Snowman

by Abramson, Mark

  Then a mischievous thought struck him. If Adam was a one on the Kinsey Scale, did that mean he was do-able? He’d just said he didn’t plan to cheat on his wife when they were married.

  He didn’t say anything about before. Tim glanced over at those brown muscled calves sticking out of a pair of khaki cargo shorts. Adam’s long elegant fingers tapped on the dashboard in time to the music from the car radio – "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga. Hmmm, Adam was the one who’d been fiddling with the dial and landed on this station. Were straight guys into Lady Gaga?

  "Another part of me was also flattered, I have to admit,"

  Adam said. "Gay men are known for having the best taste.

  Friends?"

  "Friends… maybe you’ll even come and visit me in San Francisco sometime. I could show you off in the Castro."

  "Deal!" Adam laughed and extended his hand for a very butch hand shake.

  As sexy as Adam was, Tim didn’t think he could go there. He thought of his co-worker Jake and his on-going monthly trysts with his straight married dentist in the back room of the Mission News book store. Nah… Tim could never do that.

  Then he thought back to a long-ago time in Minneapolis when he was a little boy at the babysitter’s house around the corner. He found a piece of hard candy on the floor under the couch and picked it up and held it to the light. Tim could still picture it now. He could almost taste it, red and shiny with only a tiny piece of lint that he brushed off easily. The babysitter smacked it out of his hand, picked it up from where it landed and carried it to the kitchen trash can. Tim laughed at the thought of having sex with Adam or any other straight guy when he remembered what the babysitter had said: "Don’t put that in your mouth; you don’t know where it’s been!"

  Nah, Tim didn’t need to mess around with straight guys.

  He had Nick. If only Nick wasn’t so tired of him.

  "What are you laughing at?" Adam asked.

  "Nothing. I was just thinking about Jake… one of the guys at work. I’ll probably have to go back to work soon, at least part time. I’m a waiter at this restaurant called Arts where my Aunt Ruth tends bar sometimes. Arturo is the chef and his lover, Artie, is an old—I should say ‘former,’ not ‘old’—drag queen from Finocchios."

  "In North Beach? Wasn’t that place famous years ago?"

  "That’s the place. They tell me Artie was a headliner there. A lot of drag queens just lip sync, but Artie can really sing."

  "Like Ru Paul or like that Kinsey group?"

  "Hmmm… More like Donna Sachet, but Artie is lots older. Donna Sachet sings live too and she’s local, so far, but she has a huge following. She’ll be famous everywhere soon. That’s the trouble. These great performers get started in San Francisco and then it just can’t hold them."

  "Sure, that happened a lot in North Beach. There’s this little club called the Hungry i where Bill Cosby used to perform… and Mort Sahl and Barbra Streisand."

  "Really? Streisand? Artie keeps talking about getting his act together again, but I guess he’s gained a lot of weight since the old days at Finocchios."

  "I remember hearing about that place years ago when I was just a kid. I think it was just up the street from the Hungy i."

  "That’s right. I forget you grew up around here.

  Finocchios was already closed by the time I moved out to California from Minnesota. Anyway, if you come to San Francisco you could see Arts and I could introduce you around. I don’t know why you’d be interested, though…"

  "Why not?"

  "And I could show you the house I inherited on Hancock Street. It’s a duplex. I live in the upstairs flat and Jane and Ben live downstairs with their two little kids, Sarah and Samuel Timothy. He’s named after Sam and me. Come to think of it, maybe you know them… Jane is Sam’s daughter. Jane must have lived at Sam’s place during some of the years when you were growing up there. And they must have come to visit him since then. Maybe you were around at the same time?"

  "Ben and Jane Larson," Adam said.

  "Yeah. And Sarah, Sam’s granddaughter. She’s such a bright little girl. I call her ‘the magic child’ because there’s something so special about her. She calls me ‘Uncle Tim’ and she calls Nick ‘Uncle Nick.’ I’ve never wanted kids of my own, but it’s great having them nearby and getting to watch them grow up."

  "I’d like to have ten," Adam said. "Alex said she’ll have two and if we want any more we can adopt. She doesn’t want any right away, though. Her career is hot right now. She doesn’t want to take the time off and she’s worried about her figure."

  "Maybe you should adopt the first eight and then have two when she’s ready to retire from modeling," Tim suggested.

  "I’ll suggest that to her," Adam said, laughing. "Do you and Nick ever think about raising children?"

  "We’re too old. I’m over 30 now and Nick is nearly 40."

  "That’s not old!"

  "So… if you know Ben and Jane, you must have met the magic child too, huh?"

  "Sarah?" Adam asked. "Yes, I know her. I haven’t seen her new brother yet, though, but I hope to soon. I’ve been in Europe for a while. She calls me ‘Uncle Adam’ too. She’s part of the reason I’d like to have kids. I’m sure when Alex meets her, she’ll feel the same way."

  "I guess she calls everyone ‘Uncle," Tim said. "Well, not my Aunt Ruth, of course. She calls her ‘Aunt Ruth,’ naturally.

  Listen to me. I’ve been talking a mile a minute today. Anyway, I hope you’ll come and see me sometime. You could meet Nick and see the kids. It’s cute that Sarah calls you ‘Uncle Adam.’"

  "Well…" Adam paused. "There’s no reason she shouldn’t call me her uncle. I am her uncle."

  "I feel the same way."

  "No, you don’t understand. Sarah is my niece. Jane is my half-sister. We have the same father—Sam Connor."

  "Oh, my God…" Tim didn’t know which was more the surprise… the news Adam was Sam’s son or that Adam was straight.. "Does my Aunt Ruth know?"

  "My father said he’d tell her before he proposes, but he wanted us to get to know each other first—Ruth and me, I mean—not you and me, although it’s kind of funny how that worked out. Before today I’d only met her once, at the airport in Paris last winter. It was too bad she had to drive back into the city this morning, before we had the chance to spend any more time together. With her daughter there too, it added another element that my father wasn’t counting on."

  The 1812 Overture started playing as Adam talked. Tim thought at first that it was only his imagination, but the music grew louder. "Do you hear that?"

  "I think it’s your cell phone. You stuck it in your bag, remember?"

  "Oh, I’ve never heard it do that before. Will you grab it for me?" Tim slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road where they looked out over miles of the blue Pacific and Adam handed him the phone. "Hello! This is Tim. Hello? Oh, Hiya, Aunt Ruth! Boy, have I got some news for you!"

  Adam put his index finger to his mouth and shook his head. Tim caught his gesture and nodded, giving him an OKAY

  sign with his thumb and forefinger.

  "We’re out for a drive, me and Adam. No, I haven’t heard from Nick yet. Have you? Why? Okay, I’ll tell you my big news first. Adam is straight! Yeah, who would have guessed, huh? Now, it’s your turn."

  Tim listened for some time, all the while nodding his head. "Oh… Hmmm… okay…" was all Adam could hear from this end of the conversation. "Holy shit! Oh my God, are you kidding me? Do you think I should come right away? Oh, I see…

  Well, that makes sense, I guess. How is Artie, now? Uh-huh…

  Uh-uh. Nope…an eyeball! No, I don’t think so. Okay. I promise.

  Love you, too."

  "What was that all about," Adam asked, after Tim ended his call and snapped the phone shut.

  "Wow, I thought I had shocking news. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t tell her about Sam being your father. Your breeder status satisfied her as my big news and your paternity
is something Sam can lay on her, not me. I can’t imagine she’d be anything but cool with it, though."

  "Good, but what’s happening in the city?"

  "She just finished working the brunch shift and she’s gonna stay and work a double, since Artie threw his back out last night."

  "But what’s the big news?"

  "They’re finding body parts in the sewers. Jeez! She says this might be a good time for all of us to avoid the Castro, but she also said that Nick would call soon. I guess I’d better drive you back to Hillsborough. I was gonna head south, but my plans are up in the air until I talk to him. He might be calling any minute. Damn, do you know how to make my cell phone ring like a regular telephone? I’m not so much into Beethoven."

  "That was Tchaikovsky, but sure."

  Chapter 10

  ustomers waited in line outside the restaurant on Castro Street. Some were hungry for food and others C had no doubt chosen to come to Arts for brunch because of all the juicy gossip. It wasn’t every day that human fingers showed up in the sewer pipes. Nick just wanted to finish his omelet and Bloody Mary and be on his way. So he said good-bye to Tim’s Aunt Ruth and walked around the corner to Collingwood Street where he’d left his truck. Teresa pulled up in her car at the same time and rolled down her window. "Nick, are you leaving? Will you wait a minute?"

  "Sure, Teresa, no problem."

  "What luck! Let me just set my groceries inside the gate before I take your parking spot." She pulled her car into the driveway of the apartment building and popped the trunk.

  "I’ll help you." This was the second time today that Nick volunteered for something and wanted to swallow his words.

  He was trying to get out of town and instead here he was, facing yet another delay.

  "I won’t keep you but two shakes, honey. I was dreading the thought of finding a parking spot, but this will work out super!"

  Nick saw the enormity of their task before Teresa had even climbed out of the driver’s seat. "It seems like Safeway had everything I needed on sale today, so I stocked up."

  "Oomph. What have you got in here, bricks?" Nick picked up two of the reusable green fabric grocery sacks and headed for the gate.

  "Be careful with those, honey! You must have got the bags with the liquor in them. I tell you what… I’ll make us a nice pitcher of Margaritas just as soon as we’re done here. You sure deserve one and so do I."

  "Thanks, but I’ve got a lot of driving ahead of me and I already had one of Ruth’s Bloody Marys this morning."

  "How is my neighbor?" Teresa panted up the stairs behind Nick. "I hardly ever see her at home, lately. She must spend all her time down in Burlingame these days."

  "Hillsborough," Nick corrected her.

  "Oh, yeah… Burlingame… Hillsborough… whatever…

  the ritzy suburbs—that’s our Ruthie—swimming pools and tennis courts, too rich for my blood, but I can see Ruth fitting in just about anywhere. Good for her."

  "She wasn’t supposed to come back until tomorrow, but they had some trouble at the restaurant so she drove up this morning to help out."

  "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

  "Oh, I don’t know. Artie threw his back out and then there was some problem with the plumbing." Nick hadn’t meant to tell a lie or be evasive but he didn’t want to get stuck here any longer than it would take to haul in the groceries and besides, he’d answered enough questions for one day. "You should ask Ruth and have her tell you all about it."

  After three trips up and down the stairs and as many refusals to stay for a drink, Nick got back in his truck and pulled out. He waved and watched in the rear view mirror as Teresa pulled her car into the parking space. He still had plenty of time to see his family in Alameda and drive back to the Russian River long before nightfall. Right now he just wanted to get out of San Francisco and away from the Castro. If he couldn’t see Tim there was no reason to be here.

  Down in Hillsborough, Dianne got her bags packed, her make-up and eyelashes on, her hair sprayed into an immoveable facsimile of a football helmet, and talked Sam into helping her carry all her bags back out to the car. It took two trips to fill the substantial trunk. "My, you brought a lot with you for just a visit. Your mother always travels so light I don’t know how she does it. Last winter in Europe she just had one little suitcase and a carry-on for a two-week trip and she always looked so lovely."

  "Have you taken a good look at her lately?" Dianne slid in behind the wheel. "She hardly knows her way around a tube of lipstick. She wouldn’t know fashion if it slapped her across the face and that cutesy little pixie haircut of hers—"

  "Your mother is beautiful to me."

  "—on a woman her age? She gets out of the shower and shakes her head and she thinks she’s good to go. I can’t imagine going out in public looking like something—"

  "Goodbye, Dianne." Sam pushed the car door shut with enough force to block out the rest of her words.

  "—the cat dragged in. Sam! Sam?" Dianne looked around and realized her car window was closed and Sam was on his way back to the house. Dianne sniffed and shoved her key into the ignition. She turned the wrong direction out of the driveway and a few minutes later she mistakenly entered the freeway heading south. She was halfway to San Jose before she realized the sun was moving from west to east.

  As far as Dianne was concerned, this trip had been one disaster after another. The weekend staff at Sam’s estate—what little there was—hadn’t been nearly subservient enough for Dianne’s taste. Then she couldn’t even take a dip in the pool without finding her queer cousin and that colored boy in there.

  Between the two of them she might have run the risk of catching something. What was worse, she hadn’t been able to spend a minute alone with her mother and she really needed to talk to her this time.

  Teresa made a pitcher of Margaritas and drank them all by herself. She kept thinking about what Nick said about trouble at the restaurant. She hoped it was nothing serious, but there was only one way to find out. She set her empty glass and pitcher in the kitchen sink and grabbed a sponge to wipe the spilled salt from the little marble table on the back deck. Then she walked over to Arts to get the news straight from the horses’

  mouths. She figured while she was there she could have a nice visit with her neighbor Ruth, too.

  Coincidentally Teresa arrived at Arts at the same time as Dianne and they ended up sitting together at the only open bar stools. Ruth saw them and hurried over. "Teresa, have you met my daughter, Dianne? She’s visiting from Texas. Dianne, this is my upstairs neighbor, Teresa. She teaches at the Harvey Milk School just around the corner. What can I get you both?"

  "I’ll have a glass of dry white wine, mother."

  "I’d better stick with a Margarita," Teresa said. "You know what they say, ‘never mix; never worry.’ How-dya-do, Dianne, what brings you to San Francisco?"

  "Why does everyone in this city keep questioning me?

  Can’t I come to visit my own mother without getting the third degree?"

  Teresa wasn’t sure why this little lady was being so snippy, but she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with Ruth’s daughter. "I didn’t mean anything by it. Better have another sip of your wine, honey."

  Ruth wrote down her address on Collingwood Street and handed it to her daughter. "My apartment is just around the corner. Nothing fancy, but it’s convenient. I hope you’ll be comfortable on the couch. I slept there when I came to visit Tim and it was nice and cozy. It’s his old apartment, you know. I’ll rustle up a set of keys for you as soon as I get… oh, you’ll both have to excuse me. Customers are waiting."

  Teresa took a generous slug of her Margarita and realized she’d better continue the conversation with Ruth’s daughter before awkward silence happened. Teresa hated silence worse than hangovers. "So, how’s life down in Texas now that the Bushes have crawled back home to Crawford? Bet you really missed them for eight years, huh?" She laughed, a good, tipsy laugh. "I sure as hell would
n’t! Tell me all about yourself, girl."

  The request, and the wine, calmed Dianne; talking about herself was one of her favorite pastimes. "Well, I’ve been married for sixteen years with two just gorgeous children. Chuck Junior is fifteen—and so tall, he’s sure to be a star on the football team—and sweet Barbara is nine. She has her mother’s smarts.

  All A’s. Barbara was Miss Junior Texas America when she was only six years old. My husband, Chuck Senior, he works for Standard Oil. Raising a family is such hard work, that I barely have time to keep busy with our local church." She took another deep swallow of her wine. "Oh, yes, I’m secretary treasurer of my collectibles club. Most of the women there, though, well, I could tell you things…"

  "Collectibles?" Teresa hid a yawn behind her own glass.

  "What do you collect?"

  "Thomas Kinkade and Danbury Mint… plates and figurines, mostly religious and patriotic items, lots of seasonal things. Christmas is a big holiday for collectibles, as you can imagine, but I love Easter, all those bunnies and ceramic eggs.