Russian River Rat

by Abramson, Mark

  The office door burst open and out came Artie in full face make-up dressed in red with white fur trim and a mile of white marabou feathers behind him. He climbed onto the stage, took a bow, and sat down on the barstool beside the piano. The crowd gave him a standing ovation before he could utter a word. It reminded Ruth of how they cheered for her the first night she walked into Arts after she’d come back from Minnesota. Ruth looked around at the smiling faces and felt all the love in this room. She knew now, if there had ever been a doubt, that she made the right decision when she moved to San Francisco.

  When everyone sat down and the room grew quiet again, Artie turned to Phil and nodded. Phil played a few bars of introduction and Artie sang “Santa Baby.”

  Ruth saw someone else coming out of the back room too, just after Artie started to sing. Ruth waved and whispered loudly to her hairdresser, “Rene! What are you doing here? Can I get you a drink?”

  “I don’t mind if I do, Miss Ruth.” Rene sat down at the bar. “I could use a lovely libation about now. How about some Hennessey with a Coke back?”

  “I didn’t even see you come in.”

  “I just had to deliver Miss Artie’s wig for her, you know, and I thought I might as well check and make sure your new do is holding up all right.”

  “Just fine, I think.” Ruth touched her hair and turned around for a glance in the mirror behind the bar. “It’s so nice to see you outside of your salon, Rene.”

  “Artie and I go way back, you know. And she insisted that I sit and keep her company and fuss over her until she went out on stage. It’s been a long time. That poor old queen was a nervous wreck.”

  “You wouldn’t know it now.”

  “You sure wouldn’t. Miss Artie’s a pro!”

  “Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight… ”

  Tim still had to admit that Phil was handsome and that he and Artie made quite a pair on stage together. At least Phil had enough sense of humor to play along with Artie’s act. Tim decided it was time to let go of his anger toward Phil. He had Nick now, right here beside him. Here, not in New Orleans, not at the Russian River, not where Jason was, in his dreams or his memory or in some irretrievable past, but here in San Francisco right now.

  Tim knew it was time to forgive Phil, just the way he had learned to forgive Jason once. Jason had hurt Tim badly when they stopped sleeping together. It wasn’t Phil’s fault that Jason hired him, and Tim thought Phil was interested. Phil wasn’t even faking it that night. He offered Tim another night at no charge, after all—he must have liked it. Tim was too stubborn and hurt to take him up on it, of course. Lots of guys would have.

  Yes, Tim would forgive Phil. They had to work together, after all.

  Funny, that was just what Tim had said to Artie about Jason once, when Artie was trying to arrange the schedules so they never ran into each other, “Jason and I still have to work together, after all.”

  Come to think of it, Jason was the one that Tim was still a little pissed off at, and he was dead. Oh well…

  Nick was here, and, as far as Tim was concerned, he would stay beside him. Nick beside Tim and Tim beside Nick with all the other people they loved and cared about circling in some kind of crazy orbit around them for as long as possible. Tim’s psychic ability might be useless in his waking life, but he could predict keeping this man beside him forever and ever. That’s what he wanted, but for the time being he’d just have to be satisfied with living in the present, this rainy evening on Castro Street.

  Arturo came behind the bar and put his arm around Ruth. Hardly anyone ordered drinks during Artie’s performance. Ruth whispered, “Arturo, he’s amazing. I’ve only seen pictures of Artie in drag in old photograph albums, but he can really sing. You must be so proud of him.”

  Arturo said, “Oh, he can sing all right. You should hear him in the shower. Ask Teresa sometime. It’s lucky for you that you’re on the ground floor.”

  Ruth gave Arturo’s hand a squeeze and asked, “Does this remind you of the old days at… what was the name of that club? Gepetto’s? No, Pinocchio’s?”

  “It was Finocchio’s, Ruth,” Arturo said. “Sure, this reminds me of those days, but it reminds me even more of when Artie and I first met in Vietnam. You should have seen Artie perform for the troops that year when Ruta Lee sprained her ankle on the USO tour, and Artie had to go on in her place and sing Sisters with Bob Hope.”

  “Now you’re pulling my leg, Arturo,” Ruth protested, but she secretly hoped that what he was telling her about Artie and Bob Hope might have been true.

  By the time the party was winding down, Artie had joined their table and Ruth was back at Sam’s side with Tim, Nick and Amanda Musgrove. Jane and Ben said their goodbyes after Artie’s performance, since their babysitter had to be home early. Ruth was still gushing over Artie’s outfit, his make-up, his singing voice and his stage presence ad nauseam. Tim glanced at his watch and tried to stifle a yawn, but Nick caught it. “Are you ready to go home, Snowman?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Tim said, but he yawned again, even bigger this time. “I’m ready whenever you are, Nick, but what about your grandmother?”

  Amanda Musgrove snapped her sleek black cell phone shut and dropped it into her purse. “That was your mother, Nicholas. She should be here in about twenty minutes to drive me home, so you boys needn’t worry about me. Run along…”

  Tim whispered to Nick, “Shouldn’t we wait?”

  Amanda turned back to Ruth, Sam and Artie. “My daughter-in-law—Nick’s mother—for all her faults, is an excellent driver and she’s quite punctual, as a rule. And if she’s not, I’ll have time for another drink and continue to enjoy the good company here.

  Nick whispered into Tim’s ear, “You don’t want to meet my mother tonight. She might be an hour or more.”

  “I’ll have to meet her sooner or later, won’t I?”

  “Maybe I’ll get her to invite you over to their house in Alameda for dinner sometime. You could meet both my mom and dad at once.”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to go that far, Nick. This way would be a lot more casual.”

  “And when do I get to meet your parents, Tim? Do I have to fly all the way to Minneapolis to ask for your father’s blessing before I sweep you off your feet?”

  “Never mind.”

  They said their goodbyes and Nick pushed Tim’s wheelchair toward the door. It would be a very long time before either of them dealt with one another’s mothers, and when that time came it would happen in a most peculiar way.

  Amanda Musgrove turned back toward the table and said, “Well, Ruth, it turns out your nephew and my grandson didn’t need us after all. The killer is dead, and it looks as if those boys will do well enough on their own together.”

  “Yes, everything worked out fine this time, “ Ruth smiled and squeezed Sam’s hand under the table as she watched her nephew and his handsome lover laugh and make their way out into the rainy night on Castro Street. “Maybe next time there’s trouble it won’t be so serious, and we can be of more help to them.”

  “I’ll drink to that, Ruth.” Amanda raised her glass. “Merry Christmas and let’s drink to next time. May all our adventures be safer, but always enjoyable, especially your upcoming holiday trip with Sam.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Sam raised his glass and gave Ruth a kiss.

  “Cheers!” Ruth took Sam’s hand, “To exciting new adventures and the happiest of holidays to everyone.”

  Nick pushed Tim in his wheelchair out the door of Arts Restaurant and onto the Castro Street sidewalk. “Damn, I told you not to eat so much. If Artie lost forty-five pounds you must have gained ten tonight. And I’ve still got to get you up all those stairs.”

  “No backseat driving. Shut up and push. No, wait. It’s starting to rain again. Help me with my umbrella, Nick. Now push. No, wait. Kiss me first.”

  “Merry Christmas, Snowman.”

  “Merry Christmas, Nick.”

  A sneak peek
r />   at Chapter 1from

  Mark Abramson’s

  Snowman

  Book 4 of the Beach Reading series

  Nick Musgrove woke up alone in his bed on Sunday morning and missed Tim Snow. Even after all these years of living alone, he’d grown comfortable with waking up beside Tim all winter in San Francisco. Nick looked around the bedroom of his little house in Monte Rio, California, and the first thing his eyes landed on was a picture of the two of them.

  Someone Tim knew had snapped it at the Triple-R Resort last summer, arm in arm, cheek to cheek and bare-chested beside the pool on a perfect afternoon. They both got copies, and Tim bought identical chrome frames at Cliff’s that they kept on the tables beside their beds. Nick picked up his, blew the dust off it and smiled. The cleaning lady would come on Monday afternoon. If Tim were here, he would have kept the dust off it.

  The break was Tim’s idea. Nick just went along with it. Sort of. It was Tim who thought they each needed some time alone, now that he was able to take care of himself again, but by now it had been a full week since they’d even spoken. That was the longest time they’d been apart since when Tim was in the hospital last winter after the “accident” with Nick’s truck.

  Tim encouraged him to get back to work and rebuild the nursery. When the insurance money came through, Nick realized he could make the place exactly how he’d always dreamed it should be. He’d spent this week making plans and dealing with contractors, but without Tim around his heart wasn’t in it.

  Nick rose, stretched his long limbs and put the coffee on. By the time he finished his shower, he decided that one week of separation was plenty, no matter what Tim thought. Nick threw a few things in a bag, poured the fresh pot of coffee into a Thermos and hit the road. The coffee was all gone before the Golden Gate Bridge came into view.

  Tim’s tenants, Ben and Jane Larson, had a blue Chevrolet that stood in the driveway on Hancock Street, but there was no sign of Tim’s red Thunderbird. Nick thought that must mean he was well enough to be up and about. Maybe he’d just gone shopping at Safeway. Nick pulled his truck into the driveway and sat there for a moment. He had keys to Tim’s flat, but he felt a little strange using them when Tim wasn’t home. It was one thing to let himself in the way he had all winter, when Tim was lying there waiting for him. This was different. He did have to use the bathroom, though, so he decided… what the hell.

  On his way out of the apartment, Nick glanced in at Tim’s neatly made bed and saw that the picture in the chrome frame was missing. He could only wonder what that meant. He locked the door again and went down the front stairs.

  “Is that you, Tim?” Jane called out from her front door. “I thought you were going for longer than just one night… Oh! Hello, Nick. I thought Tim was back from his trip already. How are you?”

  “Hi, Jane. Back from what trip? Did Tim tell you where he was going?”

  “Won’t you come in, Nick? How about a cup of coffee?”

  “No thanks, I’ve had plenty of coffee already. I drank a whole Thermos full on the way down here this morning.”

  “Come in anyway. Sit down. I’m having some. How about a danish?”

  “Well, okay, I guess I could have one more cup, too.” Nick considered that if there was bad news, he might want to be sitting down.

  “Have you talked to Tim lately?” Jane asked.

  “No, not this week. He said he wanted a little break…”

  “Have you tried calling him?”

  “Sure, I’ve tried. All I get is his answering machine. He never answers the cell phone I bought him, either. It was just last week he started in talking about us having some ‘space,’ and then he drove back to the city and said not to call him until he called me. God, I hate that word! I don’t feel like we need any space from each other.” Nick took a sip of coffee and added creamer. “What did he tell you, Jane?”

  “He basically said the same thing, Nick, but he made it sound more like it was your idea. He said he was afraid of being a burden, and he didn’t want you to get sick of taking care of him and…”

  “That’s ridiculous! I love taking care of him. It makes me feel needed.”

  “Well, you know Tim.” Jane offered a weak smile. “At least you know him a lot better than I do.”

  “I’m not so sure, Jane. Sometimes I think I do, until he says something silly like that. I would have been happy to push him down to City Hall in his wheelchair and get married if they still granted licenses to gay couples. I could have sworn ‘for better or worse, in sickness and in health’ and all the rest of that stuff, and I would have meant every word of it!”

  “Why don’t you and Tim get married anyway, Nick?” Jane asked. “You could elope to Iowa and then fly back and celebrate at the restaurant with all your friends and families. What a great excuse for a party!”

  “I think you’ve been living in the Castro too long.”

  “Arturo and Artie had a little commitment ceremony, you know, but they hardly told anyone about it until later. They didn’t want a big fuss, I guess.”

  “Tim and I talked about doing something like that, but you know how he is. He didn’t want to be in a wheelchair for the pictures.”

  Jane laughed out loud. “He’s just as vain as he is paranoid.”

  “You know him better than you think. But where did he go on this trip? Did he tell you?”

  “He said he wasn’t even sure where he was going, just that he needed to get away,” Jane said as she picked up her crying baby. Samuel Timothy Larson was named after Jane’s father Sam, with whom Ruth was now practically living, and Tim, the kids’ upstairs built-in babysitter.

  “He talked about taking a long drive down the coast… maybe L.A. Why don’t you swing by Collingwood, Nick? Ask Tim’s aunt. I’ll bet she would know. He wouldn’t leave town without checking in with her first.”

  “Good idea. Thanks, Jane. And thanks for the coffee.”

  Nick pulled his new truck onto Collingwood Street just as a car vacated a parking spot near Arturo and Artie’s building. Ruth lived on the ground floor in Tim’s old apartment. The driver of the other car honked and waved. It was Teresa, Ruth’s neighbor from the top floor.

  Nick was just about to press Ruth’s doorbell when Arturo arrived at the gate, out of breath. “Nick, you’re just the man I needed to run into.”

  “Hi, Arturo. I was looking for Aunt Ruth, actually. I wanted to ask if she knew where Tim was.”

  “Ruth isn’t home,” Arturo said. “I need to get hold of her too, though. I’ve got a huge mess on my hands.”

  “Where is she? What’s wrong?”

  “I need your help at the restaurant. We can talk on the way. Artie threw his back out trying to lift a beer keg last night, so he’s upstairs in bed with a heating pad and a bottle of Vicodin. Brunch is going to be busy today, and Scott will have to tend bar by himself if I can’t get a hold of Ruth. She’s not due back until tomorrow night, but Scott had to close by himself last night, so I know he’ll be tired.”

  “Where is she? How do you know she’s not home? I need to ask if she knows where Tim is.”

  “She’s been down at Sam’s place in Hillsborough all week. Artie said Tim came by yesterday looking for her, too.”

  “Well, what do you need me for, Arturo? I don’t know anything about the bar business, except how to order a drink. I don’t know how to make them all.”

  “I didn’t mean I wanted you to tend bar. I need a strong man with a good back, though. Late last night the toilet in the women’s room backed up. I got hold of a plumber to come in, but it was two in the morning. I went home at 2:30 and left him there, still working. You can imagine what he’s going to charge me for coming in at that hour.

  “Did he get it fixed?” Nick asked.

  “I sure hope so, but I just checked my messages, and he said the snake wouldn’t do it. They had to tear up the floor to get at the problem. The plumbing in that building is so old I’m sure it’s pre-earthquake and I mean
’06 not ’89. He said they had to tear up linoleum and tile and the sub-flooring under that, all the way from the toilet out into the hallway. The pipes were backed up in every direction, but worst toward the building in back on Hartford Street. I can’t imagine how bad the place is going to smell this morning!”

  Nick was fond of Tim’s bosses, who were also Ruth’s landlords, but he wasn’t sure about getting involved in this mess that Arturo described at the restaurant. He just wanted to find out where Tim was and be on his way to find him. “Sure, I’ll help you, Arturo.” Nick heard the words escape from his lips before he could stop them.

  “I knew you would, and I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow, believe me.”

  Arturo turned on all the lights and the exhaust fans as soon as they set foot inside. He opened the windows and put two bar stools blocking the opened front door with the CLOSED sign to discourage any customers from thinking they were open.

  “It doesn’t smell so bad.”

  “I guess not. Maybe a little. What do you really think, though? Could you eat here?”

  “It hardly smells at all, Arturo,” Nick said. “I don’t think anyone would notice it unless you told them, especially after we air it out good. Let’s go look at the damage, though.”

  The bathrooms were in the hallway between the swinging doors to the kitchen on the right and the stage on the left. The ladies’ room door was propped open, and there was a pile of damp rubble and broken bits of tile and linoleum from the toilet bowl all the way down the hall to the emergency exit in the back of the building.

  “Do you have a shovel, Arturo?” Nick asked. “If not, I have some tools locked up in the back of my truck. I could go back to Collingwood Street and see if I have something.”

  “There’s a shovel in the closet off the kitchen,” Arturo said. “And there should be some work gloves on the shelf inside the back door. Grab a pair for me, too, please. We can use those empty liquor boxes beside the dumpster; line them with heavy-duty trash bags. I meant to have the busboy break them down last night, but I’m glad I let him go straight home. We all put in a big night.”