“Are you a fan of the symphony, Ruth? I have two tickets for Thursday if you can join me. Michael Tilson Thomas is conducting, mostly Mozart and Mahler.”
“I’d love it!”
“Wonderful! How about if we grab a bite first? You’re living in Tim’s old apartment on Collingwood, right? …downstairs from where the kids used to live? How about if I pick you up at a quarter to six?”
“That sounds delightful, Sam.” Ruth smiled as a foghorn moaned somewhere across the bay. Dinner and the symphony really did sound delightful, but mostly it would give her a chance to spend time alone with Sam. “I’ll see you Thursday, then.”
In the far distant reaches of her mind Ruth remembered a wise woman telling her that luck is what you make it. Maybe it was her grandmother, but it was more likely her own mother, the only other member of the family like Tim, so in touch with her dreams.
Ruth walked back inside and sat down at the bar in a daze. Artie set a Bloody Mary down in front of her. “Can you drink this for me, Ruthie? I made it by mistake, and I hate to see good vodka go to waste. It’s Ketel One.”
“I don’t need any more to drink today, Artie, but just this once. People have been shoving drinks at me since the minute I got back to San Francisco.”
“So you’ve run into Teresa, have you?”
“Oh, yes…” Ruth took a sip of the Bloody Mary, “…this is delicious, Artie.”
“Good. Drink up and we can talk about the schedule.”
“Bribery by Bloody Mary, I knew it.”
“Your fans want to see you again, Ruth.”
“Well Artie, I’m not available this Thursday, that’s for sure.”
Chapter 10
Ruth spent days unpacking boxes and nighttimes dreaming about them. She dreamt she was buried under mountains of cardboard, strapping tape and shipping labels. Ruth rarely remembered her dreams, but since she’d moved into Tim’s apartment she chalked it up to the power of suggestion. Maybe some of his—or her mother’s—psychic powers remained in Tim’s old room and rubbed off on Ruth.
Sometimes she spotted a familiar face through the boxes. In her nightmares it was Roy Rodgers, the crazed cowboy who tried to kill Tim last summer. Tim hadn’t mentioned Roy since Ruth returned from Minnesota, but she still thought about him often. She and Tim were responsible for ending Roy’s life, after all, and it hardly fazed her at the time. It all seemed like a bad dream now, the lives Roy had taken, the senselessness of it all.
In other dreams Ruth saw a man falling from an old stone bridge, his body floating up to the surface, but his face was too distorted by the rippling river’s water to make out its features. Ruth’s heart pounded, and her breath came in quick short gasps while she stared at the light from the clock. She’d saved the article about the body in the Russian River. She kept meaning to ask Tim if he’d heard about it, but there was always something else on her mind when she saw him. There was a new face in her dreams now, too—a handsome face, an older face. “Ah… Sam,” Ruth murmured and hugged herself. She could hardly wait for Thursday to come.
Tim came by on Wednesday morning to set up Ruth’s computer.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, dear? I’ve finally got the kitchen organized. It wasn’t easy finding room for everything.”
“No thanks. I had some at home. You didn’t bring along all your kitchen gadgets, did you? I warned you about storage space.”
“No. The Salvation Army was happy to take my bread machine that I only used once and that old Hobart juicer that weighed a ton. Remember when you were in high school, and we went on our carrot juice kick?”
“Oh, yeah… I remember. Uncle Dan thought we were nuts, especially that night we had colds, and you slipped a shot of bourbon into both our glasses.”
“And we both got a good night’s sleep that night.” Ruth laughed. “Even with booze in our carrot juice, you and I always ate a healthier diet than Dan. He was Mister Meat-And-Potatoes when we got married. Then he got adventurous enough to try pizza, as long as it didn’t have anything exotic on it, like mushrooms. I can’t imagine what he eats these days… at least it’s none of my concern anymore.”
Tim pulled the computer monitor out of its box and tossed the Styrofoam popcorn that spilled out back inside. “I can’t believe you saved the box this came in. You’re going to have to learn to throw things away, Aunt Ruth.”
“It was torture to decide what to keep and what I could part with. I found wedding presents still in their original packaging. How many soup tureens did they think a bride needed in those days? The worst part was going through my books. I’ll have to rent some storage space. The bookshelves in the hallway are filled already, and I’m trying to save the built-in ones in the living room for photographs and mementos. They’re not exactly priceless antiques, but you know how I am.”
“Yes I do. Where do you want this computer? There are phone jacks in nearly every room. You should just buy a new laptop that wouldn’t take up so much space.”
“I don’t need a new laptop, Tim. Hey, at least I’m twenty-first-century enough to have a cell phone, unlike some people I know.”
“I don’t need a cell phone. I don’t want to be on anyone’s leash. I don’t even like to talk on the regular phone that much. Besides, I have an answering machine, and I also have a computer where people can send me an e-mail. And I’m on Facebook and MySpace, so people can leave me a damn message on either one!” Tim stopped himself just in time, before he mentioned dudesurfer.com and all the other gay “dating” sites where he also had profiles.
Ruth knew better than to argue with Tim when his stubborn streak flared up. It wasn’t often, but she knew she might as well drop the subject. Negotiation was out of the question. Ruth wondered whether Nick had witnessed that side of her nephew yet. She thought not. “The boys,” as she liked to think of them, were still in their honeymoon stage.
“I thought the best place might be over there in the corner of the living room. That way I can face the keyboard and still look out the bay window if the screen’s to one side a bit.”
Tim set the heavy monitor on the table. “Like so?”
“That’s good for now. I can adjust it later. What do you hear from Nick lately?”
“Nothing. He’s busy with his cousin. He has my number. He can call me when he’s good and ready.”
“I see.” Ruth was in a happy mood, and if Tim wanted to get testy over an innocent mention of Nick, she’d let that subject drop, too. She still wanted to find out the story with the piano player, Phil, but this wasn’t the time for that either.
Tim was silent on his hands and knees in the corner. Even if he was sulking now, Ruth still wanted to have a civil conversation with him. “You know, Tim… I think I was lucky to have met Sam when I did. I have a funny feeling… maybe you can chalk it up to my woman’s intuition, but I think he’s pretty special. I’m glad I went back into Arts on Sunday when I did.”
“I’ll bet,” Tim said and seemed to brighten a little now that the subject had veered away from him and Nick. “You two sure were tight at brunch the other day. When are you gonna see him again?”
“I thought I told you he invited me to the symphony on Thursday. Gosh, that’s tomorrow already.”
“You probably did. I’m sorry, Aunt Ruth. I’ve been so preoccupied waiting for Nick to call that I wasn’t paying attention. It looks like you’ll get laid again before I do.”
“Tim! What a way to talk! Sam is a gentleman, and I intend to behave like a lady on Thursday as always.”
“Aw… what fun is that?” Tim teased. “Come to think of it, though… he’s the one who’d better behave. If he doesn’t treat you right, you just let me know, and I’ll sic a gay posse on him so fast he won’t know what hit him.”
“I’m sure you don’t need to worry,” Ruth said, laughing. “I hardly know anything about Sam, but I always try to find the best in people. I’m looking forward to a very pleasant evening.”
Tim had
sat up to speak to Ruth, but now he went back to work on his installation project. “I think there’s a phone jack… I hope it still works. Hey, what the heck is this?”
“What did you find, honey?”
He pulled out a dusty pill bottle and said, “A relic from the past… it was wedged in behind the radiator. No Good Housekeeping awards for me, but I’m surprised the painters didn’t find it.” He tossed the plastic bottle in the wicker wastebasket beside Ruth’s office chair. “I almost forgot I was going to call my friend Rene and see if he can fit you in. You still want your hair done before your big date with Sam, don’t you?”
“I suppose so.”
“Where’s a phone that works?”
“There’s one on the wall in the kitchen… or you can use my cell, but isn’t it a little late to make an appointment for tomorrow? He must be booked up if he’s as good as you say.”
“In this town, it’s not what you know, but who you know, Aunt Ruth. Besides, I introduced him to his newest boyfriend, and they’re still going at it—breaking up and making up. Rene loves the drama. He owes me big time!”
When Tim left the room, Ruth glanced at the waste basket and picked out the bottle he’d tossed in there. The date on the torn label showed a prescription that was several years old. She read the small type: “Walgreens… Castro Street…San Francisco… Timothy Snow… Dr. Lionel Andrews… Take two capsules by mouth…” She shook the bottle. It was dusty, but it still had pills inside. She wondered why Tim never finished them.
Tim bounded back down the hallway with a big smile on his face and handed her a slip of paper from her kitchen notepad. “You’re all set. I told you I could get you in! He’ll do something fabulous with that mousy old brown color and make you look ten years younger.”
“Well, that’s tempting, but I am your aunt, Tim. People might mistake me for your sister.”
“So what’s wrong with that? Here’s the address, and I even drew you a map. You know your way around Union Square, don’t you? The appointment is for one o’clock sharp. Don’t be late or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I wouldn’t think of being late! Thank you, sweetheart. You’re probably right… I’ll feel a lot better about seeing Sam with my hair freshly done, but I don’t want anything outlandish. You trust this guy, don’t you?” She was still holding the bottle, but let her hand rest between the couch cushions beside her.
“Don’t worry. He does all the rock stars—purple, orange, green—your hair will look just like the gay flag by the time he’s done.”
“Tim!”
“Would I lead you wrong, Aunt Ruth?” Tim sat down beside her on the couch and gave her a hug. “Rene is very ‘high society.’ He does all the old ladies from Russian Hill to Presidio Terrace. If you’re not careful he’ll have you looking just like Dianne Feinstein back in her big bow days when her hair never moved! Arturo and Artie have a picture of her in the middle of them from when they first bought the restaurant. I think Gavin Newsom must have found a can of shellac she left behind in the mayor’s office years ago!”
Ruth smiled and held up the dusty pill bottle. “Speaking of things left behind… I noticed you threw these away, but there were still some pills inside. They’re nearly ten years old. What were they for?”
“Oh, Aunt Ruthie…” Tim hadn’t called her ‘Aunt Ruthie’ since he was a little boy in Minneapolis, long before his parents threw him out, and he went to live with her, but it felt okay at the moment. “Just throw them away. They’re for HIV, but they were like poison to me. There are much better drugs out there now.”
Ruth felt like she’d been slapped across the face.
Tim Snow had no idea of his effect on people, especially those who cared about him. Arturo and Artie considered him part of their extended family, since he’d been one of their tenants on Collingwood Street for as long as he’d worked at the restaurant. To Ruth he was family, of course. And now Nick Musgrove, as solid a man as there was, fell under Tim’s spell.
Tim couldn’t imagine that his grandmother’s “gift” was free-floating all around him like the fog that crept in from the coast on summer nights. Maybe it wasn’t really, but everybody seemed to be having prophetic dreams these days. Maybe Ruth’s were caused by something she ate. Maybe Nick only dreamed about Tim because he turned him on so much.
Nick had been single for a long time, busy with the nursery and content with a vacation fling now and then or with an occasional visitor to the Russian River. Liaisons always felt safer when at least one of the participants was far from home with little chance of any sticky emotional entanglements.
Now Nick was tempted to call and tell Tim that he’d changed his mind about the weekend. After Tim’s recent stay in Monte Rio, Nick’s bed felt huge and empty when he slept alone. Being with Tim reminded Nick of something he’d lost touch with a long time ago. Now the soothing trickle of the Russian River below his deck annoyed him. Making his bed was a chore. He’d rather be anywhere with Tim than stuck up north with the nursery and his employees. He hoped they didn’t notice if he was quieter at work these days. Tim’s answering machine clicked on after the fourth ring. Nick waited until he heard Tim’s voice. “Hey, this is Tim. I can’t come to the phone right now. Wait for the beep. If you want a call back, you better leave me your number and don’t mumble.”
Nick didn’t leave a message, and the next several times he tried to call, he made it a point to hang up when the fourth ring started. He tried to write an e-mail:
Tim—Just thinking of you. Those three days together were great, huh?
Nick hit DELETE instead of SEND. If that was the best he could do, why bother? Most nights Nick loved coming home to his place above the river after a hard day’s work. He even loved being alone, sitting on the deck with a joint and a beer. But now that Tim had spent time here the cabin felt so empty. And now that winter was coming it felt cramped at the same time. Nick couldn’t relax, couldn’t concentrate.
It wasn’t only his libido. Missing Tim meant missing more than sex. He missed sleeping with him and waking up naked beside each other. The silly grins and warm touches were as important as their raw sexual romps both in and out of bed. Like someone who is too tired to sleep, Nick was almost too frustrated to masturbate.
His cousin Nate should have been here by now. Where the hell was he? Nick hadn’t seen Nate since they were kids, and they weren’t close. They went swimming in the river and sometimes slept over, but Nate was straight, even then. Nick remembered puberty like an old black and white movie. Some boys his age liked to mess around back then, but as far as Nick knew they all grew up, got married, had kids and got fat. The one time he went to a class reunion, he barely recognized most of them. Nate was straighter than most. Even back then, he had the temperament of a bully. Nick wondered if he’d changed much, now that he was a cop.
He never should have told Tim he wasn’t coming down to the city this weekend. He could leave a note on the door telling Nate to call him at Tim’s when he showed up. Or he could leave a message at the nursery saying he’d be back Sunday night or Monday. Or he could pretend he never got Nate’s letter. It was lost for a few days; maybe it should have stayed lost.
Nick sat alone on his deck each evening and spun the possibilities through his brain until he reached for the phone and set it down again. He didn’t want Tim to hear the frustration in his voice. Their relationship, for whatever duration or purpose, was steaming hot, but still too new for Nick to let on that he could be vulnerable.
“Tim, why didn’t you tell me you have AIDS?” Ruth looked at the young man in front of her as if he were a stranger. Her mind reeled, and she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t have felt closer to him if she were his own mother, and now she discovered he’d kept this horrible secret from her. She gasped and let big silent tears slide down her cheeks. “How long have you been sick? Why have you been hiding this from me?”
“Don’t cry, Aunt Ruth. I’m fine.” He put his arms around her. “I’m
just fine, now.”
“There isn’t any cure for AIDS, Tim. How can you announce to me that you have a terminal disease and that you’re fine… now?” She wanted to scream as her shock grew from disbelief to anger. “Why would you keep something like this from me? I love you!”
“I love you, too… You know that,” he said. “Let’s just calm way down here, please. Let me find you a handkerchief.”
“I don’t need a damned handkerchief! I need you to level with me!”
Tim spied a box of Kleenex sticking out of the top of a box marked BATHROOM. “Here, dry your eyes and take a deep breath before you hyperventilate.”
He took her hand, and they sat close together on the couch. “I never told you because I didn’t want you to worry. I’m doing really well these days. I’m doing so well I rarely think about being positive. That’s all I am. I don’t have AIDS. I am just HIV positive, like almost everyone I know and nearly everyone you know, too!”
“Who do I know?” Ruth asked in disbelief.
“Artie is HIV positive, for one!” Tim said it as if he were defending himself against a false accusation by implicating someone else. “He has been for years. You should see the medicine cabinet in their bathroom. I told Artie that must be part of the reason he gave up drag. There wasn’t room on the shelves for his make-up and all of the drugs, too.” Tim tried to laugh, but Ruth cut him off.
“This isn’t something to joke about.” Ruth felt her anger rise again. She told herself that anger was better than sadness and loss. At least anger had a chance at being directed somewhere useful. She was angry now, not so much at the nephew she treasured, but at this awful news.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Aunt Ruth. You’re dead wrong about that. After all the wakes and memorials and burials and scatterings of ashes we have to joke about it. Our friends who have died would want it that way. If you don’t laugh death right in the face now and then, there’s nothing else to do but go stark raving mad.”
Russian River Rat Page 6