Ruth went to the kitchen next. She did a careful inventory of the liquor and dumped much of it down the drain. Some things she rarely used anyway—cooking sherry, spiced rum she’d bought for a Christmas dessert, a half-empty bottle of bourbon. Where did that come from? Maybe Tim had left it behind when he moved out. Could she have moved it with her all the way from Minnesota? No, and it didn’t matter anyway. She lined up the rest of the bottles on the counter, the full ones—the good stuff—plus all the wine. She packed it into boxes with newspaper in between so the bottles wouldn’t break. If she couldn’t find a good enough hiding place she would bring it upstairs and ask one of the neighbors to keep it for the time being. Teresa had a full bar already, but she could store it for her.
Ruth was half asleep in her rocking chair when she heard a key in the door. By the time she could stand up and step into the hallway she heard a thud and looked down at the miserable wreck of a human being on the floor.
“Oh, Betty, what am I going to do with you?”
“Waaaahhh?”
“Come on… let’s get you in here on the couch.” Ruth lifted her sister by the shoulders. “Whew, you stink! I said you could stay here, Betty, but you’ve got to behave. Tim isn’t going to want to see you like this, you know.”
Ruth knew it was unlikely that Tim would ever agree to see his mother anyway, after what she had done to him. Ruth went on talking, even though her sister was dead to the world. “And you can’t go around frightening people. You scared Teresa half to death and I heard you were over on Hancock Street looking in the windows when Tim wasn’t even home. I don’t know how long you intend to stay in San Francisco, but we need to have a serious talk about the rules around here…”
Chapter 13
“… but there’s an old saying that if you don’t like the weather in San Francisco, just hold on for twenty minutes and it’s bound to change…” Steve the weatherman on the Channel 2 was wrapping up his final report. It was nearly 9AM so the morning news out of Oakland was over anyway. Tim reached for the remote and switched off the TV set. Next up was Doctor Oz and Tim didn’t want to watch that. If he wasn’t a friend of Dorothy’s and he didn’t have a wicked witch on the show, Tim wasn’t interested. Besides, Aunt Ruth had always said that daytime TV would rot your brain.
Tim had spent the cool foggy mornings this week with the classical station on the radio. He’d finished scraping up old linoleum from his kitchen floor. Nick would come down this weekend with a belt sander for the next phase of the project, but today the fog was clearing. Tim had been cooped up in the house too long and he was stiff from being in a cramped position on the floor. He missed the gym lately too. Working out gave him a different kind of stiffness that he liked and he could always stretch it out in the steam room afterward.
But Tim missed the sunshine even more. He jogged over to Dolores Park and scanned the half-naked bodies getting a healthy glow for the weekend. A couple of them had just arrived and Tim tried not to stare as they undressed. With Nick up north, it was hard not to let his mind go there. He tried harder to think about Nick. Yeah, that new kitchen floor would make a big difference. Nick had plans for a new deck off Tim’s kitchen and one off the Larson’s apartment downstairs.
Tim ran in place at the corner of 20th and noticed a swarthy guy he’d seen at the gym. How could anyone forget that body? He was changing out of his Levis into a miniscule pair of black swim trunks by pretending to cover himself with a towel, like the hunky surfers changing into their wet-suits at Ocean Beach. Tim tried to think about Nick some more, but Dolores Park was a porn star convention this morning. Tim saw porn stars on Castro Street nearly every day, but they were usually wearing more than a Speedo. He often saw naked people on Castro too, but they were rarely the porn stars, unfortunately. According to an article he’d read in SF Weekly, most of the naked guys on Castro Street were straight. Go figure.
Yeah, Nick really was a great guy! Tim was so lucky to have found him, to know him, to have him in his life. Tim hadn’t even thought about any of his old boyfriends in a long time. Corey Donatelli sent a card last Christmas, a picture of him holding a Golden Retriever puppy with the White House in the background. Or was it the Capitol? Tim had never been to Washington D.C., even though Corey had invited him to come and visit. Corey had his hair cut short in the picture. It made him look older. He was older, which Tim thought made him look even more hot.
Yeah, Nick was such a great guy. Tim alone would never have gotten around to building a new deck or refinishing the hardwood floors or taking out that old dying redwood tree and exposing the view. Tim stopped running and sat down on the bench at the top of the park. He looked out at the view of downtown and wished he had a joint; it was a perfect day to get stoned.
Now he saw a guy who looked like Nick—at least from the back. He was spreading a blanket about ten feet from where Tim was sitting. His boyfriend was darker-complexioned, mixed race, part Hispanic maybe and he spoke with a French accent. Incredibly handsome. Then they started to make out and Tim couldn’t take any more.
He ran on, down the hill to Dolores and left to 18th Street. He got in line for an ice cream cone at Bi-Rite Creamery. It was early enough that the wait wasn’t long. He could at least satisfy part of his oral craving before he headed north again. As he neared Mission Dolores, Tim saw a television camera crew on the front steps. Something about the scene was familiar. Sure enough, there was Rosa Rivera, shooting another promo for her wedding series. Tim’s first instinct was to hide, but she didn’t notice him and what difference would it make? Even if she saw him, she wouldn’t have placed Tim as the waiter who served her on her first visit to Arts on Castro Street.
And Rosa was busy making sure the camera angle had the entrance to the Mission in the background and the light was perfect to flatter her cheekbones without causing any shadows. Her assistant Bruno didn’t recognize Tim either, but he noticed him. Bruno wouldn’t let any good-looking bare-chested guy jog by without getting a good look, although Bruno didn’t look at Tim’s face. Tim headed home with plenty of time for a long hot shower, when what he really needed was a cold one.
When Tim got to work later, the same camera crew from Mission Dolores was in front of Arts. They took up three parking spaces and onlookers blocked the first lane of traffic. “Tim… Ti-im!” Someone yelled at him. It was Artie, standing next to the van where he could watch the monitors inside. “Come over here. You can see better.”
“Hey Artie… what’s going on?”
“Publicity, that’s what! Rosa’s recording a spot to promote the wedding series and the show she’s doing from here. The entry forms are already coming in like crazy.”
“Really…?” Tim couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be part of such a tacky event. Rosa had paused between takes while an ambulance screamed by. “I think I’ll go around the back way through Hartford. It looks like this might take a while.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you.”
“Are you working with Aunt Ruth tonight?”
“No, it’s gonna be Scott and me behind the bar. Your Aunt Ruth asked for some time off. Didn’t she tell you?”
“No, I guess we haven’t talked in a while.” As close as Tim was to his aunt, they could go without talking very much for long periods of time. Even at work they didn’t have much time to visit, but Tim never worried about her. She was always the one to worry about him. “I guess Sam must be back in town.”
Jake and Scott were already inside setting up, so Artie proceeded to the office and Tim helped set the tables for dinner. The employees bantered as they did their prep work, mostly about neighborhood gossip and subjects they’d covered a thousand times before. When they heard Rosa’s laugh from the front of the restaurant it reminded them all of Artie’s obsession with her.
“What’s your impression of her, Jake?” Scott asked. “Do you think she’s really ‘going places’ like Artie says?”
“Who knows? She’s got a pretty good gimmick, I suppose.
Gay men are so easily amused. It’s part of our heritage going way back to before Stonewall, even.”
“Look out, Scott! Here comes this week’s gay trivia lesson,” Tim groaned. “I thought Artie was bad enough when he gets on a roll.”
“Well, it’s true!” Jake persisted. “Joan Crawford wasn’t really much of an actress, but the gays loved her because she was a star. If Judy Garland were alive today, she’d probably be at the Betty Ford Clinic, not doing movies and concerts.”
“She’d also be ancient, wouldn’t she?” Tim said, but Jake ignored him and kept right on going.
“And consider Madonna. She’s not the greatest singer in the world, but she still knows how to market herself. Look at some of these new girls on VH1 these days.”
“I’d rather not,” Tim said.
“My point exactly… where’s the talent?”
Scott laughed. “The other night I stopped at the Edge after work and they were having a benefit. Drag queens were trying to lip sync and do choreography on that tiny stage. You’d swear none of them had even rehearsed their songs—like they didn’t even know the words—but the crowd was cheering like wild.”
Artie returned from the office at the same time Rosa Rivera came in the front door, followed by her assistant Bruno and someone with a small hand-held camera. Artie rushed across the room toward her. “Rosa, how wonderful to see you! Come in; come in… how about a cocktail? Scott will get you something. Campari soda? How about you, Bruno?”
“Maybe just a short one, please,” Rosa said, “with a twist of lemon. Facciamo presto, però.”
“Scotch rocks,” Bruno said. “Dewar’s.”
“Nothing for me, Scott,” Artie said. “I’ll jump back there to help out just as soon as you get busy. Tim, reserve a table in your section for Bumps for three. I took the call in the office and they asked for you.”
Scott noticed that no one reached for their wallets, so he made the drinks for Rosa and Bruno and started a tab with Artie’s name on it. He could turn it over to Arturo later.
“Gladys Bumps?” Tim asked. “She hasn’t been in for a long time. I hope she comes dressed. The last time her wig was so tall she had to duck to get in the door! She looked like some fabulous cartoon character.”
“That must be her. Arturo took the call,” Artie said. “You know… she’s been around this town as long as I have. I imagine she’s bringing both of her husbands.”
“Husbands?” Tim asked. “Plural?”
“Yeah, the three of them have been together for years.”
“How interesting…” Tim tried to ponder what that would be like. Would he and Nick someday get to the point where they wanted to open up their relationship to a third person? How would they go about it? Advertise on Craig’s list for a special someone to fill out a ménage a trois—no femmes, fats, speed freaks or insecure types.
“And that’s just what the rightwing nuts are always warning about.” Jake stepped up to the bar. “If a man can marry another man, then why not his dog, his horse, his car… it’ll open the door to all sorts of perversions… 3-ways… polygamy… horrors!”
Scott said, “And all the while they’re fantasizing about having a 3-way with Ann Coulter and Michelle Malkin.”
Jake said, “Some of those old geezers in Congress are probably still fantasizing about Nancy Reagan and Barbara Bush. Now there’s a visual.”
“Too scary for me!” Tim said
“Don’t you boys have work to do?” Artie scolded and turned back to Rosa. “Now, before I forget, I’ve drawn up a list of musical numbers I’m considering for the ceremony. I’ve never performed at a wedding before and since it’s a gay wedding I probably can’t do typical wedding songs. I mean, a Carpenters’ medley might work, but I’d have to change all the pronouns to ‘he’ and ‘him.’ Here’s a copy of my list. You can look it over and let me know what you think. Then I’ll practice with Phil, our piano player, when he has some free time. He’s very creative.”
But Rosa paid no attention to Artie. She stood up and walked toward the other end of the restaurant. “You know… if we got rid of the piano entirely it would give us more room for the ceremony. The lights and cameras take up a lot of space. We can use canned music.”
“But my song…” Artie protested.
“It’s only a thirty minute show—including commercials—so everything will have to be timed perfectly. The vows will be live, of course, but almost everything else can be taped in advance, all the planning, the wedding cake, the neighborhood. And I want to include a segment on the whole gift registry business.”
“No piano?” Artie knew it would be harder to sing to tape. He was used to having the accompaniment follow him, not the other way around.
“I should also talk about wedding invitations, how to do the wording for same-sex couples, especially when the parents are involved. What a great idea! Maybe I could do an entire show just on invitations.”
Artie realized this wasn’t a good time to talk about his performance plans, but he tried not to fret about it. It was his place, after all, and he was glad to see Bruno taking notes about everything that was said, including Artie’s remarks. Artie would try flattery for the time being. When Rosa sat back down at her drink, he said, “Rosa, you never cease to amaze me! You know so much about so many things and when it comes to weddings, you’re an absolute genius! Tell me, have you ever been married yourself, dear?”
“No, I haven’t.” Her rapid-fire patter suddenly slowed as if her battery had run down. When she started again she spoke slowly. “I’ve had my share of offers, as you can imagine, but it wasn’t meant to be. He loved race cars and speedboats and a life of danger. He loved strong women too, but only until he could tame them and then move on. Che peccato. Era così carino. What a pity…”
Artie listened to her story and got a tear in his eye, but Rosa Rivera’s face was a mask of glass.
“Bella Bambina! Look at this little angel.” Rosa jumped up and ran toward the door. “What a perfect little flower girl!”
Tim’s downstairs neighbor Sarah, the magic child, ran in front of her mother, ignored Rosa and threw her arms around Tim’s legs. Jane Larson was struggling with the baby’s stroller and the front door at the same time. “Uncle Tim! Uncle Tim!”
“Hey there, kiddo!” Tim picked her up. “Are you here for dinner?”
“I don’t think so. Daddy’s still working. We were shopping at Walgreens and Mommy had to—”
“And Mommy had to use the bathroom,” Jane interrupted and ran past the bar. “If my daughter is going to tell everyone, I might as well confess.”
“Who is this delightful child?” Rosa Rivera asked.
Sarah turned toward the lady with the funny accent and smiled politely. “My name is Sarah Larson and that’s my little brother. His name is Samuel Timothy and he’s named after my grandpa and my Uncle Tim here.”
Rosa looked down into the stroller. “What a sleepy little boy! He’d be a darling ring-bearer in a year or two. Is this really your niece?” Rosa finally spoke to Tim for the first time.
“Not by blood, but she might as well be.”
“The Larson’s used to live in the apartment building that Arturo and I have on Collingwood Street,” Artie explained, although Rosa was barely listening to him. “Jeff and Tony live there now and the Larson’s moved into the lower flat of Tim’s duplex on Hancock Street. They have more room over there, with the growing family and all, plus they have Tim as a built-in babysitter.”
“Aw, they hardly ever ask me to babysit, Artie, but I’d be glad to, you know…”
“You own a duplex?” Bruno asked Tim. It was his turn to sit up and take notice.
“Yes, well…” Tim started to answer, but he was still a little hurt that Bruno didn’t acknowledge their episode in Buena Vista Park a while back. The encounter had been so real that Tim kept forgetting it was only a dream. “I, um… inherited it a while ago. It’s not like I make the kind of money as a waiter th
at I could buy real estate in the Castro or anything…”
“Whew! I’m lucky I thought to stop here or I would have had to run all the way home,” Jane said as she came out of the women’s room. “There aren’t too many places on this street for a girl to take care of business. Where’s Ruth?”
“Where’s Sam, your father?” Artie asked. “Ruth told me she needed some time off.”
“I thought she was with your dad,” Tim said. “Isn’t he back in town?”
“No, he’s in Rome,” Jane said. “I just talked to him about an hour ago and he said he’d been trying to get a hold of Ruth. That’s another reason we stopped by here was to ask about her. He said he tried calling her cell phone and it was turned off.”
“Sometimes when she’s at home she turns her cell phone off,” Tim said. “Gee, I thought Sam was in Hillsborough and she was with him. Did he try her landline on Collingwood and leave a message for her?”
“He said he tried, but he had some trouble with the connection. Either the answering machine was turned off or else he was having trouble with an overseas operator, maybe. He said a couple of times it sounded like a drunken woman answering Ruth’s phone. Well, we’d better get home so I can start dinner. If you talk to Ruth, please ask her to call Dad, okay?”
“You bet I will,” Tim said.
“We’d better go, too,” Rosa said. “Are you ready, Bruno?”
“Sure I’m ready,” he said, chugging his scotch. “Bye, Artie. Seeya later, Tim.”
“Arrivederci… I’ll be in touch, Artie,” Rosa said. “If the video bits we filmed out front today aren’t good enough, we’ll try again tomorrow. We might need to come a little earlier when the sun is higher in the sky. I’ll call and let you know. And I’ll have Bruno link your website to the section on mine about the wedding plans here at Arts, too. They can email the applications to be in the drawing or drop them off here in person.”
“I know… I know,” Artie said.
Wedding Season Page 10