Beach Reading

by Abramson, Mark

  “I guess that makes sense, especially when I hear it with a French accent.” Tim smiled.

  “Trust me! Any straight guys coming to San Francisco this weekend to listen to bad music and hear this Montgomery preach hellfire and brim soles, rather than spending the time with his wife or his girlfriend, isn’t getting any.”

  “I think you mean ‘brimstone,’ but I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Oh course I am right, mon amoureux beau… Besides, there’s a big dance tomorrow night at the Moscone place. That’s why I scheduled this time in San Francisco, to go to the party… and to see you, of course. You are coming, aren’t you? I have friends coming from all over the world, but I will save for you the last dance of the night if you like me to.”

  “I have to work tomorrow night,” Tim said. “Maybe I’ll come later, if I don’t go to the Civic Center and get arrested instead. I’ve got to go to the gym too, before I go to any party and take my shirt off.”

  Jean-Yves stroked Tim’s chest. “Your pecs are fine.”

  Tim nuzzled his face against the muscular ripples of Jean-Yves’ stomach without standing up from the kitchen chair.

  “Come on, my beautiful San Francisco friend. Come back to your bed. You don’t want to be one of those poor frustrated Americans that’s not getting any—not while I’m around.”

  The first moments alone after a night of good sex were always prickly. Tim wasn’t used to spending the whole night with another body in his bed, but he liked it. Now that Jean-Yves had left after another “rencontre sexuels” this morning and a quick shower, Tim’s apartment was much too quiet, especially the bedroom. Even the noisy birds outside above the air well had taken their squabbles elsewhere.

  Jean-Yves went to meet friends for lunch downtown so Tim went to the gym to work out, had a protein shake for lunch and still had plenty of time for a nap before work. He thought he might not be horny again for hours.

  Chapter 11

  Artie was whistling and cutting limes when Tim arrived at the restaurant. Tim was feeling pretty good too, but his mood was a far cry from whistling. “What’s up, Artie?” Tim asked as he glanced at the reservation book.

  “We’re going to a big party tonight! Don’t tell me you forgot!”

  “Oh, yeah… that.”

  “Tim! I’ve been looking forward to this party for the past two days. Don’t give me that ’oh, yeah…’ attitude. You did forget, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t forget the party, Artie,” Tim protested. “I just wasn’t thinking about it this very minute.”

  “Do you mean you were planning to go to the party dressed like that…in your waiter drag?”

  “Artie, I can change after work. We both just live around the corner…”

  ”I know, but I thought since Patrick is coming in to close for me… Jake can finish up your tables if there are any stragglers. The minute it slows down here I want you to run home and put on something festive and sexy. I have a change of clothes in the office. I know the only reason they invited me is because they want to see Artie Glamóur, but I can’t fit into any of my old drag. I suppose I could have worn a caftan, but that’s so 60s!”

  “I’m sure they’ll like you just fine, Artie.” Tim had nearly forgotten about Harley Wagner and Vanessa. He supposed the party might not be so bad, but Tim wondered what Jean-Yves was doing tonight. It always seemed like the more he got the more he wanted. Tim didn’t imagine there’d be anyone he knew at the party besides Artie and the hosts, but in San Francisco you never could tell what characters might cross your path.

  The restaurant was busy, even for a Friday night. There were droves of tourists in town for the Moscone Center party on Saturday. Artie and Patrick were both busy behind the bar. Artie working at top speed was only about half of Jason’s normal rate, so Tim and Jake were glad Patrick was there to take up the slack. Tim ordered four Margaritas and found a moment to ask him how it went at the airport.

  “It was fun. About a hundred of us went out on BART and a couple dozen more drove their cars and brought banners and signs… salt or no salt?”

  “Salt on three... one without… So did you get to see Arlo Montgomery? Did you get up in his face? How about the press? Were you on the evening news?” Tim looked up to see one of the television sets above the bar showing ‘Jeopardy’ with closed captioning, but nobody was watching. Viv hated the television stealing attention away from her piano, anyway.

  “There were a couple of camera crews, but Montgomery flew into SFO on a private jet, so we couldn’t get near him.”

  ”That’s too bad…” Jake piped up. He was waiting for drinks now, too.

  “Yeah, you’d think someone would have checked that out beforehand, but it was still a great day.” Patrick seemed cheerful in spite of their plans being thwarted. “The cops were everywhere and there should be pictures in the papers, at least the B.A.R. and the Chronicle. Some of the local TV channels had cameras there, but they went live with that big fire in San Jose for most of the 6:00 news… maybe at 10 or 11.”

  “You’ll have to let me know,” Tim said.

  “It doesn’t matter. At least we know people are willing to turn out. They’ll all be at the Civic Center tomorrow night and there’s no way Arlo Montgomery can avoid a confrontation there. A bunch of us guys are going to dress up like straight people and infiltrate the place.”

  “What about tonight?” Tim asked. “Why wait until tomorrow?”

  “Tonight is only the warm-up,” Patrick explained. “Arlo Montgomery won’t even be there. He’s probably holed up in a suite at the Fairmont sipping champagne with a high-class hooker. Tonight they’re giving them gospel choirs and second-string wannabe preachers.”

  “I see,” Tim said as he whisked the tray of Margaritas to his table. He wondered where Dave Anderson fit into the opening night picture and if Dave really had something up his sleeve to stop this whole thing from happening.

  There was a line at the door waiting for tables now and most of the customers seemed to be tourists. Viv was ecstatic at the crowd around her piano. In order to stave off needing a potty break while the tips were flowing, she didn’t ask Tim to get her a drink all evening. By the time things slowed down, she was on her third rendition of San Francisco and Tim noticed that it was 10:30.

  He ran home and took a quick shower, then pulled on a bright red, short-sleeved shirt with a tight pair of blue jeans. The shirt clung in all the right places and showed off his arms, but it wasn’t too dressy. He grabbed his black leather jacket. If the party was boring he could skip out early and hit some bars, since he’d be South of Market anyway. Artie was standing beside a cab in front of the restaurant when Tim came back around the corner. “Hurry up! The meter is running. What took you so long?”

  Tim was relieved to see Artie dressed all in black. “Sorry, Artie. I didn’t know you were getting a cab. I thought we were taking the streetcar.”

  “Don’t be silly, Tim! I wanted to take our car, but Arturo wouldn’t hear of me driving after I had a few cocktails.

  It wasn’t until they climbed inside the cab that Tim noticed the full effect of Artie’s transformation by the unflattering light of the dome lamp. He had on just a hint of mascara and a rope of pearls that wrapped twice around his neck and fell halfway down his chest across what looked like a black satin Nehru jacket. “You look nice, Tim,” Artie said right away.

  Tim was stunned for a moment, but knew that a return of the compliment was expected. “Thanks… you too, Artie.”

  “I do not. I’d too damned fat! Clementina and 8th Street, please,” Artie yelled across the seat toward the driver.

  “Are those real pearls?” Tim asked.

  “Of course not!” Artie said. “They’re not worth much more than Mardi gras beads. What kind of fool do you think I am? I wouldn’t risk wearing real pearls South of Market. The last time I was down there that neighborhood was still pretty dicey.”

  “Harley’s apartment is nice, though,” Tim
said. “It’s huge! Of course, I’ve never been there at night, so it will probably seem very different.”

  Artie wasn’t listening. He was wiggling his fingers on both hands until Tim noticed the rings. “The diamonds are real,” Artie said before he turned them around toward his palms again so that only the silver bands were showing. “They’re insured, but I’ll wait until we’re safe inside before I show them off.”

  Tim felt claustrophobic with someone of Artie’s girth inside the cramped elevator as it creaked and groaned to the top. He could have taken the stairs faster. A butler pulled back the iron grill and Vanessa met them right inside. She was dressed in silver and black with a champagne flute in one hand. “Artie Glamóur!” she squealed. “What a thrill to see you! She kissed him on both cheeks and turned to Tim. “And Timothy Snow. My, how handsome you look! Come right this way. The last time I saw Harley he was on the deck, trying to offer a joint to Willie Brown. He’ll be so glad to see you both, but stop at the bar and get yourselves a drink first.”

  They waited for a pair of men to pass in the narrow hallway. Both had hairless white asses protruding like ripe melons from their black leather chaps. “Hi, Tim!” they said in unison. Where had he seen them before? Artie glared at Tim, but he couldn’t remember. The mirrored wall Vanessa had talked about on Tim’s first visit was open now to reveal the bar. A bare-chested man in black slacks and a bow-tie poured drinks. Tim was wondering where Harley had found this sexy bartender when a woman shouted from across the living room. ”Artie Glamóur! Is that really you?”

  “Carol!” Artie yelled back. “Tim… fetch me a scotch on the rocks as soon as this gorgeous stud gets caught up behind the bar. I haven’t seen Carol since we both worked in North Beach! Bring my drink over and I’ll introduce you two… Carol Doda, as I live and breathe!”

  Tim watched Artie air-kiss his old friend. He wondered who she was and almost forgot why he was standing there until the handsome bartender asked, “What can I get you, cutie?” This party might be all right after all.

  “I’d like a scotch… on the rocks… please,” Tim said, “Oh… and a vodka and tonic for me.” The bartender reminded Tim of Jason, but a little bit shorter and stockier. He probably knew Jason. Didn’t everyone? San Francisco seemed like such a small town sometimes. Hell, this guy and Jason had probably already done it together—twice. Still, he didn’t seem to know Tim. At least he didn’t ask Tim where Jason was. Tim was growing used to that question by now.

  Instead, the bartender asked, “You just getting here, babe?”

  “Yeah, I had to work. The guy with the pearls is my boss. They’re not real, but the diamonds are…” Why was he talking so much? He was nervous, that was why. He could sure use a joint and that shouldn’t be too difficult to find at this party. Tim forced his eyes away from the bartender’s hairy chest to look at his watch. “Jeez, it’s almost midnight. Is the party winding down?”

  Mr. Hairy Muscular Pecs managed to brush his fingertips across Tim’s knuckles while he set down the drinks. “No, it’s just getting started. There must have been fifty people arrive in the last twenty minutes. Harley has hired me to work his parties before… believe me, after the bars close at 2am this place will get packed. I’m scheduled to work until at least five.”

  “Too bad… that you have to work so late,” Tim said.

  “I’m Matthew. What’s your name?”

  “Tim… Tim Snow.”

  “Hey, Tim. I’ll see you later, but here’s my card, just in case I don’t get a chance to talk with you again… call me sometime.” He winked.

  By the time Tim delivered his scotch, Artie was surrounded by well-wishers. They all seemed to know him and one another. Tim had seen a couple of drag queens in line at the bar, but the fans who flocked around Artie were a more mature and mixed crowd. “There you are, Tim.” Artie reached across a feather boa-ed shoulder for his drink. “I was afraid you got lost in the arms of that stud behind the bar. Carol… this is my escort, Tim. Tim Snow, I’d like you to meet the fabulous Miss Carol Doda. We used to be neighbors.”

  “How do you do,” Tim shook the retired stripper’s delicate hand, though it was hard to take his eyes away from her breasts. “Did you used to live on Collingwood too?”

  She just laughed and Artie explained, “No, silly boy… We were neighbors at our jobs! Carol was the headliner at the Condor Club at Broadway and Columbus when I was at Finocchio’s up the street. And these are my old friends Benny and Cornell.” Introductions went on and Tim just kept smiling. He could deal with the public at work, but he felt shy at parties and was terrible with names until he got to know people. Artie seemed to know them all.

  Music poured in from the patio as well as a steady stream of people coming and going. The deck seemed larger than it had at lunch the other day. Tables were covered with tiers of hors d’oeuvres and beyond the tallest plants was an open-air dance floor with a ceiling of laser beams above the dancers. “Tim! Over here!” It was Harley with a joint at his lips, thank goodness. He sat perched on a stool where he could survey his guests. Harley gave Tim a hug and passed the joint.

  Tim knew well enough by now to take only one small toke before he handed it back to Harley, who acted as if the stuff didn’t even faze him. Harley smiled at the cautious grin on Tim’s face. The bass beat moved up through the soles of Tim’s shoes and a high sweet voice filled his head. “This sounds like Aretha Franklin. Or is it Patti LaBelle?” Tim asked.

  “Neither,” said Harley. “I asked the DJ to play some Sylvester to get folks warmed up for the party tomorrow night.”

  “That’s right,” Tim said. “I knew that… Wow, I’m stoned already. I almost forgot about the party tomorrow what with work and all. Today’s only Friday, right?”

  ”Actually, Tim, it’s past midnight now, so it’s Saturday. Come with me. I want to show you something.” Harley reached for a cane behind him. The wheelchair was out of sight and Tim was startled to see how tall Harley was when he stood. Tim turned back to watch Artie twirl Vanessa in the midst of a group of drag queens and men in leather. Artie’s beads swung around his head as his lips moved to the words: “Get on your feet and dance to the beat and dance!” Tim had never seen Artie look happier.

  “This way, Tim.” Harley led him back across the crowded living room. They excused themselves as they passed more guests and cut through the kitchen where Matthew gave Tim another wink. A pair of bare-chested waiters loaded silver trays of hot hors d’oeuvres from the oven. More guests arrived, some coming up the stairs, now. Tim was amazed to see five laughing people tumble out of the elevator all at once. How did they manage to fit in there?

  “Did you ever feel that you had a purpose in life, Tim?” Harley asked. He had led Tim down a long hallway and they entered a bedroom now. One section of the wall near the window was covered in framed photographs of a much younger-looking Harley with the same man in each of them. “Did you ever ask yourself why you were put here on this planet?” There was the Eiffel Tower. There they were in front of the Taj Majal and the Sphinx. They ice-skated arm-in-arm on the famous rink at Rockefeller Center. In another shot they were on skis with Lake Tahoe a deep pool of blue in the distant background. Tim thought of the snapshots he’d been showing to Corey on his refrigerator at home, but these framed photographs seemed to put his life’s meager adventures to shame.

  “I’m sorry Harley. What did you say?” These questions were more than Tim wanted to contemplate right now. What was going on here? Was Harley going to try to seduce him? Tim thought Harley was nice and he liked him and everything, but not that way.

  “I just wondered if you ever thought about why we’re here,” Harley said softly. “You know… fate and destiny and all that?”

  “Not really, Harley. Gee, I’m not even thirty, yet. I always thought there would be plenty of time to figure out all that stuff… all in good time, right? I’m just trying to enjoy life, not analyze it too much. Where was this picture taken? Who is this guy you wer
e with? You’re both so hot!”

  “Tokyo,” he answered. “That was my lover, Bill. We thought we were the luckiest guys in the world and maybe we were. When I met Bill it was like someone finally saw the real me for the first time in my life. We discovered each other like long-lost friends. We were even younger than you are now and he was so handsome, but most of all he looked at me and he knew me. Has anyone ever really known you, Tim? Have you ever let anyone know the real you?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Harley…”

  Harley took a deep breath and picked up a photograph from the bedside table. “Bill loved to travel and I went along for the ride. I would have gone anywhere to be with him. I never wondered why. I didn’t ask questions. Neither did he. We thought there’d be plenty of time for that—for whatever came our way—lots of time. We were young. He didn’t even live long enough to get sick or to see me get sick or to witness the horrible decline of any of our friends. He died so quickly, so very quickly. He was gone like the light when you flick off a switch.”

  “I’m sorry, Harley… what happened?”

  “It was a car accident, three blocks from here. Can you believe it? Drunk driver, broad daylight. I was home making dinner and I heard the sirens, but I had no idea…”

  “I’m so sorry, Harley.”

  “Yeah, me too. I was sorry, but I was mostly jealous. I’d think of his death and crave it like a drug. I thought about how much easier it would be to die in an instant than to suffer missing him. I resented him for not having to endure what the rest of us did, especially when AIDS hit. Bill and I always thought whatever happened we’d get through it together. Sometimes things just don’t turn out the way you plan.” Harley lit another joint and passed it to Tim. “Bill would have a fit if he saw me smoking inside the house. Fuck it! He can’t tell me what to do.”

  “I’ve probably had enough, Harley. This stuff is strong,” Tim said before he took a deep hit.