California Dreamers

By Mark Abramson

Tim Snow is recruited along with other HIV patients for an experiment with Neutriva, an AIDS drug with the peculiar side effect of enhancing dreams and expanding latent psychic abilities. The team enters a trance-like state ostensibly in order to predict and prevent suicides from the Golden Gate Bridge. But is something sinister going on with these trials? Warnings come from all directions, including from an elderly fortune teller named Malvina who has been plying her trade from a storefront in the Mission District for decades. And who is the mysterious young man who saves the life of Tim’s employer? In California Dreamers, the entire cast of characters whom readers have come to adore from the Beach Reading series finds themselves involved with strange and criminal affairs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Abramson
• Release date: Oct 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463171547

Mark Abramson

Mark Abramson is the author of the best-selling Beach Reading mystery series published by Lethe Press. He has also written the non-fiction books "For My Brothers," an AIDS Memoir, and "Sex, Drugs & Disco - San Francisco Diaries from the pre-AIDS Era" and its sequel, "MORE Sex, Drugs & Disco." His next book "Minnesota Boy" is a memoir about his coming out years while in college in Minneapolis.

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Chapter 1

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Tim Snow smiled before he switched off the computer, took his pills, and crawled into bed. Growing up, he’d often wondered whether he would become one of those people who told fortunes for a living. He had inherited the gift from his maternal grandmother, but over the years it had almost become a natural part of his life, like inheriting her brown hair or big feet…and he barely remembered his grandmother anyway. All he had was a photograph of her with him as a little boy in a frame bedside his bed. Now all grown up— and handsome… or so his Aunt Ruth always told him—he kept his brown hair shorter than it was in that childhood photograph. And at 5’9" he would be taller than his grandmother now.

His parents had never liked to talk about her strange powers and Tim learned that it was better not to ask a lot of questions.

Ever since Dr. Hamamoto prescribed the new HIV drugs, Tim’s prescient dreams had grown stronger, but he’d been spared any frightening visions while awake. The other day he had a dream in which Congress passed a law prohibiting gays from adopting pets. The authorities were already taking dogs away from lesbian couples to euthanize them—the dogs, not the lesbians—rather than let them be raised without proper male role models. Tim wasn’t sure how this affected the rest of the country, but in his dream all the dog owners in Dolores Park were up in arms. A headline in the dream issue of the Bay Area Reporter read: Playing it straight to walk the dog. A photo underneath showed a picketer with a sign that said: "Don’t be a Bastard, Let me keep my Bitch." Tim read a Bay Times interview with a lesbian in prison, convicted of sleeping with her German shepherd. She denied having improper relations and insisted that even if she had, they would have been heterosexual by definition and consensual.

Tim woke from that afternoon nap laughing. He couldn’t believe the dream foreshadowed anything real. He took his HIV drugs at bedtime and lately he’d had nightmares in which his phone was tapped; he heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind him and felt someone’s eyes follow him down Castro Street. In those dreams he was sure that his mail, even the PG&E bill, had been steamed open and sealed shut again. Oddly, in his waking life, he’d been paying his bills online for years.

Maybe the dream was because of the new puppy in Tim’s life. In the politically correct Bay Area, Tim and Nick weren’t supposed to call themselves pet owners but pet guardians instead, or caretakers or some such silliness. Tim couldn’t be bothered to follow the latest threads of that argument and he was sure Buck didn’t care what his dads were called as long as he got plenty of food, exercise, and love.

Tim’s tall blond boyfriend Nick Musgrove took Buck for long runs on the beach near Jenner where he got to sniff the rotting fish, kelp, and other culinary treats of the Pacific. Weekends at Tim’s house on Hancock Street in San Francisco meant learning to socialize with the other dogs in Dolores Park or the smaller dog park behind Mollie Stone’s Market near Tim’s old apartment on Collingwood. Nick came down to the city on Friday afternoons or Thursday nights if he could get away from the nursery. Tim usually drove his old red Thunderbird convertible up to the Russian River after the Sunday brunch shift at Arts restaurant on Castro Street.

Buck drew a lot of attention wherever he went. Tim could understand why so many guys had dogs in the Castro; they provided the perfect opening if you wanted to talk to someone. He was convinced that some dog owners trained their pets to run up and sniff the crotches of the cutest guys.

Tim felt more and more these days like he and Nick were married, whether or not they had a ceremony or any legal documents. Even so, there were tempting times when the handsome dog owners on the neighborhood sidewalks offered more than talk of breeding and training.

Later, as Tim thought about this dream, it seemed so real. He slipped into a pair of running shorts, put coffee on to brew, opened the sliding glass doors onto his deck and sat down on the redwood bench. Buck scampered after him, made three counter-clockwise circles and settled between Tim’s bare feet. It was one of those rare quiet moments in the city. The only sound was a fly buzzing past Tim’s ear and then the distant engine of a small plane. Then a shower nozzle hissed in the house next door and a tenor voice emerged with the steam out the bathroom window. Someone’s trash clattered down a garbage chute, the J-Church streetcar whooshed up the hill beside Dolores Park and an ambulance siren filled the air. For some reason the siren made Tim think of bagpipes and he wondered if deaf people would be happy to know they were missing out on the annoyance of ambulances and fire trucks.

All-in-all, Tim was glad to be alive. The coffee was done and it was time to wake Nick, so he went back inside. He should have known he was dreaming when the clock jumped ahead to 4 P.M. He was dead tired after brunch, but he’d promised Nick he would drive up to Monte Rio by tonight. Buck had seemed fine being left alone for a few hours, but the further they went in the car, the more agitated he became. By the time they approached the Golden Gate Bridge the dog had scrambled up from the floor onto the passenger’s seat and started barking.

What is it, boy? Tim tried to pet him. Do you need to stop already? I thought you did your business before we left home. The puppy kept spinning around, jumping down under the dashboard and back up onto the seat and he kept on barking. Tim had never seen him like this.

Settle down, Buck! Tim was getting riled now. Traffic on the bridge was heavy. Only two northbound lanes were open with so many weekenders returning to the city. Tim was angry at himself for not putting the top up, running the risk of Buck jumping out, but he couldn’t stop now; they were in the middle of the bridge. And it was sure to be hot on the other side of the rainbow tunnel. I’ll pull over in a minute, boy. Hold on!

Tim was in the slow right lane in bumper-to-bumper traffic. A beat-up camper jerked and sputtered and burned oil practically in his face. He finally turned off into the parking lot and had to wait for a spot to open up. Before Tim could stop him, the puppy leapt out and ran. Buck! Get back here! Stop, dammit! Where the hell do you think you’re going?

By the time Tim parked the car and grabbed the leash, Buck was out of sight. Tim ran back toward the bridge and saw a speeding ball of brown fur barreling down the pedestrian walkway. He tried to whistle, but the sound flew away on the wind. Buck seemed to be chasing someone he knew, but he was only a puppy. Who else could he know? Nick was already miles north of here. Buck! What’s the matter with you? Come back here!

Now Tim saw the stranger in a charcoal gray suit. The man was running south on the bridge with Buck at his heels. They had nearly reached the north tower when the man set something down on the walkway. Then he climbed onto the rail and jumped, as gracefully as an Olympic diver. Tim stopped for a moment, in shock and disbelief. Then he yelled again, Buck! Come back here!

A bridge employee arrived from the opposite direction at the same time as Tim. He stepped off his motorized cart and asked, Did you know the jumper?

I didn’t even see his face, Tim shook his head and clipped the leash to Buck’s collar, but this is my dog. Tim peered over the railing at a white sailboat gliding through blue water toward the St. Francis Yacht Club and a Norwegian tanker headed out to sea, but there was no sign of a human being. Buck was standing guard over a briefcase the man had left behind. Gold lettering embossed on the side read: C. B. Harriman.

Tim opened his eyes in his own bed. Where’s Buck? The clock on the dresser said 4:15. Nick was asleep beside him, long muscular legs sticking out of the sheets at the foot of the bed, his soft blond hair spread across the pillowcase. Buck was curled up between their bare feet. It was only Saturday morning and Tim didn’t need to get up nearly this early. Artie was trying out a new waiter today, so Tim had a rare Saturday off to spend with Nick. Foghorns howled in the distance. Tim drifted back to sleep too and this time he and Nick were on an island, a tropical paradise, basking in the sunshine, both of them naked, feeling the warm sea breezes, far, far away and very happy.

Chapter 2

Charles Bradford Harriman pulled his gleaming, silver BMW into a private parking ramp off Fourth and Berry Streets. He knew a person should not dwell on the past, but it was still hard for him to believe he’d fallen into such a comfortable life after so many years of hard times, especially overcoming the suicide of his older brother whom Charles had admired to the point of hero-worship. But maybe this new career would help him get beyond all that. This new career was about saving lives. It was all about the future.

The Paulson Company gave him a terrific salary along with this car, an expense account, the office and connecting research lab. They even set him up in a furnished apartment on Russian Hill with a view of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge. He kept the drapes closed in that direction, considering the nature of his job and the suicides. He wondered if Paulson gave his counterparts in New York or Miami views of gun stores or pharmaceutical factories. There were lots of other ways for people to kill themselves besides jumping off bridges.

Across town from the apartment, Charles’ office at China Basin was connected to Paulson’s research lab. He sat down at his mahogany desk this Saturday morning, sighed and stared out at another great view. To the right, houseboats sparkled in the sun, nestled up to the grassy banks south of the Fourth Street Bridge. He remembered spending a night there once when he first arrived in San Francisco. Someone his brother knew had given him the name of a friend, but the man hadn’t been much help in his search. Now those days seemed like a lifetime ago.

He yawned and glanced at his Wittnauer Biltmore watch, another perk from the company. In four minutes he would walk through the door to the lab. Charles was always on time and the Paulson Company insisted on promptness. They thought the participants would be more successful if they stuck to a specified routine.

Charles looked to his left past the Giants’ ballpark toward the neat rows of sailboats at the South Beach Harbor Marina. He remembered spending a night there too. He and another homeless man had crawled under the tarpaulin and slept, but again the details were a blur. He had no name, no face and no clear time frame. Sometimes Charles thought he was dreaming too, like the Paulson research subjects once they got hooked up to their IV drip on Saturday mornings and the drugs took over. Charles thought of them as his personal guinea pigs, but his clairvoyant power wasn’t a fraction as strong as any of theirs and he would be the first to admit it.

He went over his notes on the computer screen. The San Francisco research group only had three members so far, but through their psychic abilities they would reach out across the city to find others like them. The Paulson Project sought people with varying psychic talents who were also HIV positive and taking the protease inhibitor Neutriva. The primary task at this week’s session was to locate a young man with the last name Snow. Charles looked over his notes again from the previous session in order to be sure. Snow it was. There hadn’t been any disagreement about that. But they hadn’t been able to settle on the first name last week. They thought it was either Thomas or Timothy. Charles hoped they would determine it today, as well as find some clues to his location.

As Charles stepped into the lab to get started, Tim Snow backed his old red Thunderbird convertible out of his driveway on Hancock Street, oblivious to a group of people across town wanting to track him down.

It was a beautiful sunny Saturday. Tim had the day off, so he and Nick were driving down to Hillsborough to have lunch with Sam Connor and Tim’s Aunt Ruth and show off Buck. Ruth had been living in Tim’s old apartment on Collingwood Street and working part-time at the restaurant, but she’d finally married her wealthy lover, Sam Connor, and moved to his estate in Hillsborough. Today would be Tim and Nick’s first drive down the peninsula since the newlyweds returned from their honeymoon.

They drove in through the tall iron gates and Tim had barely turned off the engine when Buck jumped up from Nick’s lap and bounded out of the car. Buck, get back here! Nick scolded. He turned to Tim. It was my fault for not holding onto him tighter, but I hate to see him get in the habit of running off like that. You might have the top down sometime when you’re stuck in traffic and he’d think it was okay to jump out of the car!

Just like in my dream, Tim thought.

Hello boys! Sam came toward them from the direction of the tennis courts. He crouched as Buck ran over to him and Sam’s face became the object of a generous coating of canine saliva. What have we here?

Hi Sam! Tim shouted. That’s Buck.

He’s a friendly little guy; I’ll say that for him.

Nick postponed his intended scolding of the dog when Ruth appeared and she got more kisses from Buck. What an adorable little fellow you are! Yes, you are! She scooped the puppy up in her arms and handed him back to Sam so that she could give hugs to the boys—on her tip-toes in Nick’s case—and take the bundle of paper from under Tim’s arm. Thanks for picking up my mail. I put in a change of address at the post office on 18th Street in the Castro.

You could have done it online, you know, Tim told her, for all the good it did.

No matter… I don’t mind going to the post office and the line wasn’t long. But I guess they’re not going to forward the weekly specials from the supermarket or these catalogues.

No, I don’t suppose they would.

Look, Sam, there’s a big sale on children’s clothes at Macy’s. She winked at Sam and smiled at some private joke between the two of them before she turned back to the boys. I’m afraid we’re past the age of worrying about having children, but I’m delighted that both of you could come down for lunch today. It won’t be nearly as nice as when Delia was here, but we’ll make do.

As I remember, you’re a very good cook, Aunt Ruth, Tim said. You were always trying out new recipes and pushing them on Uncle Dan and me when I lived with you during high school in Edina. I think you were trying to fatten us up.

It worked on Dan, she said, but that was a long time ago. It’s so nice out, I thought we’d eat on the patio and Sam can handle the grill. He’s been after me to hire a new cook ever since we got back from our honeymoon, but I’m having fun doing the cooking myself. I’ve never lost my curiosity about trying new things. Tim noticed the sparkle in her eyes as she gave her new husband another long gaze.

I’m not complaining, dear, Sam smiled and hugged her.

Tim tried not to look. He accepted that they were newlyweds, but this was his Aunt Ruth, after all! She’d raised him after his parents threw him out. She’d kept her petite figure in shape with plenty of exercise and kept the gray away with the help of her hairdresser Rene, an old friend of Tim’s who had a stylish salon near Union Square in San Francisco. She was still an attractive middle-aged woman, but Tim didn’t want to picture her doing it. He had to admit that he and Nick were only visitors to Sam’s estate, now Ruth’s home too, and it was none of his business, but if he and Nick could be discreet about their sex lives, why couldn’t straight people? They all went inside the formal front entrance of the Tudor-style house and walked through a cavernous hallway toward the kitchen.

I’m sure whatever you make will be great. Nick could smell the hot coals in the grill and he didn’t notice Tim’s discomfort. We’re not fussy and I’m starved!

Good! Sam picked up a pitcher of iced tea from the poolside table as Tim and Nick sat down in padded wrought-iron chairs. It’s not going to be fancy. I was just waiting for you to arrive before I put these burgers on. What time is it? I must have left my watch in the bedroom.

Twelve-oh-five on the dot, Ruth called from the kitchen doorway.

Would you boys like something stronger than tea? Sam had already filled four tall glasses with ice from the poolside bar. How about a beer or a Bloody Mary… Nick?

Not for me, thanks. Iced tea is fine.

I have to work tonight, Tim said.

Ruth carried out a large tray loaded with buns, condiments, chips and a bowl of potato salad. How are things going at the restaurant without me? she asked Tim.

Okay, I guess. Everyone misses you, especially Artie and me… and the customers always ask if you’re ever going to set foot in there again.

Of course I will, but I already told Artie before we left that I needed at least a month off for our honeymoon. We really should stop in one of these days, Sam, she made eye contact with her husband again and then turned to the dog. No, Buck, that’s not for you. What should I fix for this little guy? Is it okay if he has a corn chip? They’re organic.

Maybe just some water. Nick set down his iced tea and stood up. I’ll go get his bowl out of the car.

Nick, while you’re at it… Tim turned and looked up at him. Grab that paper bag from the pharmacy out of the trunk. There’s something for Aunt Ruth in there. Look for the… oh, nevermind. Just bring the whole bag in, okay?

Whatever you say, babe…

You didn’t have to bring me anything, dear, Ruth smiled across the table at Tim as Nick walked away.

Don’t get too excited. It’s not exactly a present. When I stopped to pick up my meds, the pharmacist told me one of your prescriptions was ready too, so I brought it along.

The sweet red-haired boy?

Yeah, I guess. He’s not my type, but whatever…

They must be my calcium supplements and I’m nearly out of them. I have to keep these old bones strong, you know.

Well, he said something else about… what was it now? Oh yeah… he said to tell you they didn’t have the regular tablets in this time, but not to worry that they look different. They’re the same thing. They should have the ones you’re used to again next month.

It doesn’t matter what they look like, as long as they do the job. What a nice thing that he remembered. I suppose I should transfer my account to a drug store closer to Hillsborough, but that’s what I love about the Castro… people know each other like it’s a small town.

Too small sometimes. Tim smirked. "When are you coming for a visit?

How about tomorrow? Sam, you’re overdue for a visit with your grandkids and we could drop by and surprise Artie and Arturo. We’re coming into the city tonight for dinner anyway and staying over.

Buck stood on his hind legs and waited for her to drop the chip into his mouth. Ruth turned to Tim. Sam wants to show me off to some old friends of his and make sure they approve.

Sam put his arm around her waist and nuzzled her neck. It’s too late now if they don’t. If we’re spending the night in town, I should call the Fairmont and see if our favorite room is available.

I have an even better idea, Sam. Let’s spend the night in my old apartment on Collingwood. We can wake up right there in the Castro and take the whole family to brunch tomorrow?

Whatever you say, darling…

I’ll call Ben and Jane this afternoon and see if it’s good for them, Ruth said. Don’t tell anyone at the restaurant, Tim. I want it to be a surprise.

My lips are sealed, Tim said. In spite of being leery of the honeymoon subject, he asked, How was your trip? The card from Spain was postmarked three weeks ago, but it arrived yesterday. How is it being back in California and living as a respectable married woman?

It feels wonderful.

It was a great trip, Sam said. It was so nice to be in Europe and not have to think about work for a change. To be honest with you, I was afraid my new bride would be bored when we got back. You can only have so many games of tennis and laps in the pool and horseback rides in the hills. I hope you boys brought your swimsuits.

I’m never bored, Sam. You know me, Ruth assured him. I feel a little guilty, though. How many women my age fall into a life of ease with a man they adore and such a lovely home? One of these days, I’m going to take up a hobby or maybe find some volunteer work and give something back to the world.

Do you have anything in mind? Nick was squeezing ketchup onto his hamburger and lifted his left hand to lick off the bright red glob that had fallen onto his fingers. He was relieved that Buck was chasing squirrels up a tree beyond the gardener’s shed instead of begging at the table.

"When I lived in the city I used to walk by that little shop called Under One Roof all the time. Ruth poked at her salad. That’s the place where all the proceeds go to AIDS causes. I’ve often stopped in to buy gifts and thought about volunteering a few hours of my time, but never got around to it and I was working right there across the street. Now I’m all the way down here in Hillsborough and I just don’t know… I should see if there’s anything I’m qualified to do at the local humane society. I’ve always loved animals."

That’s a fine idea, dear, Sam said. There’s always something we can do to help the less fortunate, whether they’re two-legged or four. All I seem to find time for is writing the occasional check at Christmas.

"Nick donates merchandise from the nursery to charity auctions and raffles all the time and he helps out with Face to Face, the Sonoma County AIDS organization, Tim said as Nick returned with Buck’s water bowl and filled it from the bar sink. I’m the one who should do more."

There’s no reason not to, is there? Ruth said. Take some time to think about what you’d be good at, Tim. Then have a look around. Something will fall right into your lap and I’ll bet you could set aside a few hours a week that you won’t even miss. That’s what I intend to do.

I’ll have to think about it. Tim leaned over to pet the dog and give him another chip. Trust Aunt Ruth to buy organic.

You don’t have to change the world, you know. You’d be surprised how much a smile or a kind word can do to make someone’s day. Maybe one small action can put a whole chain of events into motion that will make a huge difference. You must have heard about that old woman in Edina, didn’t you, Tim? She lived not far from us… Mrs. Lindquist. She just died this past April at 102.

Huh? Tim was thinking about whether or not he would have time for a nap before work tonight.

Well, it must have been a slow news day on CNN, but I recognized the name and then they showed her picture and sure enough, it was her.

CNN? What about her? Tim asked. Living to be 102 isn’t that unusual in Minnesota, is it?

No, not at all, but the story was about the neighbor boy. Well, he’s in college, now, but he was always thoughtful enough that on rainy days he’d put her newspaper through the mail slot instead of just throwing it at the house from his bicycle. She left him a fortune in her will. He delivered our paper too, when you were living with us. Don’t you remember him?

I guess not.

Now, I don’t mean people should do good works for any monetary reason, of course. Ruth reached over to stroke her husband’s cheek. "Sam could have been as poor as a church mouse and I still would have married him… as long as he had this amazing face, not to mention his many other wonderful attributes. Look at this thick beautiful silver hair. He makes Anderson Cooper look like a light-weight. And this fine, handsome, sturdy jaw line—"

I SAID I’d think about it… volunteer work, I mean. Tim was afraid his Aunt Ruth was going to start talking about their sex life again, but she poured some more iced tea and changed the subject.

Back in the city, much later that night, Tim had some very strange dreams. He thought he knew by now how to tell the difference between an ordinary dream and one that was clairvoyant. He thought he ought to know by now, but no… he still wasn’t sure.

In this dream he was naked, surrounded by steam, hot water pouring down his back, soap bubbles floating in the air around him. Tim was taking a shower—a common enough occurrence—but he wasn’t in his own place and he wasn’t at Nick’s. This was Sam and Ruth’s bathroom in Hillsborough, the one off the master bedroom. Tim had showered in the pool house after a swim sometimes, but never in here. He rinsed off the soap, turned off the water, listened to the fan clanking, noisily sucking the steam away. It must need oil. The window was open too. Tim could see it just enough through the opaque glass of the shower door. He was about to slide the door open and reach for a towel when he heard someone coming and he froze.

It was one of the maids, a girl’s voice giggling into the phone she had wedged into the crook of her shoulder. It’s Lacey, silly! Who’d you think? How many girlfriends you got calling you, the bitches? I’ll fix them!

Where were Tim’s clothes? He didn’t want to make his presence known, more concerned for the girl’s embarrassment than his own, but now he was looking down from above at the scene of her closing the lid on the toilet seat and sitting, while his naked body was still dripping wet behind the shower doors, still as a statue in the shadows, the wide shelf below the window, holding a hair brush, shampoo, hair conditioner, a couple of votive candles in blue glass jars, several bottles of pills.

Nah, there’s nobody around. They left for the city already. I heard her talking to him. They won’t even be back at all tonight. Hey, you wanna come over here? We could fool around in the hot tub?

Now this Lacey girl was toying with the objects on the shelf beside her. She must have been a hyperactive child, Tim thought. She couldn’t sit still, even now. Or maybe she was nervous about talking to her