“Had you even met Bruno yet?”
“No, that’s just it… I’d never even seen him before, but I dreamed about him…”
“Oh wow, Tim! That’s like something out of the Twilight Zone. Do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do…”
“Shut up… I know… it gives me goose-bumps… but then in my dream I saw you from behind and—”
“Me? What would I be doing in Buena Vista Park on a Monday morning? You thought I’d leave your nice warm comfortable bed… not to mention these sexy feet… to go beat the bushes in the park and try to avoid stepping in dog shit or some homeless encampment looking for sex with some smelly guy in red socks?”
“No, it wasn’t you; he just looked like you from the back. He had hair like yours and he was getting it on with these two other guys like they’d all just come from the gym or something. They were in a clearing in the bushes and I slipped and fell down… like through a hole.”
“Like Alice?”
“Exactly! Down the rabbit’s hole… that’s just what I thought, too.” It was uncanny when Nick made remarks like that. They’d gone together to see the Johnny Depp version of Alice in Wonderland in 3-D back when it played at the Castro Theatre, but still… Tim felt like Nick could read his mind. “I landed flat on my back right between the three of them.”
“Sounds pretty hot. I almost wish it had been me instead of some other blond guy. Maybe we should go up to that spot sometime and see what kind of trouble we can get into.”
“But all I could do was laugh! And besides… it was the old Buena Vista Park in my dream, the way it was before they re-landscaped the south side.
“Aw, Snowman, you and your dreams!” Nick let go of Tim’s feet, leaned forward and kissed him. “That dream doesn’t sound so bad, except for the guy with the smelly socks.”
“The smelly guy wasn’t the same one that had the red socks,” Tim started to explain, but decided to drop it. “What time is it, anyway? When does Rosa Rivera come on?”
“It should have already started. Haven’t you figured how to work your Tivo yet?”
“I’m still figuring out my cell phone.”
“You’re hopeless. Where’s the remote?”
“It’s on the bed stand. Here…” Tim handed it to Nick, who flipped through the channels with one hand and put his other arm around Tim.
“Let’s make it happen!” Rosa Rivera beamed into the TV camera. She had apparently just returned from a commercial. “Here we are outside the Victoria Pastry Company in the heart of my own little North Beach neighborhood. We’ll be going inside in un breve momento to see how they make their delicious wedding cakes. Bellissimo!”
Nick looked over at Tim, who was already fading.
“And don’t forget our big gay wedding at Arts Restaurant on Castro Street later on in this series. If you and your same-sex sweetheart want to be considered, you have until Gay Pride Sunday to enter. Just stop by Arts or go to my web-site for an application.”
Nick set down the remote and rummaged through the bedside table’s drawer for a pen.
Chapter 12
Tim had nightmares every night that week. He wanted to blame the bad dreams on his HIV medication, but he was used to those dreams; they were vivid, not ugly. These dreams about his mother were horrible. The only good thing about them was that they evaporated as soon as he woke up. There might be a few seconds of anxiety when he first opened his eyes, but then he barely remembered them until the next time.
He’d rarely thought about his mother in years, much less dreamed about her. It must have been the handkerchief Nick found in the driveway that started all this. Tim tried not to think about what it meant and managed to repress those thoughts until Thursday morning when he tossed his dirty laundry into the washer and there it was again. He thought about throwing it in the trash or burning it in the fireplace, but he dropped it into the bin with a load of towels and added a little extra detergent for good measure. When it came out of the dryer, Tim folded it up and shoved it to the back of his sock drawer. At least it didn’t smell anymore.
Nick drove down again on Friday night and they had two good nights together after Tim came home from work. Nick liked stopping in at Arts on those evenings. Sometimes he had dinner at the bar and visited with Ruth and Artie or Scott. Sometimes he stopped at the Midnight Sun and watched music videos for as long as it took him to drink a beer. Most weekends he brought his briefcase filled with paperwork to fill the hours until Tim finished work at the restaurant.
Sunday morning Tim woke up screaming. It was only 5AM. Nick shook him gently at first, then harder. “Wake up! Tim! Come on, Snowman, you’re having a nightmare… it’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re here with me, babe.”
“It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault! She was already on the floor when I came home. I tried to help her get up, but she wouldn’t move. It’s not my fault! I didn’t do anything!”
“Wake up!” Nick yelled this time and held him closer.
Tim had tears in his eyes when they blinked open. “My mother…” he started to say as Nick rocked him in his arms. “Every time she gets drunk my dad blames me for doing something to make her wanna go and do it again and then… then she gets mad at me and I didn’t… I don’t know what else I’m supposed to…” Tim’s mind was coming back into his head. He was here now. Nick was holding him and everything would be okay.
“It’s alright, babe. It was just a dream. I’ve got you…”
“Wow! I was only about ten years old! You know she wasn’t always like that.” Even though he was here now, part of him lingered in the limbo of half-sleep.
“There were times when she was sober. We baked ginger cookies at Christmas. The whole house smelled good, not like booze. Sometimes she took me with her to the store and bought me candy and she always said, ‘Don’t tell your Daddy.’ She was nice to me sometimes…”
“It’s okay now, Snowman.”
Tim tried to focus on Nick’s face, pulled himself closer and kissed Nick full on the lips. Then he turned his pillow over to feel the cold side, pressed his face into it and fell back into a restful sleep this time. Nick thought about waking him to say goodbye, but Tim was sleeping like a baby by then. He left a note instead, saying he’d be back in a few hours after his meeting with a client in Marin County.
Ruth had a few early customers at her end of the bar as soon as Arts opened for Sunday brunch. Sam had to leave town again the day after her birthday party, so she’d spent the rest of the week in the city, which turned out to be more stressful than she could have imagined. At least on the weekend she was back to the normalcy of her routine at Arts.
Artie adored Ruth, as did everyone, but she wasn’t herself lately. He could usually get her to confide in him, but not this time. He noticed that she put on a good face for her customers, but even some of them were aware that something was wrong with her. She’d mentioned that Sam was out of town again, so Artie figured that must be part of the problem.
Artie wasn’t doing so well either and he usually loved this time of year, late spring in the Castro, when the ornamental plum trees down Collingwood and up 19th were loaded with bushels of pink blossoms. There was more morning fog than usual and it felt like there’d been an eerie full moon over the Castro for the past few nights. Artie wasn’t usually one to take much stock in that sort of thing. He’d dealt with the public, whether on stage at Finocchios or here behind the bar, long enough not to let a bad day throw off his pace, but there seemed to be a string of bad days lately. Maybe he had a hangover. Then Artie got just the surprise he needed. Ruth had her back to the door and didn’t even notice when Birdie Fuller walked into Arts for the first time.
“Artie Glamoúr!” Birdie yelled. She recognized Artie right away, even though it had been ages and she’d rarely seen him fully dressed in men’s clothes.
“Birdie!” Artie came around the bar to give her a hug. “How’s my favorite dyke on the force?” Artie was thrilled to see his old friend and happy fo
r the distraction. “What are you drinking, sweetheart?”
“Nah… nothin’… I’m working, Artie… maybe a quick cup of coffee. How the hell are you? It’s been way too long. I just found out the other day where I could find you again.” Birdie sat down on a bar stool for a quick visit. She could be here legitimately under the pretense of following up on the gate incident, but mostly she just wanted to see Artie. “You’re looking great, man. You’ve gained some weight, haven’t you?”
“You bitch!” Artie screamed. “I’ve lost weight compared to where I was. I really packed on the pounds when I left Finocchios, but I’ve been slimming back down lately. I’m planning a secret comeback, but don’t tell anyone.” Artie explained to his old pal about Rosa Rivera’s big plans and how he hoped to fit into them. This visit from Birdie was just what Artie needed to lift his spirits and remind him of the good old days.
The restaurant was quickly filling up with the usual brunch crowd and Birdie was about to head out, since Artie was getting too busy making drinks to talk with her. Then the phone rang.
“Arts! Artie speaking!”
“Artie, it’s Teresa. Have you seen that police woman Birdie Fuller down there?”
“She’s right here, Teresa.” He caught Birdie’s eye and mouthed Teresa’s name while gesturing in the direction of Collingwood. Ruth thought for a moment that he was pointing toward her, so she stopped what she was doing. Teresa talked so fast into the phone that Artie couldn’t make out half of what she said. “Hold on, Teresa. Here, Birdie… you talk to her.”
Then Marcia came running in the door and it was obvious that something drastic had happened. Her hair was a mess and she didn’t have on a speck of makeup. No one had ever seen her in broad daylight looking like something the cat dragged in. “Oh no… now what?” Artie asked under his breath to no one in particular. He could see a trace of the boy named Malcolm that Marcia used to be, especially along the jaw line.
Arturo stepped out of the men’s room, drying his hands on a paper towel, headed toward the kitchen. Marcia saw him before Artie did and the next time Ruth looked up, all three of them were engrossed in rapid-fire conversation at the far end of the bar. Birdie Fuller set the phone down on the bar and joined them for a few seconds before she raced out the door. Ruth put the telephone back on its cradle and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“That homeless woman is back,” Marcia said, “… the same one Teresa saw the other day by the trash cans. She was in the building again! Teresa found her down in the laundry room this time.”
“What was she doing?” Ruth asked.
“Laundry, I guess,” Marcia said sarcastically. “How would I know? She was passed out on the floor in the corner.”
“I had that gate fixed the very next day,” Arturo said as if someone were blaming him. “You know I did. You all got new keys. Someone must have left it open. Are the boys home?”
“Jeff is,” Marcia said. “We both heard Teresa scream and came running. Tony’s driving the streetcar on the F-Line on Sundays.”
“What happened to that poor woman?” Ruth asked.
“Poor woman?” Marcia’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean? This is the second time she’s scared us half to death! She came to when Teresa screamed and then she staggered out of there as fast as she could.”
“Oh my…” Ruth shook her head.
Then Marcia remembered something else. “That reminds me, Ruth. Your door was standing wide open. I thought you must have come out when you heard Teresa screaming too, but then I wondered where you were. I forgot you were working today. That woman must have broken into your apartment. You’ve been robbed!”
Ruth grabbed her purse and keys from behind the bar and squeezed past Artie. “I’ll be back just as soon as I can, Artie. I’m sorry to leave you alone.”
Tim was bringing out the entrees for a party of twelve celebrating someone’s job promotion. He was running back and forth from the kitchen and hadn’t noticed what was going on at the bar until he needed drinks and there was no bartender. He’d been in a daze lately too. It was always easier for Tim to zone out than to deal with anything difficult in his life. That was probably why he liked to smoke pot. “Artie? What’s going on? Could you get me some drinks please?”
“I’m coming.” Artie stepped back behind the bar.
“Three Bloody Marys, one Screwdriver, two Ramos fizzes, one Irish coffee no sugar and a Mimosa, please.”
“Coming right up.” Artie separated raw eggs. The whites went into the blender and the yolks got saved in a Tupperware bowl for Arturo to use in his Hollandaise sauce.
“Where’s my Aunt Ruth?”
“Teresa found that homeless woman back in the building again and Ruth’s door was standing wide open, so she ran home to check on things.”
“Do you think that’s safe? What if someone broke into her apartment and they’re still in there?”
“Birdie Fuller is over there now. She’s armed. And, besides, they said the homeless woman ran out the door as soon as Teresa saw her.”
Ruth knew there was no one in her apartment as she gently unlocked the door. She wondered if Teresa had closed it or Marcia did… or maybe Birdie Fuller. Ruth knew that her ‘guest’ wouldn’t have taken the time to close the apartment door when she ran from the laundry room to flee the building. Now Ruth would have to go out and try to find her before there was any more trouble. She looked around at the mess on her living room floor, a ragged coat, a suitcase with one latch broken and a pile of tattered clothing. That reminded her to check the laundry room across the hall. She felt the damp clothes in the dryer and dropped more quarters into the slot before she went back out to the street.
Ruth turned left at 19th Street past Rikki Streicher Field, her eyes scanning every bush, every doorway, every parked car with anything strewn across the back seat. Where could someone hide in broad daylight on a Sunday noon-time in the Castro? People were out walking their dogs or driving by, looking for a parking space on their way to church or brunch or the bars. Ruth’s mind raced trying to imagine where someone who was scared might go to hide. At least Tim was at work, where she should be. Artie would just have to get by without her for a while.
And where was Sam when she needed him? Another business trip—nearly two weeks this time—and each time he called she had to pretend everything was normal. Was he in Seattle today? Ruth couldn’t remember. She had too many other things on her mind.
A truck flew by on Diamond Street. Ruth caught the words GLASS & SASH on the side, but the paint was so worn she thought it said sushi. Or was Sam back in San Diego? It didn’t matter. Near panic, Ruth felt stoned. Ridiculous. She hadn’t smoked pot since that first day she arrived at Tim’s old apartment—her apartment now. The subject of marijuana had never come up with Sam… one more thing she didn’t know about him. What did Sam think about it? Or alcoholics? Sam seemed to be a moderate drinker. He was moderate in most things. Ruth appreciated that.
But she’d agreed to marry him and there were so many things he didn’t know. And things she didn’t know. Where was he when she needed him? Ruth hadn’t even told Artie what was going on. She knew he suspected something, but he was so wrapped up in Rosa Rivera these days he hardly noticed Ruth’s problems. And Tim was the last person she could tell.
She turned left up 18th Street to Hattie, right on Market to Church Street and all the way around Dolores Park. Again, there was no hiding place. Ruth walked up Hancock to Tim’s house, stood in the driveway and stared at the view. The redwood tree was gone. What a huge difference! But despite the view and the fact that it was dying anyway, despite knowing that time passes and things she had long taken for granted had to change, Ruth missed that tree. She missed a lot of things she hadn’t thought about for a long time.
“Aunt Ruth!” It was little Sarah, the magic child, yelling from the kitchen window. “I’ll be right out!” Ruth rummaged through her purse for a handkerchief and caught a single tear on her cheek as the back door s
lammed and the little girl ran toward her. “Hi, Aunt Ruth!”
“Sarah, you’re getting so big I can hardly lift you.” Ruth planted a kiss on her cheek before she set her back down again.
“Are you looking for Uncle Tim? I think he’s at work today.”
“Yes, I know he is. I was just having a look at where the old tree used to be…”
“Sarah? Where are you?” a voice called out.
“It’s Mommy,” Sarah said to Ruth. “I’m out here in the driveway, Mommy.”
“I told you not to leave the house without me, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay, Mommy. Aunt Ruth is here,” Sarah shouted to her mother and then whispered to Ruth. “She’s afraid of the scary lady.”
“What scary lady?”
“A scary old lady was looking in the window. Last time Daddy chased her away, but this time Mommy saw her first and Mommy doesn’t like it when—”
“Hello, Ruth.” Jane rounded the back corner of the house and came toward them down the driveway. “You get right back in that house, little girl!”
“But there’s nobody out here except Aunt Ruth and me.”
“Don’t argue with me, young lady! You know I told you not to go outside without me.”
“Bye-bye, Aunt Ruth,” Sarah ran back down the driveway toward the back door, waving. She wasn’t scared of any old lady.
“Bye-bye, Sarah.”
“Are you looking for Tim? He’s at work today, isn’t he? I’m sure I heard him on the stairs earlier. Nick’s truck was in the driveway last night, but he must have left early this morning.”
“I was just… I wanted to see the view with the old tree gone, but now that you mention it, I ought to be at work myself. They’ll wonder what happened to me.”
Her apartment was empty when Ruth got home from work that evening. She gathered the clean clothes from the dryer, folded them and carried them to the living room. Most of the blouses still had stains on them and she hesitated before she put them back in the broken-down suitcase on the floor in the corner.
Wedding Season Page 9