Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

were gay men somewhere who revered jazz, but Michael didn’t know any.
    “Do they get good people?” asked Thack.
    “Brubeck,” said Brian. “I saw Brubeck here.”
    “No shit,” said Thack.
    Brian said: “Tell Michael how good he is. Michael hates him.”
    “I don’t hate him,” said Michael.
    “He hates him,” said Brian.
    “I like tunes,” said Michael. “Call me crazy, but that’s the way I am.”
    Thack kept his eyes on the sidewalk. “This is a nice town.”
    “It’s too much like Castro Street,” said Michael, mouthing the stock criticism. It wasn’t really true, but he resented the place for consuming so much of Thack’s attention. “I’m glad we’re gonna be out a ways.”
    “Where is Casanova?” asked Thack.
    “Cazadero,” said Michael. “We follow this road along the river until we get a few miles past Monte Rio. Then we hang a right and follow Austin Creek for a few more miles. We’re at the mercy of Charlie’s map.”
    “We’ll find it,” said Thack.
    What they found was a smallish, newly built structure in the redwoods along Austin Creek. Its siding was plywood, the front door was aluminum, and the main room was paneled with the sort of pregrooved faux walnut used in rumpus rooms the world over.
    Michael’s heart sank. The yawning stone fireplace he’d envisioned had been usurped by a hooded atrocity built of shiny orange metal. There was a comfortable sofa (herringbone corduroy, obviously late seventies) and a decent bathroom, but the place was nowhere near the stuff of fantasy.
    And nowhere near big enough.
    “Where’s the bedroom?” asked Brian.
    “Let’s see,” said Michael, his depression mounting.
    “You’re lookin’ at it,” said Thack. “That sofa converts, I think, and there are two studio couches.”
    Brian gave Michael an accusatory glance. “Did you ask Charlie whether …”
    “Yeah,” said Michael, “of course. He said he was sure it had at least three rooms.”
    “Uh-huh,” said Thack. “This room, the kitchen and the bathroom.”
    “Shit,” said Michael.
    Brian looked around. “We can put a studio couch in the kitchen.”
    “Oh, sure,” said Michael.
    “This’ll be fine,” said Thack. “There’s plenty of room for all of us.” He peered out the aluminum-frame window. “There’s a great view of the creek.”
    Michael looked over Brian’s shoulder. “Yeah. It’s really … close.” Even closer were a rusting pink trailer and another prefab cabin, slightly more soulless than theirs. “I fucked up, guys. I’m sorry.”
    “Hey,” said Brian.
    Thack just shrugged it off. “We’ve got a fire,” he said brightly. “A place to swim. Big trees. Good company. I’m happy.”
    They unloaded the car in silence. Then Brian stretched out on the sofa while Michael and Thack made an exploratory trek to the edge of the creek. When they returned, their roommate was fast asleep and snoring.
    “Hey,” whispered Thack. “Let’s take some beers to the creek.”
    “What beers?” asked Michael, increasingly disturbed by Thack’s chatty-fratty demeanor.
    “Check the fridge,” said Thack.
    Michael did; there were two six-packs of Oly inside. A minor consolation, but a welcome one.
    Back at the creek, Thack said: “Hunkering.”
    “What?”
    “That’s what this is called in the South.”
    “They still call it that, huh?”
    “Oh, yeah.” Thack kicked off his loafers and rolled up the cuffs of his khakis. “I know lots of gay boys who are hunkering fools.”
    Michael followed Thack’s example, doffing his Adidas, finding a flat place on a sunny rock, sliding his pale feet into water which was surprisingly warm.
    Thack handed him a cold Oly. “It isn’t officially hunkering until the beer is in the hand.”
    “Right,” said Michael.
    From neighboring rocks, they lifted their bottles in unison. “To the woods,” said Thack.
    “To the woods,” said Michael.
    The beer and blazing sunshine lulled them like a finger on the belly of a lizard. After a long silence, Thack said: “How did you two meet?”
    “Me and Brian?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well … he used to live in my building. Him and his wife both. I’ve known them since they were Swinging Singles.”
    Thack smiled. “What’s she like?”
    Michael thought for a moment. “Perky. Sweet. Ambitious. Too serious about the eighties.”
    “Oh.”
    “It doesn’t bother me. She was just as serious about the seventies.”
    “Are you friends with her?”
    “Oh,