“Where is Bruno?” Ruth asked James when he came up to the waiters’ station.
“He’s out in front having a cigarette. All those Europeans smoke, don’t they? He followed Phil out to the sidewalk when he went on his break.”
“I’ll bet she doesn’t know about apples,” Ruth said to Tim as they listened to Artie pretend to know French while speaking to an Italian about crepes and foie gras. What was worse, Artie hung on every word that fell from her overly-painted lips and pretended to understand them all too.
“What do you mean about apples, Aunt Ruth?”
“Oh, nothing… just that she knows all about shad roe and pheasant and which clams are in season, but I’ll bet she doesn’t know what apples make the best pie or which ones you want cold and crisp from the refrigerator or which ones are the best during football season to put on a stick and dip in warm caramel with chopped nuts. Just look at her carrying on.”
“Okay, you talked me into it,” Tim said. “I don’t like her either and I’m sure Arturo doesn’t. I wonder what she did to piss him off. Did you see him chug that shot? What was it?”
“Bourbon.”
“Oh-oh. That’s not a good sign. He gave up bourbon a while ago.”
Tim went into the kitchen to fetch one of his last dinner orders, but Arturo had his back to him, so Tim didn’t ask any questions. It would all come out in good time. This crew was like a family—dysfunctional at times, but secrets didn’t stay secret for long.
When Tim got back to the bar, things were slowing down. Rosa’s laugh had died down a couple of decibels and she was slipping back into the outer layer of her ensemble, finishing her drink and getting ready to leave. Phil hadn’t returned to the piano yet, but Tim didn’t see anyone on the sidewalk. “Where’s Bruno now?” he asked his aunt. “Did he go to retrieve the car for the grand dame?”
Ruth didn’t hear him, but Tim noticed Bruno and Phil coming out of the men’s room together, just as Rosa started looking around for her wayward assistant. Tim was glad his first encounter with Bruno was only a precognitive dream. It was obvious that Bruno had another interest at Arts. Tim turned back to totaling his checks while he wondered whether Bruno knew that Phil was a hustler.
“Artie, I’ll talk to you soon.” Rosa turned back to wave at the entire restaurant in a royal farewell as she sang out, “Arrivederci, everyone! Let’s make it happen!”
Tim had nearly forgotten about Bruno and Phil when he felt a pinch through the fabric of his slacks that made him jump. It was Bruno. “Nice ass, Tim. Seeya!”
Chapter 7
Tim usually spent his nights off from Arts up at Nick’s place on the Russian River, but this week he stayed in the city to work on his kitchen. He’d barely opened one eye on Wednesday morning when he heard a chainsaw outside. He thought he was dreaming, but when he opened the other eye the noise was as real as his hangover. The clock on his dresser said 9:02 AM. Beside it was a stack of new porn CDs, still in their cellophane wrappers. Now Tim remembered the winning streak he’d had with his raffle tickets at The Edge last night—a benefit for the AIDS Emergency Fund. Every time he won another prize he bought another round of drinks for the guys on either side of him and a shot for the bartender. It was good public relations when you worked in the Castro. Tim figured there ought to be a way to take it off his taxes; being a homeowner was expensive.
The chainsaw was real and it was nearby. Tim stepped into a pair of jockey shorts on the floor and pulled them up while he shuffled to the kitchen window. He saw a crew of workmen, some on ladders and some standing around under the redwood tree in his back yard. Nick said he’d get rid of the diseased tree for him, but Tim hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. The root rot had taken years to come on with the uppermost branches turning brown and then yellow. Nick called it “heart rot” as only Nick would, giving an almost human aspect to most living green things. He told Tim he suspected that it started when the next-door neighbor’s house had a leak in their basement plumbing.
Tim stepped out onto the deck, still half-naked in only his jockey shorts, and yelled, “Hey! What’s going on here?”
“We work for Mr. Musgrove,” one of the workers answered. He looked like a college kid, husky, tanned and very cute. “He told us you wanted this sick tree out of here.”
“I did, but…” Tim still couldn’t believe this. “I do. But I didn’t expect it to happen today! Where the hell is Nick? I mean Mr. Musgrove?” Tim was sure the only time he’d put those two words together before was when he was first introduced to Nick’s father. “Didn’t he come with you?”
“No sir. We were supposed to start a job in Marin County this morning, but they cancelled, so Mr. Musgrove told us to come here instead. He gave us your address and directions to find the place. This won’t take long. We’re good. You’ll see.”
The chainsaws started up again before Tim could say any more. He closed his back door and the kitchen windows he’d left open overnight. He did want the tree out of there. It needed to be removed; that would make his view of the lights of the downtown skyline even better, but this was morning! He hoped Jane and the kids downstairs were already awake. No one could sleep through this noise.
Just then the doorbell rang. Tim reached for a pair of old sweatpants and, hopping from foot to foot, pulling on the pants, stumbled to the front window. He looked down. “Aunt Ruth! Come up if you can stand the noise.”
When Ruth got to the top of the stairs she started giggling and pointing at him. “What were you thinking when you got dressed this morning?”
“I didn’t exactly ‘get dressed’ this morning. The chainsaw woke me and I just grabbed whatever…” Tim turned toward the mirror, lifted the elastic waistband and looked down his crotch. “Geez, I must have these on backward. Want coffee? I set the timer before I went to bed last night. I can smell it. It’s ready.”
“Maybe not,” Ruth shouted as the chainsaws kicked back into high gear. “I can’t even hear myself think. What’s going on?”
“Nick sent some workmen to take down that sick old redwood tree. I was planning to get rid of it anyway, but I would have put if off for months.”
Ruth held her fingers over her ears and shouted, “Let’s get out of here! Can I take you out to breakfast?”
“Can I go like this?” Tim looked down and remembered he was wearing nothing but his sweat pants. He had his fingers over his ears, too.
“That’s entirely up to you, dear, but you might want to put on some clothes.”
“Nudity is all the rage in the Castro these days,” he shouted. “I’ve seen naked guys sitting in the plaza outside Orphan Andy’s lots of times.”
“Let’s eat indoors, then. And I think most restaurants require shirts and shoes, even here in the Castro.”
“I haven’t even showered yet.” Tim sniffed his armpit, removed a finger from one of his ears and held his nose with it instead. “I want to hear all about Sunday night… especially about Rosa Rivera. Did Artie tell you what she wanted?
“I can’t hear you!”
“You go on ahead and I’ll be quick, I promise. You wanna try to grab us a booth at Orphan Andy’s? I’ll take a quick shower and be there in fifteen minutes... well, maybe twenty, okay?”
“Take your time,” Ruth yelled and nodded. “I need to make a stop at Walgreens anyway.”
Even with the shower running, Tim could hear the chainsaw. He hoped none of his neighbors were upset. If he’d known in advance, he could have warned them. He let the hot water pour through his hair and down his back for just a minute after he rinsed off. Then he jumped into some clean clothes without getting fully dry and tossed his dirty sweats in the general direction of the hamper. This afternoon might be a good time to do laundry… or not. Tim could always procrastinate.
Ruth was sitting in the window when Tim arrived at Orphan Andy’s. “Nice! This is even better than a booth. I’ll bet you have good parking karma too. So… what’s up? Are you and Sam still getting married o
r has he started beating you again?”
“Don’t even joke about a thing like that… it’s so far from the realm of possibility and you know it!”
“What is it, then? Doesn’t he still want to marry you?”
“Of course he does. Do you know what you’re going to order?”
“Woody knows what I want… two, two, and two.”
“What?”
“Two eggs, two hotcakes, two sausages… or you could have bacon instead.” Woody is a part-time nudist too, aren’t you, Woody?”
Ruth turned, leery of being introduced to a naked man, but their waiter was pouring coffee at the counter and hadn’t heard Tim. And Woody was wearing a kilt today, to Ruth’s relief. “Maybe I’ll order an omelet, but I suppose they’re huge here.”
“Do you still want to marry Sam?”
“Of course. It’s just that things are so complicated. I want the best of both worlds, you know? I don’t want to give up my little apartment and my job and everybody at Arts and you and—”
“Give up me?” Tim sat up straight. “What does he intend to do, spirit you away to some exotic foreign country? What’s wrong with the house in Hillsborough? I thought things were going fine between you two.”
“Things are going fine. That’s my point. Things are fine the way they are. Why change anything? He thinks I’m going to give up San Francisco entirely, give up my apartment and find another home for Bart. Now he thinks he’s allergic to cats, he says…”
“Well, if worse came to worst… Bartholomew could come to live with his Uncle Tim on Hancock Street.” Tim said the words without an ounce of conviction.
“Nevermind. Maybe Bart can become an outdoor cat.”
“I think you’ve just got cold feet. There’s something to be said for marriage, isn’t there? Isn’t that why we gays are fighting for it so hard? I never cared one way or another, but I love to see the right-wing nuts go into hysterics about it and in your case it’s totally legal and there’s a lot to be said for marrying into money!”
“I don’t need Sam’s money—” Ruth was interrupted when Woody arrived to take their order. Now Ruth wondered what he might be wearing under his kilt, so she didn’t dare to look at him. She realized she’d been about to raise her voice, so when Woody left and she started in again, she lowered it a notch. “I don’t need Sam’s money. I have my own money. And besides, he has children and grandchildren to think of… with more on the way. That’s another thing; he wants me to come to Chicago for Adam and Alexandra’s wedding.”
“So? Why not?”
“Delia and Frank will be there. They’re going early, in fact. And Alexandra’s parents, of course…”
“And you’re afraid of being the only white woman at the wedding… is that it?”
“No, that’s not it!” The other waiter refilled their coffee cups and Ruth lowered her voice again. “I’m more concerned about being the only white woman in that big old house in Hillsborough.”
“What? You don’t get along with Delia? Since when?”
Four young men got up from a booth to leave. One held the door open for the others while a 1940 streetcar clanged its bells and started off its run to Fisherman’s Wharf by making the curve through Jane Warner plaza. Woody brought their food and Ruth unfolded her napkin. “Listen to those fog horns, will you? We’re blocks from the water, but they sound so close.”
“Don’t change the subject. Did you and Delia get into a cat-fight or something?”
Ruth chewed slowly and shook her head. “Delia is wonderful to me… to Sam, to Frank, to her son, to everyone. That’s the problem. She runs that house so beautifully, where do I fit in? It was one thing when I was a guest, but after we’re married, I don’t know. They don’t need me. She and Sam have so much history together. They have a child together—”
“Adam is no child,” Tim interrupted, “and neither are you.”
“They’ll soon have grandchildren together!”
“So what? Adam and Alexandra are crazy about you. Everyone loves you, Aunt Ruth. Have you talked to Sam about any of this?”
“I tried to, but it felt like it was going to turn into an argument and I don’t want that, so I dropped it and changed the subject.”
“Aunt Ruth…” Tim took a sip of his coffee and waited until he was sure she was listening. “Did you want my advice or were you just looking for an ear to bend? I mean, if you just want to vent, you can say so. I’m willing to listen and keep my mouth shut. I know I can always count on you to do the same for me, but...”
“Do you have any advice for me?”
“Stop shying away from that argument. You and Sam are always so lovey-dovey I’ll bet neither of you has ever raised your voice.”
“Tim, you know me better than anyone. Considering my background with Dan, you can understand why I hate to argue.”
“Now, don’t bring Uncle Dan into this. Sam Conner is nothing like him and you know it! Sam deserves better than any such comparison.”
“I know he does.” Ruth smiled.
“So talk it out with him. If you end up having an argument, at least it will clear the air. You’ll both know exactly where you stand. He didn’t fall in love with you because he could boss you around!”
Ruth’s visual focus was on her fingernails, trying to open a little foil packet of jam, but she was listening. “I suppose you’re right. She caught her reflection in the window and instinctively touched her hair. She was a good-looking woman for her age, as long as she had her brilliant hairdresser Rene to cover the gray and she didn’t let her figure get any larger than petite. She gave up on opening the jam and wished she’d ordered fruit instead of a big heavy breakfast.
“Then you get to have the fun part, you know… making up again.”
“Sam and I have never had so much as a disagreement over what to eat for dinner.”
“Why would you? You can order whatever you want from the waiter at Fleur de Lys.”
Ruth laughed. “Yes, it’s true… I’m a very lucky woman.”
“Just wait until the time is right. Get his shoes off. Better yet, get his pants off. Get him in a good mood and then ask him where you stand. Tell him how you feel. Don’t be in any hurry. Wait until just the right moment… and then let me know how it goes.”
Ruth shook her head and smiled at her nephew. “You’re too much.”
“Now, what about Rosa Rivera? What did Artie tell you? What did she want with him? What’s going on?”
“It wasn’t Artie that she wanted, but the restaurant.”
“Speak of the devil. Look, there she is!”
Ruth glanced down at this morning’s Chronicle. The Datebook section had a quarter-page article and photograph of Rosa beaming at the camera. The caption read: “Rosa Rivera—local rising star makes it happen again.”
“Not there,” Tim said. “Look outside. There she is live and in person!”
“Oh my.” Ruth covered her mouth. Rosa and a camera crew were getting out of a van parked in the Chevron station. She beamed at the handful of people sitting at the outdoor tables as if they were there just to see her. The camera crew set up a few shots of Rosa among the potted trees with the giant rainbow flag billowing on the other side of Castro Street in the background. “Tim… what if she sees us?”
“So what? Do you really think she’d recognize you out of uniform? She wouldn’t remember me. She barely looked up at me the whole time I was serving them. Tell me what she wanted at the restaurant.”
“Well, you know that coffee table book she did on Holidays and Celebrations?” Their waiter arrived to clear the next table and asked if everything was alright. “I’d love another cup of coffee, Woody, whenever you get a chance. And do you mind if I have a look at this newspaper?”
“Someone left it there,” the waiter said. “You can have it if you want.”
“Never mind the Chronicle,” Tim placed the palm of his hand across Rosa’s picture. “You can read it when you get home. What did
she want at Arts?”
“I was trying to tell you… she’s planning another book to go with her new season of TV shows. This one is all about San Francisco weddings—neighborhood by neighborhood. She’s doing a big Italian wedding in North Beach and a Chinese wedding in Chinatown. She’s found a Samoan couple getting married out in South San Francisco. I hear they have some wonderful rituals, not to mention the food.”
“Yum.”
“Artie told her that Sam and I might be getting married in a Hillsborough mansion and you should have seen her eyes light up. I could have killed him!”
“Did you say anything?” Tim asked.
“I gave him such a nasty look I didn’t have to. He told her Hillsborough was well outside the city limits and that ‘Bay Area Weddings’ doesn’t have the same kind of ring to it that ‘San Francisco Weddings’ does. She’s hoping this project will get her nation-wide exposure. That woman won’t be satisfied with cable access for long. Channel 4 is not her final destination, either, you can mark my words.”
“That’s all well and good, but you still haven’t told me what she wants with Arts.”
“Well, naturally, she wants to include a gay wedding. Artie asked her why she didn’t just go to MCC or any gay-friendly church, but she wants to do it in a gay restaurant on Castro Street. She’ll also have more latitude than she would in a church. She’ll transform the whole place and give Stanlee Gatti some competition. You can imagine how Arturo feels. He didn’t care for her at all!”
“Why not?”
“You saw how she is. Arturo’s old-fashioned. He likes me, but he’s not all that crazy about women in general, especially not when they’re loud and pushy.”
“Arturo adores you, Aunt Ruth, but you’re no average woman.”
Ruth laughed. “Well, Arturo’s first impression wasn’t good. She was sticking her fingers into everything, tasting his sauces, pushing the new dishwasher out of her way. It’ll be fun to watch them work together on this project. Poor Arturo…”
Wedding Season Page 5