Russian River Rat

by Abramson, Mark

  “Sure, Artie. I invited Sam, but his daughter and son-in-law will be here, too, so it’s not as if I’d be abandoning him. That reminds me of something, too.” Ruth had been dreaming of Sam’s offer. It seemed too good to be true, and she wondered if her entire evening with Sam had been part of the same dream, The Nutcracker ballet and dinner at Farallon, the invitation to London and Paris. When she told Artie the whole story it didn’t sound quite so far-fetched any more. “…but I’ll only go if it’s okay with you and Arturo and if I’m sure that Tim will be all right without me.”

  “Ruth, you silly woman. Only a fool would pass up an offer like that. Don’t tell me you have any doubts. Tim will be fine. He has that hunky Nick back in town this winter to care for him. Arturo and I would sooner close the place down and board up the doors and windows than let you miss out on this trip. It sounds so romantic. A suite at Claridge’s. You have to go, Ruth.”

  “I haven’t even told Tim yet,” Ruth confessed, “but I will, and I have to let Sam know my answer just as soon as possible so he can confirm our flights.”

  Ruth put a RESERVED sign on one of the large round tables. Then she walked home through the raindrops to Collingwood Street.

  While Ruth took a quick shower she wondered what the inside of a hotel suite in London would look like. She wondered if the knobs for hot and cold water were on the opposite sides. Did the water run the wrong way down the drain? No, that was Australia. At five sharp her doorbell rang, and there was Sam in a gray pinstripe suit and red tie, with a corsage for Ruth made of red roses with silver ribbons.

  “Thank you, Sam. Where’s your car?”

  “I found parking at the corner down by Collingwood Park,” he said as he pinned the corsage to Ruth’s collar.

  “Good, we can walk to Arts. Is it still raining? I’ll grab an umbrella.”

  Arts was already jumping when Ruth and Sam arrived. Ruth was glad she’d reserved a big table for them. There’d be plenty of room for Sam’s daughter Jane with Ben and the grandkids, who arrived momentarily, plus Nick and Tim, if he was up for it, and anyone else who dropped by.

  Phil was already at the piano playing Christmas carols. Arturo was setting out a buffet along the wall behind him. Jake came over to take their drink order, but Ruth declined. “I’ll have something after a while. Artie asked me to fill in for him a little later, and I want to be alert. Do you know what he has in mind?”

  “All I know is that the office is off-limits. He’s got something up his sleeve, some big surprise for the party. He told all of us that if anyone even peeked in there it would cost them their job!”

  “I wonder what it is,” Ruth said. Then she looked around and saw Teresa with a group of her friends and fellow teachers from Harvey Milk School at a table near the front of the room. The new tenants, Tony and Jeff, were at the next table and their across-the-hall neighbor Marcia, formerly known as Malcolm, was sitting with them. That made up all of the current residents of the building on Collingwood Street. Ruth said to Sam, “It looks like the whole family is here now, except for Tim and Nick.”

  They heard some commotion at the front door, and Ruth was surprised to see Nick’s grandmother, Amanda Musgrove. Nick held open the door for her, and she held it for him to push Tim through in his wheelchair. “Amanda!” Ruth shouted and waved to her. “Come and join us. Now it really is a family affair.”

  Nick helped Tim with his jacket and once everyone was seated, Sam asked, “How are you feeling, Tim?”

  “Not too bad, Sam, all things considered. It sure is good to get out of the house for a change.”

  Nick said, “He gets around on crutches pretty well at home, don’t you, Snowman? But I didn’t want him to slip on the wet sidewalk and break his good leg. Besides, as long as he’s in the wheelchair I have him right where I want him.”

  “Nick has a bondage fetish, you know,” Tim said matter-of-factly, hoping someone would be shocked, but no one took him seriously.

  Arturo came over to their table, wiping his hands on his apron. He shook hands with Sam and Ben and gave Nick, Tim, and the ladies each a peck on the cheek. “It’s good to see you out among the living, Tim,” Arturo said. “We’ve all missed you.”

  Tim smiled and then scowled when he noticed Phil at the piano. “I see Phil is still packing them in.”

  “Aw,” Arturo said. “I don’t know what you’ve got against Phil. He’s not a bad guy.”

  Ruth remembered something she’d meant to bring up for a long time. “Arturo, I forgot all about those flowers you sent to Tim when he was in the hospital in Sebastopol. I meant to thank you for him, but there was so much going on at the time with our worry over Tim and then the greenhouse explosion.”

  “We sent flowers to the house, not the hospital,” Arturo said.

  “What? Are you sure?” she asked. “But Phil delivered them personally.”

  “I remember discussing it with Artie,” he insisted. “In fact, we had an argument about it. I said there was no sense in sending flowers all the way from San Francisco to Sonoma County when Nick has a nursery right there. Artie finally agreed with me. Besides, we figured we might as well wait until Tim was home and wide awake enough to enjoy them.”

  “They came just the other day, Arturo,” Tim said. “They’re beautiful. Thank you both so much. Nick put them on the table right beside my bed… our bed nowadays, I meant to say.” He grinned at Nick.

  Jake came to their table with their drinks as Ruth said, “This is all so strange. Phil delivered the flowers to the hospital himself. Why would he tell me they came from the restaurant? He said he had a client in Santa Rosa, and the hospital was on his way, so he volunteered to drop them off.”

  Arturo said, “He may have had a client, but the only person Phil saw there regularly was his grandmother. She was in a nursing home in Santa Rosa with Alzheimer’s. Sometimes she knew him and sometimes she didn’t, but he’d go up and play the piano for her in the lounge. She died a few weeks ago, but he still stops in there and plays for the other residents. They grew very fond of him. He’ll drive up on a weekday when he’s off from here. He gets them to sing along at the piano, and they have a grand time. I guess weekdays and weekends don’t make too much difference when you’re in a home.”

  Ruth said, “I could just picture that everyone had chipped in to buy those flowers for Tim, like Phil told me.”

  “He must have bought them himself,” Arturo said.

  “Maybe he was trying to ease his guilty conscience,” Tim piped up.

  “Come to think of it, they were a little wilted,” Ruth said.

  “Maybe the flowers were meant for Phil’s grandmother,” Amanda Musgrove said and the table grew quiet.

  They all sat back and listened to the piano music and the tinkling of glasses and laughter around the room. Ruth broke the silence at their table, “Tim, I think you might have been judging Phil too harshly.”

  “I know nothing,” Tim protested. “I was on morphine. I don’t remember anything about any flowers. I don’t even remember that hospital. The last thing I remember was leaving Nick’s that morning and putting the key to his truck in the ignition.”

  “That’s probably just as well, dear,” Ruth said.

  Jake said, “It sounds like Phil’s ready to star in a remake of that old movie about the hooker with the heart of gold. Let’s see… typecasting would make him the gay hooker, of course, with a heart of black leather, I suppose. Who was that actress? Norma Shearer?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Tim said with a scowl.

  Jake turned to the other waiter and asked, “Hey James, who played the hooker with the heart of gold in that movie?”

  “What movie? Halle Berry?”

  “No, it was an old movie.”

  “How should I know? Was it Lena Horne?”

  “No, she wasn’t African-American. Don’t you know any white actresses?”

  “No, not really—and that’s okay, Jake, you can say ‘black’ around me
, just not ‘colored.’ I still don’t know what movie you’re talking about, though.”

  Tim stared across the room at Phil in his tuxedo and once again he was lost in his thoughts.

  The next morning after their night together, shortly after Phil said goodbye to Tim, Jason returned to the cabin. Tim and Jason had talked about renting a canoe that day to paddle up to the old gay nude beach near Wohler Bridge. They’d done it once before and ended up sore and sunburned, but it was worth it to be able to make love so far from civilization. At least Tim thought so. Jason suggested they spend their last hours by the pool at the Triple R instead and Tim agreed to that plan.

  Enough of the bears had checked out after Lazy-Bear Weekend that Tim and Jason found a pair of lounge chairs together beside the pool. Tim knew he should forget his fantasy of building a life with Jason. Jason would never be tied down again, even though he loved Tim in his own way. Jason would always play the field.

  Tim had even thought that morning that Phil might be the one to help him put things in perspective and accept the way things were with Jason. Someone, probably Jake, had once told him, “The best way to get over your old lover is to get under a new one.”

  Jason ordered margaritas, and the two of them floated on rubber rafts in the water. Jason pushed Tim off a couple of times and their play became friendly, full of laughter and groping, almost sexual, but Jason wasn’t serious about it. Tim was confused enough about his feelings. When Tim thought about it later, he might have found out the whole truth right then and there, but Jason waited until the drive back home to the city.

  Jane piped up, “Was it Joan Crawford, maybe? There was a late movie on TV one night when I was pregnant with the baby. I was half-asleep, but I think it was Joan Crawford, and I’m pretty sure she was supposed to be a prostitute.”

  Jake said, “No, Joan Crawford never had a heart of anything but steel. Maybe Paulette Goddard.”

  They were almost through Santa Rosa, heading south on Highway 101. Jason had his left hand on the wheel and reached over with his right hand to tousle Tim’s hair. “So, how did you like your birthday present, kid?”

  “What present?” Was he supposed to have found a gift hidden in his clothes back at the cabin? Or did Jason just mean the weekend? That must be it. Jason had spent some serious money on the cabin, nearly all of Tim’s drinks and meals that included two incredible dinners the past two nights. He may not have spent as much as that guy Phil told him about, the one who threw a fancy formal dinner in a campground, but Jason had spent a lot. He hadn’t hauled in a baby grand piano and hired a hot guy to play it for his guests. Boy, that must have been some dinner party! Jason wouldn’t have thought of doing something like that… or would he?

  “What present?” Tim asked again. “You mean the weekend? It was great.”

  “That guy named Phil, you goofball. I hired him for your birthday present.”

  “You… hired someone… to fuck me?”

  “Well, it was your birthday and I figured—”

  “I can’t believe this! You hired him?”

  “I know what a horn dog you are, and I figured since I haven’t been giving it to you very much lately, you ought to…”

  “You really hired that man to—”

  “You wear me out. I’m getting too old to keep up with you. But I figured after you’ve had me, anyone else would be a disappointment unless he was…”

  “Jason, you fucking asshole!”

  “I figured the next best thing to me would be if I hired a real stud. I hope he was worth it, ’cause he wasn’t cheap, you know.”

  “I’m only twenty-nine for Chrissake! I can still pick up guys on my own.”

  “Was he good?”

  “I can’t believe you think you’re so hot that nobody else can compare but a hired escort!”

  “I was just teasing about that part. I’m sorry. You’re really pissed off, aren’t you?! I didn’t do it to piss you off, man—”

  “It might have been different if I knew you hired him. I might have been able to go along with the idea, but the way you did it! This is so demeaning!”

  “Jeez, I thought it would be fun for you. I’m sorry you’re making such a big deal out of it. It was big, wasn’t it? I

  mean—”

  “Fuck you! I thought he really liked me.” Tim felt a tear burn down his right cheek. As much as it stung, he refused to touch it, refused to let Jason see him wipe his eyes, refused to acknowledge how upset he was. He held his fists in his lap and didn’t say another word all the way back to the city. He refused to give Jason the satisfaction of knowing how much he had hurt him.

  Tim wanted never to speak to Jason again, but they still had to work together. He could hardly refuse to order drinks for his customers when he and Jason were on the same shift at Arts. The next time that happened, Jason made enough of an apology to rekindle some sort of speaking arrangement with Tim, and they were very slowly, gradually becoming friends again when Jason was murdered.

  Of course they hadn’t known then that Phil would one day take over for Viv as the full-time piano player at Arts. Ruth watched her nephew’s eyes flash in anger toward Phil across the room. Then they softened. Tim may have inherited all the psychic powers in the family, but Ruth still liked to pride herself that she could read him like a book. Right now she wasn’t sure what he was thinking, though.

  A couple of weeks later, Tim ran into Phil on the patio of the Eagle Tavern and Phil tried to talk to him. “I would have done it for nothing, Tim,” he said. If this was an apology, Phil couldn’t have chosen his next words in a worse way. “I thought you were really hot, too. Some guys just lay there and make me do all the work, but you really got into it.”

  “I didn’t know you were being paid for it,” Tim spat back at him. “How was I supposed to know you were just doing your job?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your work, is there?” Phil asked. “Tell you what. Next time it’s on the house.”

  That remark had only made matters worse. “Fuck you, Phil,” Tim had told him. “There won’t be any next time.”

  Tim looked around at the people at their table—Nick’s grandmother and Ben and Jane and their kids and his Aunt Ruth and Sam Connor. Tim’s eyes finally landed on the handsome man sitting next to him. Who cared about Phil? Nick was right here with his smiling face and his sexy hands and the strong arms that helped him into the wheelchair this evening and held him close in bed on Collingwood Street every night since he got home from the hospital. Tim reached over and grabbed Nick’s thigh and Nick squeezed Tim’s hand under the table. Tim felt like he was surrounded by all the people he loved. No, Tim really didn’t care about Phil at all anymore.

  Ruth was sorry she’d mentioned the flowers and decided to change the subject. “Tim, I have some wonderful news. I need to discuss it with you, though, before I can make up my mind. Sam invited me on a trip over the holidays to spend Boxing Day in London, and then we’ll fly on to Paris for New Years Eve. I told him I’d love to go, but first I have to make sure you can get along without me.”

  Tim’s jaw dropped, and Nick spoke for him, “Need you? Tim’s got me. I mean, he’ll always need you Ruth, but I’m here to take care of Tim now. You have to go. You can’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

  “Of course not, Aunt Ruth,” Tim said. “You know very well I’d be the first to go and leave you behind. Are you kidding? I wouldn’t care if you had two broken legs and were all alone in an iron lung, if I had a chance at a trip like that. Don’t be silly! You and Sam have got to go! Nick is taking good care of me.”

  “I hoped you’d say that. Sometimes I feel more like Auntie Mame than Aunt Ruth.” Ruth thought of what she’d just said and her smile vanished. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I was thinking of how happy Auntie Mame was when she went off to Europe with Beauregard Burnside and then he went and ruined their whole trip by falling off an Alp!”

  They all laughed and Ruth turned to Sam. “You don�
�t plan on doing any skiing or mountain-climbing when we’re over there, do you?”

  “No, no Alps for me, I promise. I haven’t been skiing since I banged up my knee a couple of years ago in Tahoe.”

  “Good,” Ruth said.

  Artie hollered from the bar, “Ruth! Oh, Ruthie! It’s that time! Could you come back here and relieve me now, please?”

  Ruth excused herself from the table, and Artie disappeared into the office. Scott and Ruth had a minor rush behind the bar but they soon caught up.

  Jake came back to their table and said, “Mrs. Musgrove, I just bought your newest book in hardcover. I couldn’t wait for the paperback. Would you autograph this one for me? It’s in my backpack in the kitchen, but I have time. I could get it right now.”

  Amanda Musgrove reached into her purse and said, “Well, since you bought it in hardcover, I’ll find a fountain pen. Yes, I’d be delighted to autograph it, Jake, but there’s no hurry, is there? First, how about a rye Manhattan? I’m glad to see Ruth behind the bar; she knows just how I like them. Is that a new piercing in your eyebrow since I saw you last, Jake?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Musgrove, it’s a real ruby. I thought it would be a nice touch, since I didn’t have anything red to wear for the Christmas party.”

  “It’s a lovely stone, Jake. Run and get my drink now, dear.”

  No one had seen Arturo for some time when he appeared without his apron, stepped onto the stage beside the piano and announced into the microphone, “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? Artie and I want to welcome you all to our annual Christmas party at Arts.”

  Everyone applauded and cheered and whistled. Ruth turned to Scott and asked, “Where is Artie anyway?”

  “I don’t know where he went,” Scott said. “I haven’t seen him since you came back here to give him a break.”

  “He told me he needed to help Arturo in the kitchen, but the buffet is all set out already, unless they’re planning a special desert or something.”

  Arturo went on, “As many of you know, most years at our Christmas party we have a surprise visit at about this time in the evening from Jolly Old Saint Nick, but this year we decided that maybe you were all a little old for that, so instead, I’d like you to please give a warm welcome to our very own Artie Glamóur as Mrs. Claus!”