Chapter 18
Ruth carried her coffee and the Sunday paper out to the patio. There was still a good hour before she had to get ready for work. As much as she enjoyed Arts, the staff, the good-natured banter with customers and catching up on the neighborhood gossip, on days like today she’d just as soon sleep late and stay home with the cat.
“Ouch! Dammit!” Ruth heard Teresa on the other side of the brick wall and then a crash of breaking glass in the recycling bin.
“Are you all right?” Ruth blurted out and hoped that Teresa hadn’t heard her. She didn’t feel like interacting with anyone this morning but it was too late; the words were already out of her mouth.
“Ruthie, I didn’t know you were there. I must be making enough of a racket to raise the dead. Sorry I startled you. I’m fine. I just dropped a bottle on my bare toe. Say… I sure hope I didn’t wake you up last night when I came in.”
“Why no, I…”
“Didn’t you hear me yelling? My damned keys must have fallen out of my purse in the cab. Well, I’d had a few cocktails, you know. I couldn’t get in! Arturo was home, but I had a hell of a time waking him up.”
“You should have rung my buzzer, Teresa.”
“Your living room lights weren’t on, so I figured you must be in bed with Sam.”
“In bed with…?” Ruth bristled. “Sam just happens to be out of the country right now, and I was probably curled up in bed—alone, thank you very much—with my book. Are you sure you’re all right now, Teresa?”
“I’m fine. It’s just my toe… and I have a touch of a hangover, but that will pass. Aren’t you working down at Arts today?”
“Yes, I have to get ready soon, but I was enjoying a few minutes on the terrace first.”
“Well, you have a nice day, Ruthie.”
Tim made good time driving back to the city and stopped at Hancock Street just long enough to bring in the mail and drop off his bag. He needed a Bloody Mary and some solid food. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten and more to the point, he needed the sympathetic ear of his Aunt Ruth. It was also time to bring her up to date on the Nick situation.
Ruth was full of questions as soon as he walked in the door of the restaurant. “Tim, when did you get back? How are you? You look exhausted. What’s going on? Have you talked to Nick yet?”
“First I need a Bloody Mary.” He leaned across the bar to give her a peck on the cheek. “I just talked to Nick this morning… briefly… in New Orleans. His cousin’s funeral is tomorrow, and then Nick is staying on for a few days to visit some old friends.”
“How did he sound?” Ruth asked while she mixed Tim’s drink. “More important, what did he say? Did you two patch things up?”
“He said we’ll talk when he gets back. He didn’t say when, exactly, just that we’ll talk. I guess that’s the best I could hope for. He sounded tired, mostly.”
“He’s been through a lot, dear. He’s not only dealing with the death of his cousin, but this whole misunderstanding between you two. Give him some time, sweetheart.”
“That was another thing, Aunt Ruth. He said that his cousin never would have been stupid enough to dive from that bridge into shallow water. People break their necks that way. Nick said that when they were kids Nate used to come to visit from New Orleans every summer, and they used to swim there all the time. Nate would have known better.”
“What was Nick implying?”
“He thinks his cousin was dead before he hit the water. Nick also said that Nate was naked, and it was at night time. Why would anybody be diving from that bridge naked… much less in the dark?”
“Did they do an autopsy? If he drowned there should have been water in his lungs.
“No, the Sonoma County medical examiner released the body to the Louisiana authorities because he was a policeman there. The local coroner here was glad to have one less case file and figured they’d do the autopsy in New Orleans. The authorities there had their hands full, figured all the paper-work was in order and released the body to the family for cremation.”
Ruth felt a prickly sensation down the back of her neck. She had felt the same thing when she read the two articles in the Chronicle.
Tim took a sip of his drink. “Mmmm, perfect. I need food, too. I’m starving. Maybe an omelet. I’ll eat here at the bar if that’s okay.”
“Sure, honey, I’ll ask one of the waiters to put in an order for you. What kind of omelet?”
“Spinach and sour cream—yes, iron!” Tim flexed his bicep and frowned. “I’ve got to get back to the gym in a hurry—with whole wheat toast.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“How about you, Aunt Ruth? Have you heard from Sam yet?”
“He called me from the airport in Chicago before he left for Germany. He said he just wanted to hear my voice, and it was so nice to hear his. I thought I already told you that.”
“Maybe you did. Things have been so crazy.”
“It must be a full moon,” Jake, one of Tim’s co-workers, chimed in. “Can I get two Salty Dogs and a Mimosa, Ruth? I don’t know where Artie ran off to.”
“He’s in the kitchen,” Ruth answered and started to make the drinks for Jake to take to his customers. “And Tim wants an omelet.”
“I heard him. I already wrote it down.”
“I think you’re right about the full moon, Jake. Teresa lost her keys in a taxicab last night and had to wake Arturo to let her in.”
“I’ll bet she was loaded,” Jake said. “That woman can drink anyone under the table. She reminds me of my Aunt Gladys. One time in Vegas she got so drunk she looked up at the flashing lights on the slot machine, and she thought it was sunshine through stained glass windows. She thought the whole casino had turned into a cathedral while she sat there holding her roll of nickels. It was a religious experience!”
“Did she quit drinking?” Tim asked.
“Not exactly… she didn’t quit gambling, either, but she never touched Jack Daniels before breakfast again.”
Tim inhaled his omelet and walked home for a nap, but he couldn’t fall asleep. He was almost afraid to sleep for fear of what dreams might come. He took another shower and decided he was tired of his own company and tired of Castro Street. Sunday afternoon was a good time to escape to South of Market and see what was happening down there. As it turned out, Tim would have all of Monday to regret his decision.
Early Monday morning Tim awoke to find a warm body beside him in his bed. He thought it was Nick at first until he slid his hand down the hairless chest. Whoever this was, he tensed at being touched and then went back to snoring. Tim opened one eye until the room came into focus and he saw toes sticking out from the foot of the bed. This guy was taller than Nick, too. Tim lifted his hand from the young man’s smooth chest—a very young man, he now noticed—and wondered what the hell was going on in his life.
Where was Nick? Oh, yeah… funeral… New Orleans… dead cousin… Nate, the cop… family matters….
Bits and pieces surfaced in Tim’s brain, but still nothing to explain how this tall child landed in his bed on Hancock Street. He remembered seeing his Aunt Ruth at Arts and having an omelet before he headed south of Market where the Sunday crowds got to be too much, but there was a big gap in his memory after that.
Tim’s eyes scanned the floor… no condom wrappers. That drawer of the bedside table wasn’t even opened. Since he and Nick were both HIV positive and healthy, they didn’t worry about infecting each other, but Tim hoped he would have been careful with a stranger. He reached down to feel if he was sticky anywhere. Negative. When he stood up to drag himself to the bathroom he realized the extent of his hangover. Each and every hair on his head ached separately.
Tim flipped on the light and switched it off again. He could use his own bathroom in the dark. His eyes stung and he didn’t want to see his face in the mirror. But who the hell is this kid in my bed?
Tim peeked into the bedroom again and tried to remember, but h
e had no recollection of seeing this tall young stranger before in his life. He had no recollection of anything. Tim went to the kitchen to put on the coffee. It was a struggle to get the paper filter into the holder, and when he scooped the grounds out of the canister he spilled half of them on the countertop the first time. He couldn’t remember that last time he was so shaky.
Teresa would suggest a hair of the dog about now. If Tim still lived on Collingwood Street he might run upstairs and ask her to make him a Bloody Mary. She would have let him hide out until he could reconstruct the night before. This was almost enough to make him quit drinking. Well, at least for this morning.
“Tim…” he heard someone call his name. How did beanpole boy know his name when Tim remembered nothing? He looked up from the coffee maker to see a very well-endowed young man standing naked in the doorway.
“How old are you?” was the first thing that popped out of Tim’s mouth.
“24.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“Oh, okay, I’m almost 18, but I’ve got an ID that says I’m 24. I stole it from my brother. We look alike and we’re about the same size.”
“How tall are you?” Tim was bewildered that this creature was standing here in his house and that he couldn’t remember him. That enormous thing hanging between his legs should have been easy to remember.
“Six five.”
“Okay…” Tim said. “Now, here comes the good part. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”
“My name’s Joey,” the boy said. “Man, I knew you were messed up last night, but I didn’t think you were that far gone. You passed out before we even got around to doing anything.”
“Thank God for that,” Tim said under his breath. He wondered if Joey was the kid’s real name, but it would have to do for now. “Where did I meet you, Joey?”
“On 18th Street… you were coming out of the Midnight Sun, and I was trying to bum a smoke from someone…”
“Not the Midnight Sun, again,” Tim said. “I will never set foot in there again as long as I live and if I…”
“You said you were fresh out of smokes,” Joey interrupted, “and then I asked you what time it was, but you weren’t wearing a watch and then I asked you to buy me a drink but you just kept walking. I followed you into Moby’s ’cause I knew they’d serve me. The bartender already carded me earlier. You said you were on your way home, and I said that was cool and could I come along, but all you wanted to do was talk about some guy named Nick. Hey, do you have a cigarette?”
“No, I don’t smoke.” Tim shook his head. “Neither should you.”
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee drifted in from the kitchen and more of Sunday’s misadventures started coming back now. There was still a big gap between South of Market and hitting the Castro bars, but Tim remembered himself in the crosswalk of 18th and Hartford where some tall kid was hassling him. He missed Nick so much by that time of night that it made him mad, and the angrier he got, the drunker he got. The more frustrated he was, the less he cared that he’d already had too much to drink.
Obviously… Nick didn’t care either. Nick would rather be off in New Orleans at his stupid cousin’s funeral than here in San Francisco with him, so why should Tim care about Nick? If his stupid cousin was so stupid that he got himself tossed off a bridge naked into shallow water in the middle of the night, then that was just… stupid! Tim could act stupid too if he wanted to. He’d show ’em!
And now it was the morning after and here was this very tall stranger in his house, and Tim really felt… stupid. “Where do you live, Joey?”
“Well… I was staying with some friends over in North Beach, but I kind of got kicked out. My stuff is still over there, though. I gotta go get it as soon as I find a place. How about if I bring it over here for a while? You got plenty of room…”
“NO!” Tim shouted, forgetting how much it would hurt to shout. Why did he ask? He didn’t want to hear about someone else’s messed up life when he had his own. Well, it never hurt to be polite. “Do you want a cup of coffee?… Joey?”
“Yeah, with sugar.”
Tim poured them each a cup and watched Joey stir several spoonfuls of sugar into his. The kid, still naked, spun a kitchen chair around and straddled it backwards as if he were trying to be modest. Then he slid forward in the chair until the slats reminded Tim of a glory hole. He watched Joey blow on the coffee until he could take a couple of sips and then he added more sugar. “I’m not even queer,” he said. “I just like to make a few easy bucks now and then. I used’ta have a girlfriend and stuff. It’s a full ten inches hard. I get lots of offers, but I don’t do nothin’ with guys except let’m blow me. I can shoot it off three, four times a day… sometimes more…”
“How lucky for you…do you want to take a shower before you go?”
“Yeah, man, that’d be great.”
“That’s a clean towel on the hook inside the door.”
“Then you can do me, okay?”
Tim just shook his head. As soon as he heard the water running, Tim went back to the bedroom and found his wallet on the floor. His credit cards and driver’s license were intact, but it was empty of cash. He tried to remember how much he took with him on Sunday, but it was no use. He looked through Joey’s pockets, but they were empty, too. Then Tim spotted a pair of boots in the corner. Nearly two-hundred bucks was stuffed deep into one of the toes. Tim looked at where he stashed his tips in the back of a drawer of socks and underwear. There were still several twenties and some smaller bills under a heavy bowl of coins. At least the kid didn’t go through his dresser.
Tim tugged the sheets off the bed. He thought he might burn them and remake the bed with clean linens if his head ever stopped pounding. When Joey came out of the bathroom, Tim was sitting on the side of the bed holding his wallet in his hand. “Tell me something, Joey. How much money did you take?”
“Only what we agreed on…”
“How much?”
“Fifty bucks… that’s five dollars an inch.” Joey tossed the towel over his shoulder and stroked himself. “You want it now? I can get it up.”
“No, I don’t think so, Joey.” Tim reached behind him and then held out the money he’d found in Joey’s boot. “If you only charge fifty, why was there almost two hundred bucks in your boot?”
“Gimme that!” The boy lunged. Tim threw the money up in the air and jumped to one side before Joey could attack him. The bills spread everywhere and settled onto the bare mattress while Joey grabbed for them.
“Where did you get all that money?” Tim stood so that his body blocked the doorway and demanded an answer.
“It’s none of your business, but I turned a couple of tricks yesterday before I met you. One was a regular over by Polk Street and then I met this old guy on Van Ness.” Joey snatched up the money and reached for his clothes. “He was lots older than you. He said I could come back any time, and he was good, too. He took his teeth out and everything. I just shut my eyes and pretended it was my old girlfriend.”
“Your old girlfriend didn’t have any teeth?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Geez, I hate a smartass!”
“Just get dressed, Joey—if that’s your real name—and get the hell out of my house!” Tim’s headache was worse than ever, but he didn’t care any more. He hated hustlers, and he hated himself for feeling that way. He was a sexually liberated guy, after all. To each his own, Tim wanted to say, but he just couldn’t. Prostitution was a victimless crime until someone got hurt. What was he thinking? This kid wasn’t even a serious hustler. He was just a street punk with a big dick who knew how to make some easy money with it now and then.
The boy tucked himself into his jeans, pulled his t-shirt over his head and slid his feet into his socks and boots like he was used to getting dressed in a hurry. He threw his jacket over one shoulder and headed for the stairs.
“Yuppie faggot!” Joey yelled back at Tim and slammed the door b
ehind him.
Tim ran to the window and watched the kid turn right on Hancock, headed back toward Castro Street. Tim didn’t know why he was so angry. At least his car was still parked in the driveway, where it belonged. It was his own fault he’d gotten drunk enough to bring home an underage hustler.
“Fifty dollars is a small price to pay for a valuable lesson.” Tim could hear his Aunt Ruth’s voice in his head, even though he would never tell her about this adventure… or anyone else, most likely.
Chapter 19
Now it was Tim’s turn to take a shower—long and hot. As the water ran down his back he thought of Jake’s Aunt Gladys and her religious experience in Las Vegas. It scared him that he didn’t remember big parts of yesterday, especially bringing home that young hustler. Tim felt poisoned, as if someone had slipped something into his drink. There was a time a while back he’d heard about that sort of thing happening in the Castro bars, but not lately. The “date-rape drug,” they called it, but he couldn’t make any sense of that. No one ever needed to drug Tim to coax him into sex.
Tim pulled on a pair of shorts and went into the guest room. This was the duplex Tim inherited after Jason’s murder. The upper unit where Tim lived now was where Nick’s grandparents had lived for many years. And this was the room where Nick used to sleep when he visited them while he was growing up. Tim wished he had known Nick when he was a boy. They could have been best friends and grown up together, with Nick as the big brother Tim never had, someone to guide him through puberty, through all the mysterious changes of his body, and they could have been lovers even then, growing up.
Tim intended to paint this room, but not today. Damn, he missed Nick!
It was still cool outside, but the sun was bright, and Tim felt guilty for wasting the day indoors with a hangover. He tossed a beach towel and a paperback into his backpack and headed out. He wanted to go to the beach, but he didn’t trust himself to drive with the shakes. He walked to the Noe Hill Market for a bottle of orange juice and an apple and then ambled down 19th Street to Dolores Park. By the time he crossed the footbridge he knew he would live.
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