Russian River Rat

by Abramson, Mark

  “I had no idea,” Ruth said, bewildered. “It might belong to anyone who uses the laundry room in our building. I will have to ask Tim sometime. Maybe he just bought a red one to go with his red car.”

  Ten minutes later she was on Hancock Street. Tim’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but Ruth heard voices from the back of the house so she continued down the driveway. There was Sarah, chattering away with her dolls all seated around a card table. They were obviously having a tea party. “Hello, Sarah. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  Sarah knocked one of the dolls off its chair, and it landed on its head in the dirt as she jumped up. “Auntie Ruth! Auntie Ruth! How are you, Auntie Ruth?”

  “I’m fine, Sarah,” Ruth picked up the little girl and kissed her cheek. “How are you, dear? I didn’t mean to intrude on your tea party.”

  “That’s okay,” Sarah whispered. “I only play with them when I don’t have real people to play with. Don’t tell them that, though.”

  “Of course not, dear, it will be our secret,” Ruth whispered back. “Sarah, I was hoping to run into Tim this morning, but his car is gone. Have you seen him today?”

  “Yes, I saw Uncle Tim this morning, and he was happy again. Last week he was sad, but today he went to pick up Uncle Nick from a big silver airplane. They’re gonna be boyfriends again. And Grandpa called Mommy, and he’s coming home tomorrow, and he’s bringing me a present, and now everybody’s gonna be happy again.”

  “Of course they will,” Ruth said. “Everybody will be happy to see your grandpa, Sarah. I knew that.”

  Tim dreamed he was a barefoot boy of six. It was Saturday morning in South Minneapolis, and he was on the living room floor watching cartoons on TV, a bowl of cereal between his tanned legs in summer shorts. The fair and innocent Nell was tied to the railroad tracks while the useless Dudley Do-Right was off somewhere on the other side of the mountain. A fuse had been lit, and Tim could hear it sizzle. Dynamite. A railroad bridge. An anvil. He’d watched the Brendan Fraser movie the other night when there was nothing else on TV, but this cartoon also combined elements of the Roadrunner and Betty Boop, Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck and Goofy—all the classics. Goofy bore a striking resemblance to that guy named Fred who’d beat Tim so badly in the pool game at the Rainbow Cattle Company the other night. The next thing Tim knew, his parents’ living room was gone. Tim was inside the television set. He was the one who was tied to the railroad tracks. He looked up at the handlebar moustache of Snidely Whiplash and recognized the face of Phil for just a second before he awoke to the smell of a wood-burning stove and remembered where he was: in Nick’s bed in Monte Rio.

  Tim opened his eyes to the dim light of late afternoon. The last rays of sun filtered through silhouettes of redwood trees outside the bedroom window. Tim yawned and tried to bring his hand to his mouth, but it wouldn’t move. His gaze moved up the length of his arm and focused on his hand. Both wrists were tied to the bedposts with wide bands of leather, and he heard a wicked laugh. This was no dream.

  Ruth thought Tim might be home any minute, and she didn’t want to be standing in the driveway when he and Nick returned from the airport. She walked down 18th Street and stopped at the ATM to deposit the check and heard a trio of middle-aged lesbians greet her at the corner. She recognized them from having been in for dinner at Arts last night. Ruth caught a glimpse of her reflection. Sam would be home tomorrow, and she was a mess, out in public with her hair in a… what was it Teresa had called it? A babushka? It was a kerchief to Ruth, but it obviously meant something different on Castro Street. Oh, my! She pulled it off with one finger and gave her head a quick shake, ran a hand through her hair and stuffed the square of red patterned fabric in her back pocket. “Oh, no!” she said out loud. “That’s even worse!”

  She shoved the handkerchief inside her bra and noticed the lesbians still smiling at her. Maybe they were waiting for the bus. Ruth tried to smile back. Sam would be home tomorrow, and she was already nervous. Why hadn’t he called to let her know? He must have wanted to surprise her. How lucky that she had run into Sarah. Tim was right; that little girl really was a magical child. Ruth thought of Tim’s friend, Rene, and wondered if he could squeeze her in on such short notice.

  Ruth didn’t want to run into anyone else she knew on Castro Street, so she crossed toward Harvey’s and darted past the Badlands, turned left at the Edge and ran all the way up Collingwood to her gate. She called Rene the minute she got home.

  “You’re in luck, Miss Ruth,” Rene told her on the phone. “I have a cancellation this afternoon at 6:30 sharp. Mai Ling has to leave early for a birthday party over in Chinatown, though, so I hope your nails don’t need doing, ’cause she can’t.”

  Ruth glanced down at her hands. The disinfectant they used in the sinks at Arts didn’t make her hands look any younger, but her nails were strong. She could polish them herself.

  “No, that’s okay,” she said. “I just need a little trim. Oh, who am I kidding? My hair is a total mess. Tim is preoccupied with his boyfriend, Sam is coming home tomorrow and I’m a wreck. I need you to work your magic on me, Rene. I’m desperate!”

  She was embarrassed that she’d blurted out so much. It wasn’t like Ruth to lose control, but a good hairdresser was as valuable as a therapist, she’d always thought. She didn’t need a therapist at the moment, but she could use a confidante and what better friend could any modern woman have than a gay man? Tim was the closest person in her life in San Francisco, but he didn’t count. He was too busy lately with his traumas over Nick.

  There was Sam, of course. She adored him, but he wasn’t someone to whom she could confess her insecurities. Rene took her little outburst in stride, thank heaven.

  “Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head, Miss Ruth. That’s why I’ve been put here on God’s green earth, honey, to work my magic. Now don’t be late, you hear?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Rene,” Ruth assured him. “Thanks so much.”

  She was lucky to get Rene’s last appointment of the day so that he could give her his undivided attention. She began to relax as soon as she sat down in his chair. “So tell me, Miss Ruth… how was your big first date with the Hillsborough honcho?”

  “We had a wonderful evening.” Ruth smiled as she remembered it as if it happened yesterday. “A lovely dinner at a restaurant called Jardinière and then we caught half of the symphony concert.”

  “Jardinière! My-my-my! So, are things getting serious now?”

  “Sam is in Europe on business right now, but he’s coming home tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, huh? Now, I know it’s none of my business, Miss Ruth, but that didn’t exactly answer my question. You just say so if I step out of line,” he quickly added.

  “No, it’s quite all right.” Ruth was enjoying the attention of his questions. She liked Rene, and this reminded her of when she got ready for her first date with Sam a few weeks ago. “Did I tell you he called me from Chicago? And he sent me the most beautiful roses. I don’t know what time he gets home tomorrow, but I’m sure I’ll see him soon… That’s part of the reason I needed to see you first. I was feeling a little mousy again, you know?”

  “You’ll be just fine when I’m through with you, Miss Ruth,” he spun her chair around. “He’ll want to take one look and sweep you right off your pretty little feet.”

  “That might be very nice, Rene.”

  “And how about that sexy nephew of yours. What’s up with him these days? I haven’t seen Miss Timmy in a month of Sundays.”

  “Tim has been busy…” Ruth paused. She knew that her nephew referred to Rene as a ‘friend,’ but she didn’t know how close a friend. She didn’t want to say anything that Tim wouldn’t want known. “He’s working his shifts at Arts, of course, and he spends a lot of time redoing his new apartment. He inherited a duplex, you know.”

  “Yes, Miss Jason’s place on Hancock Street. I heard all about that.”

  Ruth smiled to think of Tim�
��s very masculine former boyfriend referred to as ‘Miss Jason,’ but she went on, “Tim’s been seeing a lot of Nick Musgrove too, of course, but that’s had its rocky moments.”

  “No!” Rene stepped back.

  “Do you know Nick?”

  “I reckon so, if he’s the only one around, but I didn’t know those two had hooked up. Nicky has the famous grandma?”

  “Why yes, Amanda Musgrove is a mystery writer. Are you a fan of hers?”

  “No, I’m not big on blood and murder or cops and private eyes.” Rene shook his head. “Give me a good old love story any day or a movie star’s biography. Now, there’s a good read. I just finished one on Judy Garland. Did you know that her daddy was as gay as a picnic basket? Poor Liza, she must have inherited it…”

  Ruth laughed. “How do you know Nick Musgrove then?”

  “We met in New Orleans,” Rene answered. “I only met Nick Musgrove once at a party, but I knew his ex. He was from down there, too, and the only words to describe that man I can’t use in the presence of a lady!”

  “I see,” Ruth said, although she didn’t. If anything, she was more curious. “What was Nick’s ex’s name? Where is he now?”

  “His name is Larry—I’ve blanked on his last name now—and he’s still in Lompoc Prison down the coast here, as far as I know. I don’t like to gossip, but I for one was sure glad to hear it when they ran him in. When I met Nick that year it was Mardi Gras time, and he seemed nice enough. He was downright charming, to tell the truth and so good-looking. Does he still have that gorgeous long blonde hair?”

  “Yes he does.”

  “Good, good. Not too many men can pull off a look like that. I just don’t know what he saw in that Larry bastard. Pardon my French.”

  “Of course,” Ruth said. “What is this Larry person in prison for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I’m not sure what all he finally got sent up for, Miss Ruth. I heard about some forged checks or something. Back in New Orleans he was a pretty big drug dealer. Nasty stuff, too. He stepped on it so much his customers didn’t know what they were buying. He could have gone up for murder for the people that died from some of that shit he was spreading around, but a dead junkie can’t press charges, can he?”

  Ruth liked Nick, at least what she knew of him, and this news was unsettling. “Rene, I’m so sorry to hear that. How did Nick get involved with such a person?”

  “It was a long time ago, and I don’t know the whole story. I think Nick was visiting his relatives in New Orleans when he met Larry. After things got too hot, and Larry quit the drug scene, the two of them moved back to California and started the nursery business up north together. Nick had the know-how, and Larry had the money to back him. Nick might not even have known how dirty that money was.”

  “I’d like to think he didn’t know.”

  “Well, Miss Ruth, I hear a lot from this very chair where you’re sitting if I keep my mouth shut and my ears open, but I’m not one to gossip, like I said.”

  “I suppose you do hear a lot of things,” Ruth said to be agreeable. She didn’t want to seem nosey or do anything to make Rene clam up, but then she didn’t think there was much danger of that. “I’m mainly concerned about my nephew’s happiness.”

  “Of course you are, Miss Ruth. Now I don’t know that Nick was to blame for any of Larry’s troubles. He could have gone to his folks in the first place, I suppose. They would have helped set him up in the nursery, but I imagine he wanted to do it on his own. He was young and probably wanted to prove something to his folks. He was also in love, and you know how they always say love is blind?”

  “That’s so true—”

  “Well, there’s some folks ought to get themselves a seeing-eye dog.”

  Ruth laughed and watched Rene in the mirror as he worked. Had he lost weight? He didn’t have much weight to lose. Ruth tried to remember the list of people Tim had named off who had AIDS—or were merely HIV positive, as he had insisted. In Ruth’s circle of suburban lady friends back home in Minnesota, a question like “Have you lost weight?” would be music to their ears. In San Francisco, Ruth wasn’t so sure it would be taken as a compliment, especially among the gays, so she kept her mouth shut.

  Rene turned Ruth’s chair around and held up a hand mirror so that she could see. “How’s the length in back for you?”

  “Just fine.”

  “Nick’s folks ended up smoothing things over, once that SOB was off to the slammer. I don’t like to gossip, but from what I hear they wouldn’t let anything happen to Nick. They’re an old southern family, and they’re tight like people from down south are, you know?”

  “I don’t think people from the south have any monopoly on family values, Rene.”

  “Why, no, Miss Ruth. I didn’t mean anything of the sort.”

  “No, I’m sure you didn’t.” She took a deep breath and relaxed. Now that Rene had worked his magic, and Ruth’s hair was done, everything else would be just fine.

  Chapter 23

  Tim’s first reaction was to try to escape. How could he have let someone tie him up… naked… and not remember any of it? This was no dream. Then he heard something, a quiet motion in the room, and his eyes came into focus in the dim light.

  Nick smiled down at him, his fingers splayed across Tim’s chest. Nick’s robe fell open as he climbed into bed on top of him. “Hey, Snowman.”

  “Nick. I thought—”

  “You fell asleep so hard, man! Sometimes I think I could do almost anything I want with you, and you wouldn’t even know it. I could have just left you tied up spread-eagle to the bed and gone into town.”

  “I know you like to play around with holding me down and stuff, but I’ve never really been tied up before. If you want to get serious about bondage, well…”

  “Well what?”

  “We could talk about it. I’d be willing to try all sorts of things with you, Nick.”

  “That’s good to know. But you’re not really tied down, you know. Relax.”

  Tim stopped straining and once there was enough slack in the belt around his wrist it slipped right out. Nick helped him loosen the other one but still held Tim down with the weight of his body and kissed him. “I love watching you sleep. It gives me time to think about things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how much I like having you here. Like how trusting you are… too much for your own good, sometimes. And you don’t know me as well as you think. If I really tied you down it wouldn’t be to go into town and leave you here.”

  “No?”

  “Of course not, silly. What if the house caught fire or something? The reason I’d tie you down so you couldn’t move would be to keep you here. It wouldn’t be so that I could walk away. It would be to make you entirely dependent on me, so I’d have to feed you and bathe you and take care of you.”

  “Feeding me sounds kind of nice. I’m getting a little hungry.”

  “And it would prove to me how much you trust me…” Nick’s voiced trailed off, and he stared deep into Tim’s eyes, smiling. Then he moved in closer and they kissed, long and deep. Tim remembered how insistent Nick was earlier that they not talk. Now that Nick was talking, Tim didn’t want to say too much. He reached up and pulled Nick’s ponytail loose so that his hair fell down around them and they kissed again. “But I do trust you, Nick. I couldn’t imagine not…”

  “Shhh. We’ll talk later.”

  “That’s what you always say…” Tim weakly protested. Then Nick’s robe fell onto the floor as he lifted Tim’s knees and pushed them up over his shoulders. Tim had nothing more to say.

  “If you’re hungry, I picked up fresh salmon steaks at the Guerneville Safeway.” It was twenty minutes later, and they were both in the shower.

  “That sounds great.”

  “Good, come on.” Nick tossed him a dry towel. “You can open a bottle of wine and help me with a salad.” Nick pulled on a pair of undershorts and woolly socks as soon as he’d
dried off. “And light the candles?”

  “Sure, Nick. Whatever you say.” Tim dried off and picked up Nick’s robe from the bedroom floor. If he wasn’t going to wear it, Tim would. He moved quietly, cleared and set the table, lit the candles. He could hear Nick humming as he cooked, and the wood-burning stove cast a warm pink glow in the cabin.

  Over dinner, Tim told Nick about the work he’d done on Hancock Street. “I’m almost finished painting the guest room. I think about you sleeping in there when you were a kid. I can almost picture you in a single bed in pajamas that have pictures of cactus plants and donkeys and sombreros on them.”

  Nick raised his wine glass to Tim’s and took a sip. “Here’s to pajamas.”

  Tim laughed and said, “I haven’t owned pajamas in years.”

  “Did you have pajamas like those when you were a kid, Snowman?”

  “I guess I must have.”

  “I thought you were from Minnesota. That pattern sounds kinda Mexican.”

  “Anything to keep warm, you know. Did you have pajamas like those too?”

  “No, mine had cowboy hats and spurs and wagon wheels. Mine were a lot more butch than yours. The cactus might have been the same. Saguaro? I don’t remember. What else have you been doing while I was in New Orleans?”

  “The first weekend you were gone I came up here to look for you because I wanted to explain everything and…” Tim stopped himself. He wanted to keep things light, not open up old wounds. “And I ran into Phil at the bar, that asshole jerk.”

  “The piano player from Arts? What did he ever do to you?”

  “It’s a long story. There was another guy at the Rainbow that night, too—said he was looking for you. He said he was a friend of yours, but then he thought Phil was you, and you don’t look anything like Phil.”

  “Who was this guy?”

  “I don’t know. He hustled me at pool, and I should have seen it coming. He was really pale with lots of tats… cheap ink, really ugly. I think he said his name was Fred. He claimed to be an old friend of yours. No. ‘An old friend of the family’ was how he put it.”