Snowman
Book Four in the Beach Reading Series Praise for the Beach Reading series
"If you’ve ever searched desperately for a fun, readable book to slip in your back pocket before heading out, take note—Mark Abramson has been there. [His] desire to discover the next Armistead Maupin led him to begin his own locally set queer series. He called it ‘Beach Reading’ to describe the kind of fiction he was seeking—entertaining, lighthearted and just a little bit trashy."
Louis Peitzman, San Francisco Chronicle
"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
"Abramson paints a wonderful picture of the diverse yet cohesive, supportive Castro community, and I can’t wait until his next book to take me back to them."
Bob Lind, Echo Magazine
"Abramson is quite a writer. His characters are drawn beautifully and his plot… is carefully thought out. He pulls us in and does not let go even after we close the book. Not many can do that to me."
Amos Lassen, amazon.com
"Bret Harte—the writer, not the wrestler—helped found the literary convention of local color while living on the California coast. 150 years later, Mark Abramson—the writer, not the producer—makes his own contribution to that rich tradition by applying his verbal pointillé to San Francisco. In this first novel of an upcoming series, lovelorn Tim Snow becomes collateral damage after the collision of politics and partying…
and love’s rôle in both. Clever and sexy with a ton of heart (and Harte)."
— Instinct Magazine
Also by Mark Abramson
Beach Reading
Cold Serial Murder
Russian River Rat
Snowman
Book 4 in the
Beach Reading Series
Mark Abramson
Lethe Press
Maple Shade, NJ
Copyright © 2010 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
[email protected]
Book Design by Toby Johnson
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my favorite Gemini twins, Brian Heinen and Kegan Daniels, for their keen eyes, sound judgments and loving support during the process of bringing this book to its final form.
Mark Abramson
San Francisco
May 25, 2010
Published as a trade paperback original
by Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Avenue, Maple Shade, NJ 08052.
First U.S. edition, 2010
ISBN 1-59021-142-1
ISBN-13 978-1-59021-142-7
Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the publisher
espite any resemblance to living and/ or historical figures, all characters appearing or mentioned in D Snowman are fictional except: Harvey Milk, David Weissman, Liam Neeson, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Her Royal Majesty, Empress of San Francisco, José I, The Widow Norton, Laura Linney, Anita Bryant, Lady Gaga, Sarah Palin, The Kinsey Sicks, Rachel Maddow, Bill Cosby, Carol Channing, Mort Sahl, Julie Andrews, RuPaul, Bette Davis, Alfred Kinsey, Al Parker, Donna Sachet, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Nancy Kwan, Liberace, Vidal Sassoon, Betty Ford, Chris Isaak, Barbra Streisand, President Barack Obama, SF Chronicle columnist Leah Garchik, San Francisco Supervisor and 2011 Mayoral Candidate Bevan Dufty, Billie Holiday, former Supreme Allied Commander General Wesley Clark and Thomas Kinkade.
Chapter 1
hat warm spring morning in San Francisco, any passerby on Hancock Street might have heard Tim T Snow scream, not a very butch scream, as he slid down his front stairs. He swore when he hit the bottom. After spending much of the winter confined to bed, Tim consoled himself that he still had enough flesh on his butt to cushion the landing.
Tim’s downstairs tenant Jane Larson leaned out her front door. "What are you doing? You shouldn’t try to take those stairs by yourself. Where’s Nick? Why isn’t he helping you?"
"I’ll be fine in a minute." Tim scowled, but he didn’t attempt to move. He felt his right ankle starting to swell and rubbed it a while until he had to admit it was only his overactive imagination. "I need to learn to manage for myself." He paused, then offered her a smile, "Well, one favor. Would you hand me the mail?"
Jane flipped open the lids on both mailboxes. "None yet."
"I thought I heard footsteps on the sidewalk and someone banging around down here."
"You probably heard the garbage truck or the kids across the street."
"Must have been the neighbors’ brats." Tim had long ago decided that kids were cute until they hit eleven and then were best left unseen until a decade after puberty. "Where are your kids?"
"Sarah’s eating breakfast and the baby is asleep."
Tim gave Sarah extra-allowance because she was honestly sweet-natured. "I’ve hardly seen the magic child all winter."
"She asks about you all the time, but I tell her Uncle Tim needs his rest. Come on, can I help you up?"
"Nah, it’s such a nice day I think I’ll just sit here and wait for the mailman. He’s been coming about this time every morning lately. Invalids notice such things."
Jane groaned at his melodramatic quip. "Expecting him to deliver a walker?"
"No... Everyone gave me subscriptions last Christmas.
How many copies of Inches does a guy need? I should just donate them to the doctor’s office waiting room."
"Only in San Francisco could you get away with that."
"Do you know what drives me crazy? Dolores Park is right there at the end of our street. I miss walking it so much."
"I heard they’re talking about closing it for a couple of years."
"What? They couldn’t."
"New landscaping, new playground, new restrooms.
Better enjoy it while we can."
"Even on a sunny day like this I don’t think I could walk over there and back, at least not without stopping to rest. When we lived on Collingwood I used to lace up my sneakers and jog over there and run laps around the park like it was nothing.
Getting old is a drag."
Jane laughed. "You should spend nine months pregnant sometime. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself, that’s all. Come on. Get up. Let me help you." She gently pulled him to his feet.
"Lean on me and we’ll walk for awhile. Can you push a stroller?
We could take the kids to the park?"
"A stroller is a lot like a walker, isn’t it? You get the kids ready. I’ll crawl back upstairs and get my house keys."
The walk seemed to do Tim good. Near the playground, they spread a blanket below the grassy shelves of the southwest corner, where so many gay men in the neighborhood sunbathe.
Tim missed the feeling of the sun on his bare skin. Despite the fine weather, only a dozen or so people were in the park, but then it was still morning. As Sarah rushed for the nearby swings and Jane checked on her baby, Samuel, in the stroller, Tim eyed the men in the park.
He whispered to Jane, "Look at the guy in the black trunks… the one basted in suntan oil."
Jane whistled appreciatively. "He must spend all his free time at the gym. Do you know him?"
Tim chuckled. "Last summer I was at the pool up at the Triple R in Guerneville. And he was there…"
"Yeah?"
"I was killing time waiting for Nick to finish work at the nursery. Besides, everybody was drooling over that guy. He obviously loves the attention. Then a friend must have waved and the guy yells
back. The moment that mouth flew open a pink gingham dress fell right out." Tim dropped back to the blanket and laughed.
"Tim, you’re terrible!"
"It’s sad, but true… they don’t come any nellier than him… thank goodness."
Tim stared a while at the sky. He didn’t want the light-heartedness to end. The solution to that was somewhere in his backpack. "Do you wanna smoke a joint?"
"No thanks. Ben and I have pretty much given it up when the kids are around, which is like… always. You go ahead."
"And that’s why gay men shouldn’t adopt."
"So… why haven’t I been seeing Nick around?"
"What’s that?" His fingers found the Altoids tin where he kept his favorite "medicine." Oh, California, he thought, if you aren’t going to let gays marry, you better vote in November to allow us to toke.
"I thought he had pretty much moved in upstairs, but it’s been ages since I’ve noticed his truck in the driveway."
"He’s back up in Monte Rio. The place needs a good spring cleaning, and there’s his new nursery outside Sebastopol.
The insurance company finally settled on the damages from the fire, so he’s rebuilding everything. Not by himself. I’m sure he’s hired a swarm of hunky carpenters, electricians, glasscutters, plumbers…" Tim flicked the lighter and toasted the far end of the joint.
"Is everything okay between you two?"
Tim took his first hit of the day and gazed at the skyline of downtown San Francisco. So beautiful even without a bit of THC. He never grew tired of the view from Dolores Park. There might be higher hills in the city and more dramatic views, ones that included the Pacific Ocean or the Golden Gate Bridge, but this one felt like he owned it, as if it were his back yard.
"Nick and I…" The second hit off the joint made him cough. "I don’t know. All winter long he took care of me.
Honest, I felt guilty for what happened."
"For heaven’s sake, it’s not your fault. Nick knows you weren’t the one who messed with the brakes on his truck."
Tim shrugged. "But he feels guilty that I ended up behind the wheel when that asshole intended to kill him. Does it matter who feels guilty?" Maybe the pot wasn’t good stuff; his mood had begun to sour. "Some days I actually resented him being always there."
"Nick is good for you. Hell, you’re good for each other."
"We’ve hardly had any sex life since before it happened.
I was either drugged up or in pain and I’m sure Nick has lost all interest in my ass after having to wipe it for me all winter. No, not literally, but he would have. He’s that good a guy." Tim reached into his bag for a bottle of water and took a deep swallow.
"I just don’t think I was a big turn-on covered in plaster of Paris. He’s always had his bondage fantasies, but they were more fun when I could pretend to fight back."
Jane waved a hand in front of her face as if it could ward off her laughter. "I’m sorry. It’s such a visual. I’m picturing you encased in some golden sarcophagus like King Tut at the DeYoung Museum."
"Go ahead and laugh." Tim sighed and smiled. The sun was climbing the sky by now and the dew on the newly mown grass was dry. "There’s no way they could close this park for two years."
"It’s beautiful here, isn’t it? Maybe it was just one of those plans they ‘float’ at a meeting and then they discuss it to death and it gets dropped. I don’t know."
"I’ve been really boring lately, probably because I’m bored to death. I’ve read all the books Arturo loaned me and we’ve watched every one of those old VHS Bette Davis movies that Jason left in the store room. One night I drifted off watching All About Eve and woke up to Al Parker in The Other Side of Aspen. Jason must have taped over one or the other of them. It’s gotten to the point where I pretend to fall asleep, just so Nick can switch over to porn and take care of himself while he thinks I’m dead to the world."
"I don’t like the sound of this. You can’t give up on what was once a very good thing."
"I think we need a break from each other. I’m not ready to go back to work at Arts yet, and the restaurant is doing fine without me. Aunt Ruth packs them in on her bartending shifts a couple of times a week… whenever Sam lets her out of his sight."
"My dad’s crazy about her. I’ve never seen him so smitten with anyone. "
"Aunt Ruth doesn’t have to say much about it, but I know her well enough that I can read between the lines. He makes her very happy and she deserves that after her rotten husband dumped her for a young trophy bride. I’m pretty sure I can drive my car now and thanks to you I’ve proven that I can walk again. I’ve been thinking about taking a nice long drive along the coast, if my doctor says it’s okay. Nick bought a new truck to replace the one that was wrapped around a tree with me inside it, so he doesn’t need my car anymore."
"Where will you go? Up north?"
"No. Nick is north. I’ll go south. Just put the top down on Jason’s old Thunderbird and head down Highway 1. Maybe I’ll see if my old friends in L.A. still remember me. Or I’ll drive down to Laguna Beach and check into one of those little gay resorts beside the ocean." Tim held up one arm. "This pasty flesh needs some sun."
"And you can eat overpriced shrimp cocktails and stroll on the beach and drink beer and Margaritas and stare at the beautiful boys."
Tim smirked. "Nothing wrong with staring at Speedo tan lines."
"Are you planning on telling Nick that you’re taking a vacation?"
Tim shrugged. "I guess so… not that he’d care very much. Maybe I’ll send him an e-mail and see if he bothers to respond."
"I think what’s really the matter is you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not like you and it doesn’t become you."
"Sorry, Jane. You happened to catch me on the day I needed a girlfriend to confide in."
"Well, I’m always happy to do that for you. How long do you think you’ll be gone?"
"I don’t know." Tim stared across the park again for a long time, watching a pair of dogs chase a squirrel up the hill and bark at the base of an old Magnolia tree. "I think Nick needs some time alone so that he can miss me again. Don’t worry. In the words of our illustrious governor, ‘I’ll be back.’"
Chapter 2
n Thursday afternoon, Tim visited his physician, Dr.
Hamamoto for the okay to go on a road trip.
O "I’ve been fine. Really. I started walking to Dolores Park and back nearly every day this week."
Hamamoto smiled. "Good for you, Tim. Walking is great exercise." Tim had actually seen his doctor jogging a couple times in the neighborhood. He had no idea if the man was gay or not—and didn’t dare ask—but whoever went to bed with the handsome man was lucky.
"Getting out of town might even be good for your head, but I don’t like the idea of your going alone. What about that friend of yours who came along on your last few visits?"
"Nick’s busy with his own life, but I’ll be okay. He bought me a cell phone for Christmas. If I need anything, I can call."
"Program my number into that cell phone."
"I promise."
Hamamoto then went over his latest blood results and instructed Tim that when he returned to the city, he’d have to go back on the retroviral drugs. The news wasn’t unexpected. His HIV drug "vacation" should have been up at Christmas, but with him laid up for most of the winter, his doctor had extended the break. But the test showed that his T-cell count had dropped below 300 and his viral load was detectable again. Tim had reacted to the protease inhibitor "cocktail" very well the last time.
He wasn’t worried.
The next morning Tim made himself scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. As he showered, he daydreamed about the ride down the highway. As a kid, he always liked long drives. He suddenly remembered one of the best, a trip he made with his grandmother years and years ago, to some out-of-the-way ice cream stand that served the best sundaes. She had treated the trip as if it were a grand hunting expedition, but instead of bagg
ing a lion or tiger it would be hot fudge and bananas.
Out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, he went to his bedside table, where he kept the framed photograph of his grandmother and him. She sat with her arm around him on a blue and green plaid blanket beside the lake in Powderhorn Park in Minneapolis. It was the Fourth of July, and they were waiting to hear the Symphony play The 1812 Overture and the fireworks to begin. Tim had on red swim trunks and he was holding a tiny American flag.
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