Beach Reading

by Abramson, Mark

  Tim loved the moment, but Jean-Yves and Matthew had a big head start on this evening and Tim was sure he would see them both another time. Tim wasn’t in the mood for a three-way—not tonight, anyway. The sexual energy was fantastic, but his euphoria didn’t even need it.

  The news of Arlo Montgomery’s demise must have already spread through the Moscone Center. Even the most apolitical men on the dance floor, those who took their freedoms for granted, felt a sense that they were celebrating something important. Tim had no idea how late it was when he headed back to where he’d started. Patrick and Barry were off somewhere dancing together and Tim watched Harley standing, smiling, swaying to the music and staring across the dance floor. Vanessa turned in time to see Tim reach for his jacket in the pile. He mouthed “good-night” and “thanks” and gave her a good-bye kiss on the cheek.

  “Thanks for everything, Timothy Snow,” Vanessa shouted into his ear.

  “But I didn’t do anything, really.”

  “You and your friends brought down one of the monsters… and besides, you introduced us to Artie Glamóur once again. That alone would have been enough to thank you for.”

  “Thank you, Vanessa. Keep in touch.” But Tim doubted that he would ever see her again.

  The DJ had just worked his way into Sylvester’s Lovin’ is really my Game when Tim stepped onto the escalator. He began his ascent to the street level while the music faded away. It was time to go home now, even though this night had reminded Tim of everything he loved about San Francisco.

  He found a row of taxicabs out front and got in the first one, startling the driver. “The Castro, please,” Tim said and pulled the door shut, “actually…Collingwood Street… near twentieth.”

  “Hey, didn’t I drop you off earlier?” It was the same driver Tim had before.

  “Yeah… small town, huh? How’s it going tonight?”

  “I had to deadhead back from the Excelsior district, so I heard on the radio what happened at the Civic Center. They finally nailed that mutha! Right on! Wish I coulda been there… sounded like old times. How was the Sylvester reunion?”

  “It was great—amazing, but it’s time to go home. I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

  The bars were long closed at this hour, but lines waited outside the Bagdad Café and Orphan Andy’s. A couple of dirty young guys with cardboard signs asked for spare change or cigarettes in front of the 24-hour Walgreens at 18th and Castro, but even that corner was more quiet than usual.

  Tim paid the driver and also gave him one of the joints he found in his jacket pocket—Vanessa again. He wondered if she’d done the same for Patrick and Barry. He would try to remember to ask Patrick at work tomorrow. A lot of people would be coming in with hangovers wanting eggs and Bloody Marys and there was bound to be a late rush of customers who’d slept in after dancing all night. As subtle as those patterns were, people who worked in bars and restaurants had them nearly memorized.

  Tim also wanted to get his apartment in shape this week before his Aunt Ruth arrived. Now he could begin to get excited and look forward to her visit. He still needed a haircut and every inch of his apartment needed a good cleaning from top to bottom. But he was off Monday and Tuesday and if the fog burned back from the coast he could grab the morning paper, pick up a sandwich at Rossi’s and head out to the beach for a quiet day by himself with one of Harley’s joints.

  Arturo had suggested to Tim that he get a hobby… besides men—so Tim wasn’t surprised to find a stack of old paperbacks in the laundry room. Tim rifled through the ones on top and glanced at some of the titles: Babycakes… Franny, Queen of Provincetown… The Front Runner… Men from the Boys… Dancer from the Dance. Most of the books were old and well-worn, but judging from their covers, some of them might be right up Tim’s alley.

  The next time Tim went to Baker Beach or Land’s End or San Gregorio he would stick one in his backpack and see if he liked it. If he wasn’t in the mood for reading at the beach, he could take a walk on the paths and maybe run into another Corey out there—or maybe someone a little older. That cab driver with the ponytail last night was kind of hot. Guys like him had roots in the history of this town and they might be able to teach him something. As long as his HIV drugs kept working, Tim’s world was wide open. Someone, maybe it was Jason, had once shown him where to look on the weather page of the Chronicle to check the tides under the Golden Gate Bridge. The lowest tide was when the beach would be its widest and he could have the most room to spread out, but he had to be careful not to fall asleep when the tide came back in. No matter how many amazing people came in and out of his life, whether they were lovers or mentors or friends or old ladies on the streetcar, no matter what else ever happened, there was no place he would rather be than San Francisco.

  A sneak peek at Chapter 1

  from

  Mark Abramson’s

  Cold Serial Murder

  the sequel to Beach Reading.

  Chapter 1

  The first thing we should do, Aunt Ruth, is fire up a joint. We need to celebrate your arrival in San Francisco.” Tim Snow reached for the ceramic Dalmatian next to the couch. He’d seen it at a yard sale and thought it tacky enough to be cute. The appeal was even greater when he brought it home and found a few stray buds and rolling papers under the secret lid.

  He was thrilled to host the only family, by blood not by Castro, that he cared about. It had been years since he saw his Aunt Ruth. Of course, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d entertained a houseguest for longer than one night. Does it count if you couldn’t remember their names? “I’ll roll us one while you get comfortable.”

  Ruth Taylor kicked off her shoes and rummaged through her carry-on bag for a pair of sandals. “I haven’t smoked marijuana in ages. Not since my college days at Stanford.”

  “Trust me; it’s like riding a bike.” Tim didn’t make the joint as thick as he normally liked, just in case. “Then I’ll call Jason and see if he still wants to drive to San Gregorio this afternoon. It’s a perfect day to put the top down on his convertible and head to the beach. If not, we can just walk over to Dolores Park for some sun. Are you hungry? I had a bowl of cereal earlier, but I could whip up some eggs and toast.”

  “No thanks. I bought a bagel in the Minneapolis airport that’s still sitting on my stomach like a rock. Who’s Jason, sweetie? Someone new in your life?”

  “Oh, we’re not like that anymore. But he does have a great car.” Tim flicked the lighter. He was pleased that he could talk, could think, about Jason as a friend.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We went from boyfriends to just friends in less time than it takes some guys I know to pick out an outfit.” Tim offered her the joint, but she was gazing out the window, not seeming to pay attention. “Are you okay?”

  “Sorry, dear. I must be jet-lagged. I shouldn’t be smoking pot, that’s for sure. What were you saying about your friend?”

  “He’s a handsome guy, but I’m not the only one who thinks so. He can get anyone he wants. I’m glad we can be friends since we still have to work together.”

  “You’re a very handsome guy, too, Tim.”

  “From an unbiased source, I’m sure.” Tim took another hit off the joint and held it a while. “I’m just glad you could come and visit me. The last few months I’ve been picturing you working hard on Al Franken’s Senate campaign, hosting a room full of rich Edina liberals, munching on organic crudités and sipping white wine.”

  “More coffee than wine, but you know, I liked him way back when he was on Saturday Night Live and I didn’t even know he was political. Or that he was from Minnesota. But it’s Obama that really got me excited in this election.”

  “Yeah, he’s kinda hot if you like that skinny type, I guess.” Tim took another hit off the joint and held it toward her.

  “Maybe just a tiny puff, but don’t you dare tell your cousin Dianne. She’ll have her entire Bible class praying for me again. She thought they could pray me out
of my divorce.” Ruth pursed her lips and raised the joint to her mouth like she was taking a sip off a drinking straw.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong.” A sudden cough broke her words. “We could all use the power of prayer now and then, but it seems to me that the people who are sure they have a direct line to heaven are most often calling collect with bad news.”

  She handed the joint back to Tim, stood up and took a couple of steps toward the window to stare out again and caught her reflection. She was amazed at how quickly the years had passed. I’m 57 years old. It seems like only yesterday when I was just a college girl. Her wedding announcement in the society pages of the Minneapolis Star and Tribune had read

  Stanford Class of ’73. How many other graduates had tried to cover the growing belly under their wedding dress with a bridal bouquet?

  Ruth handed the joint back to Tim. “That tastes kind of nice. Brings back memories.”

  “How is dear cousin Dianne, anyway? I haven’t seen her since we were kids.”

  “She was such a sweet baby, really. Now my bundle of joy is all big-haired Texas housewife who still thinks George Dubya Bush walks on water. I don’t know where she gets it. I always knew she was rebellious, but I never dreamed she’d turn out this way. The last time we talked on the phone she cut me off because it was time to watch her favorite blowhard on Fox News. You can imagine what a disappointment she’s been to me.”

  “If that’s how she feels, I guess I’m beyond the help of her prayers.”

  “It’s ridiculous. The whole world can be blowing up, but people want to fuss about gays getting married and same-sex couples raising kids. Plenty of children grow up well-adjusted with only one parent in this day and age. If two people love each other and can take good care of a child… aren’t those kids better off than living in an orphanage? I’ve seen a lot of straight couples that were lousy parents.”

  “Like mine?”

  “You turned out just fine, dear.”

  “You were always a bleeding heart, Aunt Ruth.” Tim smiled up at her. “How did you and my mother turn out so different?”

  “I don’t know, Tim. We were like black and white ever since we were little girls. It’s almost like you should have been my child and Dianne hers.”

  “I’m just glad you were there for me when my parents weren’t. I would have dropped out of high school and run away after that fiasco with my track coach. I couldn’t have spent one more night under their roof. I don’t know what I would have done if you and Dan didn’t take me in.”

  “Sometimes people just have to be there for each other, sweetheart.” Ruth stretched. The pot left her feeling more restless than mellow. “Weren’t you going to call your friend?”

  “Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” Tim reached for the phone and dialed and finally left a message. “Jason, it’s Tim. Are you screening your calls? Pick up the phone. Where are you? My Aunt Ruth is here from Minneapolis… the one I told you about. Are we still on for that drive to the beach today? It should be hot at San Gregorio. Hello? Jason? Call me if you get back soon. It’s about 10:30 now.”

  “What happened to your car, honey? The black Mustang on the Christmas card when your hair was curlier and longer?”

  “It was always giving me trouble, so I sold it. Besides, you don’t need a car in this city except to get out of the city. We can walk to Dolores Park from here. It looks like the fog has burned off and the view is great from the corner at the top. We can stop on Castro Street and pick up something to eat. I’m getting the munchies already.”

  They left the apartment on Collingwood and turned right past Spike’s coffee shop, the barbers’ and the dry cleaners. One of the coffee-drinkers seated on the sidewalk greeted Tim as they passed. When they crossed 19th Street someone honked and waved at him from a motorcycle.

  On Castro Street, a tall blonde coming out of the plant store struggled with a ficus tree.

  “Teresa!” Tim yelled. “Can I help you with that?”

  “No thanks, darlin’, the car is right here. Well, maybe you could shove those jumper cables over a little, thanks. Is this your Aunt Ruth?”

  “Sure is. Aunt Ruth, I’d like you to meet my upstairs neighbor, Teresa. She’s a teacher at the Harvey Milk School. Is this tree for your classroom?”

  “No, silly. This is a gift for Lenny, my ex-husband. He’s getting married, legal or not.”

  “Who to?”

  “Teddy, that guy he met at Lazy Bear Weekend up at the Russian River last summer.” Teresa made a face as she pinched a leaf. “I’d kill it for sure if I tried to grow it. I’ve never had any luck with ficus. My place is just as drafty as yours and the man at the plant store told me they don’t do well in a draft. I hate to admit that I don’t have a green thumb at all.”

  “Tell Lenny I said hi.” Tim dusted whatever dirt from the pot clung to his palms. “And congratulations.”

  “I sure will. They’re moving into a place in the Mission together. It has southern exposure and tons of windows, so all they need is plants. Between the two of them they have two of everything else. Two Cuisinarts, two blenders, two microwave ovens, and two of every cookbook Julia Child ever had a say in. What they need to have is a yard sale. Anyway, thanks, Tim. Nice to meet you, Ruth. Seeya later.”

  “My word, Tim! Do you know everyone in this city?” Ruth asked as she waved to Teresa.

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it. It’s a friendly neighborhood. Castro Street is just like the business district of any small town in America. Main Street, U.S.A. only a little more colorful, I’ll give it that, and with better taste, for the most part. You should see it during Christmas. They put up a big tree across the street there in front of the bank and the stores and other businesses go all out. The decorations in the Castro are a lot less tacky than in most places.”

  Outside one of the ‘adult novelty’ stores two young men were smoking cigarettes. “Hey, Tim. How’s it going? Did you get the trouble with your computer straightened out?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Marty. I called your friend Bob. He was terrific. Hey, Marty, this is my Aunt Ruth visiting from Minneapolis for a couple of weeks. Ruth, this is Marty. He works here. Be nice to him and you might get a discount on some souvenirs to take back home. The Jeff Stryker model would be a big hit with your Edina friends.”

  “I’m sure it would, dear.” She glanced at the window display and then took a closer look. There were boxes with pictures of the male anatomy in ridiculous sizes, right out there in full view! They would never get away with this in Minneapolis, Ruth thought. Not even on Hennepin Avenue.

  At Rossi’s Deli they ordered sandwiches and cartons of salads and then headed across Castro toward the Twin Peaks bar. Ruth said, “This place looks cozy.”

  “The glass casket? I’ve heard that this was the first gay bar in town with windows onto the world outside – maybe the first in the country - way back in the seventies or something. We’ll stop in there sometime. It’s a good spot for people-watching.”

  They walked past the Castro Theatre and Ruth heard another, “Hiya, Tim” from a bleached-blonde girl in bib overalls coming out of Cliff’s Hardware.

  “Hey, Stella. Buying some new power tools?”

  She laughed. “No, I’ve got all I need now, Tim. Who’s the pretty lady?” More introductions were made and Ruth was starting to feel at home already.

  Tim said, “Let’s walk by Jason’s house on our way to the park. He might have been out in the yard when I called.”

  They turned left on 18th Street and Ruth asked, “Where are we going, Tim? You said something about the beach, but the ocean is the other way. Am I turned around?”

  “If Jason’s not home we’re going to the top of Dolores Park. It’s a great place to sunbathe. You get all the same rays as at the beach without having to listen to that noisy surf!”

  “Tim, I thought you loved the ocean. Isn’t that why you moved to California?”

  “I moved to California for the men, but the ocean was
a close second. I love the beach. I’m just teasing you, Aunt Ruth. That’s one of the things I love about you; you’re so easy to tease.”

  “Well, I’m not stupid. I’m sure you’re more comfortable around people you can relate to better than you could your family, myself excluded.” Ruth sighed, “Tim, can we slow down a little? I’m not used to so much walking. These hills make me feel my age.”

  “Sorry, Aunt Ruth. Some days these hills make me feel your age. What are you now, anyway… thirty-five?”

  “You’re closer to thirty-five, dear. I have a daughter nearer to your age, remember?”

  “I’m not even thirty, yet! My next birthday… maybe. You look great. My friend Renee could touch up your hair color and you’d look even better. Here’s Jason’s place. And there’s his car in the driveway. He is too home. I thought so.”

  It was a 1965 cherry-red Thunderbird convertible with black interior. “Nice car, all right,” Ruth said. “I’ve always wanted a convertible, but they’re so impractical in the Midwest. They rust out before they can wear out and there just aren’t enough days when you want to ride around with the top down. It’s too cold in the winter and in the summertime in Minnesota you definitely want a car with air conditioning.” Ruth was admiring what great shape the car was in while Tim ran ahead down the driveway and around to the back door of Jason’s house.

  Ruth looked down and saw bright shiny pools of red on the ground as if the car had just been sloppily painted right there in the driveway. But the red on the ground was a few shades darker than the Thunderbird’s paint color and it looked like it was still wet. That was when she heard her nephew scream.