Russian River Rat

by Abramson, Mark

  Lots of other people must have had the same idea. It was Monday, but they couldn’t all be waiters, bartenders, hairdressers and tourists, could they? Tim usually recognized someone he knew, but not today. Some were the early retired, men on disability with HIV. They were the ones who waited for years for an opportunistic infection to take hold, but with the current drugs they might have a chance at a normal life.

  The park was serene as Tim spread his towel and pulled his t-shirt over his head. The noise of a helicopter filled the air as it came into view high over the palm trees on Dolores Street. Tim watched it bank above the park and then head north where a plume of thick black smoke snaked out of the Tenderloin. Tim kicked off his shoes, took a sip of juice and reached into his backpack for the Altoids box. If anything could take the teeth out of his hangover, a couple of hits of good grass might do the trick. Tim took a deep toke off a joint; then he found a pen and paper and wrote:

  Dear Nick,

  I miss you.

  I got way too drunk last night! Nothing happened this time either, but you wouldn’t know if you just walked in. I’ll never set foot in the Midnight Sun again, that’s for sure. I know… “Never say never”… and it’s not the bar’s fault. The Edge makes stronger drinks. Hell, my Aunt Ruth pours stronger drinks than they do at the Sun…

  Tim crumpled up that sheet of paper and started over:

  Dear Nick,

  I miss you.

  If only you were here, last night wouldn’t have happened. Or if I could be in New Orleans with you, but that’s not my fault, either. It was that drunken nephew of Theodore’s from L.A. I keep looking for someone to blame like this is a fault-finding mission. I must be stoned. Oh, right. I AM stoned.

  Anyway…I miss you.

  Maybe we were going too fast, but it felt so good, you know? It felt so right ever since the first time we were together, and it seems like there’s never enough time to be with you, even when things are going fine… especially then.

  Tim took another hit off the pipe and another swig of juice. More sirens screamed in the distance but the helicopter had disappeared, and the thick black smoke in the Tenderloin was only a wisp of white now.

  I miss you, Nick.

  I drank way too much last night. Again, that’s not your fault, but when I’m with you I’m satisfied with a couple of tokes of your Humboldt weed and a beer or two. I know it’s corny, but I get high on that wicked smile of yours when I know you’re horny for me, and you’re just as happy to be hanging out together as I am.

  Damn, I miss you.

  I woke up this morning to a big surprise. I thought you were there, like you just showed up in my bed during the night, and I was so glad. But it wasn’t you, of course. It was a teenage hustler with a 10-inch dick who ripped me off for at least fifty bucks. He said he was straight. What’s worse is I don’t even know how much money he took because I can’t remember what I had with me or how much I spent earlier.

  I miss you.

  I drove back from the river Sunday morning and had breakfast at Arts. I remember that much. Then I went south of Market. The Eagle patio was packed with some benefit. I saw some customers I knew from Arts. Then I went to the Lone Star after that and ran into Teddy—I mean Theodore. He said Leonardo was home in bed with the swine flu. I forgot about that part until right now. That’s scary stuff. People our age are dying from it. He asked about you and I told him you were out of town.

  Jeez, I miss you.

  If you were here, you wouldn’t have let me drive like that. I was so relieved to see the car in the driveway this morning. I don’t remember coming home from South of Market or going back out again. I can’t believe I let that kid follow me home. I mean, nothing happened between us, I’m sure. He said so. He said he was straight, too. Did I mention that? He was an all-purpose hustler, just out for some quick cash.

  I’m in Dolores Park. It’s a beautiful day and I’m stoned, and I’m not going to drink today. I might never drink again. I’ll go to Safeway later and stock up on food and stay in tonight and watch television. If there’s nothing good I can watch an old movie. I found another box of VHS tapes in the basement, every movie Bette Davis was in, from ‘Cabin in the Cotton’ through ‘The Whales of August’ in chronological order. They must have been Karl’s.

  Tomorrow I’ll start painting the guest room. I was thinking of you sleeping there, how I wish we could have been kids together… buddies… like brothers. You must have been so cute. Maybe time isn’t the way it seems, but it would have been great to know you then.

  I miss you, Nick.

  Yes, tomorrow I will paint all day until it’s time to go to work. Then on Wednesday I will paint all day and on Thursday I will do the same. I should finish easy by Friday. I hope you’ll be back here this weekend, and I can see you before you have to go up north.

  Love,

  Tim

  Tim walked over to the statue of Miguel Hidalgo Y Costilla. He stood near the footbridge where he had once scattered Jason’s ashes among the yellow daisies and red cosmos. He held his letter to Nick by the corner and pulled out his lighter. The ashes of paper flaked away until the flame reached his fingertips. Nick would never believe that he didn’t have sex with Joey.

  The ice cream vendor’s bells reached Tim’s ear and brought another craving to mind. Munchies. Tim craved something cold, sweet and creamy, richer than anything he could buy at the little white cart that was down by the children’s’ playground. He strapped both arms through his backpack and walked across the park to the Bi-Rite Creamery. He needed salted almond in a sugar cone. On a hot day the line would be a mile long, but it wasn’t too bad right now. Sun worshippers must be more plentiful than stoners on Mondays.

  Tim finished his ice cream by the time he’d walked to Mission Street. Each block of this neighborhood had produce stands with their brightly-colored bounty pouring out onto the sidewalks. Tim picked out a bunch of bananas, tomatoes and oranges. In the back of the store, the butcher displayed cuts of meat with signs in Spanish. Tim could only guess what part of which animal some of them came from, but he was sure that their cost was a fraction of supermarket prices. He bought some pork chops and a pound of hamburger. He would wonder later, when he got them home, whether they were really pork and beef.

  Back out on the sidewalk, Tim heard someone call his name. It was his friend from work. “Hey, Jake! What are you doing here?”

  “I just live a couple of blocks from here.”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot.”

  “I like to stop by the Mission Cultural Center on the first Monday of the month to see if my dentist is there.”

  “The what? Where?”

  “The dirty bookstore.” Jake pointed toward Mission News. “My dentist. He’s so hot. I’ve run into him there a few times.”

  “You’re having sex with your dentist through a glory hole?”

  “Only the first time. We’ve gotten to the point in our relationship where we go into the same booth together now.”

  “Why not take him back to your apartment? Or his? Next time you’re in his chair you could make a date to go someplace else.”

  “Oh no, he’s not gay. He’s married with kids. They live in the Richmond, upstairs from his clinic… second generation. My family has been going to his father since I was a kid. His wife is the hygienist.”

  “Wow, don’t you think she suspects anything? Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Why should it? I’m not gonna blow his cover, just his cock. I don’t want to marry him.”

  “I guess not,” Tim said. “Seeya at work.”

  Tim watched Jake cross Mission Street toward Thrift Town and head east down 17th Street. Then Tim looked up and remembered when the building had huge letters on the roof: “17 REASONS WHY” spelled out across the skeleton of a billboard. He never knew what the seventeen reasons were or what the question was.

  Seventeen reasons for what?

  Why seventeen?

  Why not?

 
; The sign was gone now. A real billboard was in its place, but as often as Tim had looked at it, he still couldn’t remember what it advertised. The old one was more effective and far more interesting, even though no one knew what it meant. It had gone the way of the litter of Doggie Diner heads that were once spread out across San Francisco. Now there was only one left on Sloat Boulevard out near the zoo. Tim missed the quirky things. He arrived in San Francisco too late for Pam Pam’s or Zim’s or Clown Alley or the original Mel’s Drive-In, but Artie spoke so longingly about those long-gone restaurants and the City of Paris department store that Tim felt as if he missed them, too. Mostly he just missed Nick.

  Tim crossed Dolores Park above the tennis courts on his way to Hancock Street and home. He thought about Jake and his dentist, and Tim had to admit there were all kinds of relationships in the world, ranging from anonymous sex to couples who seemed fused at the hip for eternity and everything in between.

  Every human body and mind has its own needs, its own comfort level and degree of willingness to make a commitment. Straight men were no different, were they? Some only wanted a good blow job now and then, something they maybe couldn’t get at home. The only difference with gay men was that they could have as much sex as they wanted, as often as they liked, with as many willing partners as they could find. Who wouldn’t want that? Tim was still stoned. He watched a shirtless tennis player jump and spin, as sexy as all get-out.

  With so many kinds of people in the world, it was a wonder that any two individuals ever settled down, especially two gay men. But God, he missed Nick right now!

  Chapter 20

  Tim kept a low profile all that week, not drinking, not smoking much pot, hitting the gym three days and making real headway on the apartment. Ruth didn’t forget about her nephew, but her thoughts were also on Sam these days, and she wondered when he would return from his long trip.

  On Friday, Artie warned Ruth he’d be late to work. Scott was on a week’s vacation, so Ruth had to set up the bar, something she was quite capable of handling all by herself by now, thank you very much.

  Artie had several prospective tenants lined up to see the vacant apartment on Collingwood Street, Ben and Jane’s old place. All Ruth cared about was that they weren’t clompers and stompers, especially on mornings when she wanted to sleep in. She wasn’t really worried. For as old as the building was, it wasn’t noisy. She’d rarely heard a sound from upstairs, even when little Sarah ran around and dropped her dolls on the floor. Besides that, Ruth thought she’d be spending a lot more time down in Hillsborough soon.

  She was surprised to see Artie walk in the door only a few minutes after she opened. “Artie, I thought you were going to be late. I hope you didn’t rush down here on my account. I do know how to set up the bar by myself, you know.”

  “Well, I didn’t know how long it would take. I put it on Craigslist and said I’d show the place from noon to five, but you know how that goes. I didn’t think I’d get a big response on a Friday afternoon, but I thought for a while it might take all night.”

  “How did it go? Did you find the perfect tenants?”

  “I think so. They’re a sweet young gay couple. One is a MUNI driver, and the other is a mailman. Talk about job security. I interviewed a couple of young dykes I liked. They loved the place, but it was too small for them, and they had a good-sized dog. It’s just as well. With Teresa upstairs, you in Tim’s old place and Malcolm defecting from the male gender to become Marcia, it would have left Arturo and me as the only men in the building.” Artie laughed.

  “That’s wonderful news. When will I get to meet them?”

  “They’re going to stop in sometime. I told them to introduce themselves to the lady bartender if I’m not here. I want them to meet Arturo for his final say-so, but I have a good feeling about them. They’re decent kids.”

  “It will be nice having new neighbors in the building,” Ruth said, hoping she was right.

  “You wouldn’t believe some of the others who came to look at the place. One prissy queen acted like she was renting a suite at the Ritz Carlton. She wanted the whole place re-painted, as if we hadn’t just done that. And then she wanted to talk me down on the price, which is very reasonable for this neighborhood.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Another one poked around in all the cupboards. He looked inside the oven, and he must have opened the refrigerator door at least eight times. I told him there was nothing in there, and it’s not as if he was a big eater! He was skinny as a rail. Must have been speeding his tits off!”

  “Oh, my.” Ruth smiled and nodded as Artie counted his opening bank into the rear cash register.

  “I had a pot of coffee on, but one lady asked me for a cup of herbal tea, instead. Can you imagine? She could see that the kitchen was bare. Where do people get the idea that the world revolves around them? Really!”

  “I’m glad you’ve found some nice new tenants, Artie. Did you tell them about the rest of us? The other tenants?”

  “Yes, I told them Arturo and I live on the top floor with Teresa next-door. I warned them that she might be noisy when she’s drinking and that’s most of the time, but at least she goes to bed early. I mentioned that Marcia used to be a boy and neither one of them batted an eyelash. That was another good sign, I thought. Besides, Marcia’s out of town half the time, and when she is home she’s quiet as a mouse. You’re the only one I told them they’d have to worry about with your wild parties and strange men coming and going at all hours of the day and night.”

  “Ha-ha-ha. Very funny.”

  “What have you been doing with yourself all week, Ruth?”

  “Nothing much. Puttering around the apartment, mostly, you know, settling in,” Ruth said, but the truth was she’d spent hours at the public library and on the Internet researching HIV and AIDS, determined to find out all she could about that horrible virus and the effects it’d had in the past couple of decades not only on this neighborhood, but the world. “I don’t mean to change the subject, but how is Tim? I haven’t seen him since last Sunday, and we haven’t even talked on the phone in a couple of days.”

  “He’s fine. He’s been coming into work at the last minute, though. He said he’s working hard on the house, fixing up the guest room. He seems to be on a roll with it.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Oh, and another thing…” Artie said, and then paused.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I noticed that he hasn’t been drinking this week. It’s not that he drank a lot, but—you know our policy, we trust our employees. As long as you do your job, the rest is none of our business. If things get out of control, then we have to step in like we did with Patrick, but that was when he got mixed up with that awful crystal meth.”

  “Yes, I barely knew Patrick, but I remember the incident.”

  “Well, Tim has never had any problem as far as I could tell,” Artie said. “He’s always happy to join in when somebody buys a round of drinks, and he’ll usually sit down at the end of his shift, have a drink or maybe a shot of something if it’s been a rough night—unless he’s got a date waiting for him.”

  “He’s like the rest of us in that way, I suppose,” Ruth agreed.

  “Not this week, though. He comes in and does his job and goes straight home afterward. He never mentions Nick, and he seems a little down, but maybe he just wants to get his house together.”

  “That must be it,” Ruth said. Maybe Artie was right. Maybe Tim was just getting his apartment in shape before Nick got back to town. Maybe they had talked over the phone and everything was fine, but she still wondered. “By the way, where’s Phil tonight? He’s usually here by now, isn’t he?”

  “He asked for the weekend off, said something about a sick relative up north.”

  “Does he have a car?”

  “Oh yes, I guess so. He must have.”

  “Hmm, I see.” Ruth didn’t think a sick relative sounded like a real excuse for
anything, but maybe Tim’s mysterious animosity toward Phil was just rubbing off on her.

  “Ruthie, since it’s so quiet out here, I want to go tell Arturo about the new tenants. Just holler at me in the kitchen if you get busy, okay?”

  Ruth knew that Arturo’s approval of the new tenants was a mere formality. He trusted Artie with any tenant decisions just as he trusted Artie to handle the personnel for the bar and restaurant. Artie had always been more of a “people” person while Arturo liked to stay in the background.

  The after-work crowd soon filled up the bar stools, but Ruth could handle it. She looked up at one point and saw an elderly lady dressed all in black with a silver-handled cane. She didn’t appear to need the cane, but she carried it like part of a costume. She sat on the last stool in the front corner against the wall, from where she surveyed the room.

  Ruth placed a cocktail napkin down between them. “Hello, what can I get for you?”

  “Do you have any rye whiskey?” the old lady asked. “I’d like a rye Manhattan on the rocks, please. Not too sweet.”

  “Coming right up.”

  “And also,” the old lady looked around the room, “could you point out the young man named Timothy Snow?”

  Ruth nearly dropped the sweet vermouth. “Tim?” Ruth checked her watch. “He should be here any minute. He’s never late to work, although he’s cutting it close.”

  “Punctuality is an important virtue. It says a great deal about a person’s character.”

  “I can assure you that Tim is virtuous,” Ruth said, feeling defensive for her nephew. Where was he, anyway? And who was this woman asking questions about him? Tim was due to start work at five, and it was past that now, although nobody was waiting for dinner this early. Ruth hadn’t seen the other waiters either, and she wasn’t sure whether Jake or James was on the schedule tonight with Tim. “I meant to say that he’s a young man of fine character, but you’ll forgive me for being biased. I am his aunt, you see. My name is Ruth Taylor.”

  “I hoped you might be.” The old lady gave Ruth a weak smile.