Wedding Season

by Mark Abramson

  “Judy Garland… right,” Tim said sheepishly. “Of course I’ve seen The Wizard of Oz, lots of times. Gosh, I must have heard that too. I just forgot.”

  “Joan Crawford… humph… instead of rainbow flags hanging from every lamp pole down Market Street we’d have… what?… wire hangers? Hah! Joan Crawford!”

  Tim was too embarrassed to go on with his incomplete history lesson. “Jeez… sorry…” He turned back toward his Aunt Ruth. “What’s new with you and Sam?”

  “Oh… I haven’t told you, have I? Delia and Frank gave notice, after all these years. They’re moving to Chicago. Alexandra is expecting, so they’ve moved their wedding plans up, but she also wants to get back to her modeling career as soon as possible. Now she’ll have Adam’s mother nearby to help with the new baby.”

  “So that means one less conflict for you,” Tim said.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Ruth popped the seedless grape from the breakfast garnish into her mouth. “I’m still not comfortable going to a wedding like part of the family when I’ll hardly know anyone.”

  “I meant one less conflict about marrying Sam. With Delia gone, he’ll need a new ‘Lady of the House,’ won’t he?”

  “You make it sound like a bordello! There’s no conflict. Sam and I just haven’t gotten around to setting a date and I’m not going to think about it today. Tell me more about the parade.”

  “You’ll see for yourself. It’ll be fun. It’s pretty much the same every year, I guess. The biggest variable is probably the weather. Sometimes the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence do an outrageous contingent and it’s always fun to see which celebrities show up. One year Nancy Sinatra rode all the way down Market Street on the back of a convertible kicking her boots in the air.”

  “I remember that song,” Ruth said. “These boots were made for walkin’?”

  “Yeah, but her sign must have fallen off the car, so nobody recognized her. Anyway, the parade always starts with the Dykes on Bikes. They take about half an hour to go by—literally. There are thousands of them and more every year. And it usually ends with the biggest floats with the best sound systems. They blast their music and get the crowds revved up to follow them into the Civic Center for the celebration afterward. All the hours in between are filled with the usual suspects… the gay marching band, the gay men’s chorus, the SPCA, the Fire Department, local TV and radio stations, groups who’ve come from out of town, politicians on fancy cars and contingents representing corporations, religious groups…”

  “They allow religious protesters in the parade?”

  “Not protesters, gay religious groups, churches like MCC and Dignity for gay Catholics. There must be a Jewish bunch, too. In spite of what the far right says, we’re not all a bunch of Godless hedonists, you know.”

  “I never said…”

  ‘’I never said you did, Aunt Ruth.”

  “Well, I just hope it’s not as crowded as the parade down Market Street when the Giants won the World Series. It was worth it to see Tim Lincecum in person, but I thought we’d never get back to the Castro afterward with all those crowds packed into the MUNI station.”

  “There were a million people downtown that day. This will only be half a million and it’ll be much more colorful than just orange and black.” Tim snatched up the check and pulled out his wallet. “My treat, I insist.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  “I know I don’t. Happy first Gay Pride, Aunt Ruth! I remember Jason telling me how the parade started in the Castro one year. All the floats lined up right here in the neighborhood. And it used to go down Polk Street in the beginning. That’s where most of the gay bars were before the Castro. Can you imagine? Compared to Market, Polk Street is so narrow!”

  “When was that?”

  “Way before my time. You know, you’ve been trying lately to get me to remember things that happened when I was a little boy, but I can only remember them in my dreams.”

  “It isn’t necessary, Tim. I’m only concerned about your well-being.”

  “I know and I love you for it, but I don’t think I want to remember. And I’d rather dream about San Francisco. Jason told me so many stories and Artie still talks about the things I missed, the way it was before I got here… before AIDS, even. You could have come to the San Francisco parade before. I mean… they must have been having Pride back when you were at Stanford.”

  “Well, I guess I didn’t know about it then. I lived such a sheltered life in those days. I only wish I could have sheltered you more. If I had known about what your mother—”

  “You did just fine, Aunt Ruth.”

  Steven interrupted to offer more coffee, but they both declined.

  “I’m coffee-ed out,” Ruth placed her fingertips over the rim of her cup as she looked up and smiled.

  “Jason he taught me so much. Artie and Arturo go back even farther. The guys here are more like my family than my parents ever were—even the ones who are gone… like Jason.” Tim became quiet for a moment. “We don’t have any choice about the families we’re born into. Other than you, my family has always been right here in San Francisco. It was like they were waiting for me to arrive. My chosen family will always be here and now you are, too. I get the best of both worlds.”

  Ruth gave Tim’s hand a squeeze. “You sure do, honey. Even Jason and all the others are still here in spirit. Whenever you walk down Castro Street you walk in their footsteps.”

  “Here’s your change,” their original waiter said as he wiped the table.

  “Have fun at the parade!” Steven waved from across the room as they stood up and stretched.

  “Thanks. We will.” Tim fingered the change and added to it for a very healthy tip. “Come on, Aunt Ruth. We don’t want to miss the Dykes on Bikes!”

  “Only half a million people?”

  Nick found his way through a snarl of traffic and street closures to the Embarcadero, where participants were lining up for the parade. The Bay Bridge loomed above the fishy smells of the waterfront. Nick found the Russian River float on Front Street. He’d loaned them potted ferns and trees, so he wanted to see how it looked and to wish them well.

  “It’s great! I love the hot tub.” Nick walked around the float and checked it out. “But I think you should secure those trees a little better. I’ve got some wire in my truck.”

  “There’s room for one more in the hot tub, Nick,” one of the burly bears said with a grin. He was armed with a staple gun trying to straighten the “R” on the Russian River sign. “You can sit on my lap, darlin’.”

  “No thanks, Ralph,” Nick laughed, “I’ve got to get back to the nursery today—got a big job this week and I want to get a head start. Drop off the plants at the north greenhouse when you’re done, okay? No hurry.”

  “You ought to join us one of these years.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Too many people… I get claustrophobic enough just going to the Guerneville Safeway during tourist season. You guys have fun without me.”

  By the time Tim and his Aunt Ruth left the Cove Café, Nick was passing Petaluma. He’d already changed his mind about going to work and sailed past the exit to the nursery. When he got to Santa Rosa he headed east instead of toward home. He arrived at the Redwood Valley Ranch as Visitors’ Day was just beginning.

  The grounds were beautiful. The plants he’d sold them a couple of years ago were perfect for this lush environment. The lady at the reception desk took Nick’s card and lifted the glasses she wore on a chain around her neck. “You look familiar… ah… Nick Musgrove, the tree man. How is the nursery business? If you’re here to sell us something, you’ll have to come back during office hours and talk to the director, I’m afraid.” She wasn’t being rude, just business-like.

  “Miss Austin, is it?” Nick squinted to read the name tag she wore on her blouse collar. “I happened to be in the area and wanted to have a look around, if that’s alright. I like to follow up on my projects when I get a chance, make sure th
e plants I sold you are thriving.”

  “Of course—” she started to reply when the phone interrupted her. “Excuse me… Redwood Valley Ranch… yes, that’s right. There’s plenty of free visitor parking in the lot. You’ll see the sign when you turn off the main road.”

  When Miss Austin finished her call, Nick decided to be more straightforward. “Also… there’s another reason I came today. You have a client… Mrs. Snow?”

  “Are you a relative?”

  “No, she’s the mother of a good friend of mine and I offered to check on her… since I was in the neighborhood.” Nick felt nervous, as if this woman would catch him in a lie. It was a lie, after all. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming here. He wasn’t sure of it himself until this morning. He’d thought about it ever since Ruth told them about the terrible things Tim’s mother had done to the little boy who grew up to be the man Nick loved.

  This morning had clinched it. This morning in San Francisco, while the fog was burning off the bay and thousands of people got ready for the big parade; Nick made up his mind. The PFLAG contingent was gathering in front of the Russian River float. When Nick saw all those friends and family members of gay people—especially mothers—carrying signs spelling out their love and support, he decided he had to see this monstrous woman in person.

  “Mrs. Snow has been rather withdrawn lately. I believe her sister has been here, but a visit from a handsome young man like you might be just what she needs.” Miss Austin had warmed up in a short time. Nick didn’t think he was much younger than she was. She answered the phone again, but it must have been a wrong number. “Do you need someone to show you around, Mr. Musgrove? I can’t leave the desk right now, but I could page someone to take you to Mrs. Snow. She’s in number eighteen.”

  “No, that’s alright. You’re busy. I’ll find her and as I said, I do want to check on the trees.”

  “Ah… there’s the phone again… excuse me…” Nick walked away as she told the caller, “No, you must have taken a wrong turn. Backtrack to the winery and take a left, not a right…”

  Nick wasn’t sure what to expect from Betty Snow, a modern-day Medusa or one of her Gorgon sisters—snakes coming out of her head and fiery flames licking the backs of empty eye sockets, fangs instead of teeth. He’d never even seen a photograph of Tim’s mother, but he recognized her right away. She was sitting on a bench beside a willow tree with a floppy hat pulled down over stringy gray hair. The hem of her dress fell past her knees and the sleeves were snug around her wrists. Ruth had mentioned that her sister was younger than she was, but Tim’s mother looked much older. She looked exactly like Ruth might look if she let herself go.

  Nick snapped a twig off a tree and pretended he was inspecting the flora. He got closer, but she didn’t look up from her open Bible. A bird screeched as if to scold him and she glanced up at the noise. The sun’s glare blocked her from seeing Nick, but it exposed to him the tendrils of age around her eyes and deep vertical lines above her upper lip. He saw purple veins across her nose, a sign of the ravages of alcoholism. He imagined a flicker of flame in the backs of her eyes. Nick looked down at his hands and realized how easily they could reach around her wrinkled neck and choke the life out of her. He’d seen enough… at least for now.

  Miss Austin glanced up from her desk in time to see a cloud of dust as Nick’s truck peeled out of the parking lot of the Redwood Valley Ranch.

  Chapter 21

  “Well, he was awfully nice,” Ruth said to Tim as they left the Cove Café.

  “Who was?”

  “That waiter… Steven, silly!

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Tim laughed. “He called me a ‘twinkie.’ I haven’t been called a twinkie in years!”

  The platform at Castro Station was so crowded that only half of the people could get onto the first train that came along, a double M-Oceanview. They managed to squeeze into the next one, though, a two-car L-Taraval. Once inside, Tim apologized for getting pressed up against a handsome man with a little boy, but everyone rolled with the punches on a day like this. The little boy was perched on one of the side seats and gesturing toward something above them. “Daddy, what’s that say?”

  The man stroked the bangs away from the little boy’s forehead and looked in the direction his tiny index finger was pointing. “That sign says L-Taraval. That’s the name of this subway car we’re on.”

  “No, not that… that!” The boy pointed again. Other passengers watched and listened and Ruth wondered what the grown-ups were failing to see. The train pulled into Church Street Station where a man in a business suit tried to exit by yelling, “Coming out!”

  “It’s about time! I came out years ago,” someone yelled and everyone laughed. It reminded Ruth of the nervous laughter of strangers on a crowded elevator or the collective joy of people who’d been stranded at an airport together when their flight is finally called. It reminded her that people—gay and straight—were alike in so many ways.

  The father said to the little boy, “That sign says Church Street Station. That’s where we are now, but we’re going to take this all the way downtown to the parade, okay?”

  “No, Daddy. Not that. That!”

  The man patiently looked around again. “That one says Emergency Exit. Is that the one you mean?”

  “What’s e-mer-gen-cy?” The little boy was proud of repeating such a big word.

  “An emergency would be if you lost your stuffed doggie out the window. You would push that button to stop the train and everyone would get out and look for him.”

  “Oh…”

  “Your little boy is just adorable,” Ruth said.

  “Thanks. He’s at that inquisitive stage. I’m the one he likes to have feed him and tuck him in, but his other dad is better at answering questions when he gets like this.” The man glanced at his watch. “We’re supposed to meet him in ten minutes in front of the Sheraton Palace and he’d better be on time.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do just fine until then,” Ruth smiled. She could almost remember Dianne at that age, though Dianne was never this sweet. Tim was. The train lumbered into Van Ness Station and Tim and Ruth were pressed deeper inside as more rainbow stripes pressed onto the car.

  They finally piled out at Powell Street Station and had no sooner stepped off the escalator when someone shouted, “Tim!”

  Tim recognized the man as someone he’d gone home with a couple of times, but he couldn’t remember when, exactly. His best guess would be post-Jason and pre-Cory and he thought the guy’s name was Denny.

  “Hi! How are you? Happy Pride!”

  “Thanks, same to you. Tim, do you know my husband Elliot? And this is Clarisse.” Tim shook hands with Elliot, who had knelt down beside the stroller to adjust the baby’s bottle. “The adoption papers were finalized just this week.”

  “Congratulations. This is my Aunt Ruth.”

  Ruth crouched to get a better look at the baby. “She’s just beautiful! Look at those cheekbones. She could be descended from a princess.”

  “She’s part Native American,” Elliot said. “One of her grandmothers thinks she is a princess, but my mother has completely disowned me.”

  “She’ll come around,” Ruth said. “How old is she?”

  “Nearly seventy… oh, you meant Clarisse. She’ll be nine weeks tomorrow.”

  “Aw, Denny,” Tim said. “You must be so proud of her.”

  “It’s Danny.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “Come on, Elliot, we’re going to be late. It was nice to meet you, Ruth. We’re marching with the adoption rights group.”

  “It’s not like we could miss them, Danny. What’s the big hurry?” Elliot said, but he was speaking to Danny’s disappearing backside. “Seeya, Tim. Ruth, I’d better go before I lose him. He’s so anal and he’s such a stickler for being places on time. Happy Pride!”

  Tim tried to remember why he’d never had a third date with Denny. Danny? He couldn’t even remember the guy’s name, much l
ess the time they’d spent together. There must have been something halfway decent about him or there wouldn’t have been a second date. Maybe Tim wasn’t his type, although anal was all relative.

  Tim saw a bare spot at the barrier and pushed Ruth toward it. “Quick! Stand right there. You’ll be able to see everything.”

  Tim fell in behind his aunt so he could look over her shoulder and Ruth started chatting with a couple of butch lesbians from Fresno. They were wearing matching blue denim men’s work shirts and suede visors. “It’s pretty different where we come from. Everyone thinks we’re just roommates.”

  “I’ll bet they do,” Tim was trying to be nonchalant, but Ruth stepped on his toe before he could make any worse smart remarks. She knew he had it in him.

  “Welcome to San Francisco,” Ruth said. “I’m so excited to be at my very first parade. My name is Ruth Taylor and this is my—”

  “Good to meet you, Ruth,” said the larger one—Deb—who wasn’t particularly interested in meeting Tim. “This is our first parade, too.”

  The Women’s Motorcycle Contingent, better known as Dykes on Bikes, started roaring past and the sound of horns and revving engines made it impossible to talk. Deb turned to her partner and shouted, “Just look at all those hogs, Maryellen. Next year… you and me, babe… right out there!”

  Some of the riders were dwarfed by their enormous shiny machines. Ruth was startled more than once to see people she knew as customers at Arts. First was a pair of women who came in for brunch nearly every Sunday. They honked and waved and called her name, but it took a moment for Ruth to recognize them, wearing little more than G-strings below the waist and Band-Aids over their nipples. Ruth waved back anyway and smiled. Maryellen and Deb were impressed that Ruth knew so many people. They moved their beer cooler over to make more room for her to stand.

  “Why, thank you,” Ruth said and waited for some of the noise to die down. “Did you gals meet my nephew Tim?”

  “Hiya, Tim,” Deb acknowledged him with a crippling handshake. Maryellen was too far away to do more than nod and wave. “This your first time too?”