it rehearsed.
Arturo looked for Tim’s number on the employee list behind the bar and headed back to the kitchen where it was quieter to talk on the phone. Vivian had already started her first set at the piano, a rousing medley of hits by Burt Bacharach with a couple of old Beatles tunes thrown into the mix.
Jake started to tell Artie about seeing Tim at Land’s End, but Artie got side-tracked when a couple rushed in for a quick drink before the movie started at the Castro Theatre. Artie turned back to Jake and asked, “Where were we…oh yes… go on… did Tim and Corey come back from the beach with you?”
“No, they came back to where we were sitting and they picked up their stuff, but Tim said not to wait for them. He wanted to take Corey to the Cliff House for a drink and he said they’d find their own way back on the #38 Geary bus. Donald and Jerry started to object, but Corey insisted that he was in good hands, so they eased off. Then Tim and Corey headed west into the sunset. Well, it was only about three in the afternoon, but it was kinda romantic. I haven’t seen Tim smile so much in a long time.”
“That was probably because he’d been smoking that stuff again,” Artie scoffed.
Arturo returned from the kitchen. “There’s no answer at Tim’s apartment.”
“I hope he’s all right,” Artie said. “Those cliffs are dangerous. People have drowned out there.”
“He’s probably on his way right now,” Arturo said. “You’re fretting like a mother hen.”
“I’m sure the worst danger they were in was from sunburn,” Jake added. “It was fun to see Tim having a good time. He’s been moping around so much ever since he and Jason split up.”
“I know only too well,” Artie said. “Maybe I should call Patrick to come in and work Tim’s section. I hate to bother him on his night off. He’s busy planning a protest, I’m sure, but we have a lot of reservations for later. It’s not like Tim to let me worry.”
“Hiya, Artie. Where’s Tim?” Artie looked up to see Teresa, his tenant from across the hall on Collingwood Street.
“I wish I knew, Teresa. When did you last see him?”
“Last I saw him he was up at my place on Monday morning for Bloody Marys on the deck. Artie, I’d like you to meet Tony. He lives in Oakland. Tony, these are my landlords, Artie behind the bar and the chef here is Arturo. They also own this joint.”
The men shook hands and Artie asked, “Are you two here for dinner?”
Teresa smiled at her date and reached for his arm. “I guess we could be… whatcha say, honey?”
“Yup,” he answered, obviously a man of few words.
Teresa turned back to Artie. “Tony and I were supposed to have a date this Friday, but he just couldn’t wait that long to see me again, couldja hon? So he dropped by my apartment this afternoon. What a nice surprise, huh? I was just telling Tim about Tony the other day, so I was kind of hoping to introduce them and show Tony off.”
“If you’re not in any hurry, you might as well sit down at the bar and have a drink. Or you could take a table in Tim’s section and wait,” Arturo suggested. “I’m sure he’ll be along any minute. He’s never been late in all the time he’s worked here. I just wish he would call. This is strange.”
“Heck yeah, why don’t we just wait at the bar and have a drink first, okay?” Teresa pulled Tony toward her and they straddled adjacent bar stools.
“Yup,” said Tony. “Fine by me. Scotch… Dewar’s… a double… no ice.”
“I’ll have a Gold Margarita on the rocks with extra salt, if you don’t mind, Artie,” said Teresa. “You know how I like them.”
Artie smiled. Even though Tony didn’t have much to say, Teresa was capable of filling in any gaps in their conversation.
“What sort of work do you do, Tony?” Arturo asked.
“Construction,” he answered and swallowed half his scotch before Teresa’s drink was ready.
“How interesting…” Arturo said.
“Hey, there’s a cab out in front,” Jake said. “Maybe that’s Tim now.”
They watched a dainty woman dressed all in purple step out on the far side. She tried to help the driver wrestle a wheelchair from the trunk as a tall gentleman climbed out of the back seat and waited on the sidewalk. Arturo said, “Well, that’s not Tim. I’d better get back to the kitchen.”
The lady pushed the man inside in his wheelchair and helped him up as they settled themselves onto bar stools near the front corner of the room. Before Artie could get to them, he heard the lady say, “Harley, that’s got to be him! I just know it is!”
“May I help you?” Artie placed cocktail napkins in front of his new customers.
“Artie Glamóur! Is that you? It is you, isn’t it?” the lady asked. “We’re some of your biggest fans. I’m Vanessa Caen and this is my brother Harley Wagner. It’s such a thrill to meet you in the flesh. We used to go to Finocchio’s to see you every time I came into town.”
Artie smiled and blushed, but quickly protested, “No, no… I retired her years ago. It’s just plain Artie now, I’m afraid. The wigs are in storage and the gowns are all in mothballs.”
“What a shame,” said the man named Harley. “You were such a hit. We came here to see Tim, too. This is where he works, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but he seems to be missing at the moment. We’re starting to get a little worried… Oh, look!” A black stretch limousine pulled up in front of the restaurant and Tim climbed out of the back seat before the chauffer could come around to open his door. They watched Tim wave and mouth his thanks.
“I don’t believe it!” Jake said. “He must be moonlighting at another job these days. This should be good.”
Tim grinned when he saw that everyone was staring at him. “Hi, guys! Hiya, Harley… Vanessa. What a surprise to see you two here! Hey Artie, I’m sorry I’m late. There was an accident on 101 coming back from the airport. The driver let me use the phone in the back and he tried to call you on his cell, but we couldn’t get through. Jake, did you set up my tables for me? I owe you big time, man…”
“That’s okay, Tim. Where’d you get the limo?”
“Corey’s Uncle Fred ordered it to take him to the airport. I just went along for the ride.” Tim set down his backpack and whispered to Jake, “I’ve never done it in a limo before.”
Artie said, “I’m surprised a boat that big could make the turn onto Collingwood Street.”
“It didn’t. He picked us up at the Marriott. We went back there and spent Corey’s last night with the view. It was already paid for, after all.” Tim turned to Jake and added, “I’d never done it in a suite before, either… We had a great time!”
“Artie thought you fell off a cliff or something.”
Artie protested, “I wasn’t worried a bit! It sounds like our young man has had quite an adventure and I want to hear all about it, but you have customers waiting.” Tim grabbed some menus and headed to the door to seat four women he recognized as regulars
. Then he noticed Teresa and she introduced him to Tony, who failed to make an impression on Tim, either.
“Now, where were we?” Artie asked. “Did you say you two were old fans of mine?”
“Huge fans,” Harley answered. “Vanessa was in show business, too. She was a dancer on Broadway and toured with some of the biggest shows. You might have seen her.”
“What a thrill to meet you, Artie Glamóur. I was just a dancer in the chorus,” Vanessa said. “Ever since I was a little girl it was my dream to be a Rockette, but I was too short. I still danced, though. I was in the original cast of Oklahoma and I was in the chorus of Gypsy, not with Merman, but the touring company. That was years ago, but it seems like only yesterday. I’ll bet I could still bump it with a trumpet.”
“I’ll bet you could,” Artie winked and they all laughed. Then he refolded his bar towel and let out a long sigh. ”Aaaaah… Finocchio’s seems like only yesterday, too.”
An hour later Harley and Vanessa returned to the bar after dinner to listen to Artie regale them with stories about his glory days as “Artie Glamóur,” headliner at Finocchio’s and the toast of North Beach, as he remembered it. Tim stared out the window and finished clearing their table. The brightest lights across Castro Street at this hour were the neon from the liquor store and the glaring white interior of the Chinese take-out. Most of the stores were closed for the night. Tim was lost in thoughts of Corey when he noticed something unusual; there was no fog tonight.
The kid might be in Chicago by now, Tim thought as he glanced at his watch. Or was it Denver? Tim had paid no attention to talk of flight schedules when that sexy young man was in his arms. Wherever it was, Corey would make his connecting flight back to Washington, D.C. and return to his normal life, whatever that was. An ambulance screamed down Castro Street toward Davies Hospital and a pair of guys in roller-derby drag skated by the window in matching cotton candy wigs. Tim figured they must be on their way to a fundraiser at Harvey’s or one of the other bars.
Beach Reading Page 8