Snowman

by Abramson, Mark

  Nick threw box after box of debris over the side of the dumpster. "Aw… shit!" he yelled out loud when a black glob of something gelatinous landed on one of his shoes. This was not how he’d envisioned spending his Sunday morning in San Francisco.

  "Are you alright?" Arturo yelled from inside.

  "Yeah, I’m fine. You owe me a shoe shine, that’s all."

  Nick was glad to help out, but now he wished he had brought some work clothes with him. Maybe Tim was right when he packed for every occasion. This was a dirtier job than Nick ever imagined it would be. He hoisted another box of debris into the dumpster. He watched it break open and saw pieces of its contents slide down the pile of muck in slow motion. Nick gasped when he saw what looked like fingers of a human hand poking out at him.

  "Arturo!" Nick yelled. "Arturo, you’d better come here. I think you need to have a look at something…"

  Chapter 5

  im lounged beside the pool at Sam’s Hillsborough estate with a mug of coffee in one hand and the current T issue of Vanity Fair in the other. The cover promised an interview with Rachel Maddow on the inside. Tim loved her. He couldn’t find the book he’d been reading about the killer drag queen and figured he must have forgotten it at home. It didn’t really matter; he could finish it and get it to Aunt Ruth later.

  The morning sun felt great on his pasty bare skin, but Tim still felt out of sorts. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he left Hancock Street yesterday. He hadn’t meant to spend the night here, but it was such a comfortable environment that it sucked him in. After lunch yesterday he’d had a swim and a nice visit with his Aunt Ruth and then there were afternoon poolside cocktails and last night Delia cooked them all a big dinner of bouillabaisse with crusty sourdough bread and lots of wine and he was in no shape to drive anywhere after that.

  Tim set the magazine down, took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes. This was a far cry from his plan of hitting the open road with the top down on the Thunderbird. He yawned and rolled over to face the pool. Lying here in the sun was better than sitting home alone, anyway. He wondered how the work was coming along with the new greenhouses at Nick’s nursery.

  Tim reached for his backpack and his fingers found the Altoids box where he kept his pot. He hesitated for a minute and tried to hear if anyone else was stirring nearby. He didn’t think anyone would mind if he smoked a little pot, just to take the edge off, but this was Sam’s place, after all. Tim felt a little sneaky lighting the joint, took a couple of quick tokes before he snuffed it out on the grout between the tiles under his deck chair. Didn’t anyone have ashtrays in California anymore?

  Being stoned made him think of Nick, but Tim was determined to leave him alone for a while. Aunt Ruth always believed that old adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder. He hoped she was right. This afternoon, after lunch, Tim would leave Hillsborough, head over to the coast and then drive south on Highway 1. With a couple of hundred miles between them, he’d feel more secure about calling Nick. First he had to prove to everyone that he could get by on his own. He needed to convince himself as much as Nick that Timothy Snow didn’t need anyone, no matter what his heart told him.

  A tiny hummingbird, inches from Tim’s face, hovered above a clay pot bursting with red geraniums. He could understand why Aunt Ruth loved spending time down here at Sam’s. It was so quiet compared to the city, so much closer to the old suburban patterns of her married life in Edina than living in Tim’s old apartment in the Castro. The smells of the earth and the vegetation—real living, growing things—reminded Tim of Minnesota summers when he was a child. Tim was stoned now.

  He pictured himself staring out the back door of his parents’ house, dirty laundry sorted in piles across the kitchen floor, his mother asleep on the couch by mid-morning. Tim was in diapers with his nose pressed against the screen door. He wanted to escape from the laundry smells to the green outdoors, but the hook was too high to unlatch, no matter how hard or how high he tried to jump. He reached down instead, inside his diaper, where his stubby fingers wrapped themselves around his stiff hairless prick. The little boy that Tim was then already sensed he had his hand on something more important than he could understand. The smell of roses brought all of this back.

  The smell of roses growing up the side of the pool house in Hillsborough brought him back to that sea of green in Minneapolis years ago, his parents’ back yard outside the screen door, just beyond his reach, the smell of summer coming on fast.

  In those days his mother worked in the women’s department of the old Sears store on Lake Street in south Minneapolis, the building that reminded him of a fortress or a castle surrounded by a moat of parked cars. She only drank on weekends then and always went to church on Sundays, no matter how poorly she felt. Even before she stopped working, the weekends started to get longer and run together, so his Aunt Ruth came to get him sometimes. It was later, when his parents found out about him and the track coach—the scandal that got him thrown out of their house—when he moved in with his Aunt Ruth and Uncle Dan full time. That was high school.

  Dianne had already grown up and moved out of their house by then.

  Tim opened his eyes at the sound of birds in the treetops. He snapped back to California in the here and now, 2010. He heard a splash and someone swam towards him.

  Muscled brown arms climbed over the edge of the swimming pool and a handsome face popped up, smiled and shook the water off. "Good morning. You must be Tim."

  "Hello," Tim said as he watched the stranger lift himself out of the pool in one smooth motion, a circus acrobat, a gymnast, a ballet dancer.

  "Hi, I’m Adam. No… please… don’t get up. But I think you’re starting to burn. Don’t you have any sunscreen?"

  This young man was as stunning as the models in the magazine Tim had been mindlessly paging through earlier. His skin was the color of coffee with cream and he must be well over six feet tall.

  Tim was alert now and he felt naked and ridiculous, so skinny and pale, but he couldn’t help it; he’d been covered in casts and bandages most of the winter. He was determined to get back to the gym right after this trip, as soon as he returned to San Francisco. "There’s some in my backpack, I think…" Tim reached for it. "You must be Frank and Delia’s son, right?"

  "Delia’s," Adam corrected him. "My mother married Frank when I was a baby. He’s a great guy, makes my mother happy."

  "You don’t look anything like Frank, come to think of it,"

  Tim said. "My Aunt Ruth is Sam’s…"

  "Yeah, I know," Adam interrupted Tim before he needed to put a label on it. "I like her. She has kind eyes. You can tell a lot about a person by their eyes."

  "The windows to the soul…"

  "You and your Aunt Ruth are close, aren’t you?"

  "Yeah, we sure are. Sometimes we joke around that I should have been her son and my cousin Dianne should have belonged to my parents. When did you get here? I’m surprised I haven’t seen you until now. I heard your mother say Frank was going to get you from the airport while we were having lunch yesterday."

  "My flight was delayed in Chicago and then I missed my connection in Denver," Adam said. "I didn’t get here until last night and we had a lot of catching up to do. Sam came by to say goodnight, but I stayed on the north side of the property. My mother and Frank live in that end of the house," he pointed. "I pretty much grew up there. Mom warned me about your cousin Dianne, too."

  "Good thing… Where do you live now?"

  "Manhattan, mostly… I work as a model, so I travel a lot.

  I just got back from Paris and Milan and then I took a week off in Chicago and now I have some free time to spend here."

  "I thought you looked familiar," Tim said and pointed to the copy of Vanity Fair beside him. "Maybe I’ve seen your picture in a magazine."

  "Not that issue, though. I was in last month’s and before that last December. I’ll be in next month’s GQ, but I’m not in this one.

  "Too bad," Tim said. "I
would have asked you to autograph it."

  Ruth was at the kitchen table with Sam, drinking coffee and discussing the events of the previous afternoon. "Sam, I can’t thank you enough for being such a good sport about Dianne showing up here unexpectedly… and Tim too, of course."

  "Ruth, you know Tim is always welcome here. I know how fond you two are of each another and I always enjoy his company. And in spite of your differences, Dianne is your daughter."

  "I’m sure she wasn’t counting on her cousin Tim showing up here to give her grief," Ruth laughed. "His timing couldn’t have been better."

  "At one point I was afraid they were going to push each other into the pool," Sam smiled and took Ruth’s hand.

  "Are you kidding? She wouldn’t get near the pool. Can you imagine what it would do to her hair?"

  "I wonder how she feels this morning. Don’t you think you should go and check on her? She had quite a bit to drink last night."

  "Let her sleep." Ruth shook her head. "I’m not going near her if she has a hangover. Besides, that girl has never willingly gotten out of bed before noon in her life!"

  "This is California. We’re on Pacific Time and her body clock must still be on…"

  The phone rang on the counter and interrupted Sam’s train of thought. Ruth was closer, so she picked it up. "Yes? Oh, hello, Arturo… Yes, this is Ruth."

  She listened intently for a few moments as Sam watched the laughter leave her face. "Oh, my goodness, Arturo… and Poor Artie," she said. Sam moved around behind her chair and started to massage her shoulders as she talked.

  "No, it’s not a problem. I’ll take a quick shower and get dressed and come straight away. I should be there within an hour if I can find parking. See you then. Good bye."

  Sam replaced the phone in its cradle for her. "What happened? They need you to come in to work?"

  "Yes, Artie threw his back out last night and Arturo said the plumbing went haywire… and they found something in the dumpster. He said he had to call the police, too… and then he wouldn’t say another word. It sounds serious, but he said it would have to wait until he could tell me all about it in person.

  I’m so sorry. I know you were planning a barbecue this afternoon and it looks like a beautiful day for it, but they really need me."

  "Don’t worry about that," Sam said. "We can plan a barbecue for another time. Still, I wonder what we should do about Dianne."

  "When she gets up— if she ever gets up—tell her something important came up at the restaurant and I had to go back to the city. If she could find me here in Hillsborough, she can find me in San Francisco. Besides, some exposure to the Castro would do her good. I’m sure they don’t have the same kind of window displays in Houston or Dallas."

  Sam smiled and shook his head. "I don’t suppose they do. I was a little shocked the first time I took my granddaughter for a walk in the neighborhood. Nothing fazed her, of course.

  Tim is welcome to stay here as long as he likes, but what should I tell him about you? Do you want him to call you at the restaurant or what?"

  "I’ll talk to him before I go." Ruth gave Sam a kiss and ran out of the kitchen, showered, dressed and slid a tube of lipstick across her mouth. She dropped it into her purse at the same time she retrieved her car keys. Then she knocked at the door of the bedroom where Tim had spent the night, but there was no answer, so she continued to the end of the hallway and stepped onto the patio. "Tim, are you out here?"

  Ruth rounded the corner to the pool and saw her nephew lying face down with a tall handsome man squatting over him. She thought at first that they were both naked, but the stranger wore brown swim trunks the color of his skin. The long fingers of his right hand rubbed oil into Tim’s back and shoulders while his left hand rested at Tim’s side. Now the fingers of both hands looked to be sliding under the waist band of Tim’s swim shorts.

  "Thanks, Adam," Tim said. "I shouldn’t burn, now. Hey, Aunt Ruth! Come over here. You’ve met Adam, haven’t you?

  He’s Delia’s son."

  Adam wiped his oily right hand across his chest before he reached out to shake Ruth’s. "Of course, we’ve met. How are you, Miss Taylor? It’s good to see you again."

  "Please call me Ruth…" she said and tried to remember their meeting, but it was too distracting to see him there on top of Tim, both of them with hardly any clothes on.

  Adam stood and extricated his long limbs from physical contact with Tim’s now well-oiled body. Ruth breathed a sigh of relief, even as he towered over her. "Are you going to come and join us for a swim?" he asked.

  Ruth raised her hand to shield the sun from her eyes and thought she should also shield her eyes from Adam’s near nakedness. She tried hard to picture him clothed, dressed as one of the boys on Castro Street, maybe—leather jacket, tight denim trousers and boots. That wasn’t quite right. She tried to picture him in a suit and tie with dress shoes, a topcoat and maybe a pair of gloves. Now she remembered. They’d met in Paris. Sam spotted him at the airport when they arrived at Orly from London last winter. Sam greeted Adam like a long lost son. He introduced him to Ruth and said he was a model. Yes, he was beautifully dressed then and he chatted with Sam for a few moments until his flight was called. He said he was on his way back to California to see his mother after the holidays.

  "No, Adam, I’m afraid I can’t today. The pool looks inviting, but I just got a phone call from Arturo. Tim can tell you all about the restaurant. I have to head back to the city." Her gaze fell to Adam’s large biceps and well-developed chest. He must spend every moment when he’s not in front of the camera taking excellent care of himself.

  "Is everything all right, Aunt Ruth?"

  "Oh… you know Arturo. There’s some kind of trouble at the restaurant, but when something is really upsetting him, he clams up. All I know for sure is that Artie threw his back out last night and they’re desperate for me to come to work right away.

  I’ll let you know if it’s anything serious. He mentioned that the police were involved, so I’m curious. This might be a good time to stay out of the Castro, but I’d feel better if you were close by.

  Maybe you should spend a few days at the river instead of heading down south."

  Tim gave her a stern look. "I already explained to you yesterday why I need to get away from there."

  "Well, where is that cell phone that Nick bought you for Christmas?" Ruth thought that by saying Nick’s name out loud it might dispel some of the sexual energy between her nephew and Adam.

  "It’s in the room where I slept last night. I left it plugged in to keep it charged up like I’m supposed to, but I haven’t actually used it yet."

  "Well, keep it with you and I can call you on it."

  "Aw, okay. I’ll stick it in my backpack in case of an emergency, like running out of gas or a flat tire, but neither of those is very likely. The gas gauge works fine and there’s a spare tire and a jack in the trunk. I think I’m capable of changing a tire."

  "I’m sure Nick would be relieved to know that you have the phone with you, too." There, she’d mentioned Nick’s name again.

  "I’ll go get it in a little while."

  "Have you told Adam about Nick?" Ruth asked. Three times might be the charm.

  Adam laced his fingers together and raised his hands above his head to stretch. Ruth had a feeling that the crotch of his swim trunks was stretched as far as it could, too. She hoped he wasn’t aroused from being crouched on top of Tim a moment ago.

  "I’d better run along. It’s nice to see you again, Adam. Be sure to keep that cell phone nearby, Tim, so I can call you. I’m sure Nick will be trying to call you, too." That was the fourth time she’d mentioned Nick’s name. It was the best she could do.

  Adam was stunning, Ruth had to admit, but she hated to see her nephew turn his back on everything that he and Nick had together. Well, it was out of her hands now. She had to get back to San Francisco and find out what the trouble at the restaurant was all about and there was no time to wa
ste.

  Chapter 6

  here were questions, questions, and more questions.

  The police cornered Arturo first, since he was one of T the owners and he was also the person who’d made the call. Their interview with him seemed so endless and repetitive that he finally grew angry and told them he had better things to do. "Listen, Sunday brunch is supposed to start in an hour and I have prep work to do in the kitchen. I was afraid something like this would happen. I’ve told you all I know and I haven’t even started on the hollandaise sauce. The plumber was here half the night and we’ll have to sell a hell of a lot of Eggs Benedict to pay that bill!"

  "We’ll need to ask him some questions too, of course.

  Before you go back to the kitchen, please get us his name and number."