Last night had been about passion; both men regretted the distance that would separate them again. The morning had been more playful with breakfast in bed, feeding each other berries, licking fingers sticky with juice and maple syrup. Tim didn’t know which he preferred, this morning’s fun or the intensity of the night before, but he hoped he’d never have to choose.
“I don’t want to go back to the city today, but Aunt Ruth gets in from Minnesota this weekend.” Tim hated whining—he’d never listen when anyone else talked that way—but he trusted that Nick would understand. He cleared his throat and tried to lower his voice an octave. “She’s driven all the way across country alone, and I can’t wait to see her. I have to work tonight at Arts and pull a double tomorrow. Sunday brunch and dinner.”
“I don’t want you to leave either. It’s a good thing we both have our work to keep us busy or we’d spend all our time in bed.”
“Bed sounds better than work any day.” Tim rested his head on Nick’s chest.
“But I need to get caught up with my business after I took these days off to spend with you.”
“It’s really coming down hard outside. How can you garden in the rain?”
“Business slows down a little this time of year, but there’s plenty of work inside during the winter, and I have year-round clients like banks and wineries. Did you ever notice how perfect the plants in a bank lobby are? There’s never a dead leaf or a wilted flower.”
“No, never noticed.” Tim admitted.
Nick tweaked one of Tim’s nipples. “You would if they weren’t perfect and they wouldn’t be perfect if the banks didn’t hire someone to make sure they were.”
“I think most of the plants in bank lobbies in Minnesota are plastic.”
“Tim, Tim,” Nick scolded. “Never trust your money to a place with plastic plants. Or any of your other business either. Plastic is for credit cards. Besides, California is where things grow all year around.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Tim kissed Nick again and slid a hand down Nick’s body. “I like things that grow.”
Nick shook his head. “I have to take a shower. I’m sticky and these sheets are going in the washer before I leave the house.” Nick pulled off his socks and grabbed a towel from a stack in the corner. He grinned, “Wanna’ join me in the shower? Save water…”
Tim grinned and nodded. “Good idea.”
The rain was so heavy Tim could barely see the taillights of Nick’s truck, but it let up as they rounded the bend near Northwood Lodge on River Road. Once they reached Guerneville it nearly stopped altogether, but a tanker truck got between them, and there was no place to pass. It didn’t matter. Nick had said, “If we get separated, just watch for the Rohnert Park exit south of Santa Rosa.”
By the time Tim turned south onto Highway 101, it was sunny again with clear skies above as he drove through Santa Rosa. Tim found the exit where he saw Nick’s truck waiting for him on the shoulder below the freeway. Tim gave a tap on the horn as he came down the ramp.
A few minutes later both vehicles pulled into the driveway beside a big sign that matched the logo on the side of Nick’s truck.
Tim looked around at the large retail garden store with rows of greenhouses behind it. “Wow,” he said, as he climbed out of the Thunderbird. “This is quite a set-up. You never told me you were rich.”
Nick laughed. “The bank still owns most of it, but I’m doing all right.”
“Still, I’m impressed. Give me the grand tour, okay?”
“You bet, babe. Right this way.” Nick led Tim around to the side of the main building and turned off the alarm with a few touches on a keypad inside the door. “What do you want to see first? Annuals, perennials, orchids?”
“Whatever you think is best this time of year.” Tim had intended on stopping by 18th Street in the Castro to buy his aunt flowers. “I had no idea you ran all this by yourself.”
“I told you I have help, didn’t I? They don’t come in until ten on weekends. We still have time to fool around. If you want.”
“You never get enough, do you?” Tim protested weakly. “I’m just amazed at the size of your… operation.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Nick grinned. “Besides, I won’t see you again until next weekend and today is Saturday, so I’ll be all alone for six long lonely days and nights in the country. Let me show you the potting shed.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the boys.” Tim laughed and followed Nick through rows of flats of roses under lines of irrigation.
The white windows were so dripping wet that Tim wondered if the glass was frosted with steam or tinted. The heavy, humid air of the nursery, redolent with the scent of rich soil and growing things, triggered a memory from Tim’s childhood.
He caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and couldn’t imagine where it came from. Maybe it was an olfactory memory or precognition—funny how smells could remind him of places, people or things. Pipe tobacco made him think of rain, not being out in it, but being inside a warm room with raindrops on the roof and a roaring fire and chocolate and brandy. Cigar smoke was a turn-on for some guys. Tim had just glanced at an article the other day about cigars, bears and leather, but he didn’t quite get it… to each his own. Cigarette smoke was obnoxious unless… in his memory, Tim flipped through an old-fashioned Rolodex of Odorama “scratch and sniff” cards. Cigarette smoke in small doses—distant infinitesimal doses—piqued his sense of smell in a pleasant way like eucalyptus leaves or manure on a Minnesota farmer’s field before the rains came and brought all the rankness back again.
The smells in the nursery made him horny and judging from the looks of the potting shed, with its handy benches, sink, paper towels and a drawer full of condoms and sundries, Nick had used it for this purpose before.
As if he read Tim’s mind, Nick said, “I can’t remember the last time I brought anyone back here.” And he slid the lock shut on the door.
Twenty minutes later they heard a car pull up. “That must be Jenny,” Nick said as he reached for a paper towel. “Don’t call her that, though. She thinks Jen sounds more butch. And try to get that grin off your face and look respectable.”
Tim laughed and pulled up his jeans as they headed back into the store.
Nick said, “Hey, kid! I’d like you to meet Tim Snow from San Francisco. Tim, this is my right hand woman, Jen Armstrong.”
“Hi, Tim.” She brushed the palm of her right hand across her Levis and thrust it toward him. Tim noticed that her hair was almost the same blonde color as Nick’s was, but she wore it in a short pixie cut.
“Armstrong…” Tim smiled and they shook hands. “Does your family have anything to do with that redwood park north of Guerneville?”
“Yeah, my relatives must have planted those trees a few thousand years ago. Rumor has it we’ll be seeing a lot more of you from now on.”
Tim blushed. “I hope so. Nick never told me about all these greenhouses, though. I thought he just had a little landscaping business.”
Jen smirked. “You have to drag things out of Nick, you know. He’s full of deep dark secrets.”
Tim said, “You’re a man with a past, huh? I suppose you had a tortured childhood I don’t know about… or an ex-lover with a sordid story.”
“The second one.” Nick put his arms around Tim and looked deep into his eyes, “But he’s in prison now, where he belongs.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Tim stiffened.
“I don’t have anything to be ashamed of except for being young and gullible. Once.” Nick took Tim’s face in his hands and kissed him on the lips.
As Nick and Jen helped pick flowers for Aunt Ruth, Tim struggled not to ask for more details on his boyfriend’s mysterious ex. Nick must have noticed, because on their walk to Tim’s Thunderbird he said, “Go on, you want to ask.”
“What was his name?”
“Larry.” Nick stared off at the greenhouse windows a moment. The glass reflected ominous raincloud
s instead of daylight.
“And he’s really in prison?”
Nick nodded. “Forgery, burglary, embezzlement, extortion, fraud, grand larceny, racketeering, armed robbery, and vandalism—but it was that ounce of grass that really got him in trouble.”
Tim’s eyes widened. How many times had he walked around with nearly an ounce on him? There might even be a joint in the glove compartment of the car right now.
“I’m joking. I don’t think he ever got busted for vandalism. I just tacked that on for good measure. Tell Aunt Ruth the flowers are from the both of us, okay? I want her to like me.”
“I’m sure she does. I know I do.”
By the time Tim crossed the Marin/Sonoma county line, the sun had begun to break through the dark clouds. Tim could still smell the redwoods and the rain, as well as the scent of Nick around the collar of his t-shirt. Driving back home, he felt torn—his love for San Francisco warring with the fresh feelings for Nick. Tim found himself daydreaming about living life in the country. He could rent out both floors of the duplex and move in with Nick. Maybe get a waiter’s job at a resort during the summer season or at one of the little restaurants in town that stayed open year round. He could always work part-time for Nick; he was willing to learn the greenhouse business. He’d miss the Castro, that’s for sure.
The road signs for San Francisco and the rainbow tunnel brought him back to earth. When the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge came into view like an ageless vista on a postcard, Tim felt his chest swell. How he loved the city. Nick would be down next weekend. There would be plenty of time for him then.
He moved into the southbound left lane across the bridge, amid the roar and rumble of Saturday traffic. While the rest of the country was cooling down into autumn and winter, San Francisco found itself in a stretch of hot days. In Minnesota, the locals referred to it as an Indian Summer, but Tim thought of this as the weather they deserved after surviving the chilly nights of June and July.
Right now the blazing sun was downright hot. Traffic stalled to a halt in the middle of the bridge so Tim pulled his t-shirt over his head and tucked it under the seat. He thought it might be nice to drive down Castro Street bare-chested with the top down, just to see if he spotted anyone he knew, and so they could see him looking his best.
Chapter 3
Tim pulled the Thunderbird into the driveway of his new home on Hancock Street. His downstairs neighbor/tenant Ben stood on a stepladder pulling dead blossoms off the geraniums in the window boxes. “Hey, Tim,” Ben yelled. “Welcome back! How was the river?”
“Hiya, Ben.” Tim waved with his free hand while he closed the trunk. “I had a great time. How’s everything here?”
“Not bad. Jane and I have our hands full with two little ones. The baby’s colicky and Sarah misses you. She keeps asking when your Aunt Ruth is coming back to town. They’re over at Dolores Park right now.”
“Aunt Ruth is due in today. If she stuck to her schedule she should have got to Reno by last night and left from there this morning.” Tim picked up his things from the driveway and set them down again outside the door, feeling for the keys in the pocket of his worn jeans. “Unless she’s having a lucky streak at the craps table.”
“That’s great. Sarah will be happy to see you both.” He came down from the stepladder and held the door for Tim.
“Thanks, Ben. Tell Sarah I’ll see her soon.”
Tim arranged the multi-colored dahlias, irises, roses and lilies in a big blue vase that had belonged to his late, first love in San Francisco, Jason. Ruth might have packed a vase, but Tim figured it would be buried in a box somewhere, and an arrangement of flowers, rather than a bunch wrapped in a cone of paper, was a better gift. He added enough water to cover the stems, carried the vase downstairs and wedged the bouquet into the space behind the passenger seat. He drove the few blocks to his old apartment on Collingwood Street slowly, especially going uphill, and was lucky enough to find a parking space on that block.
Tim still had keys to his old apartment. He fumbled with them, while carrying the full vase, when Marcia—an upstairs neighbor who once was a boy named Malcolm—arrived at the front gate and let him inside. Tim was used to seeing Marcia dressed to the nines in designer fashions, but this morning she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, hardly any make-up and her hair was covered in a dusty stocking cap. He must have caught her on an off-day.
“Tim, what gorgeous flowers. Are they for me? You shouldn’t have.”
“Sorry, not this time, Marcia. My Aunt Ruth is due back in town today. They’re a little welcome home present from Nick and me.”
“Tell her I said hello. I hope she’s not afraid of me anymore.”
“Sure, Marcia.” Last summer, his aunt had briefly thought Marcia was a serial killer stalking the Castro.
Tim planned on leaving the flowers on the kitchen counter with a note, but when he opened the door, the smell of brewed coffee surprised him. Between boxes piled high everywhere and the flower arrangement in his arms, Tim could hardly see where he was stepping. As he set the vase down on the living room floor, the sight of his aunt in her rocking chair, blinking away sleep, startled him.
She gave him a wide smile. “Tim!” She nearly toppled the chair rising to give him a hug.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Ruth. I didn’t mean to wake you. I didn’t expect you in until late this afternoon. What time did you leave Reno?”
“I never stayed there. Bart and I drove straight through from Salt Lake City. I was so wired on coffee and wanting to get here that I couldn’t sleep anyway.” She bent down and touched a few petals. “What gorgeous flowers.”
“They’re from Nick, really. You won’t believe the place he has. He grew all these in his greenhouse.”
“Bring them into the kitchen, honey.”
“You have to see his place. What a week.”
“Tell me all about it. You look like someone in love; you’re absolutely radiant.”
More boxes were piled in the kitchen. Tim added more water to the vase, and then set it on the counter. “He has greenhouses full of flowers and plants. He runs a whole big nursery business up there,” Tim gushed. “I thought he just did gardening for a few rich people.”
“Would there have been anything wrong with that?”
“No way. I’m just surprised, that’s all. He lives in a little cottage way up high above the Russian River—”
“Monte Rio?”
Tim nodded. “Kinda small, like a vacation house, but nice.”
“What have you two been doing the last few days?” she asked.
Tim blushed at the thought of what they’d mostly been doing.
“Outside of the bedroom, I mean,” his aunt quickly added.
“One day we went for a long drive on some winding back roads north and east of Santa Rosa. We went clear up into the wine country and stopped for lunch and did a little wine-tasting. I forgot I bought a case. It’s still in the back of the car. I should have brought in a bottle for you.” Tim went to the coffee pot. “Can I?”
“I made it earlier when I first woke up. Teresa stopped down and we had some, but let’s make a fresh pot.” She poured the dark coffee down the drain. “Tell me more about your visit with Nick.”
“We drove up the coast to Timber Cove Inn, and drank Irish coffees and watched the waves crashing on the rocks. It’s beautiful there. They have a big Bufano sculpture outside, and on the inside near the bar there’s a fireplace big enough you can stand up inside it. You’d love the views. I’ll take up you up there sometime in the Thunderbird on a sunny day with the top down. We could drive up Highway One the whole coast.”
“That would be fun, dear.” She stifled a yawn. “Sorry.”
“You must be beat. I should go and let you sleep some more.”
“Not at all.” She pushed him into a chair. “You stay right here and keep me company for a while. There’ll be plenty of time for me to catch up on my sleep later.”
Tim smiled.
He wanted nothing more than to ramble on and on about the past week. He knew he must sound like a lovesick teen, but telling his aunt about Nick lifted his spirits. “Last night we watched the sunset from Jenner, and then ate dinner at a great restaurant in Duncan Mills. This morning Nick brought me breakfast in bed, and we listened to the rain on the skylight in his bedroom. It was wonderful!”
“Breakfast in bed. How romantic!”
A loud “meow” came from the bedroom down the hall.
“Bartholomew,” Tim called. “Come here, old boy.”
“He’s part of the reason I drove straight through from Salt Lake,” Ruth said as Tim picked up the big gray tabby and rubbed its belly. “I don’t think Bartholomew could have taken one more night in a strange motel room. He’s mad at me as it is for taking him away from the only home he’s ever known.”
“He’ll adjust to California living in no time,” Tim said. “Don’t you remember me, Bart? Man, you’ve gotten so fat!”
“He’ll be happy to spend his first winter without snow, I’ll bet.”
“You know it snows in San Francisco sometimes, too.”
“A few flakes of white stuff every decade can hardly compare to the weeks of howling blizzards and sub-zero temperatures that we’re used to. Are you such a California boy that you’ve forgotten all about them?”
“I’ve tried to block those miserable winters from my mind,” Tim said. “I’m just glad you’re finally here to stay.”
“Me too, honey.” She smiled, knowing how typical it was for her nephew to block anything from his mind that didn’t fit into his fantasies of a perfect world. He was a lot like his mother in that regard, although her idea of a perfect world was very different from Tim’s.
“Last night after dinner we drove into Guerneville and shot a few games of pool at the Rainbow Cattle Company.”
“Rainbow what?” Ruth asked.
“The Rainbow Cattle Company. It’s a gay bar right downtown in the middle of the main street in Guerneville.”
“For a moment, I pictured you and Nick playing pool while surrounded by cows.” Ruth laughed. “Sorry. Go on.” She poured him a mug of steaming hot coffee.
Russian River Rat Page 2