“This last time I was in the hospital was the worst, Tim. That’s when I got to thinking I’d never really done anything to leave a lasting impression on the world. I wasn’t sure if I would come home from the hospital that time, but if I did there was one thing I could do that might change things for the better.” Harley reached into the drawer of the bedside table and brought out a gun.
Tim’s vision was flooded with his dream about Alcatraz. Vanessa Caen was in the roller coaster ahead of him beside a tall man with a gun. Now Harley Wagner held that gun in his right hand. Tim was stoned, but he knew this wasn’t a dream and he was scared of what would happen next.
“There you are, Harley!” Vanessa opened the door and joined them. “Are you tired, dear? So many new guests have arrived and they’re all asking about you. We wondered where you’d disappeared to.”
Sounds from the party rushed in before she could close the door again—the bass beat, a scream of laughter, a cocktail glass breaking on a tile floor, but Tim was still transfixed by the sight of the gun. Someone moaned nearby, maybe in a bedroom next-door, a man’s voice growling, “Yeah, you want it, don’t you? Hungry boy! Take it all… Yeah, boy! Take it…”
“Hello Vanessa. Come on in. I was just about to tell Tim about our plans.”
“Oh my, I suppose it’s time we had a little talk with Tim, isn’t it...” Vanessa came around the bed and sat on Harley’s left, accepting the joint. He held the gun in his right hand beside his face exactly as it was on the roller coaster. Tim gasped and Vanessa said, “Come and sit down beside me here, Tim. Are you all right?”
“This is just like in my dream,” Tim tried to explain, but his body felt frozen, too heavy to move any closer. “I had a dream and there was a party in it, but the party was on Alcatraz. My dream was the same night after that first day I was here, so I hadn’t even met Harley yet, but we were all on a Ferris Wheel and then it turned into a roller coaster and I could only see the back of your heads and Harley, you were holding the gun just like you are now and there was this boy and girl behind me that I met on the subway on my way home that day and he had a switchblade knife in my dream and…”
“Are you taking any medications, Tim?” Harley interrupted. “It’s none of my business, but you know some of the AIDS drugs cause intense dreams. And it sounds like you might be a little bit clairvoyant.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim said. “I mean… yes. I take the drugs and they used to say my grandmother was a psychic. I barely remember her, but I have a picture of us when I was a little boy at Powderhorn Park on the fourth of July. I wanted to know more about her, but whenever she came up they changed the subject, like it was something to be ashamed of. I have dreams all the time…”
“There’s nothing wrong with dreams, dear, but Harley and I need to tell you a little story and make a confession, now.” Vanessa moved around to Tim’s side of the bed and took his hand. “Please sit down… That day I met you on the streetcar was not entirely an accident, you know. Your leading us back to Artie was merely a lucky coincidence, but that day we met I was looking for just the right sort of person to help Harley with his plan… ”
“Do you mean when you stumbled, when you landed in my lap that wasn’t an accident?”
“I was trained as a dancer, dear, but I’ve done a bit of acting too.”
“Your ankle…”
“No, I didn’t twist it at all, dear Timothy. My ankle was just fine, but I wanted to see if you would offer to help me.”
“Do I really need to know all this right now? Couldn’t it wait? That grass is so strong.” Tim felt a little better when Harley placed the gun back inside the drawer and closed it, but he didn’t think he could process any more information right now. He could barely speak.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” Harley said. “You see, tonight was supposed to be my bon voyage party, but things have changed, now.”
“Maybe we should back up to that day on the streetcar, Harley,” Vanessa sat down between the two of them. “Timothy, you need to understand that Harley had just returned home from the hospital and we didn’t know how long he’d be with us. The tests weren’t conclusive, but they hadn’t been good in a long time. We thought he might only have a few more weeks and I was looking for just the right person to help Harley with his plan.”
“What plan?”
“Well, as I was saying before Vanessa came into the room, I never figured out any good reason for my life, for my being here.”
“That’s just silly, Harley,” his sister said. “You’ve been a wonderful friend to so many people and you’ve been just as solid as a rock for me—so strong at those times in my life when I needed you. And don’t forget that Bill loved you very much.”
“All that is beside the point, Nessa… What I’m trying to explain to Tim is that since I was about to die anyway and I hadn’t done anything important in life… to my way of thinking, at least… I wanted my death to be of value to someone. That was when I heard about Arlo Montgomery coming to town. I was watching the television news in my hospital bed and I was hooked up to so many tubes I felt helpless and I vowed right then and there that if I ever got out of that hospital again…”
“I was right there beside him when he thought of this, I was…“ Vanessa said.
“Don’t interrupt me, sis,” Harley scolded, lifting the fingertip that had been on the trigger a moment ago. “I lied to you, Tim, when I said I would have chosen to go to the party at the Moscone Center. Sure, a part of me would, but this was one thing I could do to make a difference. Arlo Montgomery was not only preaching hatred in the name of God, but he was preying on the worst of people’s fears. He rakes in their money and uses it to buy power, or at least the attention of those who have power. So much of our progress could be set back by these phony Christians like Arlo Montgomery. I thought of all of my friends who have died and all of the enemies who still live. If Bill or any one of our friends had known exactly when their time would come they each could have taken out one of those bastards with them. I knew that I was dying soon and I decided I could make the world a better place by taking Arlo Montgomery with me.”
“Wow, Harley. I can hardly believe this… but what about me?” Tim asked. “Why did you need my help? Why couldn’t you just get your sister to help you?”
“They don’t allow women into those revival meetings,” Vanessa said. “They’re like stag parties—MEN ONLY! Can you believe such a thing in this day and age?”
“But what about me?” Tim asked again. “Why did you want to involve me in all this?”
Harley relit the joint and passed it to his sister before he went on, “I needed to find someone innocent—someone without a motive—and someone strong. That was the whole idea. I needed someone who knew nothing about my plan so there was no way they could implicate you.”
“But how were you going to get close enough to Arlo Montgomery to shoot him?” Tim still didn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Who would question a helpless old man? The wheelchair is too wide to fit through the metal detectors and there’s enough metal in it that one of those wand scanners wouldn’t detect the gun if I had it tucked under a blanket in my lap. The handicapped section is right down in front. You were going to push me inside and then I’d send you out on an errand. I might have forgotten my pills or asked you to make a phone call—any reason to get you out of the way. After I shot him there would have been pandemonium. They wouldn’t let you back in and if I took a bullet right then and there I was ready. I was dying anyway.”
“Oh, wow… I’ve heard of ‘suicide by cop’ but this is crazy…so then what happened?” Tim asked. “What made you change your mind? You’re talking about the things you ‘would have’ done if you carried out your plan, but not what you’re going to do now. What’s changed?”
“Right,” Harley smiled. “Well… two things changed. One, my health turned around. The doctors don’t understand why, but this new medication I’m taking is finally workin
g. My T-Cells are higher than they’ve been in years and my viral load is going back down. I might have years left. This party tonight was supposed to be for me to say goodbye to my old friends, but then I got this news and the party took on a different meaning for me. Instead of saying good-bye, I can celebrate with them. Nobody knows about any of this but the three of us, Tim. I trust you to keep it that way.”
“Okay, but what’s the other thing?” Tim asked. “You said there were two things that changed.”
“It was that night we came to dinner at the restaurant on Castro Street…” Vanessa started.
“Yes?”
“We’ve been studying Arlo Montgomery for a long time, Tim. We know how he comes into town and feeds his press releases to the local papers and television stations. I even found out how the services are structured, who his helpers are, the order of the songs and the prayers. He used to pass a collection plate, but now he can charge top dollar for his extravagant shows. They’re getting bigger and more professional all the time and they know how to get the crowds worked up. A Broadway producer couldn’t do a more masterful job. That’s where Vanessa came in. She knows people in the theatre who work for him—technical people, mostly—lighting designers, sound engineers. They helped Arlo put his shows together. They told Vanessa exactly what would happen.”
“Look at this, Tim.” Vanessa reached for some papers on the desk. “Here’s a map of the Civic Auditorium. It shows the lighting design, how the stage will be set up, where the musicians will sit. Turn it over. There’s the schedule for that evening, all the warm-up preachers and prayers and the gospel choirs and the soloists. They’re building a trap door with an elevator platform so that Arlo Montgomery will ascend in a cloud of smoke from the fog machine and he’ll be lit with a golden glow from directly above.”
“That’s right when I was going to nail him!” Harley said.
Vanessa patted her brother’s knee and continued her explanation to Tim. “Arlo will appear right at midnight when the crowds are good and ready for him.”
Tim turned the paper over in his hands and tried to read the fine print, but he was too stoned to focus on the details. “This is amazing, but why would these people you know want to work for him? Aren’t some of your friends in the theatre gay?” Tim asked.
“Sure they are, but fewer technical people than artists. Even so, it was just another job to them. They didn’t know he would be so successful. He hires them for their talents and then he takes over. It’s just a job to him! Once they realized how much hate he was preaching, even the straight guys were willing to help me. Some of them owed me favors, after all these years.” Vanessa gave Tim a coy grin.
“But you said there were two things that changed, Harley. One was that your health improved and the other had to do with Arts, where I work. What happened that night you came into the restaurant on Castro Street?”
“We discovered that you knew David Anderson. We couldn’t risk you being involved. You might have been perceived as having had a motive too, don’t you see?”
“I guess so…” Tim said, although he wasn’t sure of anything. “So… now what happens? What do you have in mind to leave a mark on the world, Harley?”
“I’m not sure, Tim, but I’ll keep fighting. When my time comes, maybe I’ll leave everything to a worthwhile charity. Bill left it to me, after all. None of this was mine in the first place.” He reached for his sister’s hand.
Vanessa added, “I don’t need it. I just want my little brother to be happy and healthy.”
Harley smiled at his sister and sighed. “And I’ll go back to doing what I always did, what people in my fortunate position do, writing checks and attending fundraisers. I’ll keep my hands clean and envy the guys your age who are still able to go out there and raise hell. I’ll write letters and sign petitions. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but a bullet would have trumped them both. There may be a better way of fighting the likes of Arlo Montgomery than with a gun, but damnit, it sure would have felt good.”
“In the meanwhile, all those phony so-called Christian bigots out there better be saying their prayers right along with me that Harley’s health holds up for a long time,” Vanessa said. “My prayers are real.”
Tim thought about the note from Dave Anderson and the receipt in the envelope on his kitchen table. “There might be some other way. I know some guys who are planning a protest at the auditorium, but I’m not sure what they’ll be able to do. I also got a tip from…” Tim almost said, “Dave,” but he didn’t want to complicate matters or he might be here all night. “…from an old friend who says we might not have to do anything, but just in case he disappoints me again, I’d better take a trip out to the airport tomorrow—today.” He was still struggling to read the piece of paper with the map and schedule that Vanessa had given him. “Do you mind if I keep this?”
“Sure, it’s only a copy and besides, all our plans are changed, now. The assassination plot, as rewarding as it would have been, is off!”
Tim folded the paper and put it in his pocket as the bedroom door opened and the noise of the party flooded in along with Artie’s slurred voice, “Timmy! Are you in here? It’s time for this fat old drag queen to go home. You can stay all night if you want to, but… Harley! Vanessa! What a wonderful party! Thank you so much for inviting me. I’ve run across people I haven’t seen in years!”
“Well Artie Glamóur, we’re honored that you could come,” said Vanessa.
“Hold on, Artie,” Tim said. “I’ll come with you. I’ve got to work tomorrow night and I have a big day ahead. I’ll hail a chariot for her majesty on Folsom Street and you can pay for it.”
“Oh, honey, I’ll be glad to,” Artie said. “Now don’t you forget to say goodnight to that darling bartender!”
Chapter 12
Tim still felt a little stoned on Saturday morning. He picked up the pill organizer beside his bed and realized he’d passed out without his bedtime meds. Maybe that was why he’d slept so well without any dreams he could remember. He could take them now, but he wasn’t sure how they would affect him and he had important things to do today. Then he remembered the bartender and checked his pockets for his card. His name was Matthew and there was an e-mail address and phone number. At least he hadn’t dreamed that part, but even if Tim worked up the nerve to call, he wouldn’t know what to say.
He sat at the kitchen table with Dave Anderson’s note in one hand and the receipt in the other. No matter how many times he looked at them and turned them over between his fingers, nothing changed. Tim flipped through the slim Saturday Chronicle until he found a brief story on the bottom of the third page about the ‘Men’s Gathering’ at the Civic Center. So they were calling it something as innocuous as a ‘gathering’ now. The article mentioned the overflow crowds and that tonight was the main event, topped off by the appearance of the charismatic and inspirational Arlo Montgomery.
Tim stared at the last line of Dave’s note again: Don’t lose it, but don’t use it unless you absolutely have to. Then he got to thinking… David Anderson knew Timothy Snow well enough to know that Tim didn’t go around losing things. Dave knew Tim would be especially careful with something so important that it would “prove everything” in case “something happened” to Dave. Why would Dave even hint about such a thing as losing it? Dave knew Tim inside and out. Tim resented the implication until he thought about it all a little harder.
That last line sounded like a dare and then Tim got it! Dave knew that Tim’s curiosity would get to him. He knew Tim would use the receipt whether he “had to” or not. He probably would have gone to the airport on Friday if Jean-Yves hadn’t appeared on Thursday night to distract him, not that Tim minded the distraction. How long had Dave expected Tim to wait? Was he making his getaway right now? Could Dave Anderson have known something about Jean-Yves and included him in his plans? No. Tim was still stoned enough from Harley’s pot last night to let his mind wander into paranoia. It was time to stop think
ing so hard and start acting. It was time to go to the airport.
Tim boarded the #33 Ashbury at 18th and Castro and rode to the stop near the Victoria Theatre. He crossed 16th St. stepping around flower vendors and the Mexican lady selling homemade tamales from a cart. He bought a round-trip ticket and boarded the last car of the BART train to the airport. Tim rarely rode BART, but he’d heard rumors about guys cruising and even sometimes getting some action in the last car. Maybe it was Jake who mentioned it, but it was more likely Jason. There was an Internet group where people could log on and brag about their BART adventures. Tim was always horny enough to check out the most unlikely rumors. One cute guy in glasses and a tank top might be cruising, but Tim wasn’t sure. There was a young mother nursing a baby in the row between them.
Tim reached for a copy of the Contra Costa Times on the floor. The corner of the newspaper was sticky, so Tim dropped it again. It was only white chewing gum. He shuffled the pages with his feet and saw a headline about some warehouse fire and a multi-million-dollar lawsuit. He finally reached down and turned the newspaper over with his fingertips. Arlo Montgomery was on one of the inside pages, but it was an old file photo, airbrushed to give the preacher an angelic glow.
A businessman got off at Balboa Park Station and left a clean copy of the San Jose Mercury News, so Tim moved across the aisle and picked it up. He read an editorial about a religious group fighting to outlaw abortion. They’d joined forces with a group of concerned parents to keep sex education out of the schools. None of this was news to Tim, but it fired up his indignation. The same people who said gays were promiscuous always fought against gay marriage and now they were working to deny even more of their rights. Tim didn’t notice someone board the train at the Colma Station and sit down behind him. The young man stared at Tim for a long time. Tim’s thoughts were miles away until he glimpsed a flash of silver reflected in the window. The lights flickered off and on a couple of times as the train rolled into darkness before its approach to the South San Francisco Station.
Beach Reading Page 12
